FAQ- Fallacies, Assumptions, & Quelling

When I started writing this blog, I did not think it would get as much attention as it has. I appreciate every single one of you who have read it, and I greatly enjoy hearing your feedback. Some of you have messaged me or approached me with your questions, and as you have noticed, I will withhold nothing. I am thrilled to start a discussion and clarify anything I have made confusing. Some choose alternate routes of responding to my posts, such as harassing my mother, or just blocking me on Facebook. Blocking me is fine, I don't take offense, but I would like to take this time to quell any of the questions and comments I have heard or received.

"Why do you refer to the churches as cults?" - I do not refer to all churches as cults. I choose my words very carefully. The definition of "cult" is: "A relatively small group of people having religious beliefs or practices regarded by others as strange or sinister." Or "A misplaced or excessive admiration for a particular person or thing."
ATI without a doubt fits both of these definitions. The leader of ATI, Bill Gothard is (was) held in very high regard and everyone in ATI based their life choices off of what he said and how he interpreted the Bible. I remember when I was a child, standing in line for hours to meet Mr Gothard and all those around me who wanted him to sign their Bibles. I didn't like the idea of a man signing my Bible. If this book was given to is by God, what right did Mr Gothard have to be putting his name in it? It just always bothered me. My ATI friends thought I was silly for having met Mr Gothard several times and never having him sign my Bible. Now that all his scandals have come to light, I am glad I stuck to my childhood instincts.
The church where my parents attend is less of a cult, but still a cult in my eyes. Their teachings are very legalistic and demeaning. Not allowing women to wear pants because the Bible tells them to appear as a woman is a strange religious belief if you ask me. The definition also notes that they will have practices that are considered sinister. "Sinister: giving the impression that something harmful or evil is happening or will happen." Several of the things that have taken place within that church have been harmful, not only to me personally, but to many others. An example is when I was told that I wasn't having seizures but that I was demon possessed could have been fatal if my mother didn't ignore them and get me medical help.  There have been rapes in the church and families berated for going to the police instead of letting God handle it. There have been youth trips where the pastor has transported several firearms across state lines and taught the teens to shoot, without ever advising the parents or getting their permission. I have hours worth of more examples if you would like them, but I stand behind my usage of the word cult.

"What caused you to turn your back on your faith?"- Nowhere have I ever said that I turned my back on my faith. This blog is about my journey out of the cult and into my own life. If anything, writing this blog has gotten me to look at the Bible more than I had before, because I want to see for myself what it has to say. I know many people who have been raised and abused by religion and who have no use for God or faith. That is not me. I have no use for cults or for people who blindly follow what someone has told them with no way to back it up. (See my Halloween post). If you would like to believe something, that's fine, do whatever you want, but know why you are doing it.
I have not attended church in quite a while, but that is not out of bitterness. It is because I have had a difficult time finding a church that is accepting of people and also has an actual Biblical foundation. It's a process. My grandmother stopped attending church when they "asked her to hem their damn curtains" and she has a better grasp on what Christianity is than some of the people I've seen in church every day of their lives.

"Heather is being slutty on the internet again"- This is said to my mom sometimes. Church people define "slutty" as anyone who has any type of contact with the opposite sex outside of marriage, including a full-hug. Yes. I write honest stories about things that have happened to me in my single and dating life. I am not ashamed of my choices. I am not going to Hell because I have not been celibate since my divorce. I know of plenty of "preacher's daughters" who live as I do, I'm just not afraid to talk about it if I can help someone else. Also, slutty is a pretty harsh word. I would appreciate if people would stop saying that to my mom about me. It's a bit rude. Isn't he who is without sin supposed to throw the first stone? I'm bad at catch, but let's play.

"Did you start your blog because you saw Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt?"-No, I had my blog before that show came out, but there are remarkable similarities! 

"We have been praying for Heather in our prayer group"- Thank you. I truly appreciate those who are genuine and who would like me to be happy and healthy. However, those who generally say this are saying that they are praying that I would find my way back to God and turn from my evil, bitter, church destroying ways. You may stop doing that and find something more productive to do, like support your family. A much more effective way would probably be to speak to me directly, which none of those people have done. Again, my blog has never been about how I turned away from God. It has been how I escaped and overcame abuse and false teachings and got myself a normal life.

"Why don't you put ads in your blog and make some extra money?"- This is something I could do, but does not interest me. I am in no way rich, but I work 4 jobs and I get by. I write this because I truly enjoy it, and I hope that is why you read it. I would not want to bombard you with ads. If you feel that I should be making more money, email me. I will gladly meet up for lunch and accept your donations.

"Not going to read the comments but will interject that I believe in the power of prayer and of the Lord's healing on all things. Whether or not you still believe is up to you. I would also like to add that while I enjoy a fair amount of sarcasm and light hearted humor, I do not appreciate scoffing at people who actually care for you and do indeed pray for you with love and concern. Pleasing the Lord , not 'man' as it were." -This was posted on my Facebook wall in response to a photo I posted. It was of the prayer list at my parents' church saying "Heather Harvey: fainting, diagnosis, grace". My status was "My mother is at church and sent me a picture of the prayer bulletin. My father put me in it, which of course means it is inaccurate. I will translate: Heather Harvey: fainting, diagnosis (we may or may not know that her fainting was caused by catastrophic lady times, but we don't talk about those things. Also, because the seizures were caused by a head injury and not a demon possessing her, we reject this actual information.) Grace (This means she is not currently under a man's authority and  enjoys being bitchy to some of our members)" There had been several comments about the intention of the way it was written and I had thanked those who were genuinely praying for me. The pastor had told my mother he was putting me in the bulletin, but when she attempted to give him the correct information, he ignored her. This is what aggravated me. When I attempted to respond to the comment that was made by the church member, I realized that she had unfriended me. I find it immature to state that you are choosing to be on the side of ignorance and not read all that was written (if she had, she probably would have taken a different stance), but instead she decided to extrapolate her own opinions and assumptions, and remove herself from seeing any type of polite explanation. She is the same person who tells my mother she is sorry that I have strayed.

"If you are happy with your choices, why do you cry so much?"-You try having triple the estrogen that your body should have and tell me how easy it is not to cry about a commercial with a neglected pigeon as the main character! 

"Why are you trying to get people to leave the church?"- I'm not. Well, I would like my sister to leave, but other than that, you are adults. Do whatever you want. This blog is not about telling you how to live, it is about how I was tired of living. I have been blamed for one family leaving the church after talking to me. They did leave, but they had been vacillating on that choice for quite a while. After they contacted me and I told them what had happened to me and my family, they decided it was best for the safety of their children if they did not return.
Last week I met with a woman who had recently joined the church with her family. She had read what I wrote about my mom and had questions for me about why I left. I did not discourage her from attending, but I answered her questions honestly from experiences that I've had. I am not out to destroy anyone's world. I am here to encourage you to take stock of your own and make sure that you really are where you should be.

"When you were in the hospital, were those rails left on your floor perhaps from a previous patient?"- No. They were brought in the room for me, I was told I needed them on my bed to keep me from falling, and they were never put on the bed. Update: that awful nurse no longer works at that hospital. 

"Why must you talk about vaginas so much?"- Because I think they are underrated and they all deserve to be happy and treated nicely. Half the world has them, most find them inconvenient. Why not find any product out there that can make your day with a vagina better?!? If I can help you in that process, I'm going to!

"Why do you think it's ok to put so much of your personal life on the internet?"- Because it is ok. I am careful not to put anything that is untrue. I am careful with my choice of words, and each post takes me several hours. I have had many, many of my old homeschooled friends contact me and say they are so happy I have not been afraid to talk about all of this openly, because they thought they were the only ones who went through these things. I'm not perfect at all. I don't have my life together or have all the answers. But I am happy. I know that I left a life behind and I would never go back. I have helped my friends break out as well, and they have gone through many of the same struggles as I have. I have a very supportive, encouraging family (for the most part), and the ones who don't support me don't need to. I will continue to be me.

If I can clear up anything for you, or you would like to chat, my email is daheaddas88@gmail.com 

Train up a child...

   

Three generations of the most important women in my life

         Recently I have been hearing mixed reviews about how open I am in my writings and the topics I have chosen thus far. I expected this, and I enjoy it.  Although I believe that there are a few things in need of clarification. It has been brought to my attention that people of the cult have been approaching my mother and telling her that they are so sorry for the things that I am writing, they are sorry that I openly criticize her, and they are praying for her because they have felt the pain of having a wayward child. They tell her that they are sorry I have lost my faith. I don't remember anywhere in the Bible where it says that having faith means that you cannot bring to light what happens in a cult, that was created by man. I have been told that I should inform my mother of the contents of my blog before I publish it so that she does not learn of my stories from the internet, as the rest of the world does. I am told that I should have more respect for my mother than to embarrass her by saying that she raised me in a cult. What those Pharisees fail to understand is that I have never once criticized my mother in any of my writings, and she is very aware of how I have felt on many of these topics for years now, and I choose all of my words carefully. 

     My mother raised one shy child and one very bold child (I'll give you a moment to figure out which is which). My mother only spanked me once when I was small (well, twice if you count the time that she acted before she heard the story of what was happening and I was beyond devastated that she would ever think I would be doing something so horrid, but I digress). She didn't need to spank me more than that because I was very much a self-governed child. The amount of guilt I would feel if I did something that could possibly disappoint my mom was overwhelming. If I tried to keep a secret from her I would throw up almost constantly until I told her whatever it was that I had done. She was never very surprised, and was usually very understanding. Perhaps she is not aware of each detail of my stories before I write them, but none are news to her. Also, my mother was raised by a woman with no filter at all, I come by my personality quite honestly. 

        My mother has a fine balance of being the perfectly submissive wife and a normal mom, and fits the role so well that it drives me insane. My mother obeys every word my father says, and sometimes she follows only to a gesture or a snap, but I did not inherit that trait. When my mother was in the hospital and my father was home with me, you can bet he made his own coffee that day. My mother is also good at allowing me and my sister to live our lives within reason. My mom did not enforce the ridiculous rules set by the cult such as limiting our TV to 2 hours a week, not wearing pants (although we didn't for a while, but I could have), and knew that I was going to date anyway, so she might as well be on board with it. When we got older, my mom didn't stop me or Hope from swearing (within reason). If that was a safe way to vent our anger and frustration, it was a much healthier choice than smoking or drugs. I am glad that my mom is good at keeping her own standards, while not forcing them onto me. She hasn't had any alcohol since she became pregnant with me. My father will not attend parties that I host because I serve alcohol. My mother attends my parties (Mama Harvey is now in fact quite the party staple among my friends) and she just has her sparkling cider without judging anyone else's choices. 

        Writing my blog has not upset my mother at all. She respects my opinions and often says that I make very good points. Through some of the more serious topics about which I have written, I have actually found out more about my mom and she has seen that it's okay to talk about terrible things that have happened to you. I was not allowed to celebrate Halloween as a child, but Halloween was the topic of one of my first posts. My mom agreed that many of the rules put in place by the church were for no good reason, and not only did she attend my Halloween party, but she full on embraced it! 

I have one, but none of us actually needed a wig for our princess

         In my last post I wrote about how I was told I was rejecting God's plan for my life by becoming a paramedic instead of going to Bible college. A few weeks ago my mom texted me after church and sent me the following: (Edited slightly to protect the innocent) "You know I was thinking of you yesterday during the sermon. I was thinking how awesome you are...(I did not instantly respond)...Do you want to hear why?" My mother knows how humble I am, but of course I responded "YES!!!"

"He was talking about vision and you know he meant a ministry like soul winning and stuff like that, and he said that without vision, the people perish. Well, without Heather the people perish! You have far greater vision than someone knocking on doors just to make yourself feel like you are doing God's work. And don't post this!" (that was before I took out the curses). "I was watching a video of someone helping people get out of their cars after a crash and I thought, Heather does this sort of stuff every day! She is so awesome. I wish I could do that. Lifesaver Heather! That's my girl!! What a fantastic thing to do. You are the one who makes a real difference in people's lives." See, even home schoolers have a cheerleading squad. 

No, I don't wear the tiara on calls...unless it makes a squishy happy

          I don't blame my mother for the fact that I was raised in a cult. No one wakes up one day and thinks, "Hey! I am sick of making choices in my own life, I would like to start living by some ridiculous standards laid out by a man, that I shall never question, and I will subject my children to their false teachings and abuse as well!". No. That is not how it works. I asked my mother one day why I was home schooled. I have a video from my 3rd birthday party where my mom is talking about driving the school bus so that she didn't have to be away from me in a few years. My mother, like many of us, just wants to be loved and accepted. She told me that when she was a teenager she started going to church with her brother. The pastor of that church was a big fan of Bill Gothard, the founder of ATI. My mother and my uncle went to a few of Bill Gothard's seminars and found a place where they could study the Bible and reasonably fit in. From there everything sort of slowly kept drawing my mother in deeper. My father enjoyed the seminars as well, which is not surprising because Bill Gothard is a firm believer in the man having rule over the woman. My mother had never heard of home schooling before ATI, but once she found out about an option where she would never have to be apart from her reason for living, she was in! Besides, as all parents assume, her kid was smarter than the rest, why hold them back at a "normal" learning pace? 

There was also a lot of talk about keeping your kids under the "umbrella of protection" Here is mom in action!

          None of the terrible things that happened in ATI or at the cult where my parents still attend church happened on my mother's watch. Last weekend, Gramma and I got all fired up and asked my mom to give a good reason why she still attends the cult. My mother fully admits that it is a cult, but she said that my father likes it there, they have been there for almost 15 years, and "They have a good Biblical foundation, it's just the things that they teach are wrong".  So not to worry, Pharisees, who tell my mother that you are praying for her wayward, lost child. She knows all that I am doing and she is realistic enough to understand the choices I make. My mother loves my blog and the fact that I had the boldness to leave that she lacks. She also knows that this is not an insult. She knows that I only want her to be happy and free, but I am not going to be able to do that for her. 

        Many of my friends who have left the cult and made different choices for their lives have parents who won't speak to them anymore because they have allowed so much sin into their lives. Over the past few years I have had many difficult choices to make. When my ex-husband wanted a divorce, I didn't fight and I signed the papers. Although divorce is unacceptable in the church's eyes, my mother never expressed anything but sympathy. When I was pregnant with my 6th baby, I was told the baby was not growing and I waited to miscarry, as I had with the others. I spent a Mothers' day pregnant but devastated. My mom wasn't upset at all that I ignored Mothers' day that year, she knew I wasn't forgetting her. I didn't miscarry, and I was advised by my doctors that for my health I should end the pregnancy. Of course this is an all-out-bound-for-hell sin in a church, but there was no chance that the baby would be nearly functional, if he even lived at all. Not once did my mother bring up the fact that I was being told I should commit the worst sin possible. When I was about to go in for the surgery, I sent her a picture of the final ultrasound. She told me that once she saw that, she saw how sick and small he was, and she no longer felt like vomiting and sobbing, but fully supported what I had to do. Something that I can't imagine any ATI mother saying to her child. My mother came to stay with me and care for me after the surgery, and told me that no matter what, I made her a grandmommy. 

         Often my mom won't "like" things on my Facebook because she doesn't want "to hear all the crap" from the church people about it when it shows up on her page. When I got my tattoo, I showed my mom and she said "Okay, I like it, but I'm not liking it on Facebook!"

       My mother never forced faith on us. She is very quiet about her beliefs and she will share if she is asked. My father forced us to do "wisdom searches" and sometimes as punishment I would be made to read passages that applied to the sin I had committed. I usually had to read James because I had issues with pride (clearly his methods of making me humble were futile). My father is one of those people who asks a waitress if she is saved or not, and who prays loudly over a meal in a restaurant, but only at home on holidays. The Bible admonishes the Pharisees for praying loudly in the streets so that all can hear and behold how righteous they are. I'm pretty sure that my mother has studied the Bible more than my father has, but she does so on her own, quietly. When I lived home and I would get up and come to her room, I would see her reading, but she never made a show of it. She doesn't like to go up to the altar at the cult and make a big show of the fact that she got a rhema from the sermon. I know that my mother prays, but I know that she is genuine about it. 

She also didn't force me to learn how to cook

    

        When Hope and I would fight, my mother would mix movie quotes with Bible verses. "Be nice to your sister! Pray for those who persecute you! Don't mix beer and wine, ever. Agree with thine adversary quickly! Bless them that curse you and despitefully use you! Don't drive on the railroad tracks!"  When I had to memorize Proverbs 31, my mom drew each verse with an example of Cinderella being a virtuous woman and hung them through the entire hallway. She made the Bible applicable to real life, or that of a princess.

         The Bible says "Train up a child in the way he should go, and when he is old, he will not depart from it." I am exceedingly elated that the brainwashed people of the cult think that I am wrong for how I am. That means my mother followed what the Bible taught her...and let her own works praise her in the gates.  

Happy Mothers' Day, Mommy! Love, Da Headdas

From Homeschool Heather to Paramedic Princess

    If you were raised as I was ,you know that as a woman you are only able to pursue a small number of career choices (if your father or husband even allows you to pursue a career at all). These choices are limited to careers that would allow you to stay modestly dressed at all times, still maintain a home and family, and never put you in a position that would cause you to have authority over a man. If you had dreams of managing a male strip club, it would be time to dream another dream. It has been my dream ever since I can remember to be a mom, and that is still my ultimate dream. However, that does not mean that I did not want a career. For a long time I thought that I wanted to be a teacher. I really liked research and telling people about everything I learned. I love kids, and I could wear a skirt to work. Of course I would have to teach in a Christian school so that I could leave out all that "evolution nonsense" and teach children that the answer to any science question they had was simply because that was how it was created. Have faith, stop questioning. 
    
     I did enjoy learning about how bodies worked and I loved reading all those little booklets you get at the hospital that teach about different diseases. When my little sister had oral surgery, I was prepared in the care of abscesses and was ready to go. I loved medicine, but a CNA class was the only medical option available to women in our homeschool group and I was not interested in that. I wanted to be part of the emergencies. 

I even had my "Lil' Medic" bag. 

    When I was 16 I lived with my grandmother for a few months when she was sick. I was able to care for her and do my school at the same time, and I read up on all the medical information I could so that I would be able to know what she needed. She was a teacher and knew that I also was leaning towards following that path, but I was also becoming more and more intrigued with all things medical because of all I had been reading. I had to call 911 once day because grandma had a stroke in my arms and although I could carry her to the couch, I didn't yet have my license. I thought that the EMS crew who came was awesome. The thing that I remember most was that they wrote on their gloves and I thought that was hilarious. I thought "If I ever had a job like this, I would use my gloves instead of paper too". They seemed so calm with all that was happening and told me that I did well to recognize and know exactly what was going on with my grandmother. We spent a lot of time in the hospital in her last few months, and when grandma died she left me money to take an EMT class. 

    I joined the explorer post at the EMS station about 2 miles down the hill from my parents house and instantly loved it. I showed up for the first meeting in my ankle length skirt and had no idea what to do. I met Danielle, who took me under her wing and told me that she was probably going to corrupt me. A few months later she bought me the first pair of jeans I had owned in years. I made it through EMT class and for graduation Danielle made me an "EMS survival kit" with things like a toothbrush, lip balm, spare socks, a flashlight, work gloves, and some note pads. I started riding on a crew with Danielle, Scott, and Paul every week and learned more about the world in a few months than I had in the last 16 years. 

My homeschool friends became a little jealous because I was in a world where I could not only sit next to, but close to a boy who was not my brother. 

   It took me quite a while to adjust to the world of EMS. I had to learn a whole new language and often I did not know what people were trying to tell me. I remember picking up a man who was passed out on the sidewalk and his friends told me "He had too much Wild Turkey". I knew that I got sleepy after Thanksgiving dinner, but this dude must really not be able to handle tryptophan! I asked if he had eaten his dinner warm because I had been told that tryptophan is activated by heat. After the laughter stopped, the police handed me an empty bottle of bourbon and told me I needed to stop being sheltered if I was going to make it. 

     When it came time to go to college, I was planning on going to Hyles Anderson in IN for elementary education. It was the Bible college where our Pastor and his wife had gone, and we had been to several conferences there. My best friend from church, Jess, was also going and we were going to be roommates. I was going to have to pay my own way through school, so I found a local EMS station walking distance from the college and applied to work there. During the final weeks before leaving the college called me to go over plans. They asked if I needed to apply to jobs through the school and I said I did not. They told me that I would not be allowed to attend the college if I was working as an EMT because this was not one of the approved jobs that a woman could do. They said it violated their standards of dress since I would need to wear pants, and it would also sometimes require me to be alone with men, as well as touch them when caring for them as patients. They told me that they could get me a job as a telemarketer instead. I was very distraught over this. I LOVED being an EMT and I didn't want to stop for 4 years. I vacillated about my life choices for a week or so, then decided that I was not going to that school (cult). I was worried about how to tell Jess that I was backing out, but when I looked at her from across the church during service that night she knew instantly and we had one of those silent arguments with only our eyes. The college called me several times to tell me that the devil was doing this to me and he was trying to lead me down the wrong path. They told me that I was turning my back on God's will for my life and that I would never know true joy if I was letting the devil control my life. They were also REALLY mad that Jess backed out as well and blamed me for leading an innocent mind down the path of destruction with me (Jess is now married to a woman, and works two full time jobs. Mission accomplished!).  All of their cult-luring attempts were futile, and I applied to paramedic school instead. 

     I walked into my interview for paramedic school full of optimism and excitement. Barry (Bark), who ran the program told me in my interview that I would be much better off if I went to go sell shoes or something that was not difficult and wouldn't adjust my personality all that much. I told him that I wanted to be there more than anything, and he let me take the entrance exam. I took the exam and walked out sobbing. That was unlike any exam I had ever done for school, and I spent the evening crying on the floor next to a chair, much like I had learned from Disney movies. Bark called me later that night to tell me I had passed the exam by 2 points and that I was in if I wanted to be. I had no idea what was ahead of me. 

     Paramedic school came easy to some in my class. I had never been in a classroom before other than a 3 month casual EMT class. It was very difficult for me to adjust to being in a class of 30 instead of 1. I no longer had individual attention. I got in trouble often. I didn't know that you couldn't talk during tests. When you are alone, you don't think about that. I didn't ever try to cheat on the tests, I was only asking how a classmate's family was. It took me a while to learn that I had to raise my hand. I learned a very hard way that people are not as open about their lives as I am and that I needed to keep my mouth shut. I was told that I needed to stop living in a fairy tale world where princesses live happily ever after, where no one ever stabbed you in the back, and learn how the real world worked. After one test, Bark came to me and told me that I had to stop writing "Because that's how God created it" and "Miracles" on my cellular function tests. I wasn't being rude, that was just what I knew. Medic school was a struggle every day for me. I was exhausted. I was frustrated that I was so far behind everyone education wise, and I cried after every test because I was convinced that there was no way I could do this. 

      As drained as I was, I knew how badly I wanted to make it. I would not need to sell shoes! On Sundays when I would ride on the church bus through Bridgeport to go pick up kids for Sunday school, I would see the ambulances all over. Every time one would pass us, "Part of that world" would play in my head. There was no way I was going to be stuck in this world of long skirts and fear of men. I have written before about how difficult it is for me to fight my instincts and take charge of a scene. I was thrown into this in medic school. As a medic student you are expected to impress everyone. Your teacher, classmates, preceptors, the companies where you trained, the hospitals, and patients. All eyes are on you all the time, and if they didn't see you, you could be sure that word would get around quickly of what you did. It didn't matter. One day I was going to be in that ambulance, driving past the church bus. 

     There had to be a way I could do this. Since I was used to very non-traditional ways of being educated, I figured out a way to get this information into my head. The drug flash cards didn't stick with me. Instead I made a giant map of all the little houses where the drugs lived and had streets such as "Benzodiazepine Blvd" and 
Analgesic Ave". The cranial nerves became a song. EKG rhythms became poems. I honestly began dreaming in algorithms. I had teachers who worked with me and as long as I was learning, it didn't matter how different my methods were. 

     I will never be able to put into words how grateful I am to the people who got me where I am today. I had dozens of amazing medics who pushed me as hard as I have ever been pushed and who spent countless hours studying with me and making me stronger than I thought I could be. I really don't know how, but I made it. It took me 3 tries to pass the national exam, but I passed it. I thought I could finally breathe. That was only the beginning.

      Since medic school, I have worked for 5 different EMS services. Every service brought struggles, but amazing friends. Thankfully I was pretty good at making friends and I was getting a little better at not making enemies. My game plan was to tell people that we were going to be friends now, and that was it. It worked pretty well for me. 

       One day, the HR lady from Bridgeport called me and asked me if I still wanted a job. I had applied there a year before but was told I didn't have enough commercial experience. I told her I absolutely did and I went to take their hiring test. I passed and was offered the job that day. I was thrilled! The company where I had worked before did mostly transfers and I wanted to do emergency calls, my new company did both. 

I walked into orientation on our first day and met Joe Heath. He told me "Hey! My name fits inside your name!" He also did not get a choice about being my friend.
(Update: Now his name IS my name)

      For my first week in Bridgeport, I was assigned to Kathy. I had known her for a while and she was not known for being gentle. Hilarious, but not gentle. EMS is a pretty tight-knit community and most people knew "Homeschool Heather". Kathy told me that there were a lot of people who didn't think that I should have been hired and that I was never going to be able to cut it. She was among them. I wasn't offended, I was grateful that she was honest with me. She didn't hold my hand. She let me work and learn to think on my own. I hated it, but otherwise I never would have made it through training. Somehow I made it. I found my own groove and made a ton of friends. After a while, Kathy told me that she was impressed with how far I had come, and that meant the world to me. We lost Kathy a few months ago. I am so thankful to have had the chance to learn from her and remember what she said every time I think a call is too rough for me. 

      During one call when I was working with a medic from another town I mentioned something about being home schooled. He stopped what he was doing and said "YOU'RE Homeschool Heather?! I never would have guessed that!" That was when I knew I was in. I wasn't in the spotlight anymore. I was just one of the medics. 

     I can't tell you how elated I am that I made the choice to drop out of Bible college and go to medic school. I've been working as a medic for 5 years now, but I'm going on 11 years in EMS and I wouldn't trade it for the world. I was always jealous of my other home schooled friends who had giant families when I only had one sister. Now I am part of what truly feels like a giant family. My coworkers are not just coworkers. We don't punch out and forget about each other for the weekend. It is hard to understand our hours and our sense of humor. Most of us end up dating and/or marrying within the EMS. fire, police, or RN world. It is much easier than to try to explain every story we tell or why we come off as insensitive or morbid. We have our own way of coping with things. We don't find it strange to call each other at any hour of the day or night. We become very close with our partners. We recently lost another coworker and friend, Chris. I was out of work at the time and all I wanted to do was be there with everyone else. We have all spent the last few weeks as a giant support system for each other. As I sat in the church when they played the final tones for Chris, I was able to reach back and grab my co worker's hand and know that I'm part of a family that is more loving, caring, genuine, tolerant, and strong than any church group I have ever seen. I have so many brothers and sisters who would, and have been there for me at a moment's notice. They are the ones I instinctively run to when I can't handle the world. 

We play together

We make each other smile

We have parties

We have friends to visit when the calls take us there

We have Disney sing-alongs to make a day better 

We have our own meaning behind what we carry with us

We spend hours stranded together

We spend holidays with our "siblings"

We celebrate no matter what

We understand if you don't wanna build a snowman

We make each other stronger

   Never have I had a doubt in my mind that this is what I should be doing. Recently someone asked me why I talk about my job so much. It's not because I have nothing else going on, it's because this isn't just my job. This is part of who I am. These are the people I love and who love me. When we want to get together we look to see if there are shifts we can work together. This is what pushed me to break out of the sheltered world and leave Homeschool Heather behind. I have gotten used to cold food and doing things in small increments (I had to take a blogging break to go do CPR).  I look at the world and people differently than most people do -upon knowing you for four seconds I will have already assessed what size IV I can put in you, calculated some drug doses on you, and debated how difficult it would be to put a breathing tube in your throat. I can't turn it off. They told me I would be miserable if I didn't stay on the path that was laid out for me, and I couldn't be happier that I didn't listen. I also write on my gloves several times a day. 

     

     

The Adulterous Harlot

For as long as I can remember, I wanted to be a wife. I loved all things wedding. One of my very first memories is of being a flower girl at my uncle's wedding when I was 3. I had a little white satin dress that my mother made, with tiny Peter Rabbit buttons on the sleeves (Peter Rabbit had nothing to do with the wedding, but I really liked those buttons and my new aunt did not feel that these would have any bearing on her special day). From that day on, I planned my own wedding. I wanted the happily ever after fairytale princess day. The thing is though, no one ever tells you about what happens after happily ever after. 

Let me back up a bit. As I have mentioned, my parents were really into raising me in church and having me read the Bible cover to cover multiple times. It is no secret that Christianity and divorce don't get played in the same round of Apples to Apples. I was raised among so many couples who lived day to day in loveless marriages because they didn't want to break commandment 7, "Thou shalt not commit adultery". Once you got married, that was it. 

I loved the idea of being married, but I was also terrified of being trapped in a terrible marriage. I knew better than to want just a ring on my finger. I dated a guy for 4 years who had an amazing family who loved me and would have given me everything I ever wanted. But I didn't love him. I broke up with him right before he proposed (I knew about the plan, he wasn't stealthy). 

I had not called off the near engagement for any reason other than a lack of love, but I understand that since I was only single for a week and a half before I started dating someone else that it did not look that way. The guy I started dating had been one of my closest friends for 5 years before that. We had worked at several jobs together and had always been close, but it wasn't until one day at work when I was getting the crap beat out of me by a patient on PCP, and for the first time in our friendship we both happened to be single, that he decided to ask me out. I had been close with his family. I had spent Summer vacations with them. I had cried and shared my deepest, darkest secrets with his mother. Of course I said yes. We ended up picking out our children's names on our first date. He came over to my house that night and ended up staying there every night since then, and more of his things kept appearing at my house. It wasn't planned, it just sort of happened. 

5 weeks later on New Year's Eve while on a weekend trip with his parents, he proposed. I thought he was kidding. He wasn't planning it and didn't have a ring. I told him he was crazy, but he insisted that this was what he wanted. On the way home we stopped at a mall and bought a ring. The next year and a half of betrothal was not what I had imagined it to be. His family had understandable concerns about us getting married and I spent a lot of time convincing people that I was not eating for two, but that I just really like carbs. I grew up hiding most of my life from my father and lying to him about almost everything I did, so I also understand that a mother would be concerned that I would treat her son the same way. I have a very strong personality and sometimes my type A attitude can be perceived as aggressive and contrary when I only mean it to be an attempt to participate. He was always very close with his family and it broke my heart that I was causing him to grow apart from them. I gave back the ring and told him that he would be happier with his family, but he again insisted that I was what he wanted. 

We went through the conversations with my father and the Pastor who married us about how marriage is forever and how divorce is a sin. We went through a nightmare of wedding planning that caused handfuls of my hair to fall out and at one point I lost a few toenails because I was so stressed. I painted red polish on my bare toe skin so that my feet wouldn't look so ridiculous. Everyone had a different idea of what the wedding should be like and what they wanted to do. The day finally came and I donned my giant white ball gown and "glass" slippers. I hated it. I hated the whole thing. The day I had dreamt of for 24 years had finally come and I was miserable. I spent that night in tears because I wished we had just eloped and not spent so much money on something that we didn't even enjoy. The only reason that I got to taste my cake was because my gramma had saved her piece and gave it to me 3 days later. 

On the honeymoon we met two other couples with whom we became friends. Each of us had a spouse who was either an RN or PA, and we all just clicked. I remember thinking that 1 in 3 marriages ends in divorce and I wondered if our new group would fit that statistic. 

The next 14 months, in my mind were great. We never fought. We did everything together. All of our friends told us they wanted what we had, and I agreed. I was married to my best friend. I think that may have been part of the problem. It was more of a friendship than a romance. Just as things seemed to be going as picture perfectly as they could be, my entire world changed. We both had good jobs, we were 3 weeks from moving into a house we had bought that was closer to his parents, we had a dog, and we were talking about starting a family. We went out to what was my favorite restaurant and talked about all of the things that were falling into place. During the 10 minute drive home from the restaurant, I learned that he wasn't happy. He told me he no longer wanted any of the above and needed some time to think. He packed a few things and I didn't hear from him for 2 weeks. 

I had no idea what was happening. My picture perfect life was slipping through my fingers. I called my realtor to figure out what to do with now 2 houses hanging in the balance. My gramma took my dog so that I could work a zillion hours. I found out that I would be starting a family sooner than I had expected but I didn't tell him the news because I was not looking to attempt to trap him into staying. Seeing as how I was born with a defective uterus, I lost the baby before I even had the chance for him to panic. 2 weeks later, he told he he wanted a divorce. I was surprised how easy it was to fall out of love. I have a massive support system of friends and family who made sure that I came through the process better than ever. My realtor (who was a friend previously) ended up doing all that house hunting and work for free, took care of us backing out of the closing, plus managed to deal with my tearful phone calls at 2 am. I'm pretty sure I owe him free babysitting for life. Dreamy Eyes won the "friend lottery" and I showed up at his house, announced that I needed to be snuggled and would be spending my life on his couch until I felt better. (I am still sitting in the same spot as I type this. I am no longer sad, but the snuggles are pretty great. Shh!)  

I spent a lot of time worrying about how disappointed my family would be with me. No one in my family is divorced. I became "poor cousin Heather".  My father told me that I was wrong for agreeing to sign the papers and told me that I had better be content with never being married again, because no good christian man is going to marry an adulterous harlot. I got a lot of Bible verses quoted at me, you know the ones. Over the years I have become proficient in arguing in Scripture, so I brought up Deut. 24:1-2 "When a man hath taken a wife, and married her, and it come to pass that she find no favour in his eyes...then let him write her a bill of divorcement, and give it in her hand, and send her out of his house. And when she is departed out of his house, she may go and be another man's wife." Boom! Nope, still an adulterous harlot who was completely at fault for not being a perfect wife in dad's eyes. I was told by several of the church members that since I had now had my eyes open to the pleasures of the flesh that come with marriage, that temptation would now be greater and I would need to guard my heart fervently. They were pretty offended when I told them I didn't think it was so much my heart that would need guarding as much as other, more southern body parts. 

I made it through the next 4 months fairly well. I went on vacation by myself. I stopped saying "no" when I got invited to do something a little irresponsible. I learned to mow my own lawn. I kissed in the pouring rain. I learned that spiders are easier to smash if you slow them with aqua net. My work partner went through the same thing a few weeks later, so he and I spent a lot of time at Pinkberry. I threw an awesome party but had a giant melt down when people wanted to play a card game and I realized that he had taken the deck of cards. One of my friends happened to have 4 decks in his car and gave them all to me on the condition that I just please stop my hysterics. 

As the court date grew closer, I became more and more upset that I would have the title of "divorced". It just sounded like a title that would cause someone to dismiss the idea of a future with me because I had been a failure of a wife. Dreamy Eyes told me to stop being ridiculous and listening to people who are terrible. He told me that I could introduce myself as anything I wanted. Instead of saying "I'm Heather, and I'm divorced", I could say "I'm Heather, and I'm a unicorn princess". 

The court date came. We actually had the most civil divorce possible. We both cried, he let me use his handkerchief and told me he was sorry. We sat there as all the other couples went before us because his name had to begin with a "W", therefore putting us at the bottom of the list. We watched them argue and high fived over the fact that we handled things better than those people did. We went out for drinks after and agreed that over all, we regretted nothing. People say I'm wrong for this. They tell me that I should be angry or want to light him on fire. I don't think that they get to be in charge of my feelings. Why spend my time being angry over what was essentially a break up with paperwork? Church people tell me that God can forgive me for committing the transgression of destroying a sacred bond. Hey, he's happier being close with his family again, and I traded up for way more handsome. On my death bed, when I look back at my life, I still get to say that I married my best friend. 

When it was all finally over, I went to Dreamy Eye's apartment where he and a few of my girl friends were waiting with wine and the most amazing cake that was ever made. 

If you can't tell, the cake says "HAPPY UNICORN PRINCESS DAY!!" and has a tiny purple unicorn wearing a tiara that Dreamy Eyes formed out of a cupcake foil. 

If you had told me a few years ago that I would be 27, no longer married, working 4 jobs, childless on purpose, independent, and happier than I could have ever imagined, I never would have believed you. I still talk to the other couples from the honeymoon. One couple just had an adorable baby girl, the other is having fun being young and seeing the world. The statistic was correct, and I was the one who made it so. Sometimes your fairytale isn't what you expected it would be, but that doesn't mean you can't make your own version of what happily ever after means to you. For me, happily ever after means being an adulterous harlot  a unicorn princess. 

"But you're pretty! Why are you still single?!"

I am 27. When I was 25 I became single for pretty much the first time in my adult life. I had boyfriends/a fiancé/husband since I was 18 with "single" gaps lasting 2-3 months, and another lasting 11 days. Entering the dating world as an adult is not an easy thing. At first I loved it. I'm not terrible looking, I'm pretty friendly, and I shower at least once a day. It wasn't difficult to get some confidence-boosting, male attention. At home, I was on my own and didn't have to worry about acting a certain way to impress a guy all the time. Now that it's been almost 2 years (and my biological clock is turning into a time bomb) I have poked around at some online dating sites and have been open to being set up by friends, chatting at a bar, or any of the ways that one would go about starting a courtship that could lead to the overall goals of 1. Having a non-empty uterus and 2. Having someone in the house tall enough to reach the damn spiders who have learned that they can live if they can get higher than the door frames.

I have been on dozens of TERRIBLE dates, and have messaged back and forth with probably hundreds of guys who 1. Have no business being anywhere near my breathing space, let alone my uterus, and 2. Make the spiders look like loving, adoptable companions.
I get a few messages a day on the dating site apps. Most of these are the standard "Hey! You are really pretty!"..."I would love to take you out and get to know you sometime"..."hey gurl, ur pics are beautiful and u have an awesome profile. Hit me up." (Liars! They did NOT read my profile because I specifically state that I will not write back to you if you do not spell out your words.) Once these guys get through my very long process of harassment and being completely  picked apart, and they still are interested in talking to me, I usually get asked "How/why are you still single?!" Usually I tell them that I am just picky and I haven't found the right guy. But I realized that is only partially true. The reality is that I have become accustomed to living on my own, acquiring my own habits for which I do not judge myself, have built myself a "must-haves" checklist, and found that I will probably end up turning 40 and just adopting a kid on my own, because I scare away most "normal" guys. Don't believe me? Here are some examples:

I like food, but I don't like flavor. I could eat buttered noodles every day for the rest of my life and probably be happy about it. This doesn't seem like a big deal until you want to get take-out and have to exclude the places on my "uses too much flavor" list. (Yes, that is a real list that lives in my phone)

One day a male friend of mine and I went for a walk. He made sure that I was always on the inside of the sidewalk. Now when I walk anywhere with a guy and they DON'T do this, they are immediately cast off of my potential uterine-filling list. (Also a real list)

I like Disney movies, mostly Disney princesses A LOT. I have most of the costumes in my closet, most of my non-workday outfits have some type of princess theme, and I can answer almost any text in a Disney princess screen cap. I have turned down a date with an otherwise pretty decent appearing guy because he would not admit that Mulan was not a princess! 

Also, here's how I met a friend of mine...

Me: Hi! I'm Heather. 

Sean: I know. 

Me: How did you know that?!

Sean: You are dressed like a princess, I thought Joe was kidding about you. 

I do not handle being hungry well. Anyone who has ever been my partner at work knows that if I start to get cranky, get me a snack.

I am a very aggressive cuddler. Well, normal when I'm awake, but sleepy Heather is a different story. If you would like to escape the grasp of sleepy Heather's cuddles, I have been told that it takes an Indiana Jones style process of replacing yourself with several pillows.

I don't like to be tickled. Ever. If you tickle me, courtship time is over.

If we are doing partner workouts at crossfit, I like to pair with a girl wearing make up, because I can usually lift a little more than she can, and that makes me feel like a badass.

Sometimes if I'm lonely and binge shopping online I check the gift wrap option because I like getting presents.

I am really, really paranoid about bathroom habits. When I was married I used to look forward to days when he had a longer shift than I did so that I could poop in a house without anyone possibly even walking past the bathroom door. Now that I live alone, my life is freaking amazing.

I want to be snuggled, but not when I'm doing something important like eating my fries before all the cheese and gravy become coagulated. Back off.

When I decide on something I want to eat, and for some reason I can't get that thing, instant tears. Not because I'm bratty, but sometimes that might have been the only thing that didn't make me want to vomit. My body is kind of a wonderland.

I think pink camouflage is dumb. No one is having a Mary Kay party in the woods.

When I get stressed I like to pick things. Mostly the endless options of zits on my face, but I'm trying to quit that, so that means if any guy is shirtless and within arms' reach, I am going to pick at their gross back zits. Note: I am growing as a person and have learned to ask permission first.
(I mentioned this to my doctor and it seems this is an actual thing and it's call "excoriation", which is a fancy way of saying that I self-mutilate my face when life gets too rough. I told my mother and she said that I have done this since I was a toddler. So you know, I have always been super normal.)

If you ask me "what do you want to watch?" We are going to watch Dr Horrible's sing along blog and I am going to sing all of the songs. If you are not interested in learning the male vocals, I am not interested in your sperm.

I don't like when guys do something on a first date that they aren't planning on doing for the rest of my freakin life. Either open my car door forever, or don't do it at all. (Hint: if you do open my car door for me, while you walk around the front, I get to check out your butt, and you get to fart without me noticing. Win-win)

Babies = squishies. If you tell me that you have seen a squishy today, you had better be prepared to give me every detail of your interaction, or shut your stupid face.

I am very close with my girlfriends. We are comfortable with each other and have no problem greeting each other with a kiss. It's not for your pleasure, and no, if it went further, you couldn't watch.

I can't fall asleep happily when there is silence. I prefer the TV to be on, or at least the radio. Comedy stations are preferred because sometimes songs will spark a deeply hidden memory and set me off on a road straight to nightmare town.

Coffee makes me very, very, very happy. Sometimes I don't have to drink it, I just hold the cup close to me. It's like a security blanket kind of deal.

I think matching socks is a waste of my life. If you want your socks matched, that is your problem. If you match my socks, I apparently get upset. Stop wasting your life matching MY socks and/or trying to figure out why that upsets me.

I snore.

I have mostly male friends and we all work ridiculous shifts. If you are insecure about me texting any of them back at random hours of the day, you need to stop that and see yourself out.

If I say "I don't want shots" and you insist that I join you in doing them anyway, I promise you that you will have to deal with vomit and tears very soon.

I vomit when I'm stressed, tired, excited, too hungry, have been moved somewhere too quickly, have thought about something unpleasant, or have smelled something that I don't like. I wasn't kidding about this wonderland.

I get really grateful when given a present. I usually cry and give you a Miss America style speech about how I don't deserve it.

Speaking of that, I cry a whole bunch. Usually there is no warning. Just tears. Sometimes I am as surprised as you are. I have a very fine line of rage-to-sympathy for others. One can never be sure day to day where I'm going to fall on that line.

There are two types of people in this world. People who admit they pee in the shower, and liars.

I have adapted to my own level of clean and comfortable. If there is something sticky on a handle, I can adapt for weeks of touching the other parts of the handle instead of wiping it off.

Dirty clothes live in the washer, clean clothes live in the dryer. Easy.

If I say something affectionate and you say "thank you" instead of saying something affectionate in return, I have a really hard time accepting that. I admit, this one's on me. But I don't like it.

I don't mind being corrected if I am wrong, because I enjoy learning. But, if the point you are making is invalid and/or poorly presented, I'm all set and it is going to be quiet time.

Sometimes when I get sad I put on a giant puffy dress, pour a bottle sized glass of wine and watch Dirty Dancing until I feel happy again. Or until I have to go to work.

I like Death Cab for Cutie. However, that CD is too sad to live in the house. It lives in the car. If I am eating an egg roll in my driveway it's because the CD isn't over yet and I got hungry. Mind your own business, you nosey-ass bicyclists.

I usually only have to list a few of these before they either 1. Stop talking to me, or 2. Tell me they don't find any of that to me a potential problem and I decide that they are hiding a whole mess of their own personality that I don't need.
Now if you'll excuse me, I have some Netflix to watch in my princess dress while eating nachos and using my mismatched socks as napkins because the paper towels are in the basement, and the spiders have claimed those as their own.

Socialization beyond siblings

   If you were to ask any homeschooled kid what the reaction is when people learn that they are homeschooled, I would be willing to bet that 9 out of 10 times the answer will be the same: "But what about socialization?!"

    I cannot begin to tell you how many times I was asked this same question throughout my childhood, and even more so in my teens. As a child, this question was mostly directed at my mother, but as I got older I learn to parrot the answers that should be said to "the world".
There was a standard group of responses that all of my friends and I had learned:
"Our siblings are our best friends."

"We are able to be MORE social than children who are grouped by grade and only learn to interact with those in their age group. We can start a conversation with ANYONE!"

If I was feeling snotty: "I'm talking to you, aren't I?"

"We have the option to join any of the sports or social clubs at the public school, if we choose to do so. We just don't feel that is necessary for our education."

"You should see how many pen pals I have! I meet them at our massive conferences once a year. It is like socialization overload!"

"I talk to hundreds of people each week about crucial matters, such as where they will spend eternity, not who wore the same outfit twice in a week (please, we all had quite the assortment of jean jumpers). Speaking of which, if you were to die right now, do you know without a doubt that you would go to Heaven?"

"Sometimes I talk to the bill collectors while I am waiting for my mom to get to the phone."

 I remember going to dance class when I was about 4 and sitting on the bench with all the moms. I hated sitting on the floor with the girls. Barney was a terrible influence and only encouraged disobedience and whining.  I had no desire to sing his ridiculous clean-up song, nor to make cheap looking crafts out of that bottomless bag. The moms offered more. I liked discussing their thoughts on when they would be potty training their youngest, when they should force veggies or just cave and let my friend have chocolate, or overcoming our addictions. They smoked, I sucked my thumb. We worked on it together.  

  I'm sure you all share the memory of being made to play with the kids of your parents' friends. These kids ranged from kids who ate soap to kids who would leave me in their rooms while they snuck out the fire escape to go play with their "real friends". It's ok, I read their diaries while they were gone.

   I did make a best friend all on my own when I was 5. Liz, who lived next door to my grandma. Even though we met when we were 5, it was one of the best choices I have made. Now when I get to see her (maybe twice a year) it is like only 10 minutes have passed. I don't know what I would have done without Liz. She was my magic mirror, my only window to the outside world. I got to hang out with her school friends sometimes, but I never really fit in with them.

  ATI pushed the sibling-being-your-best-friend thing hard (other than Jesus, of course). You were supposed to take a sibling (and Jesus) on any date you went on. What I find really interesting now as an adult is how differently I see verses or passages than when I originally heard or read them growing up. ATI claims to be based completely on scripture. It is, if you pick the parts that match what they want taught. As I write this, one of my Sunday school memory verses popped into my head:  Prov. 18:24 "A man that hath friends must show himself friendly: and there is a friend that sticketh closer than a brother."
God doesn't even expect your siblings to be your best friends! We were meant to get out there, be part of a team, or drama club, or where you can have a common bond over something.
The sibling-friend plan worked better for the other homeschoolers.  They all had 6-15 siblings. With that many kids running around, one is bound to click with you. I have one sister and she is 7 years younger than I am. It's difficult for a 12 year old to be best friends with a 5 year old. Even now at 20 and 27, while it is much easier to talk to her and I consider us very close, we are at totally different places in our lives. I love her more than anyone I have ever loved. I would take down anyone who makes her sad (except for me of course. When I make her cry I usually have convinced myself that she needed to hear whatever it was I said. I am admittedly a bit narcissistic). I would do anything within my power to make her happy, and I would rather die before I see her suffer.  She is the most caring, sympathetic person I know. We are able to talk about anything and have no boundaries. Hey, when life gets rough and you have surgery that prohibits you from bathing, you end up very grateful for that kind of sister. I also plan on being the one to deliver her children.
That being said, we are completely opposite people. We drive each other absolutely crazy (I asked her if it was okay to write about this and she took mere moments to agree). Our mother probably is not thrilled with still having to play peacemaker when we want to rip out each other's hair. We have always been opposite. Growing up I was the most outgoing child you could meet. I talked to anyone who I could make listen to me. My sister did not. She learned to talk and developed at a normal age, but she would only talk to members of our immediate family, and eventually a very select few close family friends. "Shy" didn't describe her level of quiet when we were around people who were not on her "talking list". In Sunday school she had one little girl who she would talk to, and she would whisper to that girl if she needed anything and the girl would relay the message for her.
Our mother was my sister's main voice until she was about 10. I tend not to be a very understanding person, and being as outgoing as I was, I refused to speak for my sister. If she wouldn't order her own food, she would have to stay hungry. My mother must have been asked hundreds of times what was wrong with my sister. In our homeschool world, this behavior wasn't odd. Most families had at least one kid like that and they had a "buddy" who would speak for them. If we had been in a school setting, I know that she would have needed to speak to people outside of her comfort zone long before age 10. I'm not sure what changed, but now she is the most social person you'll meet. She will talk to anyone, and she developed a boldness she never had. I can't tell you how proud I am of her for that.
Our cousins were also homeschooled, but I feel like the age differences, and now geographical differences kept us from forming as close of a bond as we could have.

 I didn't realize why everyone focused SO much on wanting me to be social! To me, I didn't notice that being partially isolated would ever be an issue. It bothers me that ATI was so focused on keeping us in our homes with our siblings and not having many outside friends. If we did have outside friends, they needed to be "like-minded". We were to "live in the world and not of it". If we had friends who believed something different than what we did, God did not want us the have them as friends.  Liz was not "like-minded". She listened to popular music, went to movies, had sleepovers, wore the clothes that were in style, and got a tattoo when she turned 18 (I also have one now) but she was good at being supportive and not making fun of my sheltered ways. She would include me in her normal activities as much as she could.

 Socialization is not something that is optional! It is key to our survival. People crave human bonding and closeness. We form alliances. We build social circles over any common bond, as you can prove by a few quick internet searches. Before writing this, I gave it a try. I searched dozens of different activities, interests, even the most bizarre topics I could think of and asked "does anyone else...?" (Note: this is an ill-advised search if you have been left alone with a Bloody Mary).
No matter what you like or type of person you are, there is someone out there who shares that and desires that feeling of not being alone in the world.  Now that I'm taking psych classes for college (yes, I'm studying something that has nothing to do with ironing my husband's shirts while wearing pearls!) I see how people who have been placed in isolation suffer severe mental illnesses and some who are isolated from childhood never recover.
It is even Biblical. From the very beginning, it was "not good for man to be alone"!

  Although I am very outgoing I had a LOT of trouble adjusting when I made my way out into the world. I still have an issue with my brain-to-mouth filter and have no problem sharing anything and everything. I made several enemies before I made friends. It was awful trying to learn my place in social circles and learning when I should be quiet and mind my own business.  I had no idea how to handle conflict in a friendly setting. I was picked on almost constantly. I was usually left out of parties and even church activities because I was weird. I know that not all homeschoolers have the same social handicap. Mine however set me very far back. I looked back over my diaries that I kept when I was about 14 or 15, back when A.I.M. was the greatest way for a kid stuck in the house to talk to friends! I can see now the huge desire for socialization and that I had been trying to assure myself that I had friends. Each entry that I wrote in my diary ends with a list of every person I had talked to that day.

  If you met me now you would never guess that I had been sheltered. You would not think that I had a problem functioning in society. I have friends who have been my friends for years because when I met them I told then that we are going to be friends, because I like them, and that's just it.  I don't have acquaintances, I have best friends. (One of whom will read this and tell me that I clearly don't know what "best" means). I don't take a single one of them for granted. Each one brings something to my life that another cannot. They have been there when my world was falling down around me, they have saved my life, carried me when I was broken (literally), shared the happiest moments, and no amount of distance or time can change our bonds.

    Oddly enough, as defensive as I was about it when I was growing up, I now see lack of socialization as one of the biggest downsides of homeschooling. There are some milestones in life that you just don't face when you are home. I had my first bully at 20. I didn't have to learn to share very much. I didn't play at recess. I didn't trade my lunch. I didn't stress over a prom date. You may think it sounds silly, but I wish I did those things. 

The poor bill collectors probably wish I had as well.