The Duggers Aren't The Only Family

I've been writing this article for many days now. I know it's now been almost a week since Josh Dugger became a nationwide sensation after the accusations of him molesting five young girls came to light. I tried to write about this all before, but I could not face all the pain at one time. It's easier to point fingers than to admit that you were sexually assaulted while in a cult that teaches you it was your fault that you were sexually assaulted. For some of us, it's taken days just to write out the simple words: I was a victim of sexual exploration. It's something awful. It's devastating. It's life-changing. I had to write this article slowly because it is so painful. I had to write this article slowly so that my own body could process the trauma. Let me tell you my story.

Today I cried while reading articles about the Duggers. I cried because I felt like I was fighting a losing battle. I felt that once again my voice and the voice of many other victims was not being heard. I cried when I read the article "The Duggers are Not Hypocrites. Progressives Are." This article hurt so much because it was silencing once again the tiny voices of the Invisible Daughters who were daring to speak out. Not once did the article mention those poor girls. Not once did the article even mention that Josh Duggar’s action may have actually hurt someone or even destroyed some lives. The article called me a hypocrite because I am a "Progressive." I'm writing here today to say that I am not a hypocrite. I don't care if the Duggers are hypocrites, but I am not. I have my own story to tell and I am going to tell it to you today for the first time ever.

I met the Duggers before there were 19 kids in the family and before they were on TV. It was sometime in 2005 to 2006. Because my parent's beliefs slightly aligned with those of the Dugger's, we would interact occasionally. Back then, there was nothing impressive about them to our family. They weren't even the biggest family around at that time. Although the Duggers did follow the same teachings in childrearing as my parents, my parent's other beliefs in faith did vary from the Duggers and thus we did not meet with the Duggers very often. They were some of the "liberal" patriarchal Christians in the area. I've met the Duggers because they had similar beliefs to my parents. And it turns out my story is even closer to them than I thought.

I was a victim of sexual exploration. This is the first time I´ve ever mentioned anything about being a victim. I've never told anyone this story. I never want any of my family to find out. I never want my Dad or Mother to know. I never want my sisters to know. I never want my other brothers to know. I never want my husband to know. I never want any of my friends to know. I'm sure my brother remembers what happened but he's never mentioned it and probably never will mention it. I was very close to my older brother. I adored him. I looked up to him. We spent almost every waking hour together from early childhood. We were very close in age and most of our friends were mutual friends. Most of all, I trusted my brother. The day it happened is burned into my brain crystal clear. I couldn't believe that my beloved brother would do something to me that I knew was wrong. My world started spinning out of control that day. It only happened once. I am very thankful for that. I can only imagine what repeated incidents did to those girls.

I kept a secret journal for many years. This journal was given to me by a friend as a birthday present. I never told my Mother about the journal. Instead, I placed it in a ziplock bag and buried it in the back field of our 90 acre farm. That journal was for my deepest secrets. I still kept my everyday journal and my Mother would regularly read through that journal. However, the hidden journal was for my deepest and darkest secrets. I wrote in the secret journal the day my brother exploited me.

September 4, 2004 -- Saturday

We sewed on [Sarah's] dress today. We had fried green tomatoes today.

And the worst thing of all happened today! [Ron] and I went on a bike ride . When we came to the powerlines we stopped to drink water and rest in the shade. I think I will remember the rest. I will not go on another bike ride alone with him for awhile. I thought I was so careful. I listen to Mother. Why did he do this to me? Did I sin against God somehow?!? I'm so scared now. I try so hard to be good and it seems like it never works. Maybe I'm not actually a Christian. Maybe I'm tempting [Ron] to not be a Christian anymore

As I wrote out the dark secret, my writing became smaller and smaller as if it was even to shameful to put into full size text. That was the day I started seeing myself as an awful temptress not worthy of God's love or a husband. That day also shatter my trust in my brothers. I was always taught that my brothers were my protectors and yet I could not even protect myself from them.

Do I think that my brother did something that was wrong? Probably not. But it still affected me. I was still a victim. I will still have to deal with that for the rest of my life. I never wanted any repercussions for my brother for his actions. I never want anyone who knows us to know about the incident. I want it to stay a secret. But that still doesn't mean that it didn't hurt me. That still doesn't mean I didn't need counseling. I don't blame my brother for what happened. I'm embarrassed and ashamed, but I don't hate him.

However, I do blame my parents and the Pearls and the whole fundamental Christian homeschool movement. We had no sex education. We were never even given a book on how our own bodies worked. We never had contact with someone of the opposite sex outside of the family. We were normal, curious children. If we had been a normal family, my brother probably would have taken out his curiosity on his high school crush. Or from some magazines one of his peers managed to find. He would have had a non-destructive outlet for his curiousity. He would have a CONSENSUAL outlet for his curiousity.

Incest was a huge problem in our cult. Even at a young age, I knew that. The summer before my molestation, I listened to a tape series as a young adolescent. I don't remember that name of the tape series. I remember it was made by a woman and I think it was probably Jackie Kenaston. However, all the online searching I did could not produce that tape series. I suspect that it is no longer for sale to the general public. Most of that tape series was pretty unmemorable. Just the usual patriarchal gibberish that girls needed to dress modestly, submit to the men in their lives, and produce many babies. There was one tape that shook me though. This tape addressed incest among the church, although it never gave us that label. The teacher mentioned that there had been several cases in the church of fathers and brothers being attracted to the daughters. The teacher stated that as young girls, we needed to be extra careful to not allow that to happen in our families. She told us that we needed to always dress modestly, never talk about sex with any male family member, and always avoid dangerous situations. Less than two months after listening to that tape series, my Mother pulled me aside and told me I needed to be careful never to be alone with only one brother. She said she was bothered with how close [Ron] and I were getting and it was my responsibility to never be alone with him. Now mind you, this is the Mother that at this point had given me zero sex education. This is the Mother that at this point had given me zero education on my body or even my changing body. I did not even know the term "vagina." And yet here my Mother was telling me that it was my responsibility to never be alone with my brothers for some mysterious reason. My molestation took place the next summer.

Have I forgiven my brother? Probably. Have I forgiven the cult for my sexual abuse? Not in a million years. The Duggar girls have probably forgiven their precious brother, but that does not mean they are okay. That does not mean they are thriving. That does not mean that they are okay with what happened. It's hard when something like that happens when it's someone you love and someone you have been taught you must love for the rest of your life. The hardest part of what happened to me is to realize my brother and I were both victims of the cult. My mind cannot rationalize being angry or resentful of another victim.

The world is working so hard to silence my voice and the many other voices of the Invisible Daughters. Today, my voice is not silenced. Today, I shared my most painful story so that maybe one day some other precious daughter and her brother may both be spared the pain of such a dangerous cult.  

A Week of Memories Day Two: Domestic Abuse

Last night I watched the Billboard Music Awards. Even though I am still pretty clueless about a lot of popular culture, I do enjoy music a lot. I love being exposed to new music. Sometimes it is still awkward to me to have someone bring up music that would have been popular in my middle school or high school years and have to admit to them that I have no idea what they are talking about. Now I seem normal enough that people are often floored that I have no idea who Ricky Martin is or can't recognize Jenifer Lopez  in a music video. For me, it is very awkward but sometimes there is no one fast way to catch up on years of lack of exposure to the culture. I feel like I've been transported from a rural tribe in Aftrica that has never had internet access.

I remember back in 2008 I created my first MySpace account. Anyone who was really into MySpace while it was still popular should remember the profile playlist that played whenever someone went to your page. After a couple months of not have any songs on my profile playlist, my friends started commenting on my lack of music on my profile. I remember one day I decided it was time to fix the problem. I sat down at the computer and tried and tried to think of a song. I finally posted the only song that came to my mind: Carrie Underwood's All American Girl. I remember thinking even at that time that I lacked all personality. Not only was a culturally and socially stunted, I also had not developed a personality. I had no idea who I was or what I liked. Back to my rural African tribe analogy, I think that person would at least know who they were. What made them laugh.What they enjoyed. My brother listened to country music so the only music I even had an idea about was country music. But I still knew that there was music that was truly me.

I think fundamentalist homeschoolers (especially girls) are brainwashed into not have any personality. They don't have the option of ever voicing their opinion. In fact, usually voicing your opinion, even on such things as food you don't like, is seen as "rebellion" and can come with severe consequences. Poor Hana Williams was left outside in the cold until she finally died of hypothermia because she was "rebellious." Many quiverfull daughters have so little voice that they will not even choose the man they marry (if they follow their father's will). Many of these girls may even go to their wedding night without ever having been alone with the man that they are now married to. Without having any say in anything in their lives, quiverfull girls do not develop any kind of personality. Developing a personality would only mean more pain when any dreams or hopes they have are smashed into a million pieces as their fathers make all the choices with their lives, treating them like they aren't even a human with feelings.  

Over the next couple months after posting my first MySpace song, I did learn more about the music of the time and posted songs that were more personal to me. Over the next six years, I have learned a lot about myself and about the modern culture. There are many parts of this transition that have been very painful for me, but recently I have found a great joy in realizing the person that I really am. I like the fact that I know what type of food I like. I have a color I like. I even now have a better idea of what type of job I enjoy working in. I like knowing who I am. I am very happy to finally have started to find myself. I don't know if everyone is 23 years old before they find who they are and what they like. I have a feeling they are usually more young, but I often see myself as being born six years ago when I was finally allowed some exposure to the outside world.

Now back to the Billboard Music Awards Last night. While watching the awards last night, I saw some clips of Rhianna. Seeing Rhianna brought back some memories for me. This memory was in 2010. I was in a dark place in 2010. I had had two unsuccessful relationships but I was still very emotionally hung up on both of the men. I felt completely trapped in the house by my parents. My depression was very bad. I was still recovering from the incident with my parents (I'll write another time about the incident). My parents didn't trust me at all. They watched my every move. They went through my cell phone routinely. They had the passwords to all my email accounts (that they knew of). They completely controlled every aspect of my life, even though I was legally an adult at that time. I couldn't even leave the house without someone accompanying me.  I was in a really dark place at that time and I felt so used by both my parents and my most recent boyfriend. I started hearing Eminem's Love the Way You Lie, and I identified so much with the song. My parents were just standing there watching me die inside and go through so much pain. My recent boyfriend was turning his back completely on me, once again not caring about what I was going through with everything. I loved that song. It was a way to let out my emotions. It actually made me feel better and stronger when I listened to it. One especially bad night, I decided to post some of the lyrics on Facebook. I woke up the next morning to a scathing Facebook message from my mother -- who was a stay-at-home-mom in the same house as me so she could have just waited until I woke up to confront me about it, but that goes with my parent's passive-aggressiveness. The message read: "That song glorifies domestic violence. Why would you post/like it?"

I was seething after that message from my mom. I deleted the post because I wanted to make a point about how much her criticism annoyed me and to also keep from any further discussion about it. I also sent back, a short, cold message: "I'm sorry. Didn't realize it." Of course I knew what the song was about, but I was so angry that my mother had no idea why I would want someone to listen to me about domestic violence. Did she not see the pain I was going through under her own roof. Of course she had no idea how my boyfriend was treating me because she didn't know about my boyfriend. But even now, I think if my daughter were to post something like that my first instinct would be to try to help her. Try to find out if someone is mistreating her. Not immediately jump to how she shouldn't be posting about domestic violence. My parents hotly deny any kind of abuse in their home. They will always say that homeschooling is the best way and that we had the best home. They will never admit that they stood there and watched and even poured gasoline on the fire while we burned. Seeing Rhianna brings up so much pain because it always reminds me of that song and my own personal cry for help. That post was a cry for help from me. I wanted someone to pay attention. I wanted someone to help. I wanted someone to care about the pain that I was in. I wanted to be rescued from the nightmare of domestic violence that was going on that no one knew about.

Today I'm Angry

I wish someone had called CPS. I wish CPS could have done something. We were always taught that CPS was the worst thing that could happen to a family. But now in my mid-twenties I wish they would have been called. I wish they would have removed us or at least given us more hope.

Growing up, I always wished I could have grown up in a different home. I didn’t know why I had to be born into our home. At the time I accepted it as my fate. 

Now I cry at the thought that I COULD have had a better childhood. I could have had hope. I could have had friends. I could have felt loved. I wanted to get married at 14 just so that I could have someone to hug me every morning. I might not have even had the feeling of an empty hole of emotion in my soul 

If I grew up in a different home, could I have enjoyed growing up? Could I actually have been happy? Could I have felt normal? Could I have had people who actually cared about me? Would I have feared my new parents as much as I feared (and still fear) my real parents? Could I have known what it was like to actually feel my parents loved me and trusted me? Could I have had the money to actually buy something I wanted? Could I have had a better start to an adult life?

My grandfather may have actually called CPS. I don’t know and he’s passed away now so I’ll never be able to ask him. But we very suddenly moved to another state in the early 90’s, when CPS couldn’t really go from state to state, and even at the time I knew it had something to do with my grandfather. After that, we had very restricted access to our grandparents and we were to NEVER mention anything that happened at home. 

I love my parents, but mainly because I feel like I have to because they were the ones that gave birth to me and paid all the money to raise me. I love my parents, but I wish I could have grown up with others. 

Is it ok to not love your parents? Why am I afraid of saying that I don’t love my parents? Because it sounds like I am awful person? Because I am afraid that maybe one day it won’t be true? Because I feel that my true feelings are not validated? Because I don’t want to cause the hurt to them that they caused to me? Because I don’t want it to be just me trying to get back at them for the way they treated me? Am I obligated to love my parents because they are my parents and because they raised me and because they didn’t kill me? When is it ok to not love your parents? 

Many people tell me I should not hold it against my parents for what they did to me because they were doing the best they could and only hurt me by following a cult that hurt children. But I disagree. At no point did the thought ever cross their mind, hey this stuff is crazy and my kids aren’t happy? Even from a young age, I remember thinking that I existed purely for my parent’s pleasure. A kid does not exist solely for their parents’ pleasure, and there was something wrong with my parents, and not only the system, to think that I existed only for their pleasure. Sure, kudos to my parents for me wanting to have a better life than them, but did they really think that what they were doing would give a better life for me?  

I was doubly hurt. I was hurt by a messed up system of a homeschooling, purity cult. But I was also hurt by selfish, self-centered, and abusive parents who had to prove that they could beat the laws of this universe and after super perfect children (children more perfect than the perfect homeschool family). I was hurt by both. And right now I choose to hold it against both. Yes, I do have a lot of bitterness in me right now. But sometimes I can’t believe that nowhere inside of my parents a small voice didn’t speak up and say they should think a little about ME and my future. They took from me many years of my life. They shattered my sense of self-worth. They did so much to hinder me in my life. So here I am, in my mid-twenties, trying to put piece my life together. I “succeeded” in school and even managed to excel in college but once I got out of college, I fell to pieces. Now I’m trying to pick up those pieces and right now there is no room for a relationship with my parents. And I’m being told I’m wrong because they were only following a hurtful system and they didn’t do anything personally wrong. 

I believe every single parent that buys completely into a system that does not consider for one second the child they are controlling is also personally wrong. It’s not just the system. It’s the parents too.