NewsweeK
June 8, 2023
There were many moments of questioning whether the cult I grew up in was right in its approach, but mostly I just got on with my day.
While many people assume there was a striking moment—like lightning from the sky—that made me think "What am I doing? I need to leave immediately no matter the cost," the reality was very different.
When you are born and raised into something like the notorious Children of God cult, as strange as it may seem to other people, it is simply your normal. You see your peers receiving cruel and unusual punishments, but you don't question it.
Instead, there's a knot in your stomach.
You become hyper-aware and echo the belief systems of the community: They shouldn't have disobeyed.
Or my personal favorite—which was a coverup for pretty much anything: God works in mysterious ways. You may not understand, but that's your problem, you just aren't spiritual enough yet.
The Children of God, later known as The Family International, was a place that attracted people from all backgrounds as part of the 1970s counterculture, wanting to live passionately and, as they put it, "change the world."
Google will show you the dark side of free love; child abuse, oppressive propaganda, and a tribe of people preparing for the world to end, morphing into my generation.
Mine was a generation impacted by trauma—trying to survive a world we weren't given the tools for and often struggling with addictions, developing chronic mental health issues, and a multitude of preventable suicides.
But even though it informs the hindsight view of this experience, that's not the lens through which I see my childhood.
I remember lots of joy. I remember music, collective purpose, excitement, and knowing that I was meant to be part of something. That I was born special.
As time went on and our communities grew in size, the rules and processes became more specific, spanning all aspects of daily life.
Our routines were scheduled to every moment, from waking to guitar strumming at seven, to daily devotional readings—propaganda to keep our minds focussed on our mission—and specific tasks to keep everyone busy and keep our communes functioning.
Each person had a specific role to fulfill, with instructions that even the lowliest of tasks were important in God's eyes, as we were all cogs that made up an elite force for good in the world.
It's in hindsight that I can see the many moments when I questioned things, but to question things was a terrible crime. And one which could land me into a position where I would be made an example of.
I'd quickly squash these thoughts into the darkness of my mind, just waiting to overwhelm me later.
One of those times was witnessing a public punishment take place. Two young people had broken some inane rule and were to be made an example of. The leader who was usually in charge of us suggested an amount of paddles on their bare rear, with all of us watching.
The more senior leader said he would double that amount to show that he was more in-touch with God's interests.
As we watched our friends' bodies turn blue, I remember my sense of injustice coming up higher than it had before, right to my throat, where it bubbled and stayed stuck—frozen in the knowledge that to speak up would just land me in their place.
There were many moments like this; a friend who'd voiced doubts being put into isolation and then being moved out of the commune, with no information as to where they'd gone.
Being woken up in the middle of the night and driven in a cargo van, sneaking across borders, praying the authorities wouldn't look in the hold all the while praising Jesus that once again the faithful were protected.
Leaving toys, friends, and places more often than I can count.
I learned early on to compartmentalize feelings and only show the ones that were acceptable to the group. Over time I became so good at compartmentalizing and wearing a mask that I began leading a double life.
On the one hand, I was trusted in the communities; I was a decision-maker and helped at youth camps with the aim of inspiring the new generation to "forsake all and follow god," but on the other hand, I led a hedonistic life—trying to numb the feelings that were bubbling within me through alcohol and anything that would help me not feel.
Eventually, the cracks began to show, and in 2001 after dating someone secretly outside of the group, I fell pregnant and life forced a decision from me.
The father of my son, who I had only been dating for three months, invited me to move to London to try things out. A whole new world opened up to me.
I'd like to say I was brave enough to make a stand then; to list the things that were wrong and had already ruined so many of my generation's lives. But my mind was still so confused by the belief systems that had influenced every part of me that I may have unconsciously created a situation where life would choose for me.
Of course, the question I'm often asked when I deliver keynotes about how cults are like corporations and groupthink in the world today, is: "So how did you escape?"
People like a dramatic before and after story with a sudden shift to a whole world of freedom. But that's not what my reality was like at all. There were no walls that kept me in the cult, no locks that forced me to stay.
Instead, it's the slow and constant drip-drip effect of ideas that kept me there: The idea that outside was bad and inside was good; that negative thoughts meant there was something wrong with me; and examples of young people who'd taken their lives when they left used as warnings to make us think twice before we strayed.
Once I'd left, I was transported into a 1950s-style lifestyle, where my boyfriend went to work and I stayed home, in one of the biggest cities in the world. I would sit staring at my young son and feel the loneliest I'd ever felt.
Over the next years, the freedom I supposedly had would become so overwhelming that I would descend into depression and alcohol addiction, leading me to repeatedly put both myself and my two young children in danger.
With no rules for life, no education to speak of, or concept of investing in myself, I was stuck. I thought I must be being punished. Learning to think for myself after a lifetime of thoughts being fed to me as absolute truth was terrifying and overwhelming.
What were my thoughts and which were just influenced by my past?
I'd never been asked: "What do you want to be when you grow up?" After all, there was no notion that we would ever grow up in this world. The first time I asked myself what I wanted was at 25 years old, with two young children and a total confusion about my worth in the world.
I remember leafing through giant old phone books, searching for professions and courses to see which one might fit. The one thing I knew I was good at was being with people; I had done projects across India, Brazil, Russia, Kenya, and all over Europe from as young as 2 years old.
I'd learned about perspectives, mannerisms, and cultures, and perhaps was interested in my own skewed mind and how I could "fix myself".
I was playing catch up for real now, and after many rock-bottom moments, I eventually attended Alcoholics Anonymous, got sober, and studied while working and raising two kids.
There was no space for noticing the long-term impacts of trauma here, it was about survival, forward action, and being driven by the possibility that I could create a better legacy for my kids.
It was only later, when my world had settled and I began a new relationship after a divorce from my kids' father, that I realized the true extent of trauma build-up and that I was experiencing complex PTSD.
I had spent so many years pretending to be okay, so when I finally felt safe, the trauma fountain began to flow.
I've learned over the years that moving through trauma is not about getting to a fully healed destination. In fact, I don't believe I'm broken or that anyone with mental health issues is.
I've realized that while I have a particularly extreme story, so many other people have stories too, and trauma symptoms really started off as our normal coping mechanisms utilized in abnormal circumstances.
For me, it all starts with self-awareness; learning about who you are and how you cope—then asking yourself if those coping mechanisms are still useful today. For example, alcohol addiction was a great coping mechanism for a while and then made things much worse.
The next thing for me was learning to take radical responsibility for myself and my mental health. I've spent many years sitting in the victim hole telling anyone who would listen about how bad my life was because of my past, and would choose people who would show me the right kind of sympathy and reinforce my belief that I was right.
But I could only sit in rage so long before it impacted my health and happiness. The best thing I could do for myself was decide on the future I wanted despite my past.
For many years I took a break from anyone who grew up in the group. We were all going through our own journey of trying to figure out our own thoughts and survive our own choices that any connection with the past felt like a trigger hot-bed where rage would build at our collective oppression.
Today, I challenge the groupthink I see in society, the way so many are influenced by the noise pressures, and conditioning from outside themselves and forgetting to truly ask themselves: "What do I think? What do I want?"
No longer does my voice get caught in my throat and stay stuck, as I have practiced bravery slowly for many years so that now I simply must speak up. I speak up for injustice and for the skewed way we're looking at the workplace and wellbeing—even in 'normal society'.
Pressure from influencers even in the wellbeing space to "do wellbeing right," as if to say that if you're not waking up at 5 a.m., taking a cold shower, journaling, practicing meditation, and going to the gym all before work starts, that you're somehow failing at life.
Living a good life—a life that is happy, healthy and yours—is deeply personal.
In the last few years, I have reconnected with many of my generation, who have reached out to me on the topics of mental health and building a life we want.
My siblings have gotten close again as we have found our own grounding in ourselves and are now balanced enough to discuss traumas with a little distance, and the long-term threads of struggling to belong, thinking differently, and, for many, keeping their past firmly locked behind a solid door.
I feel grateful and proud of so many of us who have made it and who have found successes in small and big ways—including for many of us raising another generation who we must support through the lines of generational trauma and help thrive.
Defining what success means to you, what brings you joy, and how you can be fulfilled are key questions that will give you the roadmap for action that can change your whole life no matter what is in your past.
And while, yes, I can still struggle with triggers, I look around with gratitude that I get to deal with normal life problems now.
No longer dealing with exorcisms, cruel punishments, guilt, and a world that I must save—instead I speak my truth and create my reality through the way I invest in myself and the community I am grateful to have around me.
Petra Velzeboer is a psychotherapist, CEO of mental health consultancy PVL and author of new book Begin With You.
All views expressed in this article are the author's own.
https://www.newsweek.com/cult-children-god-religion-ptsd-1804825
No comments:
Post a Comment