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

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/2009/02/23/book-reviews-and-internet-trolls/ http://notofmymaking.com/blog/2009/02/23/book-reviews-and-internet-trolls/#comments Mon, 23 Feb 2009 14:58:12 +0000 Margaret http://notofmymaking.com/blog/?p=76 Now that I have poured out my heart and soul into writing and producing Not of My Making, Bullying, Scapegoating and Misconduct I needed to get the word out that my book is available. Following advice gleaned from books and the internet I submitted my book for review and was pleased to receive outstanding reviews [...]]]>

Now that I have poured out my heart and soul into writing and producing Not of My Making, Bullying, Scapegoating and Misconduct I needed to get the word out that my book is available. Following advice gleaned from books and the internet I submitted my book for review and was pleased to receive outstanding reviews from Midwest Book Reviews, TCM Reviews and Lightword Reviews. I even received an unsolicited review from Joanne Carnevale of A Reader and Writer Reviews. I was ecstatic. I was surely going to succeed and sell all the books I printed. But just as I was riding the wave of my success an individual who hasn’t read my book posted a comment to Midwest’s review of my book challenging their credibility and implying either I or Pluck Press paid for the review. Neither of which is true.

Now why would someone out of the hundreds of books Midwest reviews pick on the review of my book to disparage? Why not go directly to the reviewers profile page and challenge her directly? Were they somehow connected to the antagonists I wrote about in Not of My Making? I checked their profiles. One person had his or her name as Ghost, another just an initial and last name. They provided so little information about themselves that it has not been possible to find out anything more about them.

I was uncertain how to handle it. I wondered what kind of impact if any it would have on book sales. I decided to explain Midwest Book Reviews policies and inform Ghost and the others that I had not paid and will never pay to have my book reviewed. They always had a come back. I found myself talking about the credibility of Midwest Book Reviews and a reviewer who I never met instead of about bullying in churches.

I didn’t want to be arguing about the veracity of book reviews. The publishing industry established its customs and procedures long before I came along. I have to use them to my best advantage to accomplish my own goal. I want to share my story and make people aware of adult bullying in churches. I love church and want to help make it a safe place for all.

Read my book and judge for yourself. I invite you to participate in the discussion about bullying in schools, work and churches. Have you ever been bullied? Have you bullied someone? Did you watch someone get bullied? If so, did you intervene or did you do nothing? Why did you do what you did? How can we decrease bullying and help others find a place within the communities to which we belong?

I joined Facebook to market my book, Not of My Making: Bullying, Scapegoating and Misconduct in Churches. 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 hesitated. I was never part of the in crowd and was often cruelly treated. Would people who had refused to be my friend 38 years ago really accept my invitation to be friends now? I had little to lose and lots of books to sell so I clicked ‘send invitations’ and went to bed. The next morning my in box 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. Almost every day in high school was a torment. Nothing I did stopped the bullying. In school I focused on my studies and avoided my tormenters. 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.

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.

One of my classmates lives an hour from my current home. Over the holidays I had lunch with her. She told me 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 those who had done the bullying 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 a classmate had written a public apology on Facebook while I was out. I admired his integrity. People rarely apologize for bullying others. At least no one has ever apologized to me. It was a blessing and took some of the sting out of the old wounds.

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.

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. If our teachers understood the dynamics of bullying back then as they do now, things might have been different.

Who did what to whom thirty eight years later is not important to me. What matters is how we behave today. We are all saints and sinners. I want to do what God has commanded and let go of the past hurts and move on. I wrote my book, Not of My Making, to inform others about the long term impact of bullying and to help the victims recover, the bystanders take action and the bullies to reform their behavior. This is my survivors mission and what God has called me to do.

My book, Not of My Making, is available from Amazon or directly from www.pluckpress.com

]]> http://notofmymaking.com/blog/2009/01/05/facebook-redemption/feed/ 2 http://notofmymaking.com/blog/2008/12/16/the-cat-that-lost-its-meow/ http://notofmymaking.com/blog/2008/12/16/the-cat-that-lost-its-meow/#comments Tue, 16 Dec 2008 01:30:54 +0000 Margaret http://notofmymaking.com/blog/?p=45 The weekends have been busy. Too busy. So when Susan Epstein announced on Twitter she and her co-authors would be signing their book the cat who lost its meow at the Sun Up Gallery on Saturday and Sunday I hesitated. I recognized it could be useful to meet another author and see how successful the [...]]]>

The weekends have been busy. Too busy. So when Susan Epstein announced on Twitter she and her co-authors would be signing their book the cat who lost its meow at the Sun Up Gallery on Saturday and Sunday I hesitated. I recognized it could be useful to meet another author and see how successful the book event was. However, I had been on the go for days and I really needed to get some rest.

I was still undecided when I sat down at my computer and squeezed in one last task before going to bed Saturday night. As part of my marketing plan for my book, Not of My Making, I searched Facebook for classmates from my high school. I came up with a couple of dozen names. I didn’t recognize any of them. I pulled my yearbook off the shelf and looked up the men. The faces were familiar but I didn’t remember a thing about them. The women were more difficult. Facebook didn’t list their maiden names. So I sent them all invitations to join me on Facebook and went to bed.

In the morning among several replies I found “Your memory is better than mine. Who did you hang out with?”

Who did I hang out with? No one. Absolutely no one. No one would be caught dead being seen with me. I was a reject. At best I was ignored. At worst I was teased and bullied. There were a few kids who were kind and who spoke to me occasionally. But no one was openly my friend.

“Who did you hang out with?”

I took a deep breath and typed in the names of a few classmates. Maybe this will convince her I am really a former classmate.

Within minutes I had a reply. “Sorry about the last post.” She and several other women sent me their maiden names. With my yearbook on my lap I linked up the names with the faces. As I turned the pages my stomach churned and I felt confused. Who were the bullies? I couldn’t remember. Kids either teased me or stood silently by while I was demeaned. There were a handful of kids who were kind. I do remember them:Hattie, Gioimia, Steve, and Rose. But the names in front of me I didn’t remember. Faces were familiar but there are no memories to go along with them.

“Mom.” My daughter was standing at the door to my study. “I’m ready.”

“Okay.” I put on my coat and picked up my bag. Driving to church I told my daughter about Susan Epstein’s book signing.

“Why don’t you want to go?” she asked.

“I’m tired and need some rest.”

She sighed. “Me, too, but it could be a good connection.”

During the church service I felt tears welling up. I just wanted to stay home where I was safe. Worried I was going to start weeping I swallowed and prayed. A peace descended over me. I would make the drive to Westerly to meet my Twitter friend.

After the church service, I dropped my daughter off at our house and drove to the Sun Up Gallery alone. I plugged in my iPod and listened to Christmas carols as I cruised south on Interstate 95. I felt safe.

My decision to go to the book signing turned out to be a good one. Sun Up Gallery was a lovely upscale gift shop. There was a guitarist playing holiday songs. The owner of a local winery was handing out free samples. I found Susan with her co-authors, Antoinette and Richard in the next room. After I introduced myself Susan became excited, “This is my first Tweetmeet.”

“Mine, too,” I said as we hugged each other.

Richard handed me their book, the cat who lost its meow. The cover was a photo of the artist cloth that inspired the story. It had the same texture. I ran my hand over it. Richard proudly showed me the actual cloth Susan and Antoinette had found on the beach. I skimmed their book as we talked. Proceeds from the sale of their bookmarks were going to National Association to PROTECT Children. It became obvious we had a lot in common. I suspected I was not the only survivor turned thriver in the room.

I read the cat who lost its meow when I returned home. I read while I made mashed potatoes for Sunday’s night dinner. At first, I didn’t get it. Did I miss something? Perhaps my fatigue prevented me from giving it the attention it deserved. Monday morning I re-read it.

Oh! I get it now. I’m a cat that’s lost its meow. Abused, neglected, abandoned and unloved I lost my meow. With God’s grace I got mine back through writing and publishing my own story. I have found love and acceptance with my husband and children. In my current church I have found people who strive to do what God has asked them to.

the cat who lost its meow can be appreciated on many levels by adults and children. It was lovingly crafted by three beautiful and caring individuals. I will certainly read it to the children I work with in my therapy practice. When my grandson is old enough to understand, I will read it to him, too.

While I was doing a book signing at Bayshore Books in Oconto, Wisconsin, the storeowner asked me if my book bashed religion.

“No, why would you think that?” I asked.

“Because of your book’s subtitle,” she replied.

I picked up my book and read the title, “Not of My Making: Bullying, Scapegoating and Misconduct in Churches.”

“It was only after I read your back cover that I felt reassured,” the storeowner said.

“What if the subtitle was, ‘Bullying, Scapegoating and Misconduct in Schools’? Would you think I was bashing schools?” I asked.

“No,” she replied. “I would think you wanted to end bullying in schools.”

“Well, that is what I want to do in churches. I want to make them safer places for everyone.”

As I wrote some time ago, I love church. My faith in Jesus is important to me. That was what made my dechurching so devastating. Church ceased to be a safe place. I learned that there is a difference between churchianity and Christianity. I wrote my book not to bash religion but to draw attention to the problem of bullying. I want churches to create an ethos where bullying would not be tolerated and we would help each other grow in faith. I don’t want other people to be hurt the way I was. I want to help those who have been hurt by church to reclaim their faith, return to their churches and work to make them safer places.

I want connection with others. I want to grow in my faith and become a better Christian. I don’t think you can do that alone. You need to go to church. So I go every Sunday to All Saints Anglican where “real” Christianity is preached and where the majority of the congregation tries to live their faith 365 days a year.