Traitorous Wretch

“You’re going to have to tell the elders about it.”

TWIM joined the cult of Jehovah’s Witnesses right after I was born. A new parent, wife of an abusive addict and former Catholic school girl, she was ripe for the picking. Among the numerous rigid bylaws, cult members were restricted from anything having to do with what they called “this system of things.” They believed Armageddon was imminent, and it was pointless to get too comfortable or invest too much in this world. As such, the rules restricted most normal activity. Members were forbidden to:

• Celebrate holidays or birthdays
• Have relationships with non-cult members (friends or romantic)
• Join groups, clubs, etc.
• Play competitive sports or events
• Attend parties
• Date before you were ready for marriage
• Go to college
• Participate in politics
• Donate or receive blood
• Acknowledge or talk to any cult members who left the organization

TWIM used the rules to control my every move. Yet, she had a knack for magically rationalizing when they didn’t apply to her. As mentioned in my earlier post, my mother was a performer. She never had what one would call a real job. She was a clown for an amusement park, a mime for a shopping mall (it was the eighties after all), a stand-up comic for a nightclub and the lead singer in a band … um, where she performed in more nightclubs.

And yet me being on the cheerleading team was something akin to smoking in the girl’s bathroom. I remember sneaking into tryouts and using excuses to stay after school to practice. I was absolutely ecstatic when I made the team – until they told us we had to buy saddle shoes. “How was I going to pull this one off?” my mind raced as I tried to calculate how I might acquire $50 saddle shoes when I didn’t have any money.

After I made the team, TWIM and I were walking around in the mall where I stopped in front of the shoe display and stared.

“Mom, can I get these?” Of course, after she probed and prodded, I finally broke down and confessed. “I need them because I tried out for the cheerleading team and I made it!” I told her, hoping my excitement might soften her enough to let me do it.

“Oh, you can’t do that, absolutely not,” she responded.

I couldn’t be a cheerleader or attend birthday parties, but TWIM could take gigs in nightclubs singing with an all-male band. Go figure. Joining the drama club, on the other hand, was met with her approval. Looking back, I realize now it’s because it was something SHE was interested in, she could relate and be involved. As a kid, I didn’t see the double standard. I was too busy trying to be “good,” and making sure I didn’t get destroyed in Armageddon.

On that long list of behavioral taboos, was hanging with the heathens – lest they corrupt you with all their hedonistic ideas and practices. You know, like going trick-or-treating or attending school dances. Yes, these totally normal milestones of adolescence were treated like poison we could not touch. Making friends was difficult enough for a kid, but when you’re the only one in class not saluting the flag or singing Christmas carols it was pretty easy to stay friendless. That goes for dating, too. Unless you wanted to be married in middle school, you had to hide your crushes.

I was friends with a handful of cult girls with whom I used to chat with after “meetings” – cult lectures that occurred three times per week. We all had crushes on some boys in a different congregation. The parents tolerated that because I suppose they saw potential future husbands and at least they weren’t needle-using, occult worshippers. (This is how the organization made you feel about all non-believers. Everyone uses drugs, worships Satan and exist only to get you to disobey god.)

One weekend, a bunch of cult members organized a camping trip. I was invited along with my girlfriends and all three of the boys we had crushes on also went. At one point, we were aware that the boy I pined for was flirting with one of our other friends. My heart sank. Later that week we learned that the couple had snuck away to have a make-out session. Knowing this was absolutely forbidden, we held onto that bit of gossip for a while.

TWIM used to assure me that I could confide in her and she would be a listening ear. Except what I didn’t realize is that her You Can Tell Me Anything routine was more about getting information on me than about actual emotional support. I didn’t know this at the time, so I decided to tell TWIM about the camping scandal. Perhaps I did it out of jealousy, but mostly it was in the name of being a good little cult girl. “Hey, look at me, aren’t I righteous and pure compared to this harlot?”

I wasn’t prepared for her reaction. In my mission to gain TWIM’s approval, I overlooked her own need for righteousness and approval.

“Well, you’re going to have to tell the elders about it,” she urged.

The elders were the leaders of the congregation. A bunch of men who called the shots and determined everyone’s fates. They are the reason TWIM didn’t leave my father when he was using her as a punching bag. Unless he committed adultery, she wasn’t allowed to divorce him. So sayeth the elders.

She made me rat my friend out to three adult men about her middle school rendezvous. After that, any friends I did have abandoned me in that organization. So now I couldn’t have worldly friends, and the cult friends no longer talked to me.

I was so humiliated and ashamed of myself, I didn’t realize what TWIM was doing to me.