corporal punishment

Home Is Where The Hurt Is: Mary’s Story, Part Nine

HA Editorial Team17 Comments

Home Is Where The Hurt Is: Mary’s Story, Part Nine

HA notes: The author’s name has been changed to ensure anonymity. “Mary” is a pseudonym. The following series is an original non-fiction story that spans 33 pages of single-spaced sentences. It will be divided into 10 parts. The story begins during the author’s early childhood and goes up to the present. At each stage the author writes according to the age she is at.

Trigger warnings: various parts of this story contain descriptions of graphic, often sadistic, physical abuse of children, apologisms for religious abuse, deprivation of food, as well as references to rape.

*****

In this series: Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven | Part Eight | Part Nine | Conclusion

*****

Part Nine: The “Rest” of the Story

I finally graduated and got a job.

"it was like Jesus came down and was holding me, whispering to me that how my parents and our homeschool organization portrayed Him to me was very, very wrong."
“it was like Jesus came down and was holding me, whispering to me that how my parents and our homeschool organization portrayed Him to me was very, very wrong.”

I wanted to go to college but I didn’t have a transcript. Mom never made one for me and told me when I told her that I needed one that I would have to make it myself. This was after she and Dad had spent my entire senior year telling me how stupid I was, how I would fail in college, and that there was no point in me even trying to apply for scholarships because I was too lazy and stupid to qualify. This was their backhanded way of trying to enforce the thought process from our homeschool organization that women were supposed to stay home and make babies, nothing more.

After a year of working, I was old enough to enroll at Tech school without having a transcript and I loved it. I loved having real teachers and classes and I didn’t fail. Not only did I not fail, but I had a 3.6 GPA! After a year at Tech, I transferred to Pensacola Christian College and spent 3 semesters there. I dropped out after the third semester because I could not handle the legalism and lack of privacy — and because they treated their students like untrustable children, not like adults. It was way too much like the homeschool organization I had just been able to escape. I came home to try to figure out where I would transfer to when I was hit with the shocking reality that nothing I took at PCC would transfer anywhere because they were not accredited.

I was already almost 22 and the thought of having to pretty much start over to get a degree was overwhelming. At this point, God saw fit to bring an amazing young man across my path. Through 6 months of talking and interacting with this man in church and other functions with our mutual friends and Sunday school class mates, I learned how amazing, Godly, sensitive and wonderful this man really was. So, when he finally asked me out on a date 6 months after we met, I most certainly agreed.

I was still living at home during this time, but was doing my best to never actually be there. After our first date, my parents went nuclear because I had left them out of this. According to the organization that I was raised in, I was never supposed to be alone with a man until my wedding night, and I most certainly was not supposed to be the one that picked the man I was going to marry. From that first date to our wedding date 2 years later, my parents made it clear that they disapproved, didn’t like my boyfriend/fiancé/husband in that order of course. They told me again that I was setting a terrible example for my siblings and told me that I had better behave myself because the “eyes of our church were on me” to make sure I didn’t screw up.

Needless to say, I was very angry and frustrated about this. Between our first and second dates, I pretty much dumped everything into my boyfriend’s lap. I will have to say that I was pretty surprised that he didn’t run for the hills when he saw what he was getting himself into. No, he stayed, he encouraged, he prayed, he pointed to Scripture and God — and he loved. Oh how sweet that love was and is.

Nearly to the day 2 years after our first date, I walked down the isle and became Mrs. Richard Smith.

Never have I and never will I ever regret that step like my parents told me I would.

Growing up they told me all the time that I would end up with a no good husband that would beat me and that he would be in prison and do drugs, all because I was such a “rebellious” child. Oh how happy I am in proving them so very wrong! Two months after our wedding we were joyfully surprised at finding out we were expecting our first child, our sweet son Carl.

Amidst all that joy however, there was deep pain of which I was still unaware of. During the pregnancy I was constantly freaking out because I was sure I would ruin my child. I somewhat believed what my parents had told me many times that I was going to have an evil child because of the laws of reaping and sowing. The hardest time during the pregnancy was when Richard and I partook in the Lord’s supper at church one morning. That seems like a small thing from the viewpoint of a believer, but my parents had always portrayed it to us like God was sitting up there watching us — just waiting for us to partake unworthily so that He could strike us down.

Well almost as soon as the service was over I went into a panic attack and felt like for sure I had failed to confess something and God was going to punish me. Carl moved a lot during the pregnancy but this particular Sunday morning he wasn’t moving much and I freaked out. I was sobbing by the time we got in the car and just kept saying over and over to Richard that God was going to take my baby as punishment. Richard tried to reason with me, but nothing he said could convince me otherwise. For the next hour and a half Carl kept on sleeping and I kept on begging him to turn, move, kick, just do something that would prove to me that he was still alive. I pleaded with God in tears and told Him I was sorry if I had forgotten about anything that I needed to confess. Poor Richard had to just sit there and watch me and hold me through it until finally Carl woke up and started moving. The intense joy that I felt in that moment is beyond description but I will never forget it. Afterwards it was like Jesus came down and was holding me, whispering to me that how my parents and our homeschool organization portrayed Him to me was very, very wrong.

About a month before my due date, Abby, Richard and I sat down with Mom and Dad in a meeting. Abby’s pastor and 3 of her church elders were there just so that we were not facing Mom and Dad alone. The point of that meeting was because Abby and I desperately wanted to actually communicate with our parents but we didn’t feel like it was safe to do it alone. The pastor opened us up in prayer but then he and the other church elders went silent for us to try to start talking. Then, in front of everyone one there, Dad verbally attacked Abby telling her that everything was our fault again. I couldn’t handle listening to him do that so I started to defend myself and Abby. This of course caused Dad to turn and verbally attack me.

At that point, Richard intercepted, respectfully stating that Dad was not allowed to talk to me that way (shout out for my amazing husband for standing up for his wife!). Dad stood up, motioned for Mom to follow, said, “I did not come to be lectured,” and stomped out with Mom following at his heels. To this day, Dad claims that that was a tainted meeting in which everyone was lining up to accuse him and Mom. As far as I know, this was the last time I will ever sit down and talk with them about this again. The only exception will be if I see that they are truly devastated by their behavior and truly repentant before us as their children and before God. I refuse to put myself through that emotional trauma again.

After that meeting, Mom and Dad went back to pretending that nothing was wrong and that everything was fine. I let it go simply because I was afraid that they would cut off my contact with my dearly loved younger siblings of which there were 4 still at home. I didn’t know of any physical abuse still happening, so although I knew they were still being verbally, emotionally, mentally, and spiritually abusive, I knew of no way that they would actually be able to get in trouble. I knew Dad was still dealing with his addiction to pornography (he told us about it, I still have yet to figure out why). But I still let him and Mom see Carl for fear that they wouldn’t let me see my brothers and sisters.

Hope finally graduated and got a job and started at Tech and Grace was getting very close to graduating when it happened again.

Hope came home from work to find Paul and Joshua sleeping outside in the winter cold with no coats on. Through questioning them and Grace I learned that Mom was making the boys, Joshua especially, go without food for days at a time again. I started having conference calls with my grandmother and my aunt and uncle (all who support me). We had still not come to the conclusion of what to do when I had a meeting with my counselor.

After she heard the facts that I knew, she told me that it was my legal obligation to report my parents. The biggest reason that I had been hesitant to do so was because I was really afraid that I would be making that call out of revenge, not necessity. So I called, and was so upset about having to do so that I had a migraine before it was over. Right after I got off the phone with CPS, Hope called me in hysterics saying that she had just walked in on Mom and Dad beating Joshua who was half stripped and is almost 13. They were beating him with a belt and  the belt was hitting everywhere. I called CPS right back and they went out the next day.

Hope moved in with us and Grace moved to Seattle to live with John and his wife. I am thankful to be able to say that Grace is finishing her senior year at a high school there and will graduate when she was supposed to.

Paul and Joshua are still with Mom and Dad and I haven’t been aloud to see them since.

Mom and Dad are telling everyone that it is John’s fault and my fault that the boys are being rebellious and have turned their backs on God. They are telling everyone that we have encouraged their disobedience and are actually still being rebellious ourselves.

CPS told me a month after they went to my parent’s house that they had enough information to remove the boys that day. They did not, however, because they said that Mom and Dad had isolated them so well that they didn’t think it was the best idea to throw them into the public school setting in middle and high school. I disagree, but they didn’t live there. Now I am worried about my brothers, concerned for their safety and pleading for their salvation. I know how Mom and Dad are presenting God to them and, right now, they want nothing to do with Him.

From another sibling I have learned that they are angry with me for reporting our parents. I just pray that 15 years from now, they will be able to look back and realize that I did it out of my love for them and that I was trying to rescue them, not harm them. I don’t want them to have the same regret that I have — that I once convinced my grandmother that she didn’t need to call.

To be continued.

What I Should Have Said 13 Years Ago: Sharon Autenrieth’s Thoughts

HA Editorial Team17 Comments

HA note: The following piece was originally published by Sharon Autenrieth on her blog Strange Figures. It is reprinted with her permission. Sharon describes herself as a “wife, mom to 5, homeschooler, Christian Education Director, idealist, malcontent, [and] follower of Jesus.”

It was one of my first homeschool meetings, an evening devoted to people like myself:  the rookies. Three veteran couples were there to encourage us, answer our questions, and give us the benefit of their experience.

I don’t recall much from that evening, but I remember one of the veteran dads counseling us, raw recruits that we were, on the importance of discipline in the home. And by “discipline” he meant something very specific. He went on at great length on the virtues of “beating” (his word, not mine) children regularly, abundantly, at the first sign of rebellion. His weapon of choice was the yardstick and he told us that he’d broken many over the years in an effort to drive wickedness and rebellion from the hearts of his children. Teenagers taken in as foster children had also received frequent beatings, something I suspect their caseworkers did not know.

I listened, trying to hide my shock and disgust. I was new to homeschooling, but I’d been parenting for almost a decade and there was no way I would be taking this father’s advice. I pitied his children; wondered about his quiet wife who nodded and smiled as he shared his “wisdom”; marveled that he could seem so jolly while describing the physical abuse of children entrusted to his care.

But here’s what I didn’t do: I didn’t speak. I didn’t say, ”Excuse me, but what you are describing doesn’t sound like discipline. It sounds like abuse.” I didn’t say, “I’ve been licensed for foster care myself and what you’ve done to your foster children is illegal. I’m going to report you.” I didn’t even meekly suggest that perhaps “biblical” parenting needn’t be so violent. I was silent because he was a veteran and I was a newbie. I was silent because he was a man and I was a woman. I was silent because I didn’t want to make a scene or alienate others in the group. I was silent because I was a coward.

Now, many years later, I know that I sinned that night. I had an opportunity to speak up on behalf of mistreated children and I didn’t take it. Perhaps no one would have listened to me or taken me seriously, but I still should have spoken. I knew that what I was hearing was not just wrong but evil, and I let it go unchecked, unquestioned. I listened as evil was called good – and I did nothing.

This week I fell down the internet rabbit hole into a world of what might be called “homeschool survivor” blogs. The stories are awful, angry, painful to read. I love homeschooling and my immediate response to criticism of the homeschool movement is defensive. I want to shout, “We’re not like that! We’re not like that! We’re not like that!”

But the truth is, some of us are like that. And it’s time that we confessed it, and started holding each other accountable.

The problem is rarely motive. Homeschoolers, as a category, take parenting very seriously. We don’t set out to damage our children, but to do the very best for them that we possibly can. That very seriousness can be a trap, I think. We are prone to particular temptations, many of which are expressed in this article by a homeschool veteran, Reb Bradley. You’d think that doing something so nonconformist (homeschooling) would mean that homeschoolers would be nonconformists generally, but that hasn’t really been the case. There is tremendous pressure to get it right – to turn out ideal children, raised in ideal families – and we are easy targets for experts who promise to deliver results. So we listen to the loudest voices and quiet our consciences and treat our children like objects to be manipulated and molded into polished, shiny finished products rather than as the complicated, untidy, beautiful persons they were born to be.

The problem is not homeschooling as an educational option. And further muddying the waters, the problem is that there’s more than one problem. Here are a few of them:

We confuse external control with internal transformation.

We crave the approval of other homeschoolers so much that we ignore the warning bells going off in our own homes.

We emphasize parental rights and parental authority to such a degree that we dehumanize our children.

We swallow poison as long as it’s coated in Bible verses.

I don’t want to be party to that anymore. It’s not enough to say, “Well, I don’t do that to my children, and other people’s children aren’t my responsibility.” Homeschool friends: do we accept that argument when we’re talking about abortion, or child pornography, or child sexual abuse? Do we feel off-the-hook as long as it’s only other people’s children who suffer, and not our own? I’m as stubborn about parental rights as the next homeschooler. I do not want someone from the government telling me how to raise my children. But perhaps that means we take responsibility for speaking truth to each other, for being honest even about our failures, and for listening to the children our community has raised.

I repeat: the problem is not homeschooling. There is so much potential for good in homeschooling, and every year that potential is realized in thousands of lives. But I’m convinced we can do even better, and it begins with recognizing where we’ve gone wrong. As I read through some of the stories at Homeschoolers Anonymous my heart ached to see how many included abusive doses of “biblical chastisement” or parenting by the “rod”.

So even if I’m 13 years late, I’ll say this now:

That father was wrong. The “biblical model” he was presenting was dangerous and destructive. What he was describing was abusive parenting.  Brutalizing foster children who have already been traumatized and almost certainly have difficulty trusting adults is a special kind of heinous.

You cannot beat sin out of your child; that’s not how spiritual transformation works. What you can do, perhaps, is silence your child out of fear. They may learn to hide their anger, resentment, bitterness, rage, depression and hopelessness from you.

Or perhaps you will discipline your child to death.

“Breaking the will” of a child is a terrible goal, and does not correspond to the way that our kind and merciful Father God deals with us. “A bruised reed He will not break.” Homeschoolers have unwittingly broken many bruised reeds and it’s time to stop.

(Note:  For more stories from former homeschoolers, I suggest Recovering Grace (specifically addresses ATI/Gothardism), Becoming Worldly, Defeating the Dragons, Elizabeth Esther – and of course, Homeschoolers Anonymous. When it comes to “chastisement,” Elizabeth Esther has done a great job over the years of covering Michael and Debi Pearl, whose To Train Up a Child has been especially influential – and deadly.)

Home Is Where The Hurt Is: Mary’s Story, Part Eight

HA Editorial Team12 Comments

Home Is Where The Hurt Is: Mary’s Story, Part Eight

HA notes: The author’s name has been changed to ensure anonymity. “Mary” is a pseudonym. The following series is an original non-fiction story that spans 33 pages of single-spaced sentences. It will be divided into 10 parts. The story begins during the author’s early childhood and goes up to the present. At each stage the author writes according to the age she is at.

Trigger warnings: various parts of this story contain descriptions of graphic, often sadistic, physical abuse of children, apologisms for religious abuse, deprivation of food, as well as references to rape.

*****

In this series: Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven | Part Eight | Part Nine | Conclusion

*****

Part Eight: Teen Years

Teen years

I cannot sleep and I am trying not to freeze.

It’s sometime in January and Abby and I have been kicked outside for two days. We were wearing just our shirts, jeans and socks when we got kicked out and it is so cold outside that we can see our breath is the air. We didn’t try to ask for our shoes and coats because they never let us have them. We are walking and walking around the house over and over trying so hard to keep warm. This might not be so hard if my stomach would stop screaming.  It’s been 4 days since we have eaten a meal. We tried sneaking out a snack earlier and got caught. That is why we are outside.

Before Mom sent us out, though, she gave us both a spoon full of ipecac to make us throw up. We threw up but nothing came up but stomach juices because we hadn’t actually gotten anything yet when she caught us.

I’m so hungry that I feel dizzy and faint. Abby can hardly walk. We finally get too tired to walk anymore and go huddle together in the corner of the porch and cover ourselves in the cushions from the porch furniture. We usually go huddle in the van to get out of the wind but Dad caught us there the last time and they made sure that it was locked tonight. We finally manage to fall asleep but I wake up so often because of my stomach and being so cold.

Sometime after devotions the next morning, Mom comes to the door to give us our chores for the day that will be outside chores since we have been sent out. We are actually glad to have something to do because it will help us stay warmer. The next night passes just like the first and finally we are allowed back in the next morning in time for devotions.

*****

Right now I am shaking with rage and my head is throbbing.

Mom got angry with me again a few minutes ago and grabbed my hair and started yanking me around. I finally got away from her and ran upstairs but my head hurts so badly. I run my fingers through my hair to try to soothe my head and when I pull my hand away I almost faint with rage.

There is a ball of hair so large in my hand that it looks like I just cleaned out my brush.

I storm downstairs and head for Dad and show him the hair. He accuses me of lying and said that I just cleaned out my brush to get attention. I don’t know if I have ever been angrier and I yell at him that I am not lying and I haven’t even touched my brush! He finally looks like he might somewhat believe me and takes the hair into their room. I follow because I want to hear what happens. Mom is putting her makeup on in the bathroom when he shows it to her and tells her what I said. Then she yells at Dad and says that she doesn’t care and that she will do it again if she wants to.

I am furious but what else should I expect?

*****

My fault

Everything is John’s and Abby’s and my fault. That’s what Mom and Dad keep saying.

All of the younger ones are following our bad examples and we are leading them astray. John moved out years ago but somehow he is still to blame as well. Abby and I are always in trouble because every time one of the younger ones disobeys we get in trouble too because it is our fault.

I don’t want to believe it, but I really don’t know what to believe anymore.

*****

At this point in my story I am going to change how this is being written. If I were to keep writing as I have been, this would probably end up being 50 pages long. I have many, many more examples of how we were abused again and again — day in and day out — but I really don’t know if they all need to be told in this one document. In this story, I focused more on my younger years but the abuse only got worse and worse as we got older so I find it very hard to try to formulate a way to put it all on paper. From here on out I will be writing in more of an overview position.

*****

The “rest” of the story

Until I was about 18 all of the above and other things were all pretty normal in our house. We never knew when our next meal would be, we never knew when we would be kicked outside and for how long. Basically, we never knew anything. Age and gender didn’t matter in public punishments. Abby and I were made to half strip for our beatings in front of all of the other siblings. We would also be made to walk around in our underwear for hours at a time and, because I developed later, Mom saw no reason that I should even be allowed a bra all the way till I was about 17. I have and always have had really bad seasonal allergies as well, to the point of asthma attacks. That didn’t matter either as far as losing house privileges when I got kicked outside. She would never allow me any allergy medicine. Being on my period didn’t matter either because I would lose access to feminine products while outside too. My driver’s license was used as a pawn for years and so, half of the time, I didn’t even have it in my possession.

Somewhere between my 17th and 18th birthdays, my Mom’s Mom found out some of the things that were going on and freaked out. Abby and I actually didn’t understand at first why she freaked out because it was all so normal for us.

I remember her telling me on one occasion that she was going to call CPS on my parents. I freaked out at that point because I knew enough to know that we would all be split up into foster homes and the thought of losing my siblings was too much to bear. In tears, I begged her not to call, assuring her that it wasn’t “that bad” and we were used to it anyway.

Nearly 15 years later, both of us have talked about it and realized that she should not have listened to me and should have called anyway. But we cannot change the past. The fact that she was willing to do so for us makes me love her even more (if that is possible). After my grandmother got involved, the physical abuse slowed to a near stop, while the emotional and mental went through the roof. Mom was furious at me and Abby for “telling on her” and was doing everything she could possibly do to make our lives more miserable and blaming us for everything going on.

To be continued.

Home Is Where The Hurt Is: Mary’s Story, Part Seven

HA Editorial Team16 Comments

Home Is Where The Hurt Is: Mary’s Story, Part Seven

HA notes: The author’s name has been changed to ensure anonymity. “Mary” is a pseudonym. The following series is an original non-fiction story that spans 33 pages of single-spaced sentences. It will be divided into 10 parts. The story begins during the author’s early childhood and goes up to the present. At each stage the author writes according to the age she is at.

Trigger warnings: various parts of this story contain descriptions of graphic, often sadistic, physical abuse of children, apologisms for religious abuse, deprivation of food, as well as references to rape.

*****

In this series: Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven | Part Eight | Part Nine | Conclusion

*****

Part Seven: Losing Rita

More Punishments

"I am really scared."
“I am really scared.”

Tonight is bath night.  I am so happy about that because we don’t have to do any mopping. Mom sends Abby and I to take our baths and we hurry to obey. We love taking baths together and we have fun together. I love getting in the warm water because it feels so good on my sore feet and bottom from all the spankings.

We get in and start playing. We brought our Barbies in with us because we love playing with them in the tub.  Abby has a special Barbie that has a bathing suit that changes color when you put it in the water. We are having so much fun that we lose track of time. All of a sudden we hear stomping down the hall way and we know that Mom is coming to get us. I am terrified because I know we are in big trouble. We have still not washed our hair yet. Mom storms into the bathroom with the belt and screams at us why we are not out yet. I do not know what to say so I say I don’t know.

She yells at us to stand up and turn around and she starts spanking us and screaming that “I don’t know” is not an answer and that we are in trouble for wasting time. When she is finally finished spanking she tells us to drain the water. I try not to cry because I know that this means we will be getting an ice cold bath. When the water finishes draining she starts running all cold water then stomps out of the bathroom to go get ice from the kitchen.

She fills up the tub with ice and tells us that we have 10 minutes to get all washed and rinsed and that she will come check to make sure we did it right. We hurry as best as we can to wash and rinse our hair in the freezing water and then wait for Mom. We are so cold. I cannot make my teeth stop chattering. Mom walks back in and starts checking our hair. She starts screaming that we did not rinse it properly and pulls us down under the water by our hair and holds us there while she rinses it correctly. She finally says it’s done and lets us get out of the water.

She says that we have ten minutes to be dried off and dressed, with the bathroom cleaned up and our towels hung in their place, or we are in more trouble. She finally leaves the bathroom but says that we are not allowed to close the door because we took too long. I hold my towel for Abby so she can get dressed without anybody seeing her naked and then she holds her towel for me. We clean the bathroom as fast as we can and get done right before the timer goes off. Mom still gives us more spankings and tells us that we get cold water baths for a week because we took too long in the tub.

*****

It is now after lunch and all of us are doing our school work at the kitchen table.  I am trying to concentrate on my work but Mom is mad again and stomping all over the house. I am worried that she will find something else to make her even more mad. She is stomping down the hallway now and I hear her stop at the hall bathroom. I groan because I know that she has found something.

“WHY IS THE BATHROOM LIGHT ON??”

I know we are in trouble. She stomps to the kitchen and says that we all have a five page paper because she found the bathroom light on again. She says that the bathroom is also a mess and that we have a $3 fine every time she passes the bathroom and it is still a mess. I ask her if we can go clean it up and she says no because we are in the middle of school time. We cannot go clean it up until our lunch break. Before lunch break she passes the bathroom ten times.  She adds $30 more to our debt record.

Nobody got their chores done before the timer went off and we are all lined up outside her door for our turn to get spankings. I go in for my turn and she tells me to pull down my pants. I start counting to try to help keep my mind off the pain. I think she is at sixty right now. I think I may have lost count. She finally stops at one hundred and I can no longer feel my bottom. I get out of her room as fast as I can and go to finish my chores. I am still not done when she is finished spanking but she says that I have to stop because it is school time and that I will have to finish them during the next meal time.

*****

Coping

Mom and Dad are in a fight.  They are screaming at each other and I am scared. I run and hide under my bed to try to get as far away as I can. I hear Mom scream that she is leaving and never coming back.  She says this all the time and she never does.

I pray this time that she means it.

I hear her stomp out of the house and I pray that she never comes home. I still don’t get out from under my bed because I like hiding there. I can make up my stories and I know that Dad will not bother me. I pretend that I am a princess and that I am in hiding because someone is trying to kill me. I pretend that Mom is the evil lady that I have to live with and that she doesn’t know I am a princess but that when my father the king comes to get me that she will be punished for the way she treated me.

Mom is still not home and it is dark outside now. Dad still hasn’t called me and I know we are not getting supper so I stay under the bed longer. I think of another story. Now I am Mary again but I have been kidnapped. The man that kidnapped me is evil and he rapes me. I am scared of him but I know that Dad is going to come save me because he has to save his daughter.  When he saves me then I will know that he loves me.

*****

Rita

They have taken Rita away from me again.

This time I am really scared.

Mom and Dad said that I am not getting her back this time. I am fourteen and they say I am a baby to still love a baby doll so much. I don’t care if I am because I love Rita so much. She is mine and I sleep with her every night when I have her. She catches almost all of my tears. Today I was able to sneak in Mom’s closet and hold her for a while.

I am really scared.

I hear Mom tell John to go get some wood and make a pile in the backyard garden. After a few minutes Mom yells for us all to go outside in the backyard. Mom and Dad say that they are going to burn some of our things.  Dad has started a bonfire and we have to sit there. Mom brings out John’s BB gun and my art kit, lunch box and Rita. The lunch box my Uncle Tommy gave me and it has my name sewn on it. The art kit Grammy gave me. I watch as Dad puts my art kit and lunch box on the fire. I am angry but I don’t know what to say. Dad all of a sudden changes his mind about putting John’s gun on the fire and tells him that he has just lost it for two years (they gave him the gun for his birthday).

I watch in horror next as Dad takes Rita and walks toward the fire. He puts her on and Mom tells me I have to watch as she burns. It really doesn’t matter anyway. I cannot make myself look away. I am frozen.

I watch as my precious doll starts to melt.

Her arm falls off and burns up. Her face shrivels up and she is unrecognizable.

I cannot think. I cannot move. I cannot cry. Something is stabbing me in the chest.

I cannot breath.

Hope is sobbing on the other side and Mom is screaming at her to shut up. She looks at me waiting for me to cry.

I cannot.

My heart is broken and torn. I hurt deeper than I ever have before. Mom looks very satisfied at what she has done.

Mom yells at us to go back inside and get back to work. I am in a trance. I don’t know what is going on and I don’t know how I get to bed. I lay in the dark and cannot sleep. My mind finally starts to work and I know that I hate them. I hate Mom and Dad and I want to them dead. The tears come and I cannot stop them. I  sob and sob. I do not go sleep for hours but I just keep crying. I finally cry myself to sleep.

The next morning I wake up and I know that I will never let Mom or Dad see me cry about this or anything else in my life.

To be continued.

Why I Blame Homeschooling, Not Just My Parents: Reflections by Nicholas Ducote

HA Editorial Team50 Comments

By Nicholas Ducote, HA Community Coordinator

Author edit to clarify my call for more oversight: I recommended intra-community policing in my post. State action should be a last resort. Those that care to preserve their parental rights to homeschool need to hold other parents accountable. Unfortunately, fundamentalist homeschooling communities are often isolated from anyone who would question the parents. I don’t have a solution, but I know we can’t just assume the status quo will fix things. Hopefully, projects like this will scare other parents enough to make them confront other parents. But let’s be honest, do you see that happening in these sort of communities? Most of these people laugh at the idea of children having rights and would never support anything that encroaches on their ability to teach their children whatever they want. If you suspect child abuse or neglect in a family you know, please report them to Child Protective Services. 

Homeschooling, as a method of instruction, is not intrinsically bad, dangerous, or damaging. I saw many children raised in homeschooling who were not abused by religious fundamentalism – even if they were Christians. However, as a society, we have to realize that the current state of homeschooling gives parents unique power over their children. Yes, many homeschooled children are a part of co-ops, interact with neighbors, and have relatively normal social interactions. But other homeschoolers are isolated in rural areas, with no contact with neighbors, or the outside world. Abuse develops in these environments because there is no oversight from outside the parents and, if criticism if lodged, the parents are defensive. To many homeschooling parents, homeschooling (the method) is part of a larger worldview that involves rejections of secularism, science, and academic institutions.

I developed claustrophobia, a generalized anxiety disorder, and panic attacks in high school. At the time, I assumed my panic attacks were the result of the Holy Spirit convicting me of my sins. The most common trigger for my panic was sexuality. As a teenager, I would often shake uncontrollably after masturbating. Homeschooling can make children feel trapped because they are literally never away from their parents. When I was quasi-dating girls in high school, behind my parents’ back because they wanted me to court, I would have a mini-panic attack when the phone rang – scared that my parents would find out. When I got in trouble it meant a few hours with mom and dad, crying and arguing about what God told them to do, ending in me feeling completely trapped. When I woke up the next day, I had no choice but to bottle up my anger, shame, and humiliation and go “do” homeschooling. In ATI, many leaders preached about how listening to rock music would literally result in demonic possession. This is abusive to teach to children. To this day, I struggle with anxiety before I fall asleep.  I was taught, by my parents and by ATI’s leaders, that demons were very real and they could possess rebellious Christians. Many in the homeschooling movement conceptualized the “culture war” as spiritual warfare — the secular humanists were literally portrayed as the minions of Satan.

Spiritual abuse is a difficult term for many people to wrap their heads around. It may seem like we are trying to say that raising children in a religious tradition is abusive, which we are not. However, I can say that when homeschooling is mixed with religious fundamentalism, abuse almost always occurs.

There is a distinction between religious fundamentalism and mainstream religions. I once told my mom, “I would have been fine if you stayed Baptist. It’s when you drifted into fundamentalism that hurt me.”  What many people fail to realize is that most parents don’t wake up one day and decide they need to start controlling their childrens’ lives and prepare them for the culture wars. Yes, my parents are to blame for subscribing to fundamentalism, but the homeschooling community and movement are also to blame.

In many states in the 1990s and 2000s, homeschooling parents received most of the curriculum, instruction, and indoctrination at state, regional, or national conferences. There are a myriad of institutions and groups that formed the movement, so it is impossible to point to a single root cause of the abuse in homeschooling. But I know abuse doesn’t just happen because of bad parenting. The bad parenting that people indict was being advocated on stage before thousands of people. There is a reason why so many homeschooling alumni share stories and experiences. Tens of thousands of homeschoolers attended state Christian Home Educator Fellowship (CHEF) conferences, where they were exposed to

  • The Harris family and their beliefs about Biblical courtship
  • David Barton and Little Bear Wheeler’s revisionist history
  • Evangelical leaders that scared everyone about the evils of secular humanism
  • Michael and Debi Pearl’s harsh ideas on corporal punishment and misogynistic ideas of gender roles
  • Huge book sales populated mostly by Christian fundamentalist textbooks — advocating creationism, teaching math based around the Gospel message, or other “educational tools.”

All of these ideas circulated around the homeschooling communities and trickled down to local CHEF chapters.

Parents’ responses have been mixed, but many of them see our blog as a tool to take control of their children away from them. Parents emphasize their rights to raise their children however they want. But, as a society, we have already decided that parental rights end where abuse begins. Thus, one of the main issue in this debate becomes whether or not a homeschooling environment is emotionally or spiritually abusive.

You might think this is only a problem of the past decades — that now, in this new zenith of modernity, fundamentalist homeschoolers that spiritually abuse their children are dying out. You would be wrong. Yes, there is growing momentum behind secular homeschooling, but there is no hard social science about homeschooling.  At this point, observational data is almost all that exists about homeschooling and its demographics. We know very generally how many people homeschool and for what reasons. But ten states do not even require the parents to inform them of their childrens’ “enrollment” in homeschooling.

This is the start of an important conversation about homeschooling. I am opposed to religious fundamentalism in all forms and I believe that the abuse that occurs when fundamentalism is allowed to dominate homeschooling has no place in the modern world. I’ve heard so many Evangelicals and homeschooling parents mock the Islamic madrasas for their religious instruction, but fundamentalist homeschooling isn’t different by much.

To those homeschoolers who are afraid of this exposure, it’s time to own up. These abuses happened, the community’s leaders encouraged it, and the community does not regulate itself. If the homeschooling community is not willing to regulate itself – lest a parent tell another parent their methods and ideologies are abusive! – then someone else will.

I am tired of sitting around hoping that the abusive fundamentalist culture within homeschooling will die out.  I don’t want it to die out, I want to trample it out so that no other children face the sort of abuse I, and many other, went through. Part of the means telling the honest, visceral truth about what happens in many homeschooling homes. Yes, abuse is ultimately the fault of the perpetrators, but why does everyone leave the homeschooling community blameless for how it brainwashed my parents?

The issue of abuse in homeschooling is an issue of the distortion of parental rights and the reality of systemic indoctrination.

You cannot stop the abuse without exposing the advocates.

We Need Advocates: Philosophical Perspectives’s Story, Part One

HA Editorial Team34 Comments

Screen Shot 2014-08-23 at 1

HA note: The author’s name has been changed to ensure anonymity. “PhilosophicalPerspectives” is the author’s chosen pseudonym.

*****

In this series: Part One — We Need Advocates | Part Two — A Tool In Someone Else’s Culture War

***** 

As a kid, I remember seeing national media stories about homeschool families like Kevin and Elizabeth Schatz, who beat their daughter to death in 2010, or Banita Jacks, who in 2009 was convicted of murdering her four daughters.

I clearly remember having conversations with my mother about how “those people weren’t really homeschooling” and how our family and friends were getting it right. We talked about how they weren’t really part of any home school community, and their parents were just trying to get away from the responsibility they bore for the abuse they inflicted, by claiming the title “home schoolers.” The home school community distanced itself from these stories, claiming that the abuses of a few “nutjobs” shouldn’t impact the rights of the whole homeschool movement.

It’s been interesting to hear the same lines come up in response to the stories shared on this blog. In comments on other sites, I’ve read many things like, “you could find 30 abused kids in any school system!,” or “these kids’ parents were just crazy. That’s not what home schooling is really like!” It seems like many people invested in the homeschooling movement are reading this blog in the same way my mom read stories like the ones mentioned above — as extreme examples of abuse from people on the far fringes of the homeschool movement.  I’ve read comments that go so far as to dismiss these stories outright. More people, though, lament the suffering they read about, but make comments that distance themselves from the problem. These extreme cases are hard to catch, the sentiment goes, because these families never show up to homeschool groups or 4-H clubs or churches or anywhere we (homeschoolers) might be able to intervene. “These kids were totally isolated! It’s not our fault!” they declare, explicitly or implicitly.

This is misguided.

For many of us who are sharing our stories, our families were not on the fringes of the homeschooling movement — we were at its center. Our parents were the ones running the debate leagues, and founding the AWANA programs. We were the ones winning awards, respect, and acclaim. We are the poster children of the homeschooling movement.

And yet, we suffered serious abuse and neglect, and no one intervened on our behalf.

As a survivor, I started asking why. I was (almost constantly) involved in a myriad of extracurricular activities, and none of the adults in my life intervened in the neglect I experienced. They either didn’t notice, or didn’t care.

This is what isolation looks like in the homeschooling community.

I interacted with many adults outside of the homeschool movement, in many different contexts, and I honestly don’t think any of them had an inkling of what was really going on. Homeschoolers have always been trained to put on our most adult, most mature face to the outside world. This has to with the ways we’ve been socialized and the pressure we face to be walking proof of  the “success” of homeschooling — but that’s another post. Regardless, we’re excellent at being polite and reciting (often eloquently!) the ideas we’ve been taught. We therefore often make a very positive impression on outsiders — I can’t tell you how many times I was told how grown-up, how mature, how insightful I was when I was a tween. Most of the adults outside of the movement were so blown away by my irregularity (and my ability to discuss the classical origins of astronomical nomenclature) that they never asked deeper questions about my education or physical well-being, let alone about the emotional and spiritual abuse that was present in my home.

I also regularly interacted with adults within the homeschool movement, where parents should have been able to notice what was happening — and still, no one spoke up. Many of them didn’t (and still don’t) consider what many of us endured abuse — it’s just part of the process of “training up a child.” Many bought into the same vision of religious indoctrination and corporal punishment. The “us vs. them” mentality was huge, and “them” was often Child Protective Services. I’d still be surprised to hear of one home school parent reporting another. Even when the “moderate” parents didn’t agree with the techniques of the more fundamentalist ones, the “rights of the parent” continuously won out over the rights of the child. This line of reasoning is currently being used by the HSLDA to justify the refusal to ratify the UN Convention on the Rights of the Child.

The combination of these factors created a unique culture that fosters and covers up or ignores the abuse and neglect that happens at the center of its community. The case against Sovereign Grace Ministries, an evangelical denomination that promotes homeschooling, is just one example. We’ve experienced it, and we’re hurt. There was a deep sense of community in the homeschool movement, and many of us, as kids, trusted deeply in its people and institutions. Now that I’m an adult reflecting on my experiences, I feel betrayed. The people I trusted perpetuated the systems of indoctrination that harmed me, and facilitated my parents’ neglect.

This is what isolation looks like in the homeschooling community.

The invitation that this blog presents to the homeschooling community is to begin to take abuse, neglect, and indoctrination seriously, and refuse to look the other way. The children of homeschooling need advocates, and our parents aren’t always looking out for our best interest. Neither is the HSLDA.

To be continued.

Home Is Where The Hurt Is: Mary’s Story, Part Six

HA Editorial Team14 Comments

Home Is Where The Hurt Is: Mary’s Story, Part Six

HA notes: The author’s name has been changed to ensure anonymity. “Mary” is a pseudonym. The following series is an original non-fiction story that spans 33 pages of single-spaced sentences. It will be divided into 10 parts. The story begins during the author’s early childhood and goes up to the present. At each stage the author writes according to the age she is at.

Trigger warnings: various parts of this story contain descriptions of graphic, often sadistic, physical abuse of children, apologisms for religious abuse, deprivation of food, as well as references to rape.

Extra trigger warning: this particular part of the story also involves a description of rape.

*****

In this series: Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven | Part Eight | Part Nine | Conclusion

*****

Part Six: Losing Control

We sit there as she walks from room to room of the house, trashing every room as she goes through it. She comes back in the living room and says we have 15 minutes to get the whole house spotless. Abby and I go in our room, but I don’t even try. I know that I’m going to get beat no matter what and I know that it is impossible for us to get it all clean in 15 minutes. Abby is crying again and trying to clean the room. She looks desperate. She says that she knows she should be able to get it cleaned up in time the way Mom wants it. I tell her that it is pointless but she begs me to help. I try for her because she looks so weak. I cry inside for her. I can’t let her see me cry because I need to be strong for her.

I try to make her feel better. I tell her that we are princesses in disguise and that Mom is the evil person that we will be able to punish later when our father comes to save us. She smiles a little and we work hard.

Mom comes to the door and screams that we are not working hard enough. She grabs Abby and yanks her into her room. As I listen to her cries of pain, I yank on a pair of shorts under my pants as fast as I can to try to add more padding. I am next and she tells me to pull my pants down this time. I know I am in more trouble. She sees my shorts and gives me extra spankings with the belt and then tells me I now have a 10 page paper on lying. I try to pull my pants back up and get out of her room as fast as possible.

We only have 2 minutes left to clean the house and we haven’t even finished our room.

We don’t make it before the timer goes off. Back in Mom’s room we go.

I try to keep count of the spankings to keep my mind focused on something besides the pain. I refuse to cry. I know that’s what she wants and I won’t give it to her. Wait, was that 120 or 130? I’ve lost count again.

After that round of spankings, she trashes the house again and we start all over.

I know this is going to go on for the rest of the day. We haven’t even finished our regular chores for the day or started our school work. All of today’s school work is going  on our undone lists. Mine is about 5 note book pages long. She says that we will only get yucky meals till we are completely caught up. I know it is impossible.

As we start to clean the room again I let my mind wander. I am a princess again. My father is away for a long time and my stepmother is forcing me to be her slave. I just keep hoping that my father will come home and rescue me soon.

Oh no!  I just heard the front door slam.  Dad is home. That means another meeting and another round of spankings.  At least this round of spankings will be from Dad. He doesn’t spank as hard.

*****

“LEE!!! WHY ARE THE CHIPS IN THE WRONG CABINET?? YOU ARE SUCH AN IDIOT! THE CHIPS HAVE BEEN IN THE LAUNDRY ROOM CABINET FOR YEARS!  CAN’T YOU DO ANYTHING RIGHT?!?”

Why is Dad letting Mom yell at him like that? Mom is treating him like a child. Maybe she will get mad enough and leave the house. Yes she is! I hear the door slam and the car roar out of the driveway.

Abby and I look at each other and sigh a sigh of relief. I pray while we finish cleaning that she gets in a car wreck and dies.  I hate her. I want her out of my life.

After we finish cleaning, Dad asks us if we have eaten today. He tells us to eat a bowl of cereal and then go to bed.  It’s after 9 pm.

We climb into bed and Abby goes right to sleep. I lay there and start thinking.

It starts happening again. I feel myself losing control of my mind again. I start getting chills.

I’m laying on some pavement. I don’t know where I am but I look up and am surrounded by four men looking at me in a way that I don’t understand but it terrifies me. I suddenly realize that I am naked. One at a time they start doing things to me. I don’t understand what, but it hurts. After they are done, they start laughing with an evil laugh. I still can’t figure out why I can’t get up.

They have me tied down somehow. One of the men walks away and comes back with sheets of ice. He starts covering me with ice and laughing. I don’t understand the looks they are giving me. What is funny?

I am freezing. Then they all come over and start peeing on me. Why are they doing this?

I am screaming for them to stop. This goes on forever. Finally they stop. One of them brings over a bucket of freezing water and uses it to wash me off. Then they all start to do things to me again. This time I really don’t care because I am so cold. At least them being on top of me is warming me up.

Suddenly the side door slams and I am jolted back to my room. I realize that my hand is between my legs and I am all slimy and wet and it’s not pee. I don’t know what that stuff is but I think it’s gross.

I sneak to the bathroom to clean up. I try to be quiet because I know that Mom is home again. As soon as I have cleaned up, I rush back to my bed again. Abby has woken back up and is crying. We both know that Mom is about ready to come yank us out of bed again. We know that we didn’t get the house cleaned like she wants it.

We sit and hold each other while listening to Mom and Dad fight and scream. Even if she doesn’t come get us up, we can’t go to sleep with that going on. Sure enough, a few minutes later she storms in our room and screams for us to get out of bed because we didn’t have permission to go to bed. She yells at us to all go into the living room. She screams at Dad to bring our desks in the living room. She says that we are not allowed to go to bed till we each have 20 undone school assignments done and passed.

I look at the clock. It’s 11. It’s going to be a very long night.

She says that if she finds us asleep at all then we will get a ton of spankings. She lays down on the couch and goes to sleep with the belt across her lap. I know we will be here all night. I try to work on the school work but I am so tired I can’t think. I lay my head on my desk for just a minute.

I wake up with a sharp pain across my back. I jolt up and see Mom standing over me with the belt coming down again. This time it hit my head because I arched back to stop her from hitting my back again. She yanks me out of the desk and then the belt lands across my chest. The swings keep coming.

She stops and pulls me off the floor and shoves me back into the desk. She wants to see the math page that she told me to work on. I can’t figure out this problem and I asked her for help, but she says that she isn’t going to help me because I should be able to figure it out on my own. She says that I am stupid because I can’t figure it out. She says I can’t be her daughter because a child of hers can’t be that stupid.

*****

It’s about 4 am now and she finally gets tired enough to want to go to bed. She says that we can finally go to bed but we will resume this in the morning. Abby and I go collapse in our bed.

The next thing I realize is that I am cold and soaked.  Our whole room smells like pee. No! I peed in the bed again! I wake Abby up and try to get the sheets changed on our bed as fast as I can without waking Mom up. It is so hard because her room is right across the hall. I can’t do it and Mom storms in our room. She calls me a baby.  She says that I should still be in diapers and that she is going to tell everybody how I am such a baby.

It’s about 6 now and she decides that we have to stay up. I start to let my mind wander again. If I don’t, I won’t survive. This time I have been kidnapped and sold as a slave and I’m praying that my father will find me and save me.  Why does my father never actually save me?

*****

Yay!  Mom is getting a headache! She says that she has to go lay down. I know that she will sleep a long time because she didn’t sleep last night. She goes in her room and shuts the door.

I head to my room and crawl under the bed. I am so tired… my mind drifts….

Am I dreaming or is this real? I honestly don’t know anymore.

To be continued.

Home Is Where The Hurt Is: Mary’s Story, Part Five

HA Editorial Team16 Comments

Home Is Where The Hurt Is: Mary’s Story, Part Five

HA notes: The author’s name has been changed to ensure anonymity. “Mary” is a pseudonym. The following series is an original non-fiction story that spans 33 pages of single-spaced sentences. It will be divided into 10 parts. The story begins during the author’s early childhood and goes up to the present. At each stage the author writes according to the age she is at.

Trigger warnings: various parts of this story contain descriptions of graphic, often sadistic, physical abuse of children, apologisms for religious abuse, deprivation of food, as well as references to rape.

Extra trigger warning: this particular part of the story involves a description of rape.

*****

In this series: Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven | Part Eight | Part Nine | Conclusion

*****

Part Five: Deeper Shame

I’m feeling it again.

"I don’t know what happens to my brain and I don’t understand."
“I don’t know what happens to my brain and I don’t understand.”

I don’t know what it is but it makes me feel shameful.

I can’t ignore it. It hurts, it’s pulling me to go hide under my bed. I have to figure out some way to sneak away without Mom noticing. Some days I’m better at this than others. I know if I disappear for too long, I will get in trouble, but it doesn’t matter. I am pulled into my room, at least I feel pulled, but I don’t understand how. I feel like something is really, actually pulling me but no one is there. What is going on?

I don’t like it but I can’t help it. I manage to get to my room with nobody seeing and, as fast as I can, I hide under my bed. I have to do this, but I’m scared. I don’t know what’s going to happen, but I can’t ignore this pain. I lay on my back and open my pants just enough to fit my 10-year-old hand in. What am I doing?

I don’t even know what this is but I cannot stop myself. I start rubbing and then it happens. I don’t know what happens to my brain and I don’t understand. Mom and the house disappear.

I am no longer under my bed. I don’t know where I am. Who is this scary man that has me? He is dragging me.  My hands are tied and how did this thing get tied around my mouth? He keeps dragging me. I am fighting, this hurts. I am trying to run, but can’t. We are deep in the woods and it’s dark and scary. Is that a really high wall ahead? No!  Please don’t go in there. I am so scared! Is this a dream or is it really happening? He pulls me into the wall.  All I see is a concrete building. He pulls me to a small door on the ground next to the building, opens the door and throws me in. I hear the door locking behind me. It is dark, pitch dark. I can’t see anything. I feel a spider crawling on my leg and I shake my leg as hard as I can. I am too scared to cry, what is happening? I lay there forever before I hear the door unlock again. That man is back. He comes in and pulls me back out and into the building. He unties my hands and takes all my clothes off then ties my hands again. What is he doing? I really don’t understand. I don’t have any breasts yet, why is he touching me everywhere? What is he doing? It hurts. It hurts so bad. I cry and he yells at me to shut up. He finally leaves me alone but doesn’t give me my clothes back.  He just leaves. I am so tired, I don’t want to go to sleep but I can’t stop myself. I don’t know how long I slept, but I wake up later to that man again. He is on top of me again and hurting me again. Please, please leave me alone.  I am hungry and I am terrified.

*****

“MARY!!!!!!  WHERE ARE YOU?!?! YOU HAD BETTER GET IN HERE BEFORE I GET TO 10 OR YOU WILL GET 10 HOURS OF CORNER TIME AND 50 SPANKINGS ON YOUR FEET!!!

I suddenly feel jolted.

I hear Mom screaming mad. Wait, that wasn’t real? I’m in a fog. I can’t move my body for a minute. I try to hurry and get my pants back up, but I just can’t make my body do anything fast. Mom is at 8 and I know it is impossible for me to get into the kitchen before she gets to 10.

I stumble into the bathroom and wash my hands quickly.

“10!  MARY, ANYTHING I COUNT PAST 10 IS ANOTHER HOUR IN THE CORNER AND 5 MORE SPANKINGS!! 11…12…13…14…15…16…17…18…19…20…”

Why does she have to count so fast? I’m trying so hard to get in there. I finally make it to the kitchen as I hear “25.”  Wait. How many spankings is that? I can’t think to try to figure it out.

I see Mom standing over me with the belt in her hand. I see anger, hate and rage in her eyes. In a quick glance around the room, I see John standing in his underwear in the corner sending seething glances at Mom. Abby is curled up on the floor sobbing. Why does she do that? Mom just wants to see us cry and she is just giving Mom what she wants.

Ouch! I am yanked back to paying attention to Mom because she yanks my hair. She yanks my head around so I have to look her in the face. You know, that’s weird, my head is so numb from her yanking my hair that I really don’t feel it that much.

“WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?!? I HAVE CALLED YOU THREE TIMES!”

I don’t know what to tell her. I am still confused. I still feel like I’m in a fog.

I mumble something about being in my room.

“QUIT MUMBLING!!!  IF YOU MUMBLE AGAIN YOU WILL GET A 10 PAGE PAPER TO WRITE.  AND YOU KNOW YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED IN YOUR ROOM TILL AFTER SCHOOL TIME!  I CAN’T STAND THE SIGHT OF SUCH REBELLIOUS CHILDREN! ALL THREE OF YOU GET OUTSIDE NOW!!”

She shoves me towards the back door and finally lets go of my hair. All three of us go to the back porch. My heart is sinking. It is pollen season. I am allergic to it and I know that I am going to have an allergy attack. I am embarrassed for John. He is still in his underwear.

I look at the clock in the kitchen from the window.  Wow, it’s only 9:30 in the morning.

This is going to a long day. Well, what’s different than yesterday?

Mine and Abby’s stomachs are growling. I can’t remember the last meal we ate. Abby looks weak and sick. I want to cry for her. I am so hungry but I’m not feeling sick. John and I managed to sneak a few handfuls of dry cereal while Mom was in the bathroom this morning.

*****

Oh no!

Mom is storming towards the door. She yanks it open and nails us with her eyes.

“I FOUND TWO PIECES OF CEREAL OUTSIDE THE PACKAGE IN THE CABINET. WHO STOLE MY FOOD?!? “

I don’t want Abby to get in trouble for this so I tell her it was me and John. He sends me an evil look. Now John is angry at me too. Mom walks away and I know where she is going. She comes back with the ipecac and two spoons. John and I refuse to take the spoons and she starts screaming at us. She says that if we don’t take the ipecac then we will be outside for a week. That sounds better than throwing up and getting stomach sick, so we say fine. I knew that wouldn’t work. I can see the rage in her eyes.

She grabs my head and throws me up against the side of the porch. She holds me down and forces the spoon in my mouth. I guess she didn’t like our choice. When I throw up later, it is almost all just stomach juice. That smell makes me sicker than throwing up. Hours pass. It is so hot outside. We are so thirsty and hungry. My eyes and throat are itching so bad.

*****

Mom opens the door. She has been crying — her eyes are all puffy. She sounds so sad. I roll my eyes.  ere we go again with the martyr act. It makes me so mad when she does this. I know what’s coming next.

“For the last few hours I have been praying and trying to figure out why God gave me such rebellious children. I have been trying to figure out why you are all ganging up on me and trying to make my life miserable. One day is going to pay you back and give you rebellious children. Do you know what happened in the Old Testament to rebellious children? They were stoned to death. That is what you deserve. We are going to sit here until we get to the root of all your rebellion!”

(Will she ever stop talking?)

“You know, everything that is happening to you is your fault. All of you are forcing me to act like this. When I was a little girl, I never did this. I never misbehaved around my parents. I know I am not perfect, though.”

I know she is lying. I know she wasn’t that good. And I know this isn’t all our fault.  She has been talking for 3 hours now. Dad will be getting home soon. I am so tired and hungry.

“For the rest of the day we will be having obedience drills!”

That means we won’t be getting any food for the rest of the day.

To be continued.

Home Is Where The Hurt Is: Mary’s Story, Part Four

HA Editorial Team19 Comments

Home Is Where The Hurt Is: Mary’s Story, Part Four

HA notes: The author’s name has been changed to ensure anonymity. “Mary” is a pseudonym. The following series is an original non-fiction story that spans 33 pages of single-spaced sentences. It will be divided into 10 parts. The story begins during the author’s early childhood and goes up to the present. At each stage the author writes according to the age she is at.

Trigger warnings: various parts of this story contain descriptions of graphic, often sadistic, physical abuse of children, apologisms for religious abuse, deprivation of food, as well as references to rape.

*****

In this series: Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven | Part Eight | Part Nine | Conclusion

*****

Part Four: Crackers and Cream Cheese

It is finally 6:15 am and time for family devotions.

“Mom yells at me that I am faking this to get attention and that if she sees me limping anymore I will get fifty more.”

Everyone else gets up and comes in the living room. Mom says that we can’t sit on the sofa because she knows that we will fall asleep so we have to stay in the desks. I am trying not to fall asleep in the wooden desk I am so tired. But I need to focus on what Mom is reading because she will ask us questions at the end. If we cannot answer them then she will start over and make us write papers about it. I am able to pick one verse and mumble something that I learned from it; just enough to satisfy her so we can move on.

She is finally finished discussing what we read and I feel a little hope that maybe we can leave for chore time. I think that if I get my chores done fast enough then maybe I can sneak somewhere and take a little nap. I am not so fortunate!

Mom just announced that we would be having drills all day today because of not getting our chores done yesterday.

I want to scream and cry.

I hate drills and all they ever do is get me into more trouble. Mom seems like she is having fun as she goes through the house ransacking every room in it. She says that we have fifteen minutes to each get our assigned rooms spotless. She says that our character is more important than our school work and that if we never get any school work done that is fine with her. She says that any school on our assignment list that we don’t get to because of doing chores will just have to go on our undone lists.

My rooms of the house this week are the living room, dining room and back porch along with my bedroom.  I try not to panic — there is no possible way I can get all of those clean to Mom’s satisfaction in fifteen minutes! I work as hard and as fast as I can but it is no use. Mom keeps coming in and out of the room yelling at me that I am not working fast enough. I want to yell back at her that I am working as fast as I can on an empty stomach of several days and no sleep for the past 24 hours!

I dare not actually yell at her though or I will be dead meat.

The dreaded sound of the timer going off, cuts into my thoughts. I know that I might as well head towards her bedroom because I am in for a spanking again. Nobody got their rooms done so we all have to line up. Today Mom feels like spanking our feet instead of our bottoms. I have to lay on her floor on my tummy with the bottoms of my feet up. I wasn’t able to put a pair of socks on this morning so she is spanking my bare feet.

I can’t stop screaming because of the pain and I try to pull away. She grabs my legs and yanks me back and then sits on them so that I cannot move. All this time she is yelling at me that, until I stop screaming, none of these are counting. I bite the inside of my lip till I taste blood trying not to scream. I am focusing so hard on not screaming that I lose count sometime after forty.

She is finally done but I cannot feel my feet to stand on them. Mom yells at me that I am faking this to get attention and that if she sees me limping anymore I will get fifty more. I try my best to walk out of her room without limping and as soon as her door is shut for the next person I get down on my hands and knees and crawl to the living room.

Now that round of spankings is done and she has just finished ransacking the house for round two.

Dad just got home and we are still drilling. I have lost count on what round we are on and I feel like a moving robot. The last round that we did, Abby and I finally got our rooms done but John and Henry did not. It doesn’t matter for me and Abby because we are still going to have to do it again. Mom says that our family is a team and if one part of the team fails than we all fail. I am so mad at John and Henry — why couldn’t they have gotten their rooms done?

It is now time for the evening mopping and we are still drilling. Mom finally says that we are done for the day because she is tired and we have to get our mopping done. I am only partially relieved. I have dust mopping this week and that is the worst one to have. I never can seem to get all the dust off the floor and I am always missing spots. Mom says it is because I am lazy and stupid and don’t care. I think she is too picky. She is always telling us that we are lazy but we are the only ones doing the work around the house. All Mom ever does is play solitaire or free cell on the computer or lay on the sofa and watch us work.  I know that she is the lazy one, not me and not Abby.

I am so angry with her all the time and I think I am starting to hate her and I don’t even care. Mopping time is over and mine does not pass her inspection again. That means that I get another $15 fine to add to all the other ones I have gotten. That also means that I will have to redo it tomorrow morning during breakfast time because mopping time is over then it is bed time.

*****

I climb into bed and pray that I will be allowed to sleep all night long.

I am so tired and hungry that I cannot think. Everybody else is asleep now but even though I have not slept in over 24 hours I cannot sleep. I am so hungry that my tummy will not be quiet. I am hungry enough to try to get some food.

My room is right across the hall from Mom and Dad’s so I have to be very quiet. Mom is a very light sleeper and wakes up at anything. I tiptoe out of my room and very carefully down the hall. I know where all the squeaky spots are and am very careful to avoid them.

I make it all the way to the kitchen without turning on any lights. I then go into the laundry room and turn that light on. That light is left on all the time and maybe Mom wouldn’t notice if she came out. I open the cabinets as fast as I can to keep them from squeaking and I find a column of crackers. There are a few in there so I feel safe to take one.

I go in the laundry room and get a clean shirt out of the dryer and wrap the crackers in the shirt so they won’t make any noise and so they will be hidden if Mom comes out while I am walking back down the hallway. I listen and do not hear anyone moving so I get a little braver and pull the block of cream cheese out of the fridge. Mom gets the big Sam’s blocks of cream cheese so I know I can cut off a chunk without any being missed. I wrap the cream cheese in a napkin and then put it in the shirt too then turn off the laundry room light.

I start heading back to my room and am just starting to go down the hallway when I hear Mom’s door opening. In utter terror and panic I rush into the living room and hide behind the chair up against the back corner. I see the hall light come on and I peak out from behind the chair to see Mom heading towards the kitchen. I am terrified that she heard me, but I guess she didn’t because she got something out of the medicine cabinet and went back into her room turning off all the lights.

As soon as I hear her door shut I run back across the living room to listen. I hear another door shut and I know that she has gone into her bathroom. I know this is my chance so I dash down the hallway as fast as I can without making any noise and get back to my room. I climb in bed just as I hear her come back out of her bathroom.

I lay very still with the food hidden under the covers for a very long time just to make sure she has gone back to sleep. I sneak into my closet to eat and I have a flashlight hidden in there so I can see. Abby wakes up when she hears the crinkle of the cracker paper and she comes into the closet with me and we both eat half the crackers and cream cheese. It is not nearly enough to make me not hungry but at least I can go to sleep. I wad the cracker paper and the napkin as tight as I can and then go to the bathroom to flush them down the toilet. I am not scared for Mom to hear me walk to the bathroom because if she comes out all she will see is me going back to bed after using the bathroom. She does not come out though and I know I am safe for now and I am finally able to sleep.

*****

Today makes the fifth day that I have not been allowed any meals. The cracker and cream cheese that I snuck a few nights ago didn’t last very long on my tummy. Every night since then, I have managed to get a little something, but no meals.

It is lunch time right now and John, Abby and I are all standing in the corners in the living room. We have been standing here for 1 hour and we will be here for 9 more. Somehow we all earned 10 hours in the corner and now is when we have to spend it.

Mom left the room for a minute to go check on the little ones eating their lunch. I take this opportunity to sit down for just a minute. My feet already hurt very badly and I don’t know how I will be able to make myself stand here for 9 more hours. I am so weak and tired and hungry that I feel like I am going to faint. Abby and I start trying to make signs for each other to help pass the time. Mom sees us moving and yells that if we don’t stop, she is going to start our time over. I put my elbows on the shelf in front of me and rest my chin in my hands.

BAM!

I wake to my head hitting the shelf and the wall as I collapse onto the floor. Mom is standing over me in a minute with the belt in her hands yelling that I had better stand back up this instant or she was going to start spanking. I pull myself up as quickly as I can and turn my nose back toward the corner.  I manage to glance at the clock as I turn back around and see that only 25 minutes have passed. It is taking everything in me not to burst into tears right now. I can’t and won’t let Mom see me cry! I refuse to let her know how much this hurts. I don’t want Abby to see me cry either, because I am her big sister and I need to be strong for her. 

*****

We now have three hours left.

There is no feeling in my feet.

I have been switching the foot that I stand on for hours now. But now I can hardly pick up either foot.  I don’t dare let myself fall asleep again but I have to find something to do to help pass the time. I finally work up the courage to ask Mom if I can get some school assignments to work on while standing. I makes me so happy when she says yes. I go to get my work and sit as long as I dare and then head back to the living room. Done!  Our corner time is finally up but it is now past supper.

I know I will be sneaking food again tonight.

To be continued.

Home Is Where The Hurt Is: Mary’s Story, Part Three

HA Editorial Team23 Comments

Home Is Where The Hurt Is: Mary’s Story, Part Three

HA notes: The author’s name has been changed to ensure anonymity. “Mary” is a pseudonym. The following series is an original non-fiction story that spans 33 pages of single-spaced sentences. It will be divided into 10 parts. The story begins during the author’s early childhood and goes up to the present. At each stage the author writes according to the age she is at.

Trigger warnings: various parts of this story contain descriptions of graphic, often sadistic, physical abuse of children, apologisms for religious abuse, deprivation of food, as well as references to rape.

*****

In this series: Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven | Part Eight | Part Nine | Conclusion

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Part Three: I’m Not Going Back

…things are about to get worse.

Finally Dad comes and calls us into the living room. He has the belt in his hands and Mom is sitting in the chair looking like a martyr. We all sit and wait to see what punishment Mom has decided that we should have. She always has the final decision even if Dad is the one to tell us what it is. If Dad doesn’t give us a punishment that she thinks is bad enough then she will start yelling at him and we will end up getting what Mom has decided.

Dad has the belt in both hands with the two layers together. Then he separates the layers and then pulls them flat again very fast to make a loud crack. It sounds like he just spanked someone very hard. I shiver but try not to look scared. He’s done this before and now I am terrified because I know what’s coming.

Dad looks like he is enjoying our reactions and has a slight grin on his face. To me it looks like an evil grin and I yell at him that this is not funny. Mom jumps up out of her seat and rushes over to slap my face and yells at me not to ever yell at her husband. She sits back down and Dad gets up and starts walking around the room in circles in front of us over and over. While he is walking he keeps cracking the belt very close to us changing the person who he does it in front of.

He is talking the whole time about our rebelliousness and our bad attitudes and making Mom miserable. He has been around the room at least four times now and now he is starting the fifth. This time he starts swinging out the belt towards us. Abby just screamed. He hit her across the front of her legs. John is next; he got hit on the knees.  I am trying not to show how scared I am but I can tell that Dad knows I’m terrified. He gets closer to me and I hold my breath and then slowly let it escape as he starts to pass me. All of a sudden he turns back around and catches me with the belt across my lower arms and stomach. I can’t control the scream of pain that comes out.

I look over at Mom and she is looking quite satisfied with what is going on. Dad keeps going around the room, someone gets hit every time he goes around but we never know who or where. Sometimes he hits the sofa beside us just to scare us. By the end of it he had gotten the fronts of my legs, shoulders, arms, chest, knees and stomach. Abby got hit everywhere too. I wasn’t paying attention to John because he was on the other sofa. Dad finally sat down but he cracked the belt one more time just for effect.

I am so angry now I am trembling. I know Mom and Dad think I am trembling because I am afraid but I’m not. I am screaming at them in my head, screaming at Dad asking him how he could do this to his daughters, screaming at Mom for making him do it.

The lecture is finally over. We are going to miss supper tonight and we are so hungry. Mom has a home school meeting tonight which means we get a little break because Dad always falls asleep on the sofa after supper. As soon as he starts snoring I go to my room and pack my duffle bag. I pack some clothes and my favorite blanket and Rita. Then I sneak in the kitchen and get some apples and put them in the duffle and head out the side door.

I sneak around the back of the house to the woods that separate our house from the road. It is the middle of summer so I know that the leaves on the trees will hide me. I have to be careful though, because there woods are full of poison ivy and I don’t want the poison on me.

I start to head for the road. I just got to the road and now I hear Dad calling me. I don’t answer but I start to walk faster. As soon as I get to the road I start running and I run as fast as I can all the way to the stop sign. I am going to run away and I’m not going to let Dad find me. I turn around when I get to the stop sign to make sure he isn’t following. I hear a car coming on the main road and run up the hill into the trees so they won’t see me. When I see the car I almost throw up. It is Mom.

I lay down as low as I can and I know she didn’t see me. As soon as I see the van turn into our driveway I take off down the main road. I know where I am going. There is a lady that goes to our church that does not live very far away. I know I can make it there by morning time.

This is the third time I have tried to run away and Dad always caught me before I got off our road. Now I have made it farther then ever and I’m not going back. Every time I hear a car coming, I get off the road very fast and hide in the trees. I am almost to the end of this road now all I have to do is get onto Broad River Rd and go till I get to the lady’s road. I hear another car coming up behind me and I hide as best as I can. There are not good trees right here so the best option I have is to hide in the ditch.

I get down as low as I can and hold my breath but this time the car doesn’t keep going it slows to a stop. I hope that is because the car is about ready to turn but it isn’t. I hear a car door open and the Dad yell at me to get into the car. I know I am caught again but this time I get up and yell back that I’m not going.  He yells at me again to get in the car and I yell back no!

I start to try to run in the other direction but he is faster and catches me. He drags me back by the arm and shoves me in the car. He gets back in and takes me home.

I know I am in big trouble.

We get back to the house and Dad tells Mom where I was. She grabs my bag away from me and dumps every thing out on the kitchen floor. As soon as she sees Rita she grabs her away from me and tells me I have lost her again. She sees the apples and tells me that because I took them, I am going to miss every meal tomorrow and I have a twenty page paper to write on stealing. I don’t know how long she will keep Rita this time but I refuse to let them see me cry. I pretend like I didn’t care and leave the room.

Abby asks me if I am upset and I tell her no. I will try to run away again one day.

*****

It is finally bedtime and we are all relieved.

Abby is so weak from being hungry that she can hardly walk and all she wants to do is sleep. John somehow always manages to sneak food out without getting caught, but Abby and I are too afraid to try. Abby and I climb into bed and talk for a few minutes trying to ignore the nawing hunger in our stomachs. Abby goes to sleep very quickly but I have a hard time going to sleep while I am that hungry.

I finally start to go to sleep when I hear stomping down the hall. They are Mom’s footsteps and I know that this means she is coming to our room. She bangs open the door and turns on the light screaming for us to get up.

What possessed you to think you had permission to sleep?

She yanks us out of bed and yells at us to get into the living room. She tells all of us to stand on the rug until she gets back and stomps out of the room. Abby looks like she is going to fall over. In my head I plead with her not to sit down because I don’t want Mom any madder. Mom finally comes back in carrying one of the hard wooden desks.  Dad is following with another one and puts his down and goes back for the third one.

Mom then tells us that we have not done a bit of school work today. So now we get to stay up until that day’s school is done along with as many undone assignments that she tells us. We each sit down at a desk and I feel total despair. I am so hungry and so tired that I cannot think. She lays down on the sofa with the belt across her lap and says that if she finds us sleeping, not working fast enough, or doing sloppy work than she will start spanking.

I work for a while and steal a look at Mom and see that she has gone to sleep. I prop my head against my hand with my other hand holding my pencil so it looks like I am writing. I tell myself that I’m only going to sleep for just a minute so that I can get a little more energy.

*****

I wake up to a slashing pain across my back.

Mom is standing over me and strikes again.

I stand up as fast as I can so that she can hit my bottom instead of my back but I all of a sudden feel sick and dizzy and fall to the floor. Mom keeps swinging the belt and hits my sides and my legs and my back again. I curl into a ball to try to protect myself while she keeps swinging. She hits my side so hard that I jerk out straight uncontrollably leaving my front exposed. Before I can curl back up she swings the belt again and this time it catches me on my chest. I scream in agony and she finally stops. She reaches down and grabs a handful of my hair and yanks me off the floor and forces me back into the desk.

Her face is in mine, I see in her eyes that she hates me. She screams that if I dare fall asleep again then I will stand in the corner till devotion time the next morning.

For the rest of the night we all fight sleep and try our hardest to get some school work done. We are never working fast enough when Mom wakes up. So periodicly we are all getting many spankings.

It is finally 6:15 am and time for family devotions.

To be continued.