Coming clean, my REAL journey of motherhood

When I laid my daughter down for bed tonight, she asked to look at pictures of herself as a baby. I brought up my Instagram and scrolled all the way back to the beginning of my photo uploads. As we began looking at each photo, I started to think about what we have been through together.

I once had a blog that I intended to use to chronicle my parenting journey, the adventures of our family, as I had seen so many other mothers and families do. I wrote, I think no more than 3 entries in that blog. The truth is I just couldn't bear to talk about what was going on in my life. Everyone was rooting for us. Everyone was ecstatic for us. I wanted my life to be the way I had thought it was going to be, the way everyone else was hoping it was, and it devastatingly wasn't. Everything was crumbling to pieces and I was desperately trying to hold it all together thinking that maybe, just maybe it would all come back together soon? I didn't tell anyone what was going on, because surely it was just all temporary, and I didn't want to let anyone down, or for anyone to think less of our family once we finally got everything together. But time dragged on, and holding the pieces together became more and more and more difficult, impossible even, and the cracks began to show, and I began to drown in a sea of expectations and opinions and guilt and responsibility and shame. And I hid it still, as best I could. The people I couldn't hide it from had to endure long painstaking monologues from me as I struggled to figure out what to do, what to do...

It has been 5 1/2 years now since my daughter's birth, and still I hide. I hide because of all the people who shamed me for staying with my child's father, then for leaving my child's father and becoming a single mom, for being a two-time divorcee, for being a woman who should have known better, for being a woman with visible tattoos, for being a woman who at times worked two jobs and still couldn't keep my head above water, for being a woman who almost died doing physical labor for barely above minimum wage, for being a woman who wasn't able to save my child from abuse and neglect at the hands of a caregiver while I worked those jobs, for being a woman who desperately needed food stamps, child support, and medicaid in order to provide for the basic needs of my child while I worked those jobs, for being a woman who couldn't figure out how to crawl out of the pit I had been tossed into, for being a woman who tried my absolute best to do everything right and still failed miserably.

How could I admit in front of all those people that I failed at the most important thing I would ever do and then essentially just gave up, lost hope, and began wandering through life aimlessly searching for something, anything that could give me any sense of purpose again? How could I tell this story to people who already thought I would fail, who looked at us to prove their prejudices? How could I tell this story to people who were confident I would succeed, to people who looked at us for inspiration? How could I tell this to anyone?

I couldn't.  I could barely accept it myself.
But now I will. Because this is my REAL journey of motherhood and I don't want to hide in shame anymore. Its not what I wanted, by any stretch of the imagination. Its not pretty or happy. Its dirty and messy and ugly and painful. This is not what I wanted to write in my mom blog about our family adventures. But this is it. This is my life, and this is Cricket's life.

The people who know my daughter's father well will tell you that he's never had a very good work ethic. He's creative, can be charismatic, a wealth of counter-culture information that drew me in as a curious 19 year old. In our time dating, he worked a handful of small one-off jobs out of necessity that he inevitably quit, not wanting to be a slave to "the man", pinned down to some dreary restrictive schedule droning on for eternity and sucking away his life energy. Seemed harmless enough as twenty-something child-free punk rockers with nary a responsibility in the world that seemed to matter at the time.
We had both talked about wanting children and a family in the future, and after being together for several years, him having stuck at a steady job and gotten his problematic drinking under control for over a year at that time, we decided the timing was good to try to bring a new light into the world. Shortly before finding out I was pregnant, he quit working for the usual reasons, and we had considered putting the trying on hold for a bit longer...but life had other ideas.
We both cried when we got those two lines on the pregnancy test. I had so many plans and hopes and dreams for this child.
Being severely emetophobic, the nausea of pregnancy felt like torture and I spent much of the time miserable.
My husband began working at a tattoo shop during that time, returning to an earlier career choice that he had previously given up on.
By my third trimester, I was starting to see signs of my husband's enthusiasm for this pregnancy waning, but I chalked it up to caregiver burnout and stress.

Within 24 hours of the birth of our daughter, I began questioning whether that was it. His lack of interest in the baby was beginning to concern me.
Within a week, I was sure that something was very, very wrong. I was beginning to unravel. Trying to recover from childbirth and nursing a newborn around the clock put me in the position of requiring help getting my basic needs met, but he seemed constantly absent and unavailable. He went out and binge drank several times, and drove drunk. At our daughter's first checkup, I fainted, because I hadn't eaten or slept more than 20 minutes in two days. I cried. I begged for help. I excitedly called to him to come see every cute and amazing thing our daughter was doing. But he became increasingly hostile and absent. I hid it from everyone. I wanted everyone to think I was doing a good job, and that it was going to be okay, he was going to come around soon.

By month 4, I had gotten more despondent. We had some good moments that got my hopes up, but many, many more that dashed them to dust. More blackout drinking and driving. Still no interest in interacting with the baby or even spending time together. He brought home less than $100/month from the tattoo shop on average, and our financial situation was becoming desperate. I wasn't able to hide it from visiting family members well anymore, my stress was palpable. I felt guilty.
They began inviting me to visit them out of state to help me get away. It helped me in the immediate moment, but instead of being able to enjoy my time, I worried intensely the entire time about what to do, what to do...
By 6 months, I broke down and revealed my situation to the moms I knew in groups online. It opened me up to storms of criticism and I felt crushed. Yet still, several moms reached out to me and sent me cloth diapers, detergent, a baby carrier, and other helpful items that became invaluable to me. Still to this day, I cry when I think about their generosity and how much their support changed my life.
Because we could no longer afford disposable diapers, I used the cloth diapers and hand washed them in the bath tub, drying them in the sun outside during the day. I took walks with Cricket in the carrier to clear my head, but often just seeing all the homes as we walked in the nearby neighborhood would leave me in tears back at home again, because I was losing hope that Cricket would ever get the childhood I knew she deserved. Because I wanted my husband back, I wanted him to be as in love with Cricket as I was, because she was so perfect and beautiful and yet he didn't seem to notice or care. I wanted so badly for her to be living the life I had dreamed for her, not this. To say my heart was shattered is an understatement. But I had to go on.

By 9 months, we were given notice of our electricity being shut off, and I was being sent warnings by the department of health and human services that our food stamps would be cut off if my husband did not attend workforce commission workshops for gainful employment. He was drinking heavily and refusing to attend. I had already sold almost everything of value that I had owned up to that point in order to keep us even minimally afloat. I would spend my entire day and night on the computer, trying to find ways to make money or get childcare and work. I constantly felt plagued by guilt that I wasn't spending quality time with Cricket, I was constantly trying to keep her occupied and out of my hair so I could just deal with the situation at hand. Finally I made the decision I felt I had to make, and called my family out of state to come pick me up.
They arrived within 3 days towing a trailer, and it was then that my husband suddenly seemed to feel a change of heart. He said out of the blue that he was afraid of losing Cricket. It tugged at my heart strings. Was he really interested in her? Finally? He made elaborate promises of trying to be there for us, and I made the decision to give him a chance. My family asked, was I sure? Yes, I said. I couldn't shoot down what could be our turning point! I hastily packed up his things and we were on our way together for a new life in Colorado.
Nobody except my family and my online mom groups knew that we were leaving out of desperation, and that the family patriarch was supposed to have been left behind. I made it look outwardly as if we were just all moving to Colorado as a family. Everyone seemed so excited for this new chapter in our lives.

Upon arriving there, things seemed hopeful. We both obtained employment quickly. My family helped with childcare and our basic needs. We slept on a makeshift bed on the floor of my parents' basement and lived out of duffel bags.
My hope was short-lived. After a month, my husband quit his job and didn't attempt to find another. Months went by, things stayed the same. I worked often 12+ hour shifts, while my family watched our daughter, and my husband spent his time as he pleased. I grew more and more displeased with this arrangement, as I wasn't able to be a part of planning and carrying out my daughter's first birthday, wasn't able to be a part of much of her every day life. Even when I was home, she went straight to my mother or one of my sisters when she needed anything. Even when I was home, her meals were made for her by someone else, she was clothed by someone else, she wanted to play with someone else. I was becoming invisible. My shaky relationship with my mother and family combined with mounting disagreements on boundaries and childrearing made it imperative to me that we move out of my parents' home as quickly as possible. I felt trapped.
Finally someone helped my husband out with a temporary job. Relieved, I watched him get up dutifully each morning and work to make just enough money to get us back to Texas where we had arranged to move a back in to the family-owned housing we had been living in before we left for Colorado. I was terrified. We were coming back with almost nothing at all but the clothes on our backs and Cricket's toys, I remember him promising me that as soon as we returned, he would hit the ground running, looking for work immediately. He reassured me that he wouldn't let us down, that we would be taken care of this time. I believed him, I supported him.
I was wrong.
As soon as we got home, he went out with friends and got drunk. And proceeded to spend every single day and night that way for the next 10 days.

I remember laying there on the bare floor of the condo with Cricket sleeping, calling shelters, calling churches, calling anywhere I could think of to help us. We had no food, no money, nothing. There was nothing anyone could do immediately. I was on waiting lists for assistance and our food stamp application was being expedited. I had nowhere else to go. Night after night, I endured my husband coming home black out drunk, crashing through the empty house, collapsing wherever he fell and remaining there until the next evening when he would reanimate and leave the house for a repeat. Eventually he went back to the same routine at the tattoo shop. First just hanging out, then back to working there bringing home less than $100 month.
I remember a few friends visiting, and being disturbed by the emptiness of the apartment, the blanket we slept on in the middle of the floor, the hollow refrigerator, my lack of ability to keep up any sort of facade any longer although I tried my best to smile and seem okay.

Nothing was okay.
Months went by. I was isolated and hopeless.
Myself and Cricket were invited on a camping trip while my husband was out of town partying. I spent the weekend pouring out my thoughts to two working mothers and listening to them encourage me. I was painfully embarrassed by the way I couldn't contain myself, by how anxiety-ridden I'd become, by how stressed I was that I burst into tears over the smallest frustrating slight. But I gathered my strength and told myself I could be like them.
I found a way to earn the money to buy myself Dermablend tattoo cover makeup.
I applied to jobs.
I got hired part time.
I told my husband when I was going to be gone and set everything up for him to care for our daughter while I was away.
I got up for work at 3am after only 5 hours of sleep if I was lucky, still interrupted by numerous night nursing sessions, and drove over 200 miles each day to merchandise store to store.
I'd come home after it was all over to find my husband on the computer with his headphones on, and Cricket in a filthy diaper with a rash, with food thrown all over the living room. Every single time, without fail. I'd clean up the mess, make dinner, and repeat.

Then, a new piercer was hired at my husband's tattoo shop. He began to talk about her a lot. No big deal, she was new, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Then he began to spend a lot of time with her outside of the tattoo shop. Said he was taking her under his wing. One night, he drunkenly told me "I know I talk about her a lot, but we're just friends, so don't worry." He'd been friends with plenty of women before, spent time alone with plenty of women before, there was no need for such a disclaimer then. It was at that moment that I began to worry. Then he stopped coming home, and I knew.
I asked him why? He told me it was because I was a mother now. And I was a good mother. It wasn't what he found attractive in a partner. Family stuff made him uncomfortable. He wanted to be free.
I couldn't accept it. When he did come by the condo to pick up a change of clothes or something else he needed, I would tell him how much we loved him and that he was irreplaceable to our family and that I wanted him to come home and be with us.
After about 6 weeks, he did.
And I didn't say a word. Not to him about it, not to anyone else. We went right back into life as if nothing had ever happened. There were some changes though. He celebrated my birthday, Cricket's birthday, Christmas with us, and put in real effort. He quit working at the tattoo shop and still disappeared out drinking sometimes, but I had become somewhat accustomed to that...until his spending and drinking began to interfere with my ability to get to work. He wasn't sober enough to watch Cricket for me, or he left with the car and hadn't come home, or he had spent all the money we had that I needed for gas. I called in so many times that I eventually had to resign because I just couldn't reliably perform the duties of my position anymore. I cried and cried and cried because I loved that job and it was the only hope I had.

A few months later, I had convinced him to accept work at a local call center. He started training and seemed hopeful. Less than two weeks in, he found out about a TV show filming in Austin that was looking for extras. He made the decision to leave the job and go to Austin for several weeks and stay with a family friend in the meantime.
While there, he sought out and accepted a position at a local tattoo shop and decided to make the move permanent.
Cricket and I stayed behind in San Antonio for several months while he worked and visited us, seeming to be making improvements. He was earning money at a job he found himself, he was beginning to somewhat involve himself with Cricket when he visited, etc. Then he asked us to move up to Austin with him. I was paralyzed with fear. Leaving the only place I had to stay, uprooting Cricket once again on his already untrustworthy word, and yet...again I felt I didn't want to turn down the chance at our family's happiness and togetherness. I agreed. We found an apartment. We moved.
Two weeks later, the illusion was already shattered, and after a last ditch attempt at therapy, I came crawling back to San Antonio with Cricket, officially a single mother. It was over.

I got a seasonal retail job in the evenings and on weekends and an office job weekdays. I begged childcare help from anyone I could, piecing together a small short-term team of people I'll forever be indebted to. My parents' church gathered together some money to send me to help me get on my feet. I used the money to get my daughter started in a home daycare that came suggested from a friend of my husband's. It seemed nice enough, run by a retired preschool teacher in a room in her home that was full of activities. I began working a physically strenuous job as an elevator mechanic helper, and it sometimes required me to be on jobsite before 7am, often requiring me to drop my daughter off at daycare as early as 5am. I was sore, exhausted, and scrambling to make ends meet between paying rent, utilities, car insurance, and daycare. I was run ragged, commuting and working from 4:30am to 7pm or later many days, and still trying to find time to make dinner at home, do laundry at the laundromat, buy groceries, do dishes, and other basic duties. My daughter felt like a stranger.

Again, I began losing hope. I couldn't go on like this. I was exhausted. Nothing was improving. I had no way out. I felt that my boss had begun to cross the line into abusive behavior. I had been trying to find new work. I didn't know what to do.

On April Fool's Day 2014, my boss dropped a steel beam from the top floor of the residential jobsite we were working on. I was below him, trying to fix a problem he had caused that had threatened my life only moments earlier. The beam struck me in the upper back and left shoulder, missing a direct impact with my spine by less than an inch, because I flinched toward the doorway at the very last second. I spent the next 16 weeks in recovery, doing physical therapy to regain the use of my left arm and full movement of my neck.
Let me tell you how fun it is to parent a 3 year old alone, without being able to turn your head or use one of your arms, and without being able to lift more than 5lbs. Let me tell you how much fun it is to lose your spot in daycare and be stuck on workman's comp for months. I got just over half my normal paycheck, which was pitiful to begin with.
I had no one to help me, so I drove myself to all my doctor appointments one-handed and brought Cricket with me. She had fun in physical therapy, and luckily, everyone tolerated her. I frustratedly let all my dishes pile up in my sink because I couldn't figure out how to wash dishes with only one hand. I cried with relief when my boyfriend at the time stepped in to help me in the evenings.

I went back to work on light duty when the time came, and there was an opening in the same home daycare.
After a few short weeks, it became clear that there was a problem.
Cricket began crying and begging not to go, telling me she was bad, a bad girl. One day she came home with bruises and scratches, insisting the caregiver had punished her and told her she was bad for not being quiet at nap time. She also had said an older boy who was there for the summer had shown her a zombie movie on his tablet, and she had been having repeated nightmares and anxiety about zombies, frequently talking in graphic detail about gore and violence. I spoke to the caregiver who came up with a strange and varied story as to what must have happened, and I began immediately searching for new childcare.
I brought Cricket with me to work in the office for a few days while my boss was out of town, and when I wasn't able to find another childcare that I could afford, I sent my daughter back until I could figure out something else. I didn't know what else to do. I went back to full duty working in the field and immediately began having issues again with the safety. I ended up in potentially life-threatening situations unnecessarily several more times before I told my boss I was leaving, walked off the jobsite, and picked up my daughter from daycare. I surprised the caregiver and discovered Cricket was closed in a dark room in the back of the house while the caregiver watched television. I later discovered another older child had been hurting her, choking her, biting her, etc. while they were left unattended. I decided neither of us were going back, no matter the cost.

My dad invited me to come work for his company in Colorado for a few weeks, so we packed our bags and headed up there. I spent long days working enjoyably with my dad while my mom and sisters cared for Cricket. I'd spend anywhere from 2-12 weeks there assisting my dad on projects and then come home. Whenever I was back in Texas, I kept trying to find a long-term way to sustain us.
I never figured it out.

In one of those breaks between trips, I met my current boyfriend who eventually insisted on providing for us. My dad sold his company like he'd been wanting, and now here I am.

Completely lost. Financially comfortable now, but unable to ever feel comfortable. I still react as if anything could be the end of it all. A year and a half now, alternating between trying to relax into just being a stay-at-home mom, and trying to find something to do with myself to make myself feel useful and capable again.
I'm not happy with how little time and attention has been devoted to Cricket in her short life, she is already far too independent for her years and our connection has been so disjointed. She still cries that she is bad, years after being removed from the daycare. I'm not happy with the fact that I never was able to figure out a way to take care of Cricket on my own. I'm not happy that every job I qualify for and feel passionate about is impossible to do on my own with a child. Rotating shifts, overtime, out of town travel...I can't be the primary caregiver of my child AND do man-centric work at the same time. I cannot be a mom and a dad by myself. And yet, now I am unable to be satisfied with only doing one or the other.
As I run petty errands and drive my child to and from school each day, I long to be in the places of the construction workers we pass by, I inspect every elevator we run across, I reminisce about carrying hundreds of pounds of equipment up and down stairs all day long as I bemoan my current lack of strength and fitness, I fantasize about fixing things, building things, DOING things again. When at home, I find myself cooking the same meal to serve at the same table and washing those same dishes for the thousandth time, and I think "This is it? This is all I'm supposed to do?"

I lost everything I ever wanted, had to accept that it was unattainable. Ever since then, my future has just looked and felt blank.  As of yet, I've been unable to find anything to put in that space. My dreams are anxious and obstructed. I don't feel like I have much control over my life. I'm still grieving, still isolating myself, trying to hide until I feel presentable to the outside world. Until I at least feel confident enough that I contribute something I can defend to the people who shout at me that I'm a waste of space, that every decision I've made is a mistake that I deserve to suffer for, that I should be ashamed of myself.

I'm so tired of feeling ashamed.

So here it is.

A wreck. Plenty of love. Plenty of heartache.

The REAL story of my journey into motherhood so far. No hiding behind smiling makeupped pictures and cute facebook statuses.

Why leave?

I have spent much time ruminating about how I might explain why I left the most recent church I was attending. I have tried to start telling the story many times, preparing in my mind what I might say if any of the church members contact me to ask. Nobody has, but I still rehearse in my mind how I would communicate the event. So where do I start?

The church I was attending was a very small Christian and Missionary Alliance church. The head pastor had been one of the assistant pastors of the church I grew up in.  There was an average of 30 or less people in regular attendance, many elderly. At first, the pastor expressed some concern about how I might be accepted by the congregation mainly due to my appearance, but he assured me he would speak to everyone and make sure I was welcome.
I fell in love with the church because I loved the preaching. Expository style with lots of historical and cultural context, referring back to the original translation, very rational and educational. I continued attending for over two years.

During that time, I met my boyfriend through friends while I was between work trips. We corresponded via text for several months before getting romantically involved. Within a few months of watching me juggle the stress of single motherhood and my dismal work situation, he was intent on financially providing for me and my daughter so I could stay home if I wanted to. Naturally, not long after, we began to live together. Having a functioning family unit with a steady income was a very welcome relief.
It wasn't my first time committing the dreaded sin of living with a boyfriend, but both times, I felt that God not only understood, but was throwing me a safety line. I didn't flaunt it at church, but wasn't intending to hide it either. Some wording on a Facebook status lead to a conversation with the pastor about it after almost a year. He let me know that the church members had a discussion about it during a meeting (?!) and that everyone agreed that nothing needed to be done unless I applied for official church membership. I felt sort of uncomfortable that I was being discussed without anyone having ever asked me about it, and I expressed and interest in talking with him and the church members about it, but he declined, saying it wasn't necessary because it wasn't any of his business.

Shortly after, my landlord of almost 9 years informed me that he was going to sell the property ASAP. My boyfriend and I began trying to find a home to rent on short notice after depleting our savings on the holidays and a work injury he sustained. Hitting roadblock after roadblock with time running out, stress and frustrations were at an all time high. Ultimately, we made the decision for my boyfriend to stay with a friend temporarily while Cricket and I looked for somewhere to else to stay while we figured everything out. We determined that we would begin couples therapy to help us work through longstanding conflicts we had and help us stay connected through the separation as well.
Pastor contacted me during the week letting me know that I had popped into his head and he felt like he needed to check in on me. That had never happened before, so I thought perhaps God was providing me an opportunity to share what was going on. After relaying the situation, Pastor offered me and my daughter an empty room in his home. He said we would meet in person to go over the details, but that we were definitely welcome to move in with them until we got everything straightened out. I was relieved.


Here began the mess.


After a handful of attempted meetings with Pastor, over two weeks had passed and we had less than a week left before we were supposed to be out of our home. Frustrated with yet another cancellation, I insisted we speak over the phone because I was out of time and couldn't wait any longer. I expected the conversation to be mainly about basic logistics, rules, expectations, boundaries, common courtesy and respect (Would I have my own key or would I need to be let in? Would we be expected to share meals or would I prepare my own meals for myself and my daughter? Would I help pay for utilities or other resources? Etc.) but instead, it seemed to take on a different tone entirely.

He said he needed to go over everything and warn me so that nothing would go badly and ruin our relationship, because he knows himself and that's what would happen.
He started out by telling me that I would be expected to be making progress. Unsure what he meant by that, I asked for clarification, and he answered in a similarly vague way "Now, don't be mis-hearing me, I expect this of anyone, including my own children. I expect you to be making an effort to improve your situation." Again unsure of what that was specifically referring to or how that might apply to me, I asked for clarification. He again repeated that all he asked was that I show effort to make progress. Of course I honestly can't remember the conversation word-for-word chronologically, but after that point, it started to seem glaringly obvious that some grave misunderstandings had been occurring about what my "situation" really was.
 He said that he expected me to be working both a day shift while my daughter was in school, and additionally working an evening or overnight shift while he and his wife watched my daughter for me. He said I was required to make progress toward financial independence from my boyfriend. I had been looking for work recently just to have something to do (we didn't need it financially), and I had told him at a previous time that I was choosing not to work evening shifts so that I could be there to make dinner and put my daughter to bed. It was at this time that he stated he assumed that was because my daughter's behavior was so out of control that I had to be there to deal with it. (?!?!) So a sub-requirement would be that he and his wife would do behavior modification training with my daughter while I was away, so they could fix her "behavioral issues" that were preventing me from working. It was incredibly shocking and puzzling to me that was what he had gathered from me saying I was choosing not to work in the evening so I could be there with my daughter. I tried to explain, but he wouldn't give me a chance to speak.

He told me that I need to get my finances straightened out and would be required to go through the Dave Ramsey Financial Peace University. I had no issue with taking the classes, but anyone who knows me would find it completely laughable. I am extremely (at times irrationally) strict with my finances and budgeting. At the time of the conversation, I had zero unpaid bills, zero past due accounts, credit score that was steadily rising, and money in savings. He refused my offer to show him my bank accounts and budget to prove that I had no issues in that department, saying again that it wasn't any of his business. (?!?!)

He stated that my daughter would not be welcome in any of the common areas of their home, due to the fact that he stores firearms, there are breakable items, (fair enough), and because they are "quiet people who prefer not to have visitors". No visitors also included not allowing my daughter's father to pick her up for visitation or drop her off at their home.
We would not be allowed to store food at their home. Not in our room (seems fair for pest control reasons) and not in their pantry or refrigerator. He did follow this by saying any food found in our room would be thrown away during inspection (?!?!) and IF we put any food in their pantry or fridge, it would be considered community property and promptly eaten.

He told me I would be held to a personal progress plan with timeline laid out for me by them, making life improvements they determine I require. I found this so humiliating and insulting. At that point, I began crying and trying to explain myself, but he absolutely would not let me speak. He said I needed to get my life together, that I'm not taking responsibility for my poor life decisions, that I'm obviously not trying to succeed and I'm being a burden on others, that I'm being selfish and I owe my daughter a proper upbringing and a proper role model, that I'm acting entitled to other peoples' help because I obviously have no desire to be independent since I'm not trying to take care of myself or my child, told me he won't allow me to be asking them for money and that if my car broke down I can't ask them to buy me a new one or expect them to give me rides everywhere.  (?!!!!!! All of that was so bizarre to me, it would never occur to me whatsoever to even DREAM of doing that.)
He said he always taught his children to never get themselves into a position where they need to rely on other people to get their needs met. I confusedly tried to explain that once you have a child, you really can't get by without relying on someone's help, that is the purpose of a family unit, and sometimes things happen that aren't in your control that make it so you need help and support...but he used that to launch into a rant about how everyone in society is interdependent upon one another, but that I'm not pulling my weight or taking responsibility for the choice I made to get myself into this position. He stated that he would not allow himself or his family to become an enabler for someone like myself.

I ended the phone call crying, saying I'd let him know what I was going to do within two days. I spent about an hour afterward sobbing, and told both my boyfriend and my mom what had happened. They were both shocked. I decided I'd contact the pastor to let him know that I wasn't going to accept his offer of a room for us and that I wasn't going to be at church on Sunday.

A few days later, I posted a funny parenting meme on Facebook jokingly complaining about kids asking for drinks of water at bedtime, and Pastor began to leave a barrage of comments telling me that I let my child manipulate and control me, that I need to get it together and parent my child, etc. I left only a brief response reassuring the pastor that just because my child asks every night, that doesn't mean I give in. He however, sent another barrage of messages and got into a verbal altercation with another friend on the post until I deleted it. A similar situation occurred the next day, so I removed him from my friend list. He texted me to make sure everything was okay, and even though I didn't feel ready, I decided to go ahead and attempt to explain why it was not okay.

I tried to be as understanding as possible, stating that I knew he was wanting to be helpful and had good intentions, and that I do believe its completely reasonable to make rules and expectations when allowing someone into your home, so I had no issue with those things. However, during the phone conversation, I felt that there had been a lot of negative assumptions made about me and I didn't feel like his view of my situation was correct, and even if it had, I felt like his method of "help" wasn't very respectful to me as a person. I honestly hadn't realized until that moment how little he actually knew about me and my life. The way he spoke to me about it made me feel horrible and it made me concerned for people in need of help and how it makes them feel to have to accept help under those circumstances. I compared it to the story of The Good Samaritan, feeling as if he had come across the person who was beaten and robbed, he would have said to them "I can offer you help, but you have to know that I'm going to expect you to show that you're making improvements in your life and not putting yourself in the position to be beaten and robbed again, because you need to take responsibility for yourself, you can't just be expecting people to come along and help you like this, you have to consider the burden you're putting on others. I can't enable the obviously poor choices you're making that got you into this position." (which is almost word-for-word what he said to me on the phone) I ended the message by saying I didn't want to have an argument, so I asked that he please not reply immediately, to give me some space and time before replying.

Unfortunately, he did not. He immediately replied back. He accused me of projecting my "bad experiences with other churches" onto our interactions (I'm not even sure what he's referring to there?), said that him requiring me to want better for myself as a condition of being helped is not judgmental or negative in any way, said I was misunderstanding him because I insisted on speaking over the phone instead of waiting until he could find time to meet me in person, and accused me of being judgmental toward him, and stated, quote "if I am going to be judged in this it would be nice if it were accurate."

At that point, I committed myself to not replying. That last line was especially ironic and I wasn't sure how I could possibly reply to any of that. He sent me several more messages, texts, and voicemails over the following weeks saying "I don't know why you're doing this" and "It would be nice if you would reply" and similar things that I ignored, because they all seemed somewhat strange, unprofessional, and still confrontational. Then, my mother began getting messages from him that seemed to get even more bizarre.
Included in them, he made repeated statements that his church is growing, but that he can't bear how much I hurt him, that I obviously have made horrible assumptions about him, misunderstood him, judged him, and have made him out to be the huge bad guy. He said he learned long ago that trying to help people only leads to hurt and the only reason he ever helps people is because that's what God calls his people to do. He said that he had done more for me than he would ever do for even his own children (????) and refuses to continue to try to beg for my attention (?). He stated that he has apologized to me numerous times (?!?? I didn't get a single apology, not even close?) and that he no longer cares to fix this or lose sleep over someone who doesn't deserve it (ouch?). He went on about how upset he was, that I ruined the birth of his granddaughter by upsetting him, that he has already shed too many tears over me to reconcile. When my mom replied calmly asking if he could maybe help to clarify what he thought I might be misunderstanding and tried to offer some mediation, he replied in a bizarre manner again stating that his congregation is growing and that he doesn't like to argue despite popular opinion to the contrary, and then said that he had been asking ME for time and space, and that my mom needed to leave him alone and drop it because it is too painful for him and he is no longer concerned with it. Many vague Facebook status updates later, he seems to have moved on.

 All in all, it was a very strange unexpected turn of events, but also looking back, much of his behavior and things he said now seem like warning signs.  During those two years, many things occurred that I didn't realize would hold such later significance.

He would often say in front of the church and other people that he'd known me since I was a tiny little girl and that I was like a daughter to him. I was glad he felt so warmly toward me, but the truth was that I really only loosely knew of him for perhaps a year or two when I was early elementary age-- all I remembered about him was that my family didn't like his theology or his personality and that his son seemed to have some behavioral issues. His family moved away and I didn't see him or communicate with him whatsoever until I showed up at this church 20 years later.  He knew essentially nothing whatsoever about my life, and never asked about my life, my spiritual journey, nothing.
We had some dinners with his family, he let me borrow his computer once to update my resume, he invited me to bring over laundry once, and his daughter watched my daughter for a few job interviews and doctor appointments.
When I was exhausted trying to get by as a single mom working a manual labor job, he asked if I had considered going to college, so I explained that I had gone to school to be a cosmetologist and was licensed, but I purposefully let my license expire in this state, and that I was not eligible to return to school due to my student loans being in default. He offered to help me pay to re-transfer my cosmetology license to this state, but I declined because I left the industry for a reason, and the hours and low pay starting out would not be helpful to me at that time.
He then asked if I had considered removing my visible tattoos to help me earn more. I said I had considered it, and he offered to help pay for laser removal. I said I knew someone that did it whom I trusted, and I would get pricing and let him know if I needed assistance. After getting the information, I informed him that I didn't need help paying for it, and thanked him for the generous offer. At the time, I was unaware that he had apparently had discussions with other church members about it, and it was unclear if he let them know afterward that I had declined the assistance-- at least some of the members hadn't been informed, because when one of my photos went viral (as they do occasionally when you have a face tattoo) one of the church members commented publicly on it that I was getting it removed and her church was paying for it. I was mortified.

In his messages to my mother, he kept referencing these things over and over again and talking about "all he had done for me", which my mother and I both found very puzzling since there really wasn't anything hugely notable. His incoherence in the messages seemed strange for a person who normally prides himself on writing lengthy academic papers, forming complex logical arguments, etc. It drove me crazy that whenever I tried to provide him with information about myself, he would block me, saying that it was none of his business, and yet I'd find out he and the church members had been forming elaborate conjectures about myself and my life and having meetings to discuss me.
Then there was his constant facebook arguing that lead to at least once weekly vaguebooking about having been deleted by yet another "thin skinned, easily offended" person who just couldn't handle his superior intellect. "Sorry" was obviously not in his vocabulary. He was a staunch libertarian and die hard rational, combined with his strict military background made him lacking in compassion. His reaction was also strangely narcissistic.

After the experience, I was absolutely exhausted of trying to prove myself worthy of people's respect and acceptance, trying to hold up to and defend myself from the scrutiny that comes from my life not resembling the given model of what you're supposed to have if you're doing everything the "right way"...so I decided definitively to not put myself through it anymore. No more church.
I made a lot of realizations about thought processes I was subjecting myself to that were ultimately damaging to me that I learned in church, which I will talk about in later posts.

Departure

I'm making this blog to document my process of leaving the church, and to talk through my fundamental evangelical christian upbringing.
I plan to write about:
Specific experiences I've had in churches in my childhood and adulthood.
Damaging things I subconsciously learned in church and evangelical christian culture that I'm trying to work through.
What caused my view of church and modern fundamental evangelical christianity to begin to change and how it has continued to change over time.
What ultimately motivated me to make the decision to discontinue attending church.
Things I'd like to communicate to church staff and church members everywhere.
Things I'm realizing since leaving the church and how that is changing my perspective.

It has now been approximately one month since I've attended church. This is the first time in my life that I've made the conscious choice to not pursue attending church. I don't feel any desire or obligation to attend church whatsoever, despite the fact that my personal faith is as strong as ever. I've been surprisingly very at peace with it. I will make a separate post about the specific incident that precipitated this decision, but here I'd just like to offer a brief introduction.

I began attending church with my family in Colorado Springs around the age of 5 or 6. We tried out a few places before settling on a church home at a Christian & Missionary Alliance church affectionately known as "the barn". It was here that we stayed until the church split and eventually dissolved several years later. A small chunk of the remaining members opted to continue meeting as a home church for years until that also dissolved, after I had moved away from home.

I got married at the age of 17 to a boy I had met at church many years earlier in middle school youth group. We were separated just over a year later. We briefly reconciled, and permanently re-separated less than a year after that. During this time, everything I thought I knew began to all blur into a murky grey for me. I questioned a lot of what I had previously accepted and began to study and develop a more individualized understanding that would become the foundation of my growing personal faith.
I subsequently met and cohabited with what would become my second husband and the father of my child. Years later immediately after our daughter was born, our marriage rapidly disintegrated. Nothing could have prepared me. It was the last thing on earth I would have ever believed could happen. Similarly to my first divorce, no amount of prayer or pastoral counseling or advice or marriage seminars or platitudes could resolve the irreconcilable differences that had become glaringly apparent. I clung desperately to the remaining shreds of relationship until I had strangled every last glimmer of hope out of it. I had a brief spiritual epiphany toward the tail end of the relationship, then was plunged into the harsh desolate wasteland of single motherhood. It was during those last few years that I began regularly attending church again for the first time since living at home with my parents. I needed support. I wanted to be around people who valued the same things as I did.

I tried several churches around town, finally settling on a "family integrated" church I hoped would accept us. I attended for almost two years before no longer being welcome for reasons I will expound upon in a later post.
I then began to attend a local church being lead by one of the assistant pastors from my childhood church back in Colorado Springs. His rational approach and rejection of legalism drew me in and I felt at home. I attended for over 2 1/2 years before abruptly making some discoveries that were hurtful and deeply disappointing. Unable to reconcile, hostilities only increased until it became apparent that I had to discontinue what had become an unhealthy relationship with church and modern evangelical christian culture as a whole.

In the month since ditching church, I have made many, many shocking realizations about patterns in my thinking I had been previously unaware of. They were made to seem normal and natural and true within the church culture, but the further I remove myself from it, the more strange and damaging much of it seems. I will give specific examples of these insights in future posts. It has been incredibly eye opening and I fully intend to continue my journey into the unknown realm intentionally free of "churchianity".

Hopefully this blog will give me somewhere to organize my thoughts and experiences so that my current partner will get an intellectual break from my constant venting and ranting and analyzing and monologuing about breakthroughs. Haha.