The Trauma Of Belief
The Trauma Of Belief
By Lauren Hemphill
Content Warning: This nonfiction piece depicts my life under restrictive, oppressive, and abusive teachings from the right-wing Christian church. As such, we discuss topics such as pedophilia, body image, self-hatred, suicidal idealization, self-harm, homophobia, depression, rape, purity culture, gaslighting, pregnancy, patriarchy, and Christ Church (in Moscow, Idaho). If any of these topics are prone to upset or trigger you, please take caution while reading.
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I met god as an eighth grader. The cream carpet beneath me formed abstract lines against my skin, the open window spilled light across the books strewn open on the floor. My spine curled against the hard metal of my golden bedframe, and the dancing tan curtain indicated a light breeze spinning through the room. A change of seasons approached. Crisp air held a coolness to the otherwise warming day. I looked up, towards the twinkling outside world, towards the tree that arched near my window. And stepping across the threshold, I believed that god entered to fill the space with joy, with happiness, with unbridled bliss as I worked on my assignments.
I laughed and smiled and rushed to tell my mother that the holy spirit just visited me. I wonder now if, perhaps, for a few moments, I experienced how neurotypical people experienced life. I wonder if, for a moment, the fog of chronic illness lifted to allow me serenity, and I believed this to be the divine.
Depression entered my ribcage at the start of seventh grade. It made a home there, atop my lungs, weighing down all that I did with a certain exhaustion, a sadness and weariness that would not depart. According to a study done in 2014, women are more likely to experience an earlier onset of depression than their male counterparts (Park, Seon-Cheol et al, âDoes Age At OnsetâŠâ). Coupled with that the higher chance of suicide attempts and a number of other horrifying statistics, itâs no wonder I wandered through life in a haze, my mind riddled with an illness no one would take seriously. Not when I told them I thought I needed help, not when I said I bore all the symptoms of depression.
As an adult, now I see this so-called godly experience in my bedroom as a moment of breakthrough, a moment of relief from a mind who failed to understand the given responsibility of ensuring that we wanted to live. In the midst of piles of homework, nature whispered to me through my window. It spoke to me with the promise of transformation, with the promise of something new. It captured my heart and, for a moment, my mind was well. I found myself attributing my clarity to a deity I grew up learning of.
Four in ten Americans identified as white and Christian in 2020. This is less than it has been in subsequent years, indicating a loss of âroughly 11% per decadeâ (âThe American Religious Landscape in 2020,â PRRI). Those that arenât religiously affiliated have grown in numbers for numerous years, before their growth leveled out and dropped a few percentage points. In Christian extremism, this swell of godless citizens is horrifically alarming. The idea that less and less people subscribe to Christian beliefs emboldens them to go out and preach more, to clutch their pearls a little tighter, to feel as if the world itself is fallen, demonic. Nothing shows this more clearly than their fear around education.
Questioning beliefs, or even the dreaded âdeconstructingâ of beliefs, is seen as someone abandoning god altogether. Often, these people are met with distaste or hatred. The largest gathering of these unholy individuals is in secular colleges, where it is widely believed that they actively denounce god. These places of learning and knowledge become villainized as institutions that lead Christians who arenât strong in their faith away from their sacred deity, where atrocities such as womenâs rights, equality, queer people, and different view points are normalized and welcomed. For this reason, I committed myself to being solid within my beliefs to withstand college, so I might not falter.
It is 2021 now, and I graduated from the University of Idaho in 2018. I no longer call myself a Christian.
Iâm also incredibly lesbian, which is something that always seemed to be a risk when attending a secular school. Those leftist homosexuals might make me gay, might recruit me into their lifestyle. But Iâm lucky. School didnât make me gay, according to my momâs mom, knower of all things. In fact, according to her, it was my childhood that twisted me onto this dark path. My poor upbringing resulted in my queerness.
So why donât we look at my upbringing? Why donât we uncover what it is that made me who I am today, made me angry, made me gay? Why donât we dissect just what was so terrible about my childhood that would have ever resulted in me?
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According to two studies, children know they arenât straight at a young age. Nemours Children’s Health states that children know this near middle school (Dowshen, âSexual Orientationâ), with Pew Research indicating a medium age of 12 years old (âA Survey of LGBT Americans,â Pew Research). In regards to my sexuality, I learned this queerness about myself during my freshman year of high school.
Enrolling in an all girlâs school seemed to be the best way for me to focus on my studies and not be distracted by boys. St. Maryâs provided a harsh curriculum, with fast-paced learning and almost no time to breathe. Homework buried me most nights, restricting what I could do outside the occasional sleep-over with a friend. A bond formed between me and another student, who Iâll call Ghost. A short gal with enough sass and spunk to silence a room, with a boisterous laugh and an even more powerful singing voice that landed her in the prestigious, hand-picked choir of the school. I found myself drawn to her, and our friendship bound us together with iron links. I did not know why my heart fluttered around her. I did not know why I liked when she flirted. I had no words to explain why I got jealous when she gushed about upper classmen.
It wasnât until late one school night that I realized, perhaps, there was a word for someone like me. I laid on my side, facing my bedroom wall, smothered by layers of blankets. My phone buzzed on the nightstand behind me, lighting up my room in a dim blue glow. I hesitated, wondering if I should just commit myself to going to sleep, or see who was texting me. My curiosity got the better of me–it was nearly eleven, after all, who needed me so badly at this time of night? The sheets whispered as I rolled over. The smell of oncoming winter in Oregon lingered in the air around my mattress. I pulled my phone from its charger and squinted against the harsh light to read the long message that awaited me.
Ghost. Ghost told me she loved me. Ghost told me she wished I was gay.
The words refused me sleep beneath the midnight moon. I laid there, my phone on my chest, staring at the ceiling. I read her message over and over until unconsciousness took me, and I woke the next dawn with bags under my eyes and a heart that twisted around the confession until I could not breathe. I remember looking at her the next day. I remember how I wanted to tell her how I felt. I remember realizing that dreaming about kissing her might make me gay.
Keeping this secret killed me, day in and day out. I could not let these feelings spill, let them slip, let alone to those who knelt at the altar of the far-right Christian god. A fact sheet published by the Religious Institute cites that as much as 14% of teenagers engaged in religious communities are LGBTQIA+ (âFact Sheet on LGBT Youth,â Religious Institute). Only a small fraction of them discuss their identities with others in these congregations. I can see why. In the churches I attended, more and more I noticed the sermons on queerness, on the perversion of sexuality that was gay people. Condemnation, promises of hellfire and eternal suffering, followed my steps into the catholic school of St. Maryâs Academy. As I climbed the cement stairs, Scary Mary, the metal statue without eyes, watched. She knew as well as I what existed inside my heart. She knew the secret I kept. And she hated me for it.
No, I could not tell a soul what I realized I was.
âGod knows your heart,â is a well-cited phrase in Christian circles, a phrase meant to indicate that you should watch your thoughts, and keep them pure, too. However, for someone terrified of herself and her feelings, these phrases became threats, threats that god knew and saw exactly what sort of evil I was. When a youth pastor approached me one morning after church and told me god said that I needed to let go of a friend, that this friend was causing turmoil in my life, my mind went to Ghost. My mind lingered on her name, on her face, on the way she made my heart race. I stared at the youth pastor and realized that even if I kept my secret, god did not care. This deity would tell others, so that all may condemn me.
Fear chased me wherever I went.
Desperately, I wished for classes to be a safe place for me to forget about what sort of sinner I was, what deviancy lingered in my heart that would exclude me from love and grace. I let myself be me there, as if religion did not seep into the fabric of the Catholic private school. I blushed unabashedly, I lingered beside my crush, I held hands with those I wished I could kiss. Then came the one fateful afternoon, where Ghost asked me to attend a club with her. Geography club. She didnât tell me what it really was. She didnât tell me it was a place for people to question their sexuality. She didnât tell me that our homeroom teacher oversaw it, and reported names to the head nun, who then called the childâs parents. I donât think she knew that last part.
Safety and understanding and community lingered with me for a moment. I sat at that long table, working out how to explain who I was, what I was doing there. I wanted to sink into the chair when it became my turn to introduce myself, but those around me smiled, welcomed me, and told me I was safe. I met Crow there, another girl I would later develop a crush on. I learned it was okay to question myself, to be different, to be gay. I learned there was nothing wrong with me.
Until, in a flash, all of it was denied to me.
I sat in the booth of P.F. Changâs, between both my parents, and I listened to them insist that they knew I wasnât gay. I listened as my mother admitted she read my journal. As they told me being gay was wrong, a sin, wicked. I insisted they didnât know. I could be gay, I was just trying to figure it out. I just needed time. They said they knew I had feelings for Ghost. But those were friendship feelings. I liked her as a friend. I was straight.
They trapped me in that booth. They refused to let me leave. They refused to let me go to the bathroom alone. We would stay in the restaurant until I admitted the truth. Until I admitted I wasnât gay.
School loomed now as a place of danger. No longer did it rest as a place of safety, a place where I could be myself. I dressed in our school uniforms, I wandered the halls with my head down, I nibbled the edges of my sweatshirt until they grew frayed and stained with saliva. I could not let my feelings show. I buried my attractions in hopes they would never be experienced again. I pretended not to notice when Ghost wore street clothes, when she dressed up, when I could see her cleavage. I pretended I couldnât hear the drumming in my ears when she leaned close.
The head nun who outed me to my parents watched with scornful eyes. Sister Linda, along with others of her flock, patrolled the halls on Friday mornings, when, sometimes, we would be free to wear dress-code appropriate clothes, and not our uniforms. Linda followed my friends like a shark trailing blood. She criticized our bodies. She told Ghost that certain clothing was off-limits to busty girls. She told another not to wear tights, as they were too sexual. She told the artist of our group to stop drawing the curves in female form.
I learned from her that our bodies were weapons. Perhaps that was why Ghostâs body allured me. Perhaps it was normal for straight girls to notice other women, to be attracted to them. That was why we had to cover up. That was why our bodies were sinful.
They could cause anyone to fall.
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Modesty prevailed wherever I went. The services on Sunday morning reminded women of all ages–minors to adults–that we were temptations for men. How we dressed could cause a brother in Christ to fall into sin, and we, with our bodies, would be partially responsible for it. Harsh words, uttered in whispered breaths, left the lips of family members who saw women on the street dressed in shorts, in crop tops, in dresses that showed cleavage. In the confines of religious education, I understood that men hungered for me, and if they chose to bite into my flesh with lustful fangs, I, too, would descend into hell with them. My body served as a weapon, whether I wanted it to or not.
I hated looking at myself in the mirror. All I saw was a child with a body of sickness. All I saw was everything purity culture told me not to be–gay, whore, woman. I didnât want to be perceived. I didnât want a single person to look at me. I didnât want to look at me.
Mom asked if I was anorexic. But I ate full meals, finished my plate at dinner, didnât throw up after. I consumed everything I packed for school, I bought cookies from the vending machine, I ate and ate and stared at my plate and wondered why I did. I bit into my apple. I lost interest. I chewed on what I could manage and found myself asking what the point was. I ate. But I only truly ate to sate the hunger. I went home and counted my ribs. I could feel and identify each vertebrae in my spine. Ghost wrapped me in her arms and picked me up, remarking on how thin I was.
I hated it. I hated being small. Yet the church told me my breasts, my legs, my curves all drew ire of those around me, and its words boomed louder. My interest in food waned still. I ate. But did I deserve to?
In 2021, a video circulated of a pastor body shaming women from 1st General Baptist Church in Malden, Missouri. In this video, he stated that, âGod made men to be drawn to beautiful women. We are made this way. We can’t help ourselvesâ (Smith, âPastor on Leave After Shaming Wives…â). This rhetoric alarmed many. It did not alarm me. This man said aloud what Iâve been taught all my life. Men are visual. They cannot help it if they assault me. It is my fault for being dressed the way I was.
For the last two years of high school, I attended a place called Resurrection Christian School in Loveland, Colorado. My first day, I loathed it. My parents promised I could finish high school in the same school I started it in, which was St. Maryâs Academy, and that promise was broken. I moved away, away from the girls I loved, away from the city that accepted me, away from friendsâ families that wouldâve helped protect me. We moved to this square in the middle of the country, and I entered this new religious school, and I loathed everyone.
The feeling was mutual.
Walking up stairs, I was told to ensure my shorts didnât lift, because the boys behind me might be tempted. In gym, I was advised not to wear comfortable clothing, as the tightness, the showing skin, might cause the other teenages to lust and be condemned. Walking through the halls, my friend had to wrap her jacket around her waist so a male teacher wouldnât stare at her ass. Our religion teacher told us women had periods because we caused the Fall of Man, and periods were our punishment. I was told I was to submit to the men, even the boys in my class, as it was my place as a woman to do so. I was told that I was to give my husband sex whenever he wanted it. I was told if I lost my virginity, I lost all my dignity as a woman. That no one would want me if I was filth.
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In 2020, I wrote an email filled with testimonies from my peers to Resurrection Christian School. I listed the toxicity of which they taught, I shared the stories asked of me to share.
âFirstly, it has come to my attention that several of my classmates were exorcised by or at the school. This is not only horrifying and shocking, it is immensely inappropriate to do this to a teenager. Teenagers are growing into adults and are experiencing a lot of hardships during those years of change, and treating them as demons is a surefire way to traumatize them and give them negative impressions of self. What are your current policies and stances on exorcising a minor, and what assurances can you give that you are not wrongfully traumatizing minors in a space that should be safe for them?â
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âIn addition to being taught as a whole group that we were cursed from birth because of the actions of one, we were also taught that vaginal discharges, a healthy part of a woman’s body cleaning itself, was an indication that one such woman was living in sin.
âNot only that, there was an omission of knowledge about our own bodies as young women – many things we learned, we had to teach ourselves, or learn elsewhere because of the lack of proper anatomy and sexual education given out by the school. These include, but are not limited to, the following:
-The difference between the urethra opening and the vaginal opening.
-Growing breasts and what sort of lumps to be concerned about.
-Consent and withdrawal of consent.
-The amount of healthy period bleeding.â
âŠ
â-Married women can say no to their partner desiring sex.
-Women who do not have children and do not marry are blessed by God and not going against His plan.
-What abusive relationships look like and ways to seek help outside the church.
-That our bodies are not sexual products created to be enjoyed by men.
-That a divorce is not shameful or wrong, and is necessary to leave an abusive relationship.
-How to seek help for abusive relationships, and what hotlines to call.
-That God would not desire someone to remain in an abusive relationship, and would not be disappointed if they sought safety.
-Sex is not supposed to hurt.
-Sex is not an obligation.
-Sex it not just for the creation of children.
-What vaginismus is and where to seek help.
-What an enthusiastic âyesâ is for consent.
-LGBTQIA+ topics, including what it isnât (pedophilia, morally wrong, or unbiblical) and what it is (loving relationships, human beings in a relationship, something as beautiful as straight relationships).
-That a woman does not need to submit, does not need to give their partner sex or children, and does not need to feel guilty or ashamed for doing so.
âAlong with problems discussing sexual topics with students, there were many issues handling such topics by the staff. These include, but are not limited to, the following:
-Allowing teachers who were uncomfortable with the topics covered in a health class to teach the student body.
-Having a cis male straight superintendent in attendance during an all-female sex education presentation, thus giving young women the impression that sex and their bodies must be overseen by a male.
-The inappropriate conduct conducted by a superintendent that would spray water on girls he deemed as acting unfit or inappropriately during school dances, thus not only humiliating young women, but policing their bodies, further imprinting the idea that they must act as a man sees fit.
-30 and 60+ year old, cis male teachers repeatedly reporting a female student for dress code violations, despite the student not being in violation. This thusly policed the young womanâs body and made her uncomfortable enough to need to wear a jacket around her waist in order to simply walk past their classrooms, creating an atmosphere of sexual harassment that went unchecked.
-Not correcting or discrediting students making shameful remarks about LGBTQIA+ members, such as indicating that gay men will âhit on themâ if one of the community members came to speak at the school. This allowed for misinformation to continue to go unchecked that gay men will hit on any man or young boy, which is inaccurate and not indicative of godly love or grace as the school preached.
-Allowing abuse and harassment to go unchecked on suspected members of the LGBTQIA+ community within the student body by not only students, but teachers and coaches, degrading the foundation of which RCS stands upon, which is sharing Godâs love.
âIn addition, there were many shortcomings of the school that has caused harm to many of the alumni and I. Because of the continual pressure upon young women to submit to men, there are alumni who have come forward to share that this message of submission was internalized enough that when a male student pressured a female student into sexual acts when they were teenagers, the woman submitted because the man insisted it was her duty to do so as his future wife. Many women have reached out to share their stories of internalizing the message that sex is bad, to never do it, and that when they finally desired it within their partner, that they were in pain and unable to relax and enjoy the act because of the pressure to never act upon such desires.
âOthers have shared stories of harmful teaching about submission, to the point where women have felt as if divorceâeven in an abusive relationshipâis wrong and sinful, guilting them into staying in relationships that are not healthy and, at times, are physically abusive. The pressure for women to submit was never clear[er] to me, personally, than when I attended my religious studies class and was greeted with a male student reading a passage of the bible where it was dictated for a woman to submit to her husband in all areas. When I contested this, and insisted that the male student read on, the teacher allowed the student to read the rest of the sentence about female submission before laughing and stopping the conversation, never allowing the student to read the passage about male submission, and never correcting the student for his outburst. Circumstances like mine happened frequently, though much of it was with the continually messaging of lessons by staff that women were sinful because of Eve, that women therefore had periods and pains during periods, and that women had to submit to their husbands in all areas. This fostered the toxic environment that has harmed several alumni and former students. This emphasis placed by the school that women are to submit to men in all manner of areas, including that of the marriage bed. Not only was the school dress code placed upon our shoulders not to “tempt” the young men around us, and that we and how our bodies were made were “causing the young men to fall,” but the idea that once we were old enough to marry that we would was in itself harmful. As you may be aware, many of us alumni are not married, and many of us do not have children. However, this was pushed upon us quickly, as this was what was emphasized as the thing only our bodies could do, and the only thing our bodies would do in the future. This has caused what I can only describe as great discomfort, or dysphoria, within my own body as I have grown. The emphasis by the school has caused a lot of pain within those of us who attended RCS. I feel I need not point out that there was a young woman who had her nudes leaked by her boyfriend while I attended the school, and the main blame and disgust was placed on her, and not her boyfriend for betraying her trust and treating her body as a commodity.â
(RCS Letter, Lauren Hemphill)
(Full letter and correspondence available to be read here, as legally allowed under United States law.)
I asked how theyâve changed. I asked what concrete items they put in place to better their school. In response, they victim-blamed. They told me there seemed to be a disagreement on scripture, and that it seems my issues were not with them, but the bible.
âWe hold to a traditional Judeo-Christian worldview and an interpretation of God’s Word. That is our frame of reference. Many of your comments appear to take umbrage with our inherent position(s). Perhaps your issue is not so much with RCS, but with scripture itself?â
(Jerry Eshleman, RCS Superintendent)
They put the blame upon us, the people who stepped forward. They told us our memories were faulty.
âAs to the substance of your email. You raise a great many issues. I cannot speak to what was or was not done/said/taught at the time you attended. Nor can I speak to the accuracy or veracity of recollections of memories or details that are now nearly a decade old coming from yourself or other alumni.â
(Jerry Eshleman, RCS Superintendent)
The reply frustrated me and the other survivors who helped draft the letter. I corresponded further, pointing out the hypocrisy in some of his brief replies, asking again for proof that the young people attending his school were not being harmed as we were. But he refused, a response that did not surprise me or any other survivor. The dismissal was expected. We knew how RCS felt about us, about our female-bodied selves, about our experiences. We were wicked, sinful. We were seen as less. We were not supposed to have a voice.
This voicelessness extended into all aspects of religious doctrine I found myself increasingly smothered by. A discussion on whether or not women should be teachers in a religious school sprouted its ugly head one evening, briefly, in my blood relatives’ home. A conversation that died shortly after I got drawn in, one âcontemplatedâ by the males in the household. Before I said more than a few words, the topic found itself brushed aside, buried, and given a gravestone stating âThis one requires more thought.â
Another hot topic in Christianity is the concept of women clergy members. Is a woman allowed to be a pastor, to âteach over a man?â (1 Timothy 2:12). After all, Paul said so himself that he does not allow as such. As recently as January 2021, the Catholic Pope reaffirmed his stance that women could not become priests. âThe Vatican says this teaching is an infallible part of Catholic traditionâ (Pullella, âPope says…â). This stems from the assumption that women did not play a pivotal role–at least, not one worthy of being recognized as priests–during the creation of the early church (Winfield, âPope says women can …â). Yet herein begins the twisting of the source, the corruption of power long-rooted into the fabric of this religion: the mistranslations, the lack of context, the stretching of words to fit an agenda. A common practice in this religion based on so-called âtruth,â one insisting on integrity, one that goes out of its way to hurt marginalized groups.
â±
This is not the first time a passage (or passages) of the bible became weaponized against those who could not yet protect themselves. In 1946, a new word entered the biblical texts. That word was âhomosexual.â
âThe first time the word âhomosexualâ appeared in any bible was in the Revised Standard Version (RSV) published in February 11, 1946. In the RSVâs translation of 1 Corinthians 6:9, the word âhomosexualâ was used in lieu of the Greek words âmalakoiâ and âarsenokoitai.â Researchers agree today these words translate loosely to âeffeminacy,â and âpervert,â or âsexual pervert.â (1946: The Movie)
As discussed in depth in her book Walking the Bridgeless Canyon: Repairing the Breach Between the Church and the LGBTIA+ Community, Kathy Baldock backs this claim and goes further. It is within the context of her written work that I learned that the word âhomosexualâ first came from an overseas use. In 1868, a German sexologist, named Karl Heinrich Ulrichs, began to use the word as a combination between the Greek homos and the Latin sexualis (GLBTQ). By giving this attraction a name which did not condemn the one who used it, the idea of same-sex attraction began to become less taboo, at least so much so as to liberate queer people from terms like âsexual inversionâ and âsodomite.â Ulrichs used the coinage of this word to fight for decriminalizing homosexuality, and push for its acceptance as, he believed, the attraction was not chosen, but innate.
Still, the word âhomosexualâ replaced what meant âpedophileâ or âsexual pervertâ in the bible, despite the fact this term came to life because of one manâs fight to destigmatize love. When first discovered in the RSV translation, a seminary student contested the usage in the bible: âThis seminary student challenged the usage of the word âhomosexualâ in 1 Corinthians 6:9 and provided a detailed outline of his reasoning. Weigle responded and admitted that the translation team had indeed made a mistake and would seek to correct it in their next updateâ (Oxford, âMy quest to find the word âhomosexualâ in the Bibleâ). Because Weigle just signed an agreement that stated he would not update the translation for ten years, however, this gave the translation time to take hold. As it sat awaiting the future revision, NIV and other bibles pulled from this version and soon, each bible came to condemn this expression of love, without realizing âthe RSV team admitted that the Greek word arsenokoitai was not condemning homosexuals, but instead those who were abusive in their pursuit of sexual encountersâ (Oxford, âMy questâŠâ). Strange, it seems to me, that this knowledge, so easily googled and researched, remained hidden and denied from me, until I sought it out alone within my college years. From my own studies and research, the biblical texts seem to be an active, specific condemnation of sexual abuses, like pedophilia, and not of queer people.
âNearly 1,700 priests and other clergy members that the Roman Catholic Church considers credibly accused of child sexual abuse are living under the radar with little to no oversight from religious authorities or law enforcement,â is the first line in a 2019 article published by NBC News (Lauer & Hoyer, âAlmost 1,700 priests and clergy accused of sex abuse are unsupervisedâ). Another article, by The Conversation, paints the dire picture even more clear with references to the Catholic Churchâs past: âDuring the 1950s and 1960s, bishops from around the U.S. began referring abusive priests to church-run medical centers, so that they could receive evaluation and care without disclosing their crimes to independent cliniciansâ (Clites, âThe Catholic Churchâs grim history of ignoring priestly pedophiliaâŠâ). While I grew up in a far-right Christian congregation, the acts of priesthood in the Catholic Church represent that of Christianity well. In 2021, an article by Vice came out about Christ Church in Moscow, Idaho. It depicts rampant violence within the congregation. In such article, numerous accounts of pedophilia, rape, and abuse are described (Stankorb, âInside the Church That Preaches âWives Need to Be Led with a Firm Handââ). As with all things, when someone rises to power, they are allowed to get away with a horrifying assortment of crimes. To me, I can see why the church found themselves so desperate to change âpedophileâ to âhomosexual.â
Despite this information being out there, still, the church pushed its teachings upon those who raised me, and acts of harm and suffering inflicted themselves upon me as a result. My journal was read, my gayness denied. Shortly after, my text messages were printed out and reviewed like poorly written literature. The pressure of following the churchâs teachings, of being chaste, of being straight, of dressing in a manner that ensured I was good and godly–it started to tear fractures into my bones. I could not hold it all upon my shoulders, and my mind, already struggling with the task of ensuring my will to live, chose a different avenue for it all. It chose Hawthorne Bridge.
Should the weight break me, I would jump.
âș
In 2020, 40% of LGBTQ+ youth heavily considered suicide (Paley, âNational Survey on LGBTQ Youth Mental Health 2020â). â48% of LGBTQ youth reported engaging in self-harm in the past twelve months, including over 60% of transgender and nonbinary youth,â the study states. As my hatred of myself, of my body, of who I was continued to grow, the depression grew with it. I chose how I would die. And while I could not yet bring myself to pick up a knife, I chose fingernails instead. I raked my makeshift claws down my legs until I bled. I never wore shorts, and the injuries did not leave scars. I wallowed in my bed during late nights, I dug my fingers into my flesh. I could not cry, otherwise I would be heard. And while my motherâs comfort could sometimes calm me down, the reality was that she, along with my father and the church, was who I was afraid of.
The Trevor Project states that â10% of LGBTQ youth reported undergoing conversion therapyâ in 2020 (Paley, âNational SurveyâŠâ). It is well documented that conversion therapy does not work, and in fact, is often much more harmful to an individual considering the horrors that transpire within those facilities (HRC). My group of friends did not get sent to conversion therapy–not that I knew about, at least–but it lingered within my mind. It rattled inside my skull like a snake, curled in the corner of my cranium, waiting to bite and pull me into its clutches. I heard rumors of what went on there. I heard whispers of what occurred. The fear built up inside of me and stitched my mouth closed with a cross-shaped lattice. My privacy had been violated; my school, St. Maryâs Academy, once safe, reported me to my parents for attending a queer-questioning club. Nothing I knew remained solid. Soon, my mother left for several weeks, vanishing with little context, and I was left at home with my brother and father. The fear grew then. It grew to be a monster that watched me from the corner of my room, that threatened that it might take me one night, steal me away, send me somewhere to âfixâ me where I might never come back from. One day I might just vanish, with little context, as my mother before me.
I held no sense of belonging. I felt more tied to the idea of my body lying beneath the surface of the water, rocks piled atop me, than I did within my own community.
At one point, I had enough. I ran away. I gathered my items, I left my phone, and I draped a bag filled with water, warm clothes, and a few protein bars, over my shoulders. I exited the front door after taking a breath to steady myself. I walked down the steps of the deck, down the one-way street to my three-story home, and crossed the road. A large park sat with towering trees just on the other side, and I picked out a path and traveled down it. I thought of dogs hunting me down, of search parties sent to find me. I left the park, wove through a neighborhood, took another route down a hill off the beaten path. I passed a bridge someone sat beneath, I broke out of the brush and discovered an unfamiliar highway.
â29% of LGBTQ youth have experienced homelessness, been kicked out, or run away,â the Trevor Project says. The police discovered me on the side of I-5, took me home in the back of their car, conversed with my parents while I waited, locked in the vehicle. When I got out, my parents spoke. They accused me of doing this for attention during my brotherâs music recital. They accused me of treating the police like a taxi. They bragged that the officer said they did not seem like bad parents.
Their cruelty stemmed from a blatant lack of understanding. As they told me they werenât âthe bad guys,â as they pressed upon me the idea that my life wasnât that horrible, and that I was acting out for no reason, I found myself falling deeper into a darkness that would come to be my lifelong companion.
I curled up in bed that night. The pain tore me asunder. I thought about running away again, doing something different this time, perhaps going to the city center and cutting off all my hair so no one would know it was me. I thought about running away to my best friendâs house. Her parents loved her. Her parents accepted her bisexuality. Her parents took her mental health seriously.
In 2016, over 16% of children between six and 17 endured a mental illness (National Alliance on Mental Illness). Despite this, Christianity has a way of suppressing these people, of pressuring them into feeling sinful for their own mental health. A stigma resides within these communities, where those that are well insist the unwell simply think more positive. If only the unwell could give their worries truly to god, then they would be cured. Within the confines of the church, I learned that I should focus on seeing the good in everything, instead of seeing the bad. That my lack of active positivity contributed to my âsadness,â and this, in turn, became my transgression. I spent nights praying, enacting what I imagined must be an act of laying my depression at the feet of Jesus. The Church told me this would be simple. The Church told me this would work. And yet, year after year, the weight crushing my ribs grew unending. Year after year, I blamed myself for not trusting god enough for him to truly heal me.
I began to believe the words my parents said. I believed that there was nothing wrong with them, with the church, so often did I hear the words. The problem was me. A hatred grew alongside the overpowering illness, a hatred of self amplified by my anger at my own mind. Why couldnât I be normal? Why couldnât I be strong? Why couldnât I just get better?
Within the household I once lived in, therapy and mental health came with the tag of âweak.â Only those who couldnât handle their own issues went to a professional. Only those who were wrong got diagnosed with a sickness of the mind. Only those who were not heard by god were abandoned to flounder in sin. âSuppose you are a Christian and you believe youâre supposed to pray depression and anxiety away, and you doââyou prayââand things donât change. What does that do to you?â (P2C Students)
âTrust in the Lord with all your heart,â is a verse often cited by Christians towards those who might be struggling (Proverbs 3:5). When we moved from Portland to Colorado, I found myself clinging to this, hoping that the move would help me cleanse all temptations for my female friends, rid me of my depression, and be a new start for my faith. Entering Resurrection Christian School, with its myriad of abuses towards women, struck me as if it were a direct challenge to the feminist mantra I learned at St. Maryâs. While the Catholic school itself did not officially teach a strong feminist agenda, the teachers within those walls whispered to us about being anything we wanted to be, about starting families of one, of not having to get married and have kids. While the nuns did not approve these messages, the teachers passed the good words out like secret notes from a mystery lover.
In contrast, we studied the passage âgo forth and multiplyâ in Resurrection Christian School. We talked about how womenâs bodies were divinely designed to bear children. We learned our purpose was to have children. We learned that if a minor said she did not plan to give birth, that she was simply immature. That she would grow. And in our Thursday church services, we prayed that all of us would have big families with lots of kids.
Within the walls of a church, I learned that my purpose as a woman came down to my ability to bear a manâs seed. That I was to be his sex toy, but could not be lusted after. That I was to be a manâs. That I was to submit.
Submit.
Submit.
âČ
I attended the University of Idaho in Moscow, Idaho. To do so, I would need to pay for it myself, as per the agreement with my parents, who already paid for the first two years of community college in Colorado. I set up a monthly payment system. Finances tightened. Most months, I would have a maximum of $30 to survive on–food, gas, books, materials. While I lived with my parents, tensions grew tight. Responsibilities expanded as I worked, schooled, built my own house, attempted to tend to my mental health in silence–I knew better by now than to expect understanding around depression. While I struggled to keep things balanced, communication broke down between blood. My words meant nothing, ignored and dismissed during dinner conversations, spoken over by everyone, and outright ignored by male leadership. It became obvious that while I pushed to become my own person, my own adult, a belief prevailed over it all. The belief of male headship.
A common joke for college students who lived at home was âsave money on rent now, and spend it all on therapy later.â
Eventually, I found a schedule and system that worked for me to keep all of it together. The only catch rested as the requirement to attend church services online, so that I might not spend extra gas money that I couldnât afford going into town. After a short two times of doing this, my father pulled me aside.
Christians are split on the matter of church attendance. Some declare that church is wherever someone is, wherever they decide is their church. This allows for people to join church services online, to be in communion with others from far away.
The rest of the Christians decree that in-person church with a community and a building is the only way to build a foundation and form connections with people. My father is one of these Christians. And just before nine oâclock at night, while I worked building holsters for the family business to make ends meet, he told me that a requirement for living on his property was to attend church in person. That he believed there to be a benefit to living on his land, like building my tiny house, like not having to pay rent. I stressed how tight on money I was, how I couldnât afford to go into town again for an hour long service when it was a 30 minute drive just to get there. I explained how online services provided a more relaxed environment, allowed me to feel closer to god. He said attending a service online once a month would be the compromise. All other attendances had to be in person. I stared at him. I looked back at the holster in my hand. He would rather kick me and my incomplete tiny house on wheels off his property for attending church in a way he did not like, than hear me when I said this allowed me to be more present during services. At that moment, I realized my worth. I was not a person under the dictatorship pushed by the church. I was owned by whatever man was closest. With a single conversation, this religion chiseled a crack between him and me.
But I was to submit. He, according to the bible, was âthe head of the householdâ (1 Corinthians 11:3). According to the bible, children are ordained to bend the knee to him (Ephesians 6:1). If I did not, Satan awaited me beneath the crust of the earth.
This practice was, of course, to prepare me for submission to my husband. My next owner.
â
We prayed for my future husband while I was a minor. We gathered around my brotherâs bed one night for family prayers and took our turns offering our thanks and requests to the deity above us. We prayed for the well-being of my future husband, that he was making wise decisions. We prayed that he was loving god. I was a Junior in high school. I remember the unrest in my soul that night, though I had long since buried my queer feelings so far down I repressed the night at P.F. Changâs. Instead, I simply sat there, head bowed and eyes closed, and listened as we wished this man I did not know wellness for his life, for the simple fact that he would one day wed me.
Marriage–let alone marriage to a man–stood as a decree for all Christian women. A non-married life bore with it sadness and regret, for all wanted romantic and sexual love. At first, I subscribed to the idea, subscribed to the thought that I would marry and have children. But even as a babe myself, I did not play house, I did not like to imagine a wedded life with kids. As the church told me of my expectations as a wife, a fear and distance from my body grew. I listened to these sermons, to family words, with a forced smile and nervous laughter. I watched myself react. I watched myself gesture. I left my flesh so I would not have to deal with the idea of what would happen to me after those wedding vows were uttered.
In 1979, the first conviction for marital rape occured in the United States (Rothman, âWhen Spousal Rape FirstâŠâ). Up until then, it was believed that a wife gave consent by marriage, and that consent could never be rescinded. As stated in an article by The Sundial:
âSir Matthew Hale, author of the seventeenth-century History of the Pleas of the Crown (published posthumously in 1736), describes the situation as one of contractual consent. He writes: âBut the husband cannot be guilty of a rape committed by himself upon his lawful wife, for by their mutual matrimonial consent and contract the wife hath given up herself in this kind unto her husband which she cannot retract.ââ
(Butler, âWhose Property?â)
For generations, a woman could not say ânoâ to her husband. Within the act of marriage, she was considered the manâs property, and he could do with her as he wished.
This, too, is taught oft within Christian extremism. When reading a book titled âThe way of the Lord Jesus: Difficult Moral Questions,â author Melinda Selmys stated what she found within the pages in an article published on Patheos: âThe author replied that in cases of so-called spousal rape the woman usually consent, at least nominally, in order to keep the peace in marriage–and that therefore she was not really being raped.â
The concept of a âmarriage debt,â whereas a woman pays for her husbandâs protection and leadership by giving up her body, along with the notion of sinful denial, in which a wife would be causing her husband to step into temptation by not âmeeting his needs,â is preached because of certain sections within the bible.
â”Then the Lord God said, ‘It is not good that the man should be alone; I will make him a helper fit for him.’â
(Genesis 2:18)
âThe husband should fulfill his wifeâs sexual needs, and the wife should fulfill her husbandâs needs. The wife gives authority over her body to her husband, and the husband gives authority over his body to his wife. Do not deprive each other of sexual relations, unless you both agree to refrain from sexual intimacy for a limited time so you can give yourselves more completely to prayer. Afterward, you should come together again so that Satan wonât be able to tempt you because of your lack of self-control.â
(1 Corinthians 7:3-5)
These words, written upon a text and dooming an entire section of the population to wrestling with their holiness and salvation against the abuses of their body, have caused such harm to female-bodied peoples to the point the damage lingers even within those who have not been subjected to it personally.
As my age increased in number, I continued to hear what would be expected of me as a wife. A terror developed around the wedding night. I knew consummation stapled the marriage license together, ensuring the holy union of two people. I knew that I would be forced to lie with him, at least once.
I dreamt horrid nightmares where men raped me. I dreamt of waking up pregnant. I dreamt of birthing a child through my mouth and choking on the umbilical cord until I cut it with my teeth, and doomed the wailing bundle of flesh to death. I woke in tears. I sobbed and shook and wished for no one to touch me. I tried to block the feeling from my mind, the image, the labored breath, my screams. I startled awake, time and again, out of dread over marrying a man. Of sleeping with a man. Of having children.
Still, I knew expectations, so I began to devise a way around the decrees. I would adopt, surely. Surely I would adopt and would not be forced to give birth. I would choke down sex with a man for one night and that would be it–I would avoid any and all requests for intercourse after that one night. I would be sick. I would be unwell. I would have a headache.
In college, three times I was asked out by men. I shot down number one. I entertained number two, but wanted to puke the entire time I was with him. The third I repeatedly told âno,â even as he insisted he could âchangeâ my sexuality. Eventually, I convinced him I was a witch performing blood rituals and the good little Christian boy left me alone.
No attachments formed to the men who showed interest in me, and no men caught my eye in any manner. The fear faded for a time, until I read Priory of the Orange Tree by Samantha Shannon. In which, a character is forced by the act of the dominating religion to have sex and bear a female child with a man, despite her being lesbian. I threw up that night. I vomited in the grass and sobbed and could not breathe. The terrors of being expected to marry and bear children came rolling upon my body once more, and I could not help but look down at my form and, for a moment, hate it as I had hated it before.
The church teaches that women have a holy agency to give birth. In an interview with John Piper published upon Desiring, he states that, âThis is the whole drift of Godâs word: children are a gift; children are a blessing. When they are withheld, it is a heartache â sometimes even a judgment.â A judgment not to have kids, and a blessing to have them. He goes on to say that children are not a âdecisionâ and shouldnât be approached that way. We all should submit to godâs plan and go forward in such a manner, and if we get pregnant, we get pregnant.
A popular Christian fundamentalist Youtube channel is hosted by Paul and Morgan–aptly named the âPaul and Morgan Show.â In this, they speak about their conviction not to use birth control, because they believe god will not give them more than they can handle. This idea permeates Christian circles with a misconception that the body will simply reject a pregnancy if a god in the sky deems it so. Yet our bodies continue to work, and will continue to work, even if we pray they do not.
While curled up on the couch in a home that was not my own, I confessed my nightmares around pregnancy to my mother. I explained the horror, I described the feeling of the umbilical cord filling up my mouth, I relayed how the baby cried and how I could not breathe. It felt good, for a moment, to be heard. But the moment would not last, and in came a different blood relative, who told me childbirth was a beautiful thing. He, a man, told me that god made me a woman for a reason. He, a man, told me I should not deny godâs plan for my life.
My womb sits inside me, and each month it bleeds and causes tremendous, unnatural pain. Anemia kept me lethargic, and each cycle it grew more extreme. Birth Control keeps me alive, and keeps the iron in my veins, while my uterus wastes away beneath my flesh, unused, causing nothing but a sense of distance from my body whenever it is brought up, whenever I endure someone talking to me about children of my own one day. I remember what the church told me, that I am obligated to use it. That I am obligated to be penetrated by a man I am not in love with, that I am obligated to submit, that I am obligated to carry it all to term and birth something I do not cherish.
The church brought down upon me a hatred of self because of something I was born with. It gripped my mind with purity culture, which taught me my body was made for a man; with submission, which taught me I could not say âno.â As I wrestled with the sudden surfacing of memories long since suppressed after reading Priory, at last, I finally sought help.
ă
I began my first therapy session on April 22, 2020. Despite my limited cash, I made it work, and I began to see all the harmful, toxic ways the church shaped my upbringing. The self-hatred of who I was, the body I wore, the toxic thought processes, the longing for death. All of it dug its roots into the teachings of a volatile, corrupted religion. And I began to see the same systems I barely survived thrust upon vulnerable groups in a local church. Christ Church.
âOur humanistic and democratic culture regards slavery in itself as a monstrous evil, malum in se, and it acts as though this were self-evidently true. The Bible permits Christians in slave-owning cultures to own slaves, provided they are treated well. You are a Christian. Whom do you believe?â
(Douglas Wilson, head pastor of Christ Church, Black & Tan, p.47)
âA man penetrates, conquers, colonizes, plants. A woman receives, surrenders, accepts.â
(Douglas Wilson, head pastor of Christ Church, Fidelity: How to be a One-Woman Man)
âWomen are called to serve and help a man. [âŠ] This means that girls, like boys, should be brought up to their adult callings.â
(Douglas Wilson, Federal Husband, p. 95)
âWomen inescapably need godly masculine protection against ungodly masculine harassment; women who refuse protection from their fathers and husbands must seek it from the police. But women who genuinely insist on âno masculine protectionâ are really women who tacitly agree on the propriety of rape [âŠ] Men are designed by God to initiate and lead, and women are designed to respond.â
(Douglas Wilson, Her Hand in Marriage: Biblical Courtship in the Modern World; Canon Press, 1997; P.13)
âBecause of the growth of feminism in our culture generally, women have risen to positions of influence in our civil realm. While the Bible does not prohibit women in civil leadership per seâthe instance of Deborah comes to mindâthe Bible does say that when feminine leadership is common, it should be reckoned not as a blessing but as a curse.
(Douglas Wilson, Federal Husband, p. 81)
âThere are a number of other questions I am leaving unanswered. One of them has to do with the governmental treatment of certain individuals convicted of certain homosexual acts in some unnamed Christian republic five hundred years from now. They are reasonable questions, but please keep in mind that I am in a series of controversies of some unreasonable people, and so I will answer generally. In such a republic, would homosexual acts be against the law, and if so, what would the penalty be? Like I said, reasonable questions. Yes, such behavior would be against the law â just like it was throughout all fifty states just a few short years ago. And what would the penalties be? The answer to that question requires a certain level of cultural maturity (beyond what is currently in evidence) â that has to take into account careful exegesis of the Old Testament texts, the nature and purpose of common law, the circumstances of each particular case, the flow of redemptive history, and the forgiveness that is offered to everyone in Jesus Christ.â
(Douglas Wilson, Execution Of Homosexuals? https://dougwils.com/books-and-culture/s7-engaging-the-culture/execution-of-homosexuals.html )
Doug Wilson has made a living on being a âproblematicâ figure. Once, my father lovingly recalled with a laugh on his lips that Doug has an inflammatory way of stating his beliefs, which are intended to get a reaction. This was stated to me shortly after returning from a protest of Doug Wilsonâs The Lost Virtue Of Sexism talk held at the University of Idaho. Upon my attendance there, Doug Wilson told me that I was born to be a mother and a wife to a man, and I needed to be led and live in submission to my eventual husband. Frustrated by this, and by his tacit approval of Southern Slavery (Wilson et al, Slavery: As It Was)–a stance I read in its entirety–I expressed my distaste for Wilson and found myself met with a full frontal defence of him by blood relatives. Surprising as it seemed at the time, I have found myself more understanding, given space. The right-leaning churches attended all my life prepared blood relatives for this, prepared them for the inevitable fall into something far more dangerous than previous harmful practices. Not only did they now side with someone who saw me as something to be outlawed, to be shamed, to be disgraced, but also with someone who claimed the numerous sexual assault allegations against his âchurchâ were entirely fabricated or otherwise exaggerated (Wilson, âLike a Tabloid Tarantulaâ). While Douglas continues to spew this hatred and harm others, my own blood turns a blind eye, a common stance I have seen those beneath Douglasâ influence do.
An article posted by the Baltimore Sun in 2011 states that cults must survive at least 100 years and adhere to positive practices in order to be considered a religion.
âAnd it is likely to fall apart, or draw upon itself harsh attention by the political authorities around it, if it oppresses its members or engages in attacks on outsiders. To become a religion, a group with a shared vision of what God wants, or what makes human life worth living, is therefore likely to develop a morality much like that of the society around it â and indeed declare that morality central to what it has to teach.â
(Fleischacker, âCult vs. religion: what’s the difference?â)
It is often that the surrounding Moscow, Idaho community–and those further who take notice of the Christ Church congregation–claim the âchurchâ is, in fact, a âcult.â When first entering the scene, I wasnât certain I could fully side with the people claiming these truths, but as me and my blood relatives settled into the local area and they began to be swayed to the side of Christ Church, I began to witness a change in those I once knew and loved. I began to see the harm, the corruption, the constant oppression of the women within its congregation and the attacks on those who did not pledge their loyalty to Douglas Wilson.
At first, it started as something subtle, an opinion I did not know they had or a stance they seemed a little defensive of. One such case came when discussing the original biblical text, regarding the word that seems to indicate âpedophileâ and not âhomosexualâ with a blood relative of mine. While attempting to explain this, I was told that I should read the original bible, in the original language.
There is no âoriginalâ surviving bible, and the oldest texts we have are written in Koine Greek.
A second instance arrived when I came out as asexual, where shortly after I found myself interrogated atop the couch as the sun set, told that this âactâ served as a denial of godâs plan for my life, that we were all called to âgo forth and multiply,â that my âdecisionâ to be asexual meant that I had something wrong with me hormonally. I was told that ever since âbecomingâ asexual, those blood relatives sensed a dark presence about the house, harkening back to a held belief that gay people are possessed by demons.
âHere’s the raw, naked truth: Homosexuality is actually a demon spirit. It is such a putrid-smelling demon that other demons don’t even like to hang around it. A genuine prophet of God told me that the Lord allowed him to smell this demon spirit, and he got sick to his stomach. And yet as humans, many embrace this demon. Yes, you heard me right: Being gay is demonic.â
(Charisma, âThe Raw, Naked TruthâŠâ)
A vivid memory sits within my mind. I sat in the back of my momâs car while she drove, staring out the window, my arm against the rest. The odd angle made my nerves shiver, tingle. The fabric of my jeans dug against the seams of the cushion beneath me. My chest burned from trying not to breathe, not to move, not to be noticed. My momâs mom boldly declared on the speaker of her daughterâs phone that homosexual people were possessed by a demonic spirit. I remember fretting what that made me.
The belief of gay demonic spirits spans back ages. In an article published on The Daily Beast, author Brandon W. Hawk talks about the roots demons have in sexuality and ancient belief systems. âThe Christian gospels are full of stories linking demons and illness,â Hawk states, âwith Jesus and several of his early followers casting out demons who afflict their victims.â Hawk goes on to talk about how the Act of Thomas, an ancient text once widely popular in Christian beliefs, depicts a demon who, upon being refused by a woman, hunts her down and rapes her each night for five years. Additionally, another text titled the Martyrdom of Bartholomew follows how Bartholomew exposes a farce set up by a demon who inflicted illnesses on his worshipers so that he may falsely âcureâ them of it. While many of these texts are not as familiar to modern-day Christians, these stories existed for decades, and were translated into different languages, indicating a potential popularity. According to Hawk, â[These texts] also helped fuel the âwitch crazeâ of the 16th and 17th centuries, in which zealous Christian leaders persecuted and killed thousands of people â mainly women â for their beliefs, often concocting claims that they consorted with demonsâ (Hawk, âThe Ancient Lore of Demons, Sex, and Sicknessâ). To link any association with a demon would be like linking it to an illness, and vice versa, a belief that holds true even to this day. In 2020, Trump posted a video by a Stella Immanuel, a person who believes that âgynecological problems like cysts and endometriosis are in fact caused by people having sex in their dreams with demons and witchesâ (Sommer, âTrumpâs New Favorite COVID DoctorâŠâ). For those who do not understand science, likening confusing subjects like sexuality or sickness back to a root cause of âa demon did itâ seems to be the easier knee-jerk reaction, as compared to education and research. The same thought process is enacted upon those with mental illnesses, as âthe spirit of depressionâ is often seen as demonic, cruel, and from the devil.
So deep do these notions of oppression run within the walls of Christianity that despite the first few transgressions against me by blood relatives, I did not yet see the signs that perhaps the change in them should be worrying. It is not until one blood relative told another that their sexual abuse was ordained by god that I finally saw just how horrid this congregation truly was, how twisted it made those who once held true to kindness and empathy. It is then that I began diving deeper into beliefs held by members, beliefs held by leaders, and found a 499 page documentation of Douglas Wilson protecting known pedophiles (Shubin, Analyzing Doug WilsonâsâŠ). It is then that I learned his stance on queer people like me, his stance on women being subservient, his stance on slavery. As my blood relatives continued to attend, I noticed the blood-related women start to repeat curious phrases in our conversations. How theyâd insist they were sinners, worthless, deserving of hell and a painful death. Often, they would reiterate how they had to submit to their husband, how painful it must be for him to put up with her rebellious nature, how sinful she was for pushing back against something, how she simply had to accept a decision he made. In contrast, the blood-related men began to take a more demanding role, one where their authority shouldnât be questioned. Homophobic jokes spun within the household walls, debates over if women teachers should be a thing slipped from the mouths of those with no skin in the game, orders instead of requests came from jaws of patriarchal figures. Even as I moved out, still those men within this congregation sought to control what I talked about on social media; sought to chastise me on beliefs I held; sought to lecture me on how their beliefs were factual, and mine were not. These power-plays always lingered within my blood-line, but now they stood amplified, like a wound swollen and poisoning the veins, spreading out in a toxic shock of noxious religion.
Witnessing the change in those around me, seeing how they began to take steps away from the edge of education, learning, and understanding, and dive back into the depths of torment preached by the doctrine I barely survived growing up–it has made me righteously angry. A sort of anger those in the queer community may know well, those within the exevangelical movement may find familiar. An anger that starts at the bottom of your throat and spreads into a heat through your ribcage, one that makes you want to move, to throw your arms about, to sprint down the street and save those you see hurting. It is an anger that causes you to act, one pure and loving that seeks to protect the vulnerable. It is one that I have swallowed whole, one that I find nestles itself into the tendons of my heart and stirs to action whenever another victim of Douglas Wilson and his corrupt church comes forward.
This, then, is why I share so often about Christ Church. Why I talk about the pain and torment that is pervasive within its walls, within its community. I have seen the underbelly of hatred and malice within the conservative Christian movement, and I see it festering with worms and parasites in the gathering in Moscow, Idaho. As others have said before: not every member of Christ Church is a pedophile or sexual predator, but every member has decided pedophilia and sexual abuse is not a deal-breaker for them. Until justice comes upon Douglas Wilson and those who have hidden the abuse to protect their own, I shall not be silent.
Until the Christian community refuses to preach cruelty from the pulpit, I shall continue to shout, I shall continue to fight, and I shall continue to be angry. I will point to the abuse silenced within blood relations, I will share my own story, I will not censor anything. Until there comes a day that no one else has to endure what I endured, and no one suffers at the hand of religion, I will be loud. And I will be angry.
â
This testimony stands as an explanation of why I speak often about Christ Church. It also stands as an exposé of my own childhood, one that has supposedly twisted me down the path of queerness. It stands as a statement of faith, or lack-thereof, surrounding the beliefs that stapled a child to a cross and told her to be thankful. My childhood did not make me gay, and it baffles me that such a statement even needs uttering. I have always been queer. I knew in high school, as a minor, that I held no feelings for men but felt them swirling excitedly for women. I hid that to survive. I buried it and closed all painful memories behind doors that still fly open even now to remind me of something I did not recollect. I work through them as they come, and each day I grow stronger and more confident in myself, in my love for who I am, for who I have always wanted to be. No, my childhood did not make me gay. But it did make me feel unsafe. It made me afraid. And it made me hurt.
Citations
Citations On LGBTQIA+:
âA Survey of LGBT Americansâ Pew Research (June 13, 2013).
Dowshen, Steven. âSexual Orientationâ Nemours Kids Health (2018).
âFact Sheet on LGBT Youthâ Religious Institute (2003).
http://religiousinstitute.org/resources/fact-sheet-lgbt-youth/
Fadel, Leila. âActivists And Suicide Prevention Groups Seek Bans On Conversion Therapy For Minorsâ
NPR (April 26, 2019)
âKertbeny, KĂĄroly MĂĄria (1824-1882)â GLBTQ (2012).
Oxford, Ed. âMy quest to find the word âhomosexualâ in the Bibleâ Baptist News Global (August 10,
2020). https://baptistnews.com/article/my-quest-to-find-the-word-homosexual-in-the-bible/#.YWNnGRxlA2w
âThe American Religious Landscape in 2020â PRRI (July 8, 2021).
âThe Lies and Dangers of Efforts to Change Sexual Orientation or Gender Identityâ HRC.
â1946 – The Movieâ https://www.1946themovie.com/
Citations On How Churches See Women:
Selmys, Melinda. âSexual Coercion and Spousal Rape: What the Church Needs To Doâ Patheos (March
6, 2019)
Smith, Morgan. âPastor on Leave After Shaming Wives Who ‘Let Themselves Go,’ Calling Melania Trump ‘Epic Trophy’â People (March 10, 2021).
Citations On Marital Rape
Butler, Sara M. âWhose Property? Womenâs Bodies and Marital Rapeâ The Sundial (ACMRS) (Sep 29,
2020)
England, Deborah C. âThe History of Marital Rape Lawsâ Criminal Defense Lawyer
Rothman, Lily. âWhen Spousal Rape First Became a Crime in the U.S.â (July 28, 2015)
Citations On Church Abuse:
Clites, Brian J. âThe Catholic Churchâs grim history of ignoring priestly pedophilia â and
silencing would-be whistleblowersâ The Conversation (October 9, 2018).
Lauer, Claudia, Meghan Hoyer. âAlmost 1,700 priests and clergy accused of sex abuse are
unsupervisedâ NBC News (Oct. 4, 2019).
Stankorb, Sarah. âInside the Church That Preaches âWives Need to Be Led with a Firm
Handââ Vice (September 28, 2021). https://www.vice.com/en/article/m7ezwx/inside-the-church-that-preaches-wives-need-to-be-led-with-a-firm-hand
Shubin, Rachel L. âAnalyzing Douglas Wilsonâs Handling of the Steven Sitler and Jamin Wight Casesâ
MoscowID.Net (2016)
Citations Around Mental Health:
Burton, Tara Isabella. âChristian faith communities are often on the front lines of mental health careâ Vox
(Oct 6, 2017)
âMental Health By the Numbersâ National Alliance on Mental Illness (March 2021).
Paley, Amit. âNational Survey on LGBTQ Youth Mental Health 2020â The Trevor Project
(2020). https://www.thetrevorproject.org/survey-2020/?section=Introduction
Park, Seon-Cheol et al. âDoes age at onset of first major depressive episode indicate the subtype of major
depressive disorder?: the clinical research center for depression study.â Yonsei medical journal vol. 55,6 (2014): 1712-20. doi:10.3349/ymj.2014.55.6.1712
Peteet, John R. âApproaching Religiously Reinforced Mental Health Stigma: A Conceptual
Frameworkâ Psychiatry Online (June 12 2019).
P2C Students, âA Biblical understanding of mental health and the churchâ P2C Students (Feb 1, 2021).
âThe Stigma Around Mental Illness for Christiansâ Geneva College (December 17, 2018).
Citations Surrounding Doug Wilson:
Ramsey, William L. & Sean M. Quinlan. âSouthern Slavery as it Wasn’T: Coming to Grips with
Neo-Confederate Historical Misinformationâ SSRN (December 18, 2004) https://papers.ssrn.com/sol3/papers.cfm?abstract_id=633361
âWhat Does Doug Wilson Believe?â https://dougwilsonbelieves.com/
Wilkins, Steve & Douglas Wilson. âSouthern Slavery As It Wasâ
http://www.tomandrodna.com/notonthepalouse/documents/060175768qrasouthern_slavery_as_it_was.pdf
Wilson, Douglas. âLike a Tabloid Tarantulaâ Blog & Mablog (October 4, 2021)
Citations On Cults:
Davis, Jonathan. âWhy canât Christians so concerned about cults see that theyâve joined one?â Baptist
News Global (December 18, 2020)
Fleischacker, Sam. âCult vs. religion: what’s the difference?â The Baltimore Sun (Oct 12, 2011)
Herrington, Boze. âThe Seven Signs That Youâre in a Cultâ The Atlantic (June 18, 2014)
Citations On Demon Possession:
Farias, Bert M. âThe Raw, Naked Truth About Homosexualityâ Charisma News (7/22/2014)
Ganeva, Tana. âChristian group says demon sex makes you gayâ Salon (November 26, 2012)
Harmon, Cedric. âCan You Be Raped by the Devil?â Charisma Magazine (2013)
Hawk, Brandon W. âThe Ancient Lore of Demons, Sex, and Sicknessâ The Daily Beast (Aug. 01, 2020)
Robinson, B.A. âPart 3â Religious Tolerance (December 11, 2016)
Sommer, Will. âTrumpâs New Favorite COVID Doctor Believes in Alien DNA, Demon Sperm, and
Hydroxychloroquineâ Daily Beast (Jul. 28, 2020)
Stern, Mark Joseph. âInside The Horrifying World of Gay Exorcismsâ Slate (May 16, 2014)
Women In The Church:
Fairchild, Mary. â What Are the Epistles?â Learn Religious (February 11, 2019)
Talbot, Margaret. âThe Women Who Want to Be Priestsâ New Yorker (June 21, 2021)
Pullella, Philip. âPope says he believes ban on female priests is foreverâ Reuters (November 1,
2016).
Winfield, Nicole. âPope says women can read at Mass, but still canât be priestsâ AP News (January 11,
2021). https://apnews.com/article/pope-francis-women-still-cant-be-priest-3bdcad94325be16ee2993f61eb17c5a0