Life Without God's Love
Monday, March 16th, 2009
[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xpFwuO426eA]
I remember two distinct versions of my childhood. I remember the rosy part, of which I’ve already written. Sometimes, I remember the good parts. I remember long conversations and snuggles with my mom. I remember riding go-carts and Saturday morning breakfasts with my dad. I remember hikes, kittens, books, and songs. I remember hugs and smiles and family dinners full of funny stories and memories.
But sometimes I remember the welts from the belt buckle, and the screaming and yelling. I remember getting into trouble when my brothers fought because I did not watch them. I remember getting into trouble because I intervened. I remember my youngest brother drinking a bottle of the “pink stuff” when he was about three or four while my dad played on the computer in front of him and getting a huge spanking for it. I remember tears, fighting, yelling, and spanking after spanking.
I remember feeling terrified of hell and of displeasing God. I remember struggling to be perfect when I couldn’t. I remember getting the ADHD punished out of me. I remember sitting in front of movie after movie and sermon after sermon being told how horrible hell would be. I remember wondering if my granny had gone to hell when she died. I remember hearing how God loved us and didn’t want us to go to the hell he made for Satan. I remember feeling terrified that Satan would deceive me and God would turn his back on me. And I remember not feeling those things, too, when I thought about God. There is nothing scarier in any movie that we weren’t allowed to watch than the stories we heard in Sunday school.
I remember my parents telling me that someday I would realize how great they really were. But over time, my perceptions have not really changed–I believe they did their best and they honestly love us. I believe that they tried their hardest and I believe I am a pretty decent person, though far from perfect. But they, too, were far from perfect, and even mildly abusive. I still think now what I thought then—we were far from the worst home, but we were far from the best, too. We are still bearing the fruits of the mental abuse we suffered at the hands of those they entrusted our religious education to.
I am often sad because once my mother told me that her only goal for the three of us was that we would all love Jesus, but the two of us that are out of the house are both atheists. I know it breaks her heart and I hate disappointing my parents. It is sad either way you look at it–even if you think that wanting us to love Jesus is pathetic, it still hurts her and there is now a rift in our relationship that did not used to be there.
When I think about my childhood, I don’t know what to believe. Sometimes when people ask me about my childhood, I smile and recount an ideal childhood that I loved. Sometimes, I remember the bad parts. It just depends on the context of the conversation. I am not ever trying to lie. The truth is that I just don’t know what to believe. I just cannot look at it objectively. I don’t think that what I went through was so bad I can’t get over it. I think what is so hard is this disconnect that I feel. It was the mental abuse–the being told I was not being abused when my father spanked me with the belt buckle, leaving a huge welt down the side of my leg. Being told that we were a great, loving home after I got angry with my dad for another tantrum. So you think, okay, someday, I am going to find out that we are a great home. And then you don’t. It makes it harder. Plus, you can always find someone who had it worse than you did. So then you think you should be grateful for parents that at least didn’t beat you with their fists or call you stupid.
So there is a weird sort of dichotomy in my head. Even though I consistently deal with the consequences of being mostly ignored by my dad unless I was in trouble, I don’t feel like I have anything to complain about. And if I do, then I should just get over it already and move on. I don’t really know what to think.
Tags: mental abuse, religious abuse
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March 16th, 2009 at 4:36 pm
Lauradee–I’m speaking from experience here. I used to minimalize the physical abuse I suffered as a child comparing it to other stories I’d heard about. I thought “well, it wasn’t all *that* bad.” But the fact of the matter is that any type of recurring physical abuse affects children the same way psychologically. You still grew up in fear. It affected your personality now. It shaped who you are. It’s something you have to acknowledge and deal with.
YES I was abused.
YES it was wrong of my parents to do that.
Even if they thought what they were doing right.
Even if they just didn’t understand.
And you know what? Part of me thinks cases like yours and mine are sadder, because our parents did love us in their own way. But the fucking religion told them that if they loved us they would beat Satan out of us. So they did it. And they told us they loved us while they were doing it.
We learn about life from our childhood environment. We think…..this is how life works. This subconsciously continues to affect your relationships today. We naturally revert to the relating style we learned as children, even if we don’t want to. It takes time and effort to retrain ourselves.
I guess in all my rambling I’m just trying to say:
Just because SOME of your childhood was enjoyable DOES NOT mean you were not abused.
Just because your parents THOUGHT what they were doing to you was because they love you DOES NOT mean that it was good for you.
You must acknowledge it, confront it, and deal with it in order to fully self-actualize into the amazing person you’re already turning out to be.
March 17th, 2009 at 1:06 am
Lauradee,
How did your parents come to faith? I’ve noticed with some of my friends that people who have come out of very abusive, or difficult backgrounds themselves seem especially drawn to more authoritarian, and legalistic forms of religion. In time God can also bring them past this, and work healing.
I would never want to scare a young child with thoughts of Hell. But, as a Christian, I also think that children’s lives can be enhanced,and deepened knowing God’s love, and having a sense of their own spirituality. For me, it’s not about rigid indoctrination based in fear, but in knowing, and experiencing life in Christ.
March 17th, 2009 at 2:58 pm
Lauradee you wrote: “…then I should just get over it already and move on.”
When I read this I thought, oh my word, that was a favourite mantra from church. Anyone who ever had a problem was told, “Oh just get over it and move on.”
You know, when I read some of your words I feel as though I might be reading words that I would have written myself, many years ago. You’re ahead of me in dealing with your stuff though. I didn’t take a hard look within until I was in my 40′s. Continue to be patient with yourself as you examine all that is within you Lauradee.
May I share some of my own observations from over the years?
We women tend to minimize our own pain. We tend to compare it to that of others. It’s almost as though we do it because we can’t bare to carry the weight of our own truth. We just can’t believe our truth is actually the truth. Abused? How can that be? Surely, it’s not as bad as it seems. At this point, we consider someone else who suffered abuse but in a different and yes, possibly worse way then our abuse. So, we look at that and think, ‘I shouldn’t really complain, after all, my abuse wasn’t as bad as her/his.’
Yes, people who are abused can find good times. It does not take away the fact that one was abused though. Consider a spouse who has been beaten within an inch of her/his life. After recovering in the hospital, they return to the abusive spouse. Almost always, the abused will say, ‘Well, it’s not all bad. We had a great time at Disneyland that one year.’
It hurts Lauradee, it just hurts to finally understand the truth about our abuse. In so many ways, we can’t believe it’s our truth, so, we tend to doubt our experiences.
I really appreciate Wolfshowl’s comment above, especially this part here:
“YES I was abused.
YES it was wrong of my parents to do that.
Even if they thought what they were doing right.
Even if they just didn’t understand.
If this is our truth, acknowledging it, as painful as that can be, is often the first step in really dealing with moving on, except this time, in a healthy fashion.
It’s when we can finally turn our energies towards our healing regardless of the circumstances and whether our parents or abusers understand it or get it.
Moving on by ignoring, denying, burying, minimizing and/or sweeping our truth under a rug or into our deepest parts of our being can leave us stuck forever.
Keep going Lauradee. Again, be patient with yourself as you sort through it all.
March 19th, 2009 at 5:30 pm
wow, great entry.
i think you can hold to both ideas at the same time. a family can be good and bad. just like us, a family can make good and bad decisions.
reading the description of your family reminds me so much of my own. . . for what it’s worth, the “get over it already and move on” mantra is nonsense.
jcm
January 20th, 2010 at 6:14 pm
Hello there,
I just hit your sight through a search engine. This is the first article I have read, so you may have already addressed this question. I was just wondering if you find Christianity and Christians synonymous? As in, how people behave is an indicator of the value of their religion? The reason I ask that is because we are all hypocrites… but that doesn’t determine if Christianity is true or not, because Christianity isn’t based on the perfect behavior of humans, but the perfection and goodness of God which the Bible records. Any religion can be twisted if it’s based on the subjective experience of it’s followers– because people do bad things. Just a thought…
August 2nd, 2010 at 11:27 pm
My mouth is wide open. You are so eloquent and your post moved me to tears. What amazed me is that literally every word could have been written by myself. Our stories are so unbelievably similar. It’s so good to find out we’re not alone in this upbringing that can only be understood by others who have gone through it.
Adding to my dilemma is that my mom is seriously ill, and I have been trapped into living at home and caring for her. (I’m just five days younger than you, born 11/15/83.) And because she’s so ill and every little thing makes her upset, I have to jolly her along and pray with her and basically be a complete fraud. I no longer believe in prayer, and although I WANT to still believe in God, not the God of the Bible but a truly all-loving being, I’m increasingly scared that no such spirit exists. It is SOOO difficult to keep up the front and if it wouldn’t mean disaster for my parents if I left, I wouldn’t be here.
Honestly, I can’t imagine a more stifling situation. My sanity is saved by my like-minded sister and brother also living in an addition to the house to help out, and we keep each other sane. We’ve had some fascinating discussions too, and out of the three of us, none of us identifies AT ALL with fundamental Christianity, or even Christianity at all.
Sorry to ramble, but I just want to say I adore this blog.