A lot of my upcoming writing will be about what feels like a massive phase of life deconstruction in which I currently find myself. Since religion, one of the major parts that I'm deconstructing, has been a huge part of my life from birth, I figured I'd share some background for those who may be able to relate to living the way I did. It may be eye-opening for those who didn't live that way.
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As a pastors' kid in a small church, I was born into a life of watching my parents serving and having to have it all together. There were some really great things about growing up the way I did, but there were also some difficult things about church culture that I learned and internalized.
People would call with problems at dinnertime. People would need my parents to drop everything and come be supportive during emergencies. People would need counsel after church on Sundays, while my "starving" younger brother and I just wanted to go home, so we could all eat lunch together. Early on, I internalized the idea that there was always going to be an endless string of people with various needs with whom I was in competition.
My parents were doing their very best to fulfill the calling that they felt God had given them, and, even though you cannot please everyone, they tried to make sure everyone felt included. I watched how much it hurt them when people they had invested their hearts into would leave. Even though the life of a pastor isn't about people being loyal to you, and though everyone is entitled to find a church family that they feel is right for them, I saw that it hurt them sometimes.
I was a very open, tenderhearted little girl, and I was very protective of my parents. When I did hear negative or hurtful things people would say, I kept it to myself rather than telling my parents things I heard. I think my need to take on pain to protect other people from bad feelings, and to manage their anxiety, started pretty young. Even though that wasn't ever supposed to be part of my role, I took it on anyway.
Looking back, because I was so sensitive, the fear of corporal punishment wasn't necessary for me because just knowing my parents were disappointed was truly punishment enough. But it wasn't acceptable for pastors' kids to have big, raw feelings in front of other people, or to speak their minds, especially if it was contrary to an adult's opinion (considered rebellious in a Christian family, or, if you were a strong female presence, in some circles it was considered a "Jezebel spirit"), even if it was a valid one. "Dr. Dobson parenting" did a lot of damage to a lot of families, and I have to say I did not grieve when he died.
So because I was born into evangelical church culture, and pastors' kids usually went one way or the other, I was one of those who chose to assimilate and not rock the boat. I feared punishment rather than respecting my parents. But I didn't rebel or go crazy like some did. Pastors' kids who disagreed or had their own opinions or chose a different way were a bad reflection on their parents and were considered "backslidden."
I took sexual purity vows as an evangelical youth group teen because everyone knew you were just "a used up kleenex in the trash" or "a chewed up piece of gum on the ground" if you didn't decide to stay "pure" for marriage (yes, there were many youth conferences where those were actual references used for people who lost their virginity or who made decisions for their own bodies). In youth conference culture, I learned to judge people who didn't adhere to the rules.
I learned to hate my body because it was bad, rather than a gift from God to me, and only a temptation that could cause a Christian boy to "stumble" in his walk with God. Apparently, males were lustful, ravenous animals, incapable of self-control or having strictly platonic friendships with females. (Even in some Christian organizations I knew about and was part of, young women who endured assault were often considered complicit and asked how they contributed to it or what they had worn, as if what you wear ever implies consent.) I learned not to trust my own wisdom or intuition about what was right or wrong for me, things that should have been strictly between me and God. (This is only a part of the things I'm dealing with now in therapy. I didn't realize how deep and pervasive they were, and how they reached into every area of my life.)
While I am now finally learning that my body and my life are mine and that what is "modest" is entirely subjective based on the culture you grow up in, I didn't know that then. In fact, modesty in the Bible does not refer to covering your body, it refers to not flaunting wealth.
I've done quite a bit of research, and strict purity culture still seems to be the norm in evangelical circles. Strangely, females in the evangelical world are still taught pretty young that they are quickly turning into sexual objects, and that it is their responsibility to protect the males of the species from themselves. As a young girl, I learned that my body and my life were not my own, and I did not have autonomy or agency. Because I was female, I was supposed to be protected and sheltered because I was unable to be responsible for my own safety or make my own decisions. I was created to stay "pure" and make my future husband happy, and even considering anything else was something I was supposed to feel guilty about.
Back then, I believed the Bible was inerrant. I learned the Scriptures. I knew all the books of the Bible in order. I killed it at "Sword Drills"--where the Sunday school teacher would call out a reference and the first kid to find it in the Bible (ie. "the sword of the Spirit") was the winner. I still can tell you many obscure Bible stories you may not be familiar with. (Even now, when the Jehovah's Witnesses come to the door, they're always surprised that I can easily finish their scriptural references.) I was in the worship band, and knew every song lyric by heart. I volunteered in the puppet ministry and visited the elderly. I wanted approval and to feel like I had something to give.
For quite a while, I thought every Christian family lived the way we lived. I thought everyone centered their lives around church and prepared for the upcoming Sunday service all week. It was eye-opening the moment I realized that most other people's daily lives didn't revolve around church life and the weekly service. I was kind of jealous of those people sometimes, if I'm honest.
But as a pastor's kids often do, I also realized pretty quickly that sometimes needy people just came first because that was the job. I saw how much it affected my parents to be in service all the time. They felt called to it, though, so they accepted the pros with the cons. But as a kid, even though I was not called to it, it was my life. I accepted it all because I was born into it, and didn't know anything different.
Because I saw the effect that emotionally/mentally/physically/spiritually needy people had on our family life, I vowed to not be needy. In fact, I went so far the other way that people never knew anything that I really struggled with. I didn't fit in with most other church kids because I couldn't really be myself and show my pain, and I didn't fit in with kids who weren't in church because they judged me as "holier-than-thou" without even knowing me--I didn't fit anywhere.
I internalized everything, and never talked to anyone about my true feelings and questions and fears. I never told my parents when I was struggling. Most people never knew until I was an adult that I was angry, depressed, anxious and felt alone for most of my life (actually, this may still come as a surprise to some). They never knew I had thoughts about people being better off if I wasn't there. I was great at being the happy-go-lucky Christian girl, full of toxic positivity. They never knew that I had big wonderings that never got answered. Even though asking questions is part of finding your faith, I was afraid to ask deep spiritual questions and voice opinions that might make it look like my parents weren't doing their job of instructing us properly in our own home. (God forbid a Christian admit they don't know everything, and maybe do some research!)
People never knew the toll it took on me, the pastor's daughter, just trying to be as normal as I could in a "fishbowl" life. I was great at pasting on a smile in front of church people. I learned by watching that some church people were untrustworthy. I couldn't ever divulge anything about who I really was or the struggles I had because it could be used against my parents. I created a role for myself, and I played that role my whole life. I felt more accepted in the role that I made for
Keeping my history in mind, let's fast-forward a decade or so...
I graduated from a fairly strict Christian liberal arts university (a curfew, a dress code, no dancing, no partying). As many evangelical kids do, I got married young, about a year after I graduated college. While I was lucky enough to marry a really good man, I married into a pastoral life. He was already working at a megachurch in another country, and because the chaos and unpredictable nature of ministry was probably familiar and comforting in some way, I didn't think twice about moving there and joining him. I felt I knew what to expect from a life of ministry, even if it wasn't what I was called to.
Almost from Day 1, I understood pretty quickly that I didn't fit the mold of a traditional pastor's wife, even more so in a megachurch setting. It became more and more difficult for me to assimilate and pretend to agree with ideas I didn't agree with--or, honestly, even see as biblical. It was harder every day to smile and say I was okay and look like I had it all together. I was dying on the inside because I didn't feel like I could get behind the desire for exponential church growth (why, though?), the prosperity gospel, or the disregard for the mental/emotional health of the staff--the ones who are charged with caring for the hearts of other people, day in and day out.
Early on in our time there, because I crave natural quality time and connection, I tried to get a fun group going. I planned a couple of nights where we on the large pastoral staff could all just hang out outside of the church setting and get to know each other as real people. That lasted one or two times. Most were too busy or didn't see the value in it. Life behind the sparkly, smoke machined, well-lit megachurch curtain was not easy to get used to, especially for someone who loved true connection.
More than once, other people in leadership made remarks to my husband (and even to my parents when they visited the church) about me and how I wasn't fitting into the vision, or even how my younger brother would be a better choice. If it weren't for the handful of people I truly connected with over my time there, and who truly loved me for the me that they saw, I think I would have fully withered on the inside. They are still wonderful friends to this day.
All the while, because I couldn't reconcile some of the things I was seeing with what I felt was what God intended church to be, I got deeper and deeper into depression. I felt stuck, and I just didn't fit anywhere. I was very lonely. In the middle of all of this, two of my grandparents died. I didn't know the city we lived in very well, so I was afraid to go too many places by myself. I was in another country, so it already didn't feel like home. I was away from my friends and family and all the people I had felt spiritually and emotionally connected to. 9/11 happened and I felt so far away from my home country, even though I was only an hour and a half from the border. When I had my first child, I was quickly in the throes of postpartum depression and anxiety before it started being a normal part of the female discourse.
