As the daughter of an elder in the Jehovah's Witness community, my life was marked by a constant struggle to maintain a perfect, trauma-free facade. But beneath the surface, I was silently enduring unimaginable pain – a reality all too common for many Jehovah's Witness survivors.
Growing up, my family was the definition of everything that should not have been kept a secret. At a young age, I learned that there were many things that were none of anyone's business. Telling the truth about my family's struggles was an impossible task, as the congregation's idea of "the truth" demanded that an elder's family present themselves as flawless.
The pressure to conform, the fear of being shunned by the only community I'd ever known, and the disconnect between the teachings and the reality of life within the organization – these were the constant battles I faced. I loved Jehovah with all my heart, yet the things I witnessed just didn't add up. I kept telling myself that if I had more faith, I would finally "get it right," but the pain never went away.
As I grew older, my family's constant moves and my father's flirtatious behavior with young women in the congregation became the source of much gossip and scrutiny. The elders eventually stripped my father of his eldership, but the damage had already been done. I was left grappling with a deep, boiling rage that I had been taught was wrong to even acknowledge.
The turning point came when I fell in love with a boy outside the Jehovah's Witness community. The elders' cruel treatment of us during the subsequent disfellowshipping process only fueled my anger and desire for revenge. I was willing to go to great lengths to see my father and the elders exposed for their wrongdoings, even if it meant sacrificing my own well-being.
The aftermath of these events was devastating. My mother, aunt, and uncle all succumbed to the weight of their own unspoken traumas, their minds and bodies breaking under the strain. My mother, in particular, was never able to fully recover, her life a constant battle to maintain the perfect Jehovah's Witness façade while enduring new horrors at the hands of her second husband.
As I watched my mother's wings become irreparably broken, I knew I was on the same path. I eventually had to find a way to tell my story, to heal my own wounds, before they consumed me entirely. And so, this is my journey – a testament to the resilience of the human spirit, and a call to break the silence that has trapped so many within the Jehovah's Witness community.
My broken wings may have kept me grounded for a time, but now, they are the very thing that will carry me to freedom. This is my story, and it is one that deserves to be heard.
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