How could we forget those ancient myths that stand at the beginning of all races – the myths about dragons that at the last moment are transformed into princesses. Perhaps all the dragons in our lives are only princesses waiting for us to act, just once, with beauty and courage. Perhaps everything that frightens us is, in its deepest essence, something helpless that wants our love. ~ Rainer Maria Rilke

When I graduated from high school in 1970 I swore I would never attend a reunion. I was never part of the in crowd and was often cruelly treated. I hoped never to see my classmates again. I threw my invitations to my fifth and tenth reunions in the trash. When the invitation to my twentieth reunion arrived I was standing in my kitchen with my teenage daughter. “Mom, you should go,” she said.

“They were never my friends,” I replied.

“Show them how well you did. You’re Dr. Jones now,” she said.

“Success is the sweetest revenge,” I said. “But it is a poor reason to go. I have better things to do with my time.” I chucked the invitation into the trash and moved on.

Eighteen years later I joined Facebook for the sole purpose of marketing my book, Not of My Making: Bullying, Scapegoating and Misconduct. First, I added my family and current contacts to my circle. That was easy but when Facebook suggested I add classmates from my high school I recoiled. Why would people who had refused to be my friend 38 years ago accept my invitation to be friends now? I moved the cursor to the close button. I paused. What did I have to lose, I thought. Maybe I could sell some books. I clicked ‘send invitations’ and went to bed. The next morning my inbox was filled with replies. They didn’t remember me. That was okay. I didn’t remember them either. Why would we? Although we shared a hometown and school, we hadn’t seen each other since graduation.

My high school experience was radically different from my classmates who were now corresponding with me on Facebook. They good memories of teachers, classmates and events. All I could remember was the daily torment. I walked to and from school by myself. At home I spent my afternoons and evenings alone in my bedroom. I didn’t attend school dances, proms, or sports events. Unable to stop the bullying I retreated to my bedroom and focused on my studies.

It took several decades and a series of traumatic experiences with local churches before I understood the bullying wasn’t my fault. I was an easy target. Short, introspective and shy, I didn’t know how to defend myself. No one, not my parents nor my teachers, offered any useful advice or help. Some of that was ignorance on their part. Some of it was neglect. My father often told me how stupid and selfish I was. There would be no help from him. My mom wanted me to be popular and had no understanding why I wasn’t.

Unsure how to participate in the discussion on Facebook I wrote, “I was not part of the in crowd so I don’t have a lot of fond memories of social events. But I did get a good education.”

Maryann Hughes, who lives an hour from my current home replied, “I know what you mean. I can remember dreading going to school knowing what would happen.” Maryann and I met at a Newport restaurant not far from her home. She shared with me how she was bullied in high school. I didn’t remember that. I had been so caught up in my own misery I hadn’t noticed hers. Sitting at the restaurant we browsed through our yearbook. My classmate identified who she thought had bullied her. I was surprised I couldn’t name my tormenters. Although I have some specific memories of being bullied I have no memory of who the culprits were. I remember vividly the people who showed me a kindness here and there. I figure the rest were either guilty of bullying or were passive bystanders. I was certain most of the bullies would not remember us nor would they realize how much damage they did. My classmate agreed.

When I arrived home in the late afternoon I found Richard Marks had written a public apology to Maryann on Facebook. I was elated. Bullies rarely apologize to their victims. Richard not only did it but he did it publicly. Good for him. I looked at my yearbook. I remembered his face and knew he hadn’t been kind to me either. Even though he addressed the apology to Maryann I understood he was sorry for bullying others. He had become a man with honor. His apology was a blessing and took some of the sting out of my old wounds.

Soon Alan, another classmate, suggested we have a 40^th reunion. We contacted Reunions of America. “Who are your class officers?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” I said. “Why?”

“You have to do this right,” she said. “You wouldn’t want to offend anyone.”

“Look we are just a group that got together and want to have a reunion. I’m not into this to recreate the old class hierarchy. That would leave me on the outs. Besides the class president died in a car crash before the prom.”

I hung up and began looking for other ways to plan the reunion. I had help from four other classmates. At first we tried to do the traditional reunion in a hotel ballroom or a dinner cruise. But that required risking a large sum of money. Carol Ostrom suggested we hold it at a restaurant. While I thought the idea made financial sense I was still hoping for a more formal occasion. Then Carol suggested Savino’s Sit-Down Deli, owned by our classmate. I didn’t remember Jimmy Savino but recognized his face in the yearbook as one of the guys that was never kind to me. Carol assured me that Jimmy was a great guy, had excellent food and knew how to organize things.

The week before the reunion high levels of anxiety kept me awake. Why was I doing this? Despite receiving a few written apologies, I worried that I would still be rejected by my classmates. I considered staying home.  These are the people I forsook forty years ago. But as the day approached the excitement grew. Saturday, August 7, 2010 was a clear summer night. Jimmy set up a tent in front of his place and arranged for a DJ to play our music. He also got our late high school president’s younger brother to sing for us. Later that night a group of older graduates stopped by and sang Doo-wop just as they use to at the candy store on the corner of Lake and Deer Park.

The good will filled the tent and deli. Classmates kept coming up to thank me for organizing the reunion. I was at the center of the class and not on the outskirts looking in. I finally belonged to the group I was always a rightful member of. By discarding the old class hierarchy, by people admitting and apologizing for ridiculing me and others we as a class were able to meet each other in the here and now and enjoy the company of those who shared a common heritage. Memories of those painful, lonely school years were replaced with acceptance, love and friendship.

Since the reunion classmates continue to talk to each other on Facebook and there have been several mini-reunions. I have visited a classmate at his home, ate his food and then spent the evening at Water Fire and Federal Hill in Providence, RI with four other classmates. There are plans to keep meeting at Jimmy’s and to set up a class webpage.

Facebook has given us all a chance to redeem ourselves and build a caring, inclusive community. As one classmate wrote, it is like finding long lost family members. We not only went to high school together but many of us knew each other in grade school. Some of us had a blast in high school, others were miserable.

I was not completely blameless. All of us could have behaved better. There were times I witnessed bullying and did nothing to stop it. I just watched. I didn’t know what to do. I was afraid the bullies would turn on me if I said anything. One of the strange blessings of the Columbine shootings is it spurred research into the problem. We understand more about where, when and why people are bullied. Schools have implemented programs to stop bullying. The better ones assist the bullied to build friendships with other children like themselves, teach bullies how to be compassionate leaders and encourages bystanders to stand up for the victims.

Who did what to whom forty years later is not important to me. What matters is how we behave today. We are all saints and sinners. “How many times should I forgive?” Peter asked Jesus. “Seventy times seven.” Jesus replied. Richard Mark’s apology made it easy to forgive. The reunion was my gift to my class. Not because they earned it, but because after 40 years I discovered I was and will always be connected to them and the town in which we grew up.

Not of My Making, is available from Amazon, Barnes & Noble Online, Barrington Books or directly from www.pluckpress.com

Friday, September 18th, while I was inline skating at Poncin Hewlett Athletic Park, Jim stopped me. “Did you hear?” he asked me.

“Hear what?” I asked.

“Do you remember that lady that used to walk here?”

“Do you mean Kathy?” I asked.

“Yes. She passed away,” he said.

“Passed away,” I repeated. “How? When?”

“I don’t know but I’m going to go to the wake.”

“Thanks for telling me,” I said as I skated away.

I hadn’t known Kathy was ill. It had been months since I heard from her. I kept trying to get together with her but she never had enough time. I thought she wasn’t really interested in being friends. I gave up but kept thinking I should call.

When I got back to the house I called First Baptist Church and asked if the rumor was true. “Yes,” the woman said. “We are very upset about it.”

“Do you know the funeral plans?” I asked.

“Calling hours and the funeral will be on Wednesday at the funeral home next to the church.”

Sunday Ken, Kathy’s second husband, called early in the morning while I was dressing for church. He was upset when he realized he wasn’t the first one to tell me of his wife’s death. “She was well loved by many people,” I said. “The news spread fast.”
We talked for thirty minutes. “The doctors,” he said, “kept saying she needed to eat but at home she was eating.” He then told me everything she ate before going into the hospital. But it was too late. Ken’s deep love for his wife couldn’t fix the damage done by Kathy’s first husband. She had aged early. Her back was bent. She lived in fear. She grazed but seldom ate a full meal. She remained underweight. In the end her electrolytes were out of balance. She had a heart attack and died the day she was to be discharged from the hospital.

Victims of abuse struggle their whole lives. On average they die younger than those who have been well treated. One of the lingering effects for me as a survivor is I never know who is or isn’t a friend or ally. I expect abandonment. When Kathy stopped calling I assumed she was no longer interested in being friends. When Ken called I realized he regarded me as his wife’s friend. My eyes filled with tears as I set the phone in its cradle.

I remembered meeting Kathy approximately four years ago in the early hours just before dawn as I stretched before my skate at the park. Kathy was a newcomer to the park who unlike the park veterans chattered gaily as she walked the path stopping to introduce herself to everyone she passed. “Do you know Jim?” she asked. “He walks here too.”

“Oh, the old man,” I said.

“Who is that guy walking the golden retrievers?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” I replied.

“I’m going to find out,” she said. In that way, Kathy turned strangers into the early morning exercise club. Soon we were talking and joking as we passed each other on the trail.

Kathy entered my life at a time when I was friendless and hungry for connection. As we exercised in the park she told me she was a retired chemistry teacher and was widowed and remarried. She often praised her first husband but once she trusted me she told me he had been an abusive alcoholic. As a Christian Kathy didn’t want to speak ill of the dead. On Tuesdays Kathy frequently traveled into Stoughton near my office to visit her mother and the graves of her late husband and father. Despite numerous invitations she never joined me for lunch. I also tried to get her to go with me to book club. She didn’t want to go out at night. Finally as I skated along side her near the basketball courts I said, “Don’t you have time for friendship?”

“Of course I do, Miss Margaret,” That was Kathy’s affectionate way of addressing me. It was a compromise. I wanted her to call me by my nickname but after learning I held a doctorate in psychology she refused to address me without an honorific. Doctor was too formal so she called me Miss Margaret.

A few days later on Friday she finally came over to my house for lunch. She brought her own sandwich. After we ate we sat in the living room talking about faith. Kathy told me about her friend who was a nun in the convent in Plainville.

Kathy invited me to her husband’s choral concert to be held at Immanuel. Fearful she would learn about me from my enemies I asked her not to believe everything she heard about me. Kathy wasn’t interested in the church gossip. She encouraged me to come any way. My husband and I went despite my fears. Kathy greeted us and had no problem being seen with us.

In May 2007 things took a turn for the worse in Kathy’s life. She was in a major car accident. I went to visit her at Rhode Island Hospital and then at the rehab center in Boston. It was then I became aware she didn’t like to eat. Mary at the park had commented once on how Kathy’s back was curved and bony and wondered what was wrong. I suspected anorexia.

Ken and Kathy listening to music at the launch of Not of My Making

After her discharge from the hospital Kathy would occasionally stop by with gifts for my newborn grandson or to show me her new car. She supported my book, Not of My Making by attending my book launch party and buying copies for herself and family.

The last time I saw Kathy was about a year ago when I returned from my church trip to The Museum of the Russian Icons. She had an article about bullying she wanted to share with me. She also had concert tickets. I couldn’t go this time. Conflicting obligations. I am sorry now that I didn’t make the time. I thought I had more time. I didn’t.

When I skate at the park I see Kathy in my mind’s eye greeting everyone and encouraging me as I practiced my spin stop.
“You’ll get it, Miss Margaret, I know you will.”

My eyes filled with tears as I set the phone in its cradle.

Last Wednesday, August 12, Wayne Kent, a radio talk show host from Decatur, Illinois, interviewed me. His show, Direct Line, is designed as a live call-in event where current events are discussed through a lens of spirituality. Rev. Kent asked thoughtful questions about the impact of abuse on my life and what it was like to be cast out of my church family. I especially appreciated his own honesty when he admitted to bullying a classmate. To his credit as an adult he attempted to find her and apologize.

Time, of course, is at a premium on radio. The interview was like trying to talk to someone riding a bicycle faster than I could run. I could keep up only so long before they pulled away from me. With only a few minutes to make my point I found myself striving for a good sound bite when I prefer a longer conversation.

After discussing the impact of the abuse and what motivated my attackers, Rev. Kent asked if I forgave my adversaries. Whenever this question is asked I feel sick to my stomach. It churns acid. My arms are pinned to my side and I have trouble breathing. “I don’t know,” I told Rev. Kent.

I wish I had said, why do you ask me that question? If you read Not of My Making you would know I never sought revenge. I wanted reconciliation but my efforts only increased their abusive behavior towards me. I was powerless and terrified. During the church conflict my adversaries berated me for attending church before forgiving them while they insisted they had done nothing wrong. Fr. Lance at my present church has said they were seeking absolution which wasn’t mine to give.

While I remain confused about the difference between forgiveness and absolution, it appears to me forgiveness to my adversaries meant never talking about what happened. They expected me to come to church and act as if everything was still the same between us. I was, however, never good at pretending. I wanted to resolve our differences. The only way I knew how to do that was to discuss the issues that divided us.

Christians often rush to forgiveness believing that will heal everyone’s wounds. They crave stories of redemption. Since perpetrators rarely admit their sin and repent, Christians focus on getting victims to forgive.

Have you forgiven? The question leaves me flustered and unable to make a clear reply. Forgiven who and for what? What do you mean by forgiveness? Writers define it differently. No wonder I don’t know if I have forgiven them or not.

What I can tell you is I never sought revenge. I had a few fantasies of the church blowing up or burning down but I never planned to get even. Instead I tried to get my adversaries to discuss what happened. I was desperate for them to understand me. They were my friends. I wanted them to listen. I wanted to fix things. I wanted them to remain my friends. I would have done almost anything to regain my place in the church except lie. I wasn’t going to be untrue to myself. It was my former friends who sought revenge by driving me out of the church.

So have I forgiven them for that? Geoffrey Robinson, a Catholic bishop, wrote in Confronting Power and Sex in the Catholic Church, that he has found survivors who say they haven’t forgiven yet who by his definition have. Perhaps I am one of those. I don’t know. When I consciously chose not to excuse what my former friends did to me and stopped seeking reconciliation I healed and moved on. I will leave it to God to judge whether I have forgiven or not.

When I first read Daphne’s review of my book, I gasped. Oh, my God, I thought. She is identifying with the clergy who breached confidentiality and congregants who chose to gossip about me. What does that say about her? Does she value civility over truth and kindness while stigmatizing anyone with a history of depression and anxiety?

In her review Daphne distorts the facts of my life by minimizing the abuse I suffered and exaggerating the length and intensity of my emotional problems. She appears to view my depression and anxiety as long-term and unchangeable character defects rather than the predictable and treatable response to sexual, physical and emotional abuse. Consequently, she rejects my premise that nothing I did merited the spiritual abuse I suffered. Instead she agrees with my adversaries that I have “significant problems getting along with other people” and that I “fail to take responsibility”. Like my adversaries Daphne does not take into account my successful marriage and good relationships with my children and others outside of the congregations I wrote about.

In addition to her belief that I lack good social skills, Daphne concludes my therapist had to be right when he wondered if my perceptions created a self-fulfilling prophecy. Dr. Emmett’s knowledge of the self-fulfilling prophecy comes from a well-known study where it was shown that teacher expectations about student’s potential achievement influenced how well or poorly students performed. Less widely known is that the study was never replicated and subsequent research showed that the “effects are minimal for most teachers because expectations are generally accurate and open to corrective feedback.” Even if the phenomenon of self-fulfilling prophecy was real and significant Daphne ignores that prior to being betrayed and rejected I had expected friendship, loyalty and understanding. Instead I was emotionally abused and shunned.

Finally, in her review Daphne is using the self-fulfilling prophecy as a way to blame the bullied and to exonerate the bully and the bystander. By blaming victims and insisting that if they behaved differently abuse wouldn’t occur gives onlookers a false sense of security that it couldn’t happen to them. Some how they are stronger and wiser than the victim and it is the victim’s weakness that is the cause of the problem. However, all of us have vulnerabilities that other people can manipulate to further their own selfish agendas without regard to our welfare.

The second round of my virtual book tour occurred during the first weekend in May. It was a challenging weekend. I found myself debating with atheists while responding to comments about spiritual abuse at five different blog stops. It all started when I began promoting my blog stops by posting on Tweeter:

Problems with church started when I said I was uncomfortable with having a gay minister. Unitarian Universalists weren’t tolerant.

The problems followed me as clergy talked about me and allowed others to gossip. In the end the Lutherans didn’t want me either.

I have finally found a safe place among traditional Christians who walk the talk. Learn more at …

It is then that Taigitsune, a systems administrator for the Unitarian Universalist Association, asked, “In what way did you question it?”

I hesitated. What did he mean “in what way”? Was he asking if I was polite and respectful or was he asking what my specific doubts were about having a gay minister? Why did it matter? I replied by directing him to the day’s blog stop.

He replied he didn’t see any mention of Unitarian Universalists there and Unitarian Universalists weren’t mainline Christian. Some UUs are Christian others are not, I replied. In New England they are certainly mainstream. I was a UU for ten years. Taigitsune then wrote, that one of Unitarian Universalist’s seven principles is the inherent worth and dignity of each person including gay ministers. So who, he asked, was really intolerant?

The Unitarian Universalists I answered without hesitation. Tolerance is the practice of allowing or respecting the beliefs of others. In 1993 when I expressed discomfort but indicated I was willing to discuss the issue, my fellow congregants responded by refusing to talk directly to me. Instead they gossiped.

Taigitsune expressed the common UU conceit that they are more tolerant than other churches insisting they don’t place doctrinal demands on their members. But they do. There is an expectation members are political and social liberals with an interest in other religions except Christianity. Tagitsune also wrote that the scapegoating was merely my perception of things. Not so I thought. I was expelled. Told never to return. “No,” I replied, “Scapegoating is a set of behaviors. It is how people avoid taking responsibility for their cruel behavior.”

On the second day of the blog tour Shtole, one of Taigitsune’s followers, joined the conversation by retweeting Taigitsune’s, “If you think you’re right, you’re probably not.” I replied to both of them, “Then you must be wrong since you are so sure I am wrong and you are right.” Taigitsune withdrew and soon it was five against one. I am proud to say I held my own. I didn’t flinch. While not all of my arguments were strong and articulate I did not let them bully me. I demonstrated to other survivors how to stand up for oneself. During this exchange the number of my followers jumped confirming the more I am myself, the more people follow.

During this hot debate I was simultaneously discussing on We Survived Abuse recovery from spiritual abuse. On John’s Grace Walk we talked about why I didn’t leave the abusive churches sooner. On Sunday I stopped by T Michael Cart’s Truth in Ministry where people responded to my Letter to Spiritual Abuse Survivors. We talked about making church a refuge or safe place for all. On Monday at Under Much Grace we talked about patriarchal structures and patriocentricity where the family patriarch is central to family life and family members. We also discussed restriction of emotional display and speaking up for oneself.

Thank you to all the lovely people who have supported me by hosting a blog stop. Together we will plant the seeds needed to reform our churches making them better places for everyone.

The first week of my blog tour is over. Sitting in front of a hotel window overlooking Lake George in the Adirondacks I have some time to reflect on how it went. At the end of Day 1 Deena of A Survivor’s Thoughts on Life emailed me asking me if it turned out okay and expressing the hope that my other stops would turn out better. I replied:

I think the blog stop worked out fine. It gained some exposure for both of us. I know several people read the post even if they didn’t write comments. Some people emailed me privately. One has asked me to write a book with him on friendship. You cannot tell right away how successful a marketing campaign is or isn’t. Some books sold.

Book marketing is hard work. I had to take time to read my hosts’ blogs and write a post for them to use on their blog. My hosts read my book, wrote a review and helped moderate the comments. During the blog stop I monitored comments and responded to readers as close to real time as possible. I also twittered about it motivating people to read the posts and comment. I offered the incentive of a drawing for a free book. Mary Morgan won the drawing for re-tweeting the announcement and Cat M won for writing a comment.

Day One of the tour I stopped at Aida Calder’s Forgetting the Former Things and at Deena’s A Survivor’s Thoughts on Life. Both women posted reviews of my book on their blogs. I then posted my reaction. Several women followed me at Forgetting the Former Things, commented and retweeted my messages about the virtual book tour. Deena asked me questions throughout the day and I responded.

My third blog stop was at The Apostle Wive’s Club. A few women who had commented at Forgetting the Former Things followed me there. Before “meeting” the owner of the blog I had never given any thought of how the Catholic Church responded to priests who broke their celibacy vow and married. Their reaction appears hypocritical. Over the past decades the Catholic Church has covered up sexual abuse and reassigned offending priests. Why are they so forgiving of pedophiles but not of priests who fall in love and marry?

The fourth tour was at Book Hookup where Donna Sundblad asked me to write about what inspired Not of My Making. Read The Healing Journey

The blog tour has gotten me out of my comfort zone and I have “met” several interesting people. That has been one of the unplanned benefits of book marketing. Immediately following my de-churchings I became mildly agoraphobic and withdrew into myself. Book marketing forced me to be assertive and outgoing. I wasn’t going to sell many books if I withdrew into the safety of my home.

If you missed the blog stops you can still read the posts about Not of My Making, spiritual abuse, friendship and book writing. They are located at:

Forgetting the Former Things

Haunted by the Ghosts of Spiritual Abuse

Aida Calder’s Review of Not of My Making

A Survivor’s Thoughts on Life:

Interview with Margaret W Jones, Ph.D.

Is Shunning a Form of Emotional Abuse

Deena’s Review of Not of My Making

Not of My Makng, Part 2

Not of My Making, Part 1

Not of My Making, Initial Reaction to Book

I Met Someone Today – Divine Appointment?

The Apostles Wives Club:

Margaret Answers Your Questions

Book Hookup:

What Inspired Not of My Making?

Week Two of the Tour will start May 2^nd. Please join me. The schedule is:

]]> http://notofmymaking.com/blog/2009/04/21/blog-tour-not-of-my-making-bullying-scapegoating-and-misconduct/feed/ 7 http://notofmymaking.com/blog/2009/03/30/conversations-about-spiritual-abuse/ http://notofmymaking.com/blog/2009/03/30/conversations-about-spiritual-abuse/#comments Mon, 30 Mar 2009 19:19:48 +0000 Margaret http://notofmymaking.com/blog/?p=86 With the help of my virtual assistant, Lee Drozak I have been planning a virtual book tour for Not of My Making: Bullying, Scapegoating and Misconduct in Churches. The tour will start on Monday, April 13th at Aida Calder’s blog, Forgetting the Former Things. In setting up the tour I have had the honor to [...]]]>

With the help of my virtual assistant, Lee Drozak I have been planning a virtual book tour for Not of My Making: Bullying, Scapegoating and Misconduct in Churches. The tour will start on Monday, April 13^th at Aida Calder’s blog, Forgetting the Former Things.

In setting up the tour I have had the honor to correspond with and talk to a number of wonderful people dedicated to helping fellow survivors overcome abuse. Read Deena Springer’s post about our phone conversation at A Survivor’s Thoughts on Life

As I wanted, my book is promoting a discussion about abuse in churches. Below are my responses to some issues raised by John Weaver of  Against Biblical Counseling:

John wrote:

I think what your book does do well is provide an insight into the kind of doctrinal and internal in-fighting that goes on in mainline churches. I was shocked to find that Unitarianism can be so divisive. Coming out of the evangelical tradition, I had no idea that Unitarian belief – which many evangelicals (not me) believe is too vague to provoke disagreement – can provoke such profound disagreements among its members.

My response:

People argue about whatever they feel passionate about. While Unitarians insist they have no doctrine, in fact, they do. Some of its tenets are: man is good, there is no sin, morality is relative, all value systems are equal except Christianity which is the cause of most wars, homosexual behavior is biologically determined and is not a sin, it is wrong to be a Republican etc. If you step outside of this even a fraction of an inch you will be accused as I was of not being a real Unitarian. Unitarians tend to be far left ideologues who play with religion picking and choosing what makes them feel good from the world’s religions while condemning or ignoring the parts that they find too challenging. Often Unitarian churches are no more than left wing political organizations masquerading as religion.

John further wrote:

The situation you describe in your book is hard for an outside reader to judge accurately, especially when only presented with one side of it.

I replied:

I asked my adversaries to share their perspectives on the events I wrote about in my book. They refused. From what I can deduce, they believe I am unreasonable and bad and it is better not to help me. I hope and pray that they know at some level that what they did was wrong and are ashamed to have it out there in print. Maybe some day they will apologize just as my high school classmate has. You can read about that in my blog post, “Facebook Redemption”? Be sure to read Jeff Fisher’s comment. It corroborates my high school experience and will give you a glimpse of how I was viewed when I was a teenager.

John wrote:

I am not saying your church(s) did not scapegoat you, just that it would be impossible for me or any other blogger to be able to honestly say they knew the ‘truth’ of your story, even if the sole guidepost they were using is your text. In this, it differs, from, say, Renee Altson’s book Stumbling Toward Faith, where it is obvious to any reader that Altson underwent extreme abuse at the hands of evangelical church leadership. Similarly, too, the Mercy survivors I cover obviously were abused by their exorcists, as careful research into Mercy Ministries clearly demonstrates.

My response:

I suspect you and/or your readers are having difficulty accepting that emotional and relational abuse can cause as much damage as the severe sexual and physical abuse and/or you do not believe people who share your values are capable of being abusive. Psychological research has discovered it is the emotional abuse that accompanies most sexual or physical abuse which causes the most harm. That is why you can have a woman who has been raped by a stranger on the street and whose family rallied behind her, not develop PTSD while someone who has been neglected and emotionally abused by their parents develop severe PTSD. As for who is capable of being abusive, we all are. It is part of our animal natures. Watch videos on great ape groups. Alpha males will kill the infants of competing males. Physical abuse of weaker apes is the norm. As human beings we get to choose. We can be beasts or we can develop a sense of morality and learn to protect those weaker than ourselves. As a Christian I do not believe we can do this without God.

John:

Please note that I am not saying you were not scapegoated or abused by your church. I believe your interpretation of these events is very likely the correct one, especially after reading some of the crueler comments fellow church members made about you. But I simply can not prove this conclusively from the text, as I can with Stumbling Toward Faith.

My response:

I read through the reviews of Stumbling Toward Faith and see it is a memoir just as my book is. I do not see any mention that she presented any corroborating evidence to her story. So I am puzzled that you find her story more credible simply because the abuse she describes appears on the surface to be more severe.

John:

I also think you create a strong bond of sympathy with your readers. I felt greatly worried for your past and present mental health after I read the book.

My response

I am puzzled that you “felt greatly worried” for my present mental health. If you read through to the end of my book you should realize that I was on the road to recovery and that I received treatment from a competent and well trained therapist. I suspect you see me as weaker and sicker than I am now or ever was. This is a common error. To quote Elie Wiesel: “Their experience has set them apart: they are neither better nor worse, but different, more vulnerable and at the same time more hardened than you.”

John:

Please feel free to use any excerpt from this e-mail to help advance your book. I do think there are many good aspects to it, and the pre-Unitarian section is particularly strong.

My response:

Thank you for taking the time to read my book and providing me with a critique. I wanted to learn more about you but couldn’t find any information about your background. You will see from my websites I strive for openness and transparency. I want there to be no mistake as to who I am and what I stand for.

Part of the journey of writing and publishing a book is putting yourself out there and asking for reviews. This can be a little nerve racking and a rollercoaster ride for ones ego. When Not of My Making received excellent reviews from Midwest Book Review, Joanne Carnavale (A Reader and a Writer Reviews) and others I was ecstatic with pride, joy and relief. There was no difficulty deciding what to do with them. I just basked in the warm praise happy I succeeded in writing a compelling story well.

Reviewers brought something of themselves when they read my book and when they wrote their review. Those reviewers who wrote the book was outstanding understood its central theme and identified with having been bullied and mistreated. Those reviewers who were less positive either could not identify with my experience or were expecting something that I did not promise. One reviewer, for instance, wanted to read more about my childhood and the impact of the church conflict on my marriage. I don’t think I promised to do that in my advertising blurbs and in my view, was not central to the story I wanted to tell.

This reviewer also wrote that I espoused a belief in a distant but noble God. That is not something I actually said and that he inferred. It is not how I would characterize my faith. He also appeared to treat my faith as something that was static and unchanging rather than a journey of moving away from and then back to Christianity. During the experiences I wrote about I was confused by the failure of my former friends to walk their talk. The paradox is that while I do not speak the traditional Christian talk, my tenacity and perseverance in the face of rejection and abuse demonstrated significant faith in God and Jesus. I didn’t give up on church. I am finally a member of a church where there is a sincere emphasis on leading an authentic Christian life. It is not just a Sunday feel good hour.

Another review appears to be more about the reviewer’s misperceptions about me and anger rather than about the quality of the book. She accuses me of holding onto anger and failing to move on. As a psychologist I can’t help but wonder if she is projecting her own fears, hurts and repressed anger onto me. She fails to recognize the long-term impact of neglect, verbal and physical abuse when she describes my parents as merely “very critical”. When survivors such as myself tell their stories, it is their fervent hope that by doing so they are helping to prevent others from being abused and are providing comfort to those who are still struggling with their own victimization.

Writing Not of My Making was a painful journey of discovering why my parents, classmates and former friends were so cruel. I am grateful to everyone who has taken the time to read my book. I pray that their knowledge and understanding of survivors has increased and they are less likely to blame the victim. I also pray they will support groups who are trying to end abuse and care for survivors.

I don’t believe praying for people changes anything. I agree with Harry Emerson Fosdic, God is not a cosmic bellboy who gets you whatever you want. If praying could change outcomes, then why are some prayers answered and others not? I am sure all mothers pray for the safe return of their sons from war but some men die while others survive. Are not all their prayers worthy of attention from God?

Even though I don’t believe God will give me the things I pray for, I still pray. It keeps me centered and helps me figure out what God expects of me. A few years ago while sitting in my living room chanting a mantra and listening to hymns, God spoke to me and I knew that He wanted me to trust my therapist and accept his help. God wanted me to face my fears, reach out to others and recover from Post Traumatic Stress.

This wasn’t the first time I encountered God. Once when I was in my late teens I stood on a ledge overlooking a canyon in Colorado. I watched an eagle soar. Then I felt it. God was standing there with me even though I didn’t believe in Him. Awe. Eight months later as I sunk into despair and contemplated suicide the knowledge that God was there motivated me to hang on and not give up.

A decade later I encountered God while driving home. I had just dropped my daughter off at dance class. It was a week after a drunk totaled my car and fled the scene of the accident abandoning my children and me. As I drove I was thinking how my children and I could have died and my husband would have been left alone. Who would have cared for him? What if I died and my children survived? Who would mother them? My heart rate and breathing increased. Then in front of me, beyond the line of cars, I saw the sun setting and the sky streaked with pink clouds. In an instant I felt God’s arms embracing the earth and knew after death I would be part of that embrace. I would shelter my family forever. There was nothing to fear.

Fr. Lance of All Saints Anglican Church commented on my earlier blog post, “Am I Bashing Churches.” He is concerned about Christians being targeted in the public schools and asked me to comment on it. My first reaction was that was beyond my experience. When I was in school I was a Catholic living in a town that was 75% Catholic. The remaining 25% were either Jewish or Protestant. No one I associated with identified themselves as an atheist or an agnostic. Everyone went to church or temple. Atheists and agnostics were considered evil people that one should avoid.

When I was 16 I left the church and sometime during my first year in college I cease to consider myself Catholic and became one of those “evil people”. That is also the first time I encountered negative attitudes toward Catholics. While standing on the dinner line in my dorm a fellow student called me a papist. I never heard the term before and thought he was ignorant. I was pleased when I heard his roommate smashed his stereo speakers over his head.

I, however, wasn’t free from my own prejudices. It was the early 1970’s and I was heavily involved with the anti-war movement and women’s rights. I called the evangelical Christians Jesus Freaks and avoided them. They were part of the far right that opposed my political agenda. I viewed them as narrow, rigid and intolerant. Later when my children were small I started attending Sunday services at the local Unitarian Universalist fellowship believing them to be a model of tolerance and openness. My children never complained of being bullied by their classmates due to our religious beliefs except once when a neighbor told them our family would be going to hell because we did not attend Catholic mass.

Unitarian Universalism encouraged and supported my religious seeking. Tragically, ten years later when I rediscovered Christianity my fellow congregants had no place for me. My expulsion in 1999 from a Unitarian Universalist congregation was motivated by hostility towards my growing faith in God and Jesus. The Unitarian Universalists were not as tolerant and open minded as they claimed to be.

Apparently the hostility towards Christianity is not confined to the Unitarians Universalists. With the growing tolerance of homosexuality and premarital sex in the schools Christianity is viewed with suspicion and anger. The Biblical injunctions against such behavior are either denied or viewed as ignorant stances from a historical era that is best forgotten. Morality is regarded as relative so individuals should be allowed to do whatever they think is right. People no longer attend church or synagogue regularly. Those that do are the odd balls. If you believe in God and Jesus you can expect to be bullied and ridiculed by your classmates. Teachers who often hold anti-Christian beliefs minimize the harassment Christian students suffer and take no action to stop it.

Teachers, school administrators and parents must take a strong stance against bullying regardless of who the victim is. Bullies need to learn to be more just leaders. Victims need to learn to assert their rights. Bystanders need to bear witness and help the vulnerable.

If you want to learn more about my story please read, Not of My Making: Bullying, Scapegoating and Misconduct in Churches.

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