Religious Trauma

  • Empowered Womanhood,  Gender Trauma,  Religious Trauma

    Caricatured and Erased

    I didn’t know Women’s History month existed until 2019. I was isolated in a patriarchal fundamentalist religious community until 2011 and joined an egalitarian Pentecostal ministry until 2017, but the latter community still didn’t recognize or talk about patriarchy being a problem. Women in that ministry still usually assumed traditional roles and while there wasn’t any requirement to, the overall community culture encouraged it. Women almost always stepped down from their careers as pastors to become mothers.

    I hadn’t experienced a space where women were intentionally celebrated and the oppression we face specifically addressed until I moved a few hours away to a very progressive city after escaping my abusive marriage. I attended a women’s march for the first time with a handful of my friends and I was flabbergasted. I saw so many different kinds of women, so many different ways of being and living as a woman. I wouldn’t realize or start to address how much gender trauma I really had until later that year, but below is what I wrote as my first attempt at putting to words my experiences as a woman in the world. Many of the ideas I write here are ones I’ve encountered a lot since then, but at the time this was me putting to paper things I had never heard someone else say before.

    “This International Woman’s Day, I’ve been thinking about what it means to be a woman. Women are expected to be so many things; to fit conflicting ideals. We’re always either too much or too little. We are supposed to be strong but not too abrasive, submissive but not weak, pretty but not vain. We are supposed to be interested in makeup and fashion but if we like those things too much we are shallow. If we have curves we are told we are fat and undesirable, and if we are slender we are told we are fake and not real women. We are praised for being “tough” and doing everything a man can do; and we are warned that men don’t like tomboys. We are supposed to be nurturing and want children, but also we should have a successful career and not let motherhood “hold us back”. We are made fun of for being virgins and shamed for being sluts. We are criticized for taking too many selfies and yet pictures of women are plastered all over the internet and on billboards to sell things. Women are condemned for “selling their bodies” and yet the media is constantly sexualizing and then selling our bodies to make a profit through marketing. Women are caricatured and erased at the same time. Womanhood is distorted over and over again until I am left wondering who is hidden behind all the labels and roles. Who would I be if all these other voices hadn’t pervaded my own? Even though I might not totally know the answer, I know that I must be powerful or I wouldn’t be threatening enough to oppress. I am proud of being a woman, even if I’m still figuring out what that means. I love that I’m a woman even though it’s sometimes been a heavy burden to bear in this patriarchal world. And instead of figuring out who I am supposed to be as a woman, I am defining my womanhood by who I am. Happy Woman’s Day to all my sisters! I’m in solidarity with you as we lead into a better world.”

  • Poetry,  Religious Trauma

    The Dangerous One

    “He tried not to look long at her, as if she were the sun, yet he saw her, like the sun, even without looking.”

    Being seen. That’s hard for me. In the past it always was safer to be small, to blend in, to comply, to fly under the radar.

    I learned how to say and do what was expected of me, to not hold my own opinions. I learned to merge with other people, to reflect those around me instead of shining my own light.

    Now, in a safe community I have been encouraged to take up more space, to stand taller, to speak louder, to disagree.

    Being seen. That’s new to me. I am taking the risk of carrying myself in a way that commands attention; shining bright even for those who are not looking. I’m standing my ground when I know I’m right. I can demand to be seen, I can be the dangerous one.

  • Poetry,  Religious Trauma,  Spirituality

    Losing Religion and Finding Myself

    I’m doing the hard work of integrating my past and present selves. I am figuring out how to respect who I was and where I came from, while still leaving most of it behind. I am developing a stronger sense of self, separate from those who tried to tell me what I had to do and believe. I am learning how to let go, while still honoring the pain that I experienced and protecting that scared little girl who is still very much a part of me. I’m discovering that the best way to protect her is not holding on to the bitterness, but rather living aggressively authentic to my present self and not apologizing to anyone for it. I am powerful. And I am happier than those guys.
  • Poetry,  Religious Trauma

    Finding Love in all the Wrong Places

    I’ve found love in all the wrong places, and encountered peace where it wasn’t supposed to be.

    I’ve discovered a sense of purpose in what I was told would be meaningless, experienced joy in situations I was warned would bring pain.

    Healing has come from the very things I was taught would damage me, I even felt the safest from decisions that were supposedly dangerous.

    The truth I was looking for turned out to be unorthodox and the saints I’ve met have all been sinners.

    I’ve encountered God amongst the ungodly and I have come face to face with goodness in perhaps the most surprising of places – I have found it in myself.

    Now I really have to wonder – what exactly did they try so hard to keep me from?

  • Poetry,  Religious Trauma,  Spirituality

    The End of the Familiar

    Fear is not always a sign that you are on the wrong path. Sometimes it’s just the end of the familiar path.

    It’s when, instead of shrinking back, you decide to step forward in faith through that blinding wall of fear that you can then clearly see the beautiful reason why you were called there.

    Sometimes when you reach the end of what you “can” do, you find yourself doing what you were made to do. And you will never be the same.

    ~~~

    I wrote this in the early days of my deconstruction journey. Those lonely, bleak days, where you can’t go back but pressing ahead is inconceivable too. Caught between two worlds, the only way forward is pain and staying put is self destruction. Rethinking every building block of “truth”, tearing down the foundation, is suffocatingly terrifying. Exploring into the unknown totally alone, blazing new trails. Any sense of safety and security crumbles; like falling through a dark bottomless pit…falling, falling, falling. Some days reality itself is slipping away.

    But through losing the familiar me and the only world I had ever known, I found a stronger, wiser, more powerful, safer me; I realized I make myself safe, no one else. I found beautiful sacred miracles that were invisible in the old world. I discovered goodness that was previously promised yet turned up empty. I found a magical realm never before imagined. It is all worth it, if only you can survive passage through the blinding wall of fear.