Organized Religion Ruined Me: Part 3

Organized Religion Ruined Me: Part 3

I've moved on and I'm in a much better place. I will never do this to my children.

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If I looked back as a 10-year-old and was told that I would be where I was today, I would be shocked, but everyone says that. I honestly never realized that this church was a cult until I was 16, in foster care, and I had found an old secret diary I kept that Karen, Brenda, nor my mom knew of. I wrote things down as a kid that wasn't okay. I complained about how I just wanted to go to the movies, spend time with my mom, or just be normal. My mom was never around because she was constantly at Karen's house.

Karen had given my mom the job of housekeeper, personal assistant, or something like that. I wasn't sure what she did, but it kept my mom super busy. She would save up some money and then promise to take us to the movies, or Lake Winnie (a local theme park), but then cancel at the last minute because Karen needed her and that was more important. Not only did this job keep my mom away from us, but it also kept her apart from my dad too, which started their fighting. I would wake up early in the morning and hearing them fight about something. My mom had to go help Karen do something that Karen could do on her own, and my dad was mad because that meant that he had to stay home and deal with us.

My dad didn't have much of a job when we moved to Georgia. The first year and a half, he stayed in Oregon to finish up his project that he was working on, but then he got laid off, which gave perfect opportunity for him to move back with us. He was a programmer, a very smart man, but he was also just a distant quiet person. He didn't talk much, didn't like social interaction, and loved to stay in his "office area" (which was just the extra space in our small little trailer). He worked on a lot of radar, GPS stuff for boats and got paid good money for it, but he and my mom both had a spending problem. They blew through credit cards like there was no tomorrow. We didn't have much, but we always made it.

Our family wasn't a family once we moved to Georgia. We never really were in Oregon, but it got worse here. This church had completely brainwashed my mom into believing that she had reached the jackpot. She was easily manipulated into doing whatever they wanted, and she chose them over us every single day.

My oldest brother, Jacob*names changed for Confidentiality purposes*, got the worst of it. He was sent away by the church to a boy's home, which in my opinion, beat him into submission as well. He didn't have the best temper, but he got that from my mom. He wasn't okay with how the church was treating us, so once he stood up to them and pointed out the messed-up shit they were doing, they shut him up and sent him away. He was sent away for two years and the first six months of him being gone, we weren't allowed to have any contact with him. He came back a different person, but I can't speak for him and say what he's gone though, I can only speak what I saw and how I perceived it.

I only remember main things from this school because not all of it was bad. I had won the school spelling bee when I was 11 and I got a Nintendo DS and I was ecstatic. Karen and I shared the same birthday which was also nice. I felt special in that way. I had best friends too, and I got to spend the nights at their houses. Sometimes my mom would pay attention to my interests and would buy me a shirt that was my favorite color, or a new dress. We would go to the library a lot, where my other older brother volunteered. I was able to sneakily check out books from some of the library workers because they sort of knew the situation. Books that weren't Christian were not okay among this community, and especially with my mom. These library workers would let me check out some books in secret, so I could read something interesting.

I remember a lot of bad things as well. I cut my hair into bangs because I wanted them, and my mom never wanted me to have them because she said that I would look ugly with them. I didn't care, so one day I was home alone, and I grabbed a pair of scissors and just went to town. They weren't the best bangs, but I loved them because I did something on my own. When my mom finally noticed it, she beat me with whatever she could find and hit me wherever she could strike. I was only 13.

It's hard to explain what I went through in detail because frankly it's all one big blur. The five years I spent in this church was the same. My mom would beat us for no reason, then she would go help Karen and leave us at home to fend for ourselves, and our dad didn't do much either. It was all the same until March 29th, 2012. That day two detectives showed up and told my dad that he needed to come down to the station to answer some questions. He wasn't sure what to do, but he got dressed and told me that he would be back soon. That night he and I were supposed to go to a Father-Daughter dinner, so he told me to get ready by the time he got back. That was the last time I saw him.

Hours and hours went by and I had no idea what happened or where he was. Finally, my mom got home, with a big smile on her face, and told me my dad got arrested and that he wasn't coming back. I wasn't a fan of either of my parents, but I liked my dad more than my mom. I was 14 at the time, very hormonal. That was the end of the world to me.

Months before this, my dad had been offered a job back in Oregon and he planned on taking it. He only told me and my second older brother, Peter, and he said that he would take us with him to Oregon to get away from the church, and from my mom. He had planned to leave right after Easter, April 8th, in the middle of the night, and then send my mom divorce papers in the mail. It wasn't a solid plan, but it was a plan. I just couldn't keep my mouth shut. I was so excited to leave that I had told some of my close friends that I was leaving. Eventually, someone told Karen and Ronald, who then told my mom. That was when my mom decided it was time to spill the beans on my dad. She said she was "worried" about him taking me to Oregon with her because she caught him sexually assault me when I was little, around 3-5 years old. When she caught him, he stopped doing it, and she forgave him. Happy family, right? No. Not at all. Karen reported it to the police and he was arrested and sentenced to 30 years in prison I believe.

I'm making it sound like my dad did nothing wrong when he did everything wrong. When he was questioned, he admitted to everything and took his sentence as it was. I don't respect him, nor do I keep in contact with him. I had little memory of what he did, but I always ignored it because I thought it was normal. My mom made it seem like it was okay that he did that to me, because through Jesus, she forgave him. Bullshit, like God would be okay with pedophilia. That's still her excuse today.

After that, we were questioned by several people, I was taken to a safe home to explain my memory of my assault, but that wasn't the end of it, nor was that the reason we came into foster care. My brother, Peter, had told them all about my mom's abuse. Long story short, the church tried to make us keep quiet about that, but I didn't care anymore. The day that we were supposed to be taken into care, it was just my little brother, Sean, and my little sister, May. My mom told us to pack our bags that we were leaving. We drove all the way down to Florida. DFCS found us and made us come back, so we did, and they showed up that night and we were taken.

I don't remember feeling sad about leaving. I was 15 and I saw it coming, so I already had a bag packed. After I had left, I visited the church often, because I didn't hate it. It was my life for a long time and it was hard to tear myself from it. I would visit a few times a year and keep in contact with some of my friends. I went to court a lot after I came into foster care. Mainly just custody cases, seeing if my mom was going to parenting classes, anger management, and if she had a job. She didn't do any of those things the first three years of us being in care. When it came time to terminate rights on my mom, she would play the deaf card and act like she didn't know what was going on. She would play dumb, honestly. So, the case went on for 5 years. Too long. She finally got her shit together when her final and last chance came, so she had a lot to show on how she 'improved as a parent' and why she should get my little brother and sister back. I was already 18 when it came time, and she also told DFCS that she didn't want me back anyways, so I was out of the picture. I had to testify for 4 hours on why I didn't think my siblings should go home. I won't go into detail on why I just didn't believe they should go home. My one reason was that she was still obsessed with the church. I didn't want them going back to that brainwashing place. From this, and that fact that my mom basically blamed them for everything, Karen was called in to testify. Let me tell you, for someone who preaches honesty and being Christ-like, I have never seen someone lie like this woman did. She denied everything that was asked of her and was extremely offended when the lawyer called the church a cult. She denied everything. Influencing my mom, called my mom insane and obsessive, and just…lied. That was the moment I knew I was done with the church. I was just done with Christianity, belief, and all other religions.

I'm 21 now and looking back on it all, I'm glad that Karen called the police. I'm glad my brother told DFCS about my mom. Without it all, I don't know where or if I would still be alive. I was in a deep state of depression whilst living with my mom, especially after my dad was arrested. I will never forgive this place for what they did to my family and how they pretty much tore us apart, nor will I forgive my parents for what they did to us. To this day, my mom still hates me and blames me for everything that happened, which I'm fine with. I know for myself that none of this was my fault, and I was protecting my siblings. I also know that the people who still attend the church see me and my siblings as "losing our way" and how we're going to be damned to hell when we die. I'm just sad that they let their church turn into something so awful, in my opinion. They started with such a good outreach.

I choose to stay away from this, for now, because I cannot handle it. If I were to have children in 10 years, I would take them to church, I would teach them about Christianity, but I won't ever let anyone influence the way I teach my children, the way I raise them, and I will never let that kind of abuse enter my home. I still have a lot of growing to do, but I already know so many things at such a young age, and I'm sad and glad that I have already learned so I can move on. There's so much more that I haven't included but it's probably best that it's not brought up because it's too much information, and it's not relevant. I'm just happy that I'm in a better place. I got adopted at 20, I'm in college, with a great job, amazing, caring, and understanding boyfriend, and a cute dog. I'm much better off than I was 10 years ago and I'm grateful that I was able to find my way out of a culture that would've suffocated me.

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8 Reasons Why My Dad Is the Most Important Man In My Life

Forever my number one guy.
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Growing up, there's been one consistent man I can always count on, my father. In any aspect of my life, my dad has always been there, showing me unconditional love and respect every day. No matter what, I know that my dad will always be the most important man in my life for many reasons.

1. He has always been there.

Literally. From the day I was born until today, I have never not been able to count on my dad to be there for me, uplift me and be the best dad he can be.

2. He learned to adapt and suffer through girly trends to make me happy.

I'm sure when my dad was younger and pictured his future, he didn't think about the Barbie pretend pageants, dressing up as a princess, perfecting my pigtails and enduring other countless girly events. My dad never turned me down when I wanted to play a game, no matter what and was always willing to help me pick out cute outfits and do my hair before preschool.

3. He sends the cutest texts.

Random text messages since I have gotten my own cell phone have always come my way from my dad. Those randoms "I love you so much" and "I am so proud of you" never fail to make me smile, and I can always count on my dad for an adorable text message when I'm feeling down.

4. He taught me how to be brave.

When I needed to learn how to swim, he threw me in the pool. When I needed to learn how to ride a bike, he went alongside me and made sure I didn't fall too badly. When I needed to learn how to drive, he was there next to me, making sure I didn't crash.

5. He encourages me to best the best I can be.

My dad sees the best in me, no matter how much I fail. He's always there to support me and turn my failures into successes. He can sit on the phone with me for hours, talking future career stuff and listening to me lay out my future plans and goals. He wants the absolute best for me, and no is never an option, he is always willing to do whatever it takes to get me where I need to be.

6. He gets sentimental way too often, but it's cute.

Whether you're sitting down at the kitchen table, reminiscing about your childhood, or that one song comes on that your dad insists you will dance to together on your wedding day, your dad's emotions often come out in the cutest possible way, forever reminding you how loved you are.


7. He supports you, emotionally and financially.

Need to vent about a guy in your life that isn't treating you well? My dad is there. Need some extra cash to help fund spring break? He's there for that, too.

8. He shows me how I should be treated.

Yes, my dad treats me like a princess, and I don't expect every guy I meet to wait on me hand and foot, but I do expect respect, and that's exactly what my dad showed I deserve. From the way he loves, admires, and respects me, he shows me that there are guys out there who will one day come along and treat me like that. My dad always advises me to not put up with less than I deserve and assures me that the right guy will come along one day.

For these reasons and more, my dad will forever be my No. 1 man. I love you!

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Mom And Dad, Your Differences Made Me Who I Am

They are two halves of the person I aspire to be — a thoughtful person, committed to excellence in each of her areas of passion, who is hungry to build upon the extensive base of experiences that she has acquired to date.

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My parents, the most important factors in shaping who I am, are a mosaic of juxtaposed perspectives, a tribute to the notion that "opposites attract." Dad once tried to explain their differences in the language of the Myers-Briggs personality inventory; his introversion versus Mom's extraversion, his thinking to her feeling, etc. Labels aside, the consequence of living with their differences was balance and an ability to place equal value on both breadth and depth in any aspect of life.

Nothing underscored competing for parental influences in our household better than the typical dinner conversation around the events of the school day. I'd usually lead with news of some test result. Mom would be quick to congratulate my good work while deflecting the conversation toward upcoming social events or some drama involving my friends. Dad preferred to discuss the specific problems I missed, even if 97% were correct.

Over time, I came to realize that Mom's seemingly dismissive attitude toward academic achievement was not meant to minimize its importance. To her, what went on in the world of human relationships beyond the classroom, was equally important. Similarly, Dad's insistence on reviewing every incorrect problem was not indicative of some ridiculously high standard of achievement. Instead, it was his way of communicating the value of always striving to be better and the importance of treating every mistake as an opportunity to learn.

Extracurriculars, like sports, were also illustrative of this household dichotomy. Mom would encourage me to join as many different activities as possible, just to give them a try. In the heart of the club spring soccer season, she'd sign me up for golf lessons, a charity 5K run, or volunteer my time to tutor a neighbor's friend. Dad cared more about mastery of specific sports. Quick to point out areas for improvement, he pushed me to excel through relentless practice and total commitment.

It was often difficult to reconcile Mom's push for diversification and Dad's push for focus, but I eventually realized that each was acting in what they perceived to be in my best interests. Mom wasn't tired of sitting on wet, soggy sidelines, she wanted me to have a broad range of experiences so I could find my true passions. Her mantra was that you couldn't know unless you try. Dad didn't push me to constantly practice because he expected me to get a soccer scholarship. Rather he wanted me to understand the work that it takes to achieve excellence.

Much to Dad's vexation, Mom often scheduled activities that interfered with practice times. We'd routinely go on vacation a few days early or to take a night off to see a play. Summer vacations were sacred and trumped any other commitments. The day school was out we would leave for the east coast and not return until just before school began. Lengthy absences meant leaving all commitments behind, including summer training seasons.

Dad never overtly opposed Mom's summer plans, but I knew he was troubled by them. Excellence required a commitment that was not compatible with being absent for several months each year. Mom was not against sports or the commitment they required, but she placed supreme value on the exposures and experiences that a summer of travel could offer.

Over time, I learned to live fully in each of my parents' worlds. When it was time to study or practice, I gave everything I had. Equally, I joined Mom's adventures, with eager eyes and a full heart. I learned that there is not just one way to be raised or a single way to approach a situation. I was never made to choose between competing views in my household, I was challenged to fully embrace each. My parents' perspectives are less conflicting and more complimentary.

They are two halves of the person I aspire to be — a thoughtful person, committed to excellence in each of her areas of passion, who is hungry to build upon the extensive base of experiences that she has acquired to date. I hope to be as deep as I am broad, to be extremely flexible, and to be comfortable in the gray areas between the black and the white. Like my Mom, I engage the world around me and am fed by its energy, and like my Dad, I am introspective and fully at home in the world of ideas.

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