UnBoxing Project: Racquel’s story

Eleanor Skelton blogs at eleanorskelton.com, is the news editor of the UCCS student newspaper, and is majoring in English and Chemistry. The following was originally published on Eleanor’s blog on March 7, 2015, and is reprinted with permission. 

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Source: Eleanor Skelton

< Part Three

This is Racquel’s story.

Content warning: forced starvation, religious manipulation.

Somehow I never imagined the inner peace and joy I felt as a 5 year old girl after being filled with the Holy Ghost would disgust and scare me. I am writing this because I believe my voice should be heard. I hope that by telling my story it will help my healing and others with similar stories as well as prevent more stories like mine from happening.

The music was loud and the atmosphere was pulsing with energy. I wanted to show how much I loved God, so I went up to the front of the sanctuary and danced with all my might, letting my tears flow. I had been taught that I should dance before the Lord and not let anyone’s opinion stop me.

Often I was the first one or the only one at the front of the church. This was good. It meant I was a leader, and that I was fighting spiritual warfare. It would also show my pastor, who was God’s voice in my life, how my walk with God was and what a good apostolic young person I was. I remember night after night where this was my mindset.

Source: First United Pentecostal Church of Colorado Springs
Source: First United Pentecostal Church of Colorado Springs

I was isolated from other members of the youth group because I would refuse to do things that the Pastor had commanded us not to such as ride in a car with a guy unless it was approved or there was a married approved chaperone was in the car. However, then there were the many many times where I sat or knelt at the alter weeping feeling the guilt of my many sins because yet again I simply failed to uphold the standards because again I had listened to unchristian music, watched a tv show, or could not stick to a daily prayer life.

For years I went through a cycle of getting trouble with my best friend for questioning the pastoral authority or why we held to some of our standards or had completely disregarded the rules, and then being told that I and my best friend Ashley should not talk or hang out because our personalities did not complement each other. Meanwhile, I stood by as she was abused in so many ways by both the pastoral authority and her parents because the only thing I could do was be there for her.

In January 2013, my best friend and I had come to the conclusion that we did not and could not agree with the church. However, we were discovered yet again and were ripped apart. This time, the Pastor lied to both of us, trying to turn us against each other by saying that the other one had ratted us out.

At the direction and guidance of the Pastor, my friend’s parents were punishing her for not losing weight because it was said that God could not use her unless she lost the weight. Because of her inability to meet their demands, she had begun starving herself. I texted her in absolute caring compassion for her to “FUCK (written politely as $@##) what they [her parents] think” to drive home to my friend that starving herself was not the answer, and that her parents and pastor were wrong.

During one of the long sessions in the Pastor’s office after getting caught, I discovered the Pastor had hacked into my best friend’s phone and found my text. I was questioned about my lack or respect for authority. My hands were tied as I seethed in anger not able to tell the pastor the context of the text, lest the abuse she suffered would increase because the Pastor was part the abuse. My best friend was far too scared of losing her parents and being kicked out to do anything other that play along with them. So at the age of 19, she had every form of communication, transportation, and even her means of education stripped from her. She was not even allowed to be alone in her own home.

Source: First United Pentecostal Church of Colorado Springs
Source: First United Pentecostal Church of Colorado Springs

In March, the deception worked and the pressure had finally broken me to the point that I gave in and did exactly as the church (i.e. the Pastor) wanted me to do. I felt helpless and that the reason for my insanity was that I was not submitted. I continued to not talk to my best friend and tried to force myself into the mold they had created for me with my approved Christian friends and my guilt-ridden prayer life.

I still had all of the same questions. Why must a man my pastor dictate to me what God wants and God not talk to me directly? Why must I not be allowed to talk to my best friend who was still the most important person in my life? How could so many injustices and abuse be what a loving God wanted? So when my little sister decided to leave suddenly and move in with a guy I had never met, and I had no idea were she was or if she was safe, when my approved friends failed, I reached out to the one person I knew who would be there: my best friend.

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Source: Eleanor Skelton

Within two weeks of resuming secret communication, we had both discussed in detail what we saw wrong with the church, and had stated that no matter what we were going to keep communicating, even if it had to be hidden. Almost immediately, my best friend started to date a coworker.

On December 15, 2013, her dad followed her to her boyfriend’s house, and that night he kicked her out. I received a text saying, “they know everything can you come and get me.” I immediately drove to her house and picked her up. From there we were housed in a friend’s apartment who had also recently escaped an abusive fundamentalist home.

There has been a lot of healing and learning since then and now. Learning to live outside of the box has not been easy, nor do I think it ever will.

I now have the wonderful freedom of choice and with that comes both what I would describe as the beauty of a rainbow and the burden of the rain cloud.

Making these choices is the scariest and most exhilarating thing that I have ever done. I have learned and accepted more of who I am.

I can only hope that healing will come in time and the scars will become less painful.

Racquel graduated with a bachelor’s in psychology in May 2014. She struggled with undereducation from inadequate homeschooling and private education in her church throughout her college career. Racquel hopes to pursue a graduate degree in counseling, and her job involves assisting troubled teens.

Part Five >

Why the name The UnBoxing Project?

Eleanor Skelton blogs at eleanorskelton.com, is the news editor of the UCCS student newspaper, and is majoring in English and Chemistry. The following was originally published on Eleanor’s blog on March 6, 2015, and is reprinted with permission. 

< Part Two

Why did you informally call yourselves the UnBoxing Project?

Right after I moved out, several others came to me, and I’d provided emotional support or physically helped them to move out. I’d alert the same network of friends who supported me, enlisting their aid.

My friend Cynthia Barram, who also happens to be African-American, started calling it “Eleanor’s Underground Railroad.”

The name stuck. I think this was for a couple of reasons.

1.) Homeschool kids often read a lot of history.

I researched the Underground Railroad for a 6th grade project, and I often reenacted what I read, playing “slaves” and “overseer” with my siblings. Several of my homeschooled alumni friends that I met in college played the same games in childhood.

Before bedtime, my mom used to read us Laura Ingalls Wilder books and the Between Two Flags series, set during the Civil War. I read biographies of Harriet Tubman and historical fiction like Jip, His Story, and the patriarchal Elsie Dinsmore series. My friends Kathleen and Rebekah wrote their own Civil War historical fiction novel in late middle school, distributing serialized chapters after church each Sunday.

I think homeschool subculture really connected with this narrative.

We weren’t immersed in popular culture, so we tended to identify more closely with people from before our time.

2.) It became a model for social action.

No, we weren’t actually enslaved.

We were controlled, some of us were abused. My friend Kyle, who works at a non-profit to prevent human trafficking, says that the number of young adults from this background being denied agency by overbearing parents is troubling.

But we didn’t adopt the name as a direct comparison. I don’t pretend to understand what others before suffered. It was just a model, a template.

The original Underground Railroad worked because it was subtle. A secret, subversive organization for social justice, involving Quakers, escaped former slaves, and other religious or politically motivated people who couldn’t tolerate the injustices they observed.

So they hid people, moved them from house to house until they reached freedom.

And that’s what my friends and I did.

We took people escaping oppression into our homes, fed them, gave them a place to sleep until they were ready to move on to their next station. We told them it was okay to be themselves, to follow their dreams and desires.

Harriet Tubman and the others became like our patron saints, our guides. We followed the model because it worked for those before us.

And by following in their footsteps, we also sought to honor them.

Part Four >

UnBoxing Project: The trouble with freeing people

Eleanor Skelton blogs at eleanorskelton.com, is the news editor of the UCCS student newspaper, and is majoring in English and Chemistry. The following was originally published as “The Underground Railroad: Intro” on Eleanor’s blog on March 5, 2015, and is reprinted with permission. 

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Source: Hunger Games: Mockingjay (part one).

< Part One

Continued from Being an angel with a shotgun.

“Eleanor, does your church teach the doctrine of pastoral authority?” my friend Racquel asked.

She was waiting with me in the classroom for my Organic Chemistry review session to start.

“What is that exactly?”

Racquel attended an apostolic Pentecostal church in Colorado Springs that taught a person wasn’t saved unless they had been baptized and spoken in tongues at that particular church, not another Pentecostal church in the area.

A long list of offenses such as watching movies and television or wearing short skirts and jewelry could grieve the Holy Spirit, and then you’d lose your salvation and have to “pray through at the altar” again.

“Pastoral authority means that Brother Burgess prays and decides if it’s God’s will for us to talk to a guy in the church, date him, get engaged, or marry. And whether or not we can move out of town and attend another apostolic church,” she explained.

“Other apostolic churches allow social media and let their young people listen to CCM [contemporary Christian music], but our pastor has decided it’s not spiritually good for our congregation.”

Racquel didn’t see the harm in what her church banned, but believed her pastor had good intentions.

“I can tell my pastor cares about the people in the church, the way he walks around and prays for us during the service.”

I hadn’t moved out of my parents’ house or begun dealing with the unhealthy cycles in my own life, but I knew something wasn’t right. A church should support my friend, not make her miserable.

Over the next few months, Racquel and I had many theological discussions, and I argued that Jesus was about freedom and grace, not rules. I said her church had the tendencies of a cult. But she couldn’t see it yet.

—————————

I’d started texting Racquel’s best friend Ashley. She’d just gotten permission from her parents to own a cellphone and drive the car again, even though she was nearly 20 years old and attending massage therapy school full time as well as a part time job.

I had moved out in August 2012, and felt even more strongly that Ashley’s family situation was toxic since my escape from fundamentalism.

In January 2013, I lost contact with Ashley when her parents and Brother and Sister Burgess discovered she and Racquel had watched movies again and listened to rock music, including Skillet. Brother Burgess declared Skillet was demonic after listening to their song “Monster.” Ashley finally bought her own iPhone with parental and pastoral permission eight months later.

Now it was late October. Ashley and I were meeting for coffee that evening. She taught me Search for Truth Bible study lessons, intended for potential converts, as an excuse so her parents would allow us to hang out.

I was driving down south towards Starbucks when I got a text message from her.

“I’m sorry, Eleanor. I can’t come meet u. My parents are now not letting me use their car for anything.”

“Stay calm, see if I can pick you up in a bit,” I replied.

“I’ll try. Don’t know if I can last that long. Cya.”

“You can make it. I believe in you. You still ok?”

“No I’m not. I’m done Eleanor, I’m sick and tired of this. I can’t do it anymore. I’m too tired and can’t keep this facade up. I’ve fought for 13 years against this and am too tired to continue fighting this. I have no control and no choice. I’m fed up and there’s no way out. I realize that now. I just don’t know what to do now.”

“Do you want out? Do you want to make the jump?”

“Yes I do. But I can’t.”

The church and Brother and Sister Burgess trapped both girls in an awful double bind, using manipulation and lies. I knew they needed out.

I organized a network of friends to be prepared when they asked for help. We informally called ourselves the Underground Railroad, in honor of the Civil War stories most homeschooled kids read over and over.

But when would they be ready?

As Cynthia Jeub wrote in The Trouble with Freeing People that fall on the Huffington Post, describing Ashley’s situation, I couldn’t force them to leave.

“Helping her feel ready to take freedom for herself is the only way to make her free,” Cynthia wrote.

Only they could decide.

Part Three >

UnBoxing Project: Being an Angel with a Shotgun

Eleanor Skelton blogs at eleanorskelton.com, is the news editor of the UCCS student newspaper, and is majoring in English and Chemistry. The following was originally published on Eleanor’s blog on March 4, 2015, and is reprinted with permission. 

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Source: Konachan.com. Image links to source.

Get out your guns, battle’s begun,
are you a saint, or a sinner?
If love’s a fight, then I shall die,
with my heart on a trigger.

– The Cab, Angel with a Shotgun (Nightcore remix)

These are the stories they told me.

“Eleanor, my best friend’s parents told her she can’t drive the car unless she loses weight consistently every week.

I’m really worried about her. Yeah, she could lose some weight, but it’s not that bad, and I don’t think that’s healthy. What do you think I should do?”

My insides went cold, feeling the familiar rigidity and control descend, but this time for someone else.

They say before you start a war,
you better know what you’re fighting for…
if love is what you need, a soldier I will be.

“Eleanor, I’m 26 years old and my mom wants me to get married. She says she’ll send out the word among the [Indian] community to find a man for me. But I don’t want an arranged marriage.”

My friend already had a bachelor’s degree from an ivy league college, wasn’t enjoying her post-baccalaureate pre-med classes, and knew her parents wouldn’t understand her adoption of American culture.

She asked for help in moving her things out of her parents’ house. I rounded up a few friends and she got out.

I’m an angel with a shotgun,
fighting ’til the war’s won,
I don’t care if heaven won’t take me back.
I’ll throw away my faith … just to keep you safe…
and I wanna live not just survive tonight.

“Did you know Mike died?”

“No, I just talked to him last week. He was trying to start a chapter of the F.A.S.T. club at his graduate school.”

The coroner ruled Mike’s death a suicide. Mike grew up in the Colorado Springs homeschool community, although I didn’t meet him until college.

Questions about his death still linger with me and my friends.

Sometimes to win, you’ve got to sin,
don’t mean I’m not a believer...
Yeah, they still say I’m a dreamer.

Text messages from Cynthia Jeub, September 2, 2013.

“I need help. My dad is angry because he’s not making enough money. Can you help Lydia and me get out and find a place to sleep until our apartment paperwork goes through?”

“Dad was yelling at me when you tried to call. I never thought this would happen. We have a friend who will help, we might need help from you when we get back.”

“Dad says he might turn off my phone and Internet. Tell [a friend] to come if you don’t hear back again.”

I was five hours away up in the mountains and couldn’t come get her on the day that they were kicked out.

They say before you start a war,
you better know what you’re fighting for…
if love is what you need, a soldier I will be.

Google chat conversation, June 2013.

“I just want to go Home and be with Him. It’d be so easy… one bullet, one noose, two cuts, but I can’t bear to think of facing Him when I got there… For being a coward. For not trusting him enough… I really just want to escape. Wouldn’t you eventually get over it [grieving for me]. Death is a natural part of this life.”

A younger friend was suicidal again. She’d done this off and on since she was 13, and a couple of friends and I had talked her out of it, over and over.

“As long as I’m in class, getting A’s and studying all the time without a boyfriend or any other distractions, no one really pays me much mind. A fight’s brewing. So I’ll let you know after it happens if it does happen.”

Once again, her parents crushed her with unrealistic expectations.

I’m an angel with a shotgun,
fighting ’til the war’s won,
I don’t care if heaven won’t take me back
.
..and I wanna live not just survive tonight.

I didn’t become an activist because it was another hobby. Friends came to me with their wounds, their struggles. And I couldn’t just let them keep bleeding.

This is a series on helping isolated homeschoolers and religiously oppressed young adults escape cults and abusive households.

These are the ones I fight for.

…and I’m gonna hide, hide, hide my wings tonight.

Part Two >