My Life As A Child Bride And How Music Set Me Free
I’m writing because I need to. And importantly, because I want to. And I needed 64 minutes to do it.
Words impact the world one way or another. When we speak them, when we hear them. “Be impeccable with your word,” writes don Miguel Ruiz in his book, The Four Agreements. I believe that sharing our unique experiences can be a powerful tool used for the “greater good.” And sometimes it’s just for the greater Self. Have you ever talked to a friend about a struggle and felt relief? Not because you figured it out, but because you allowed what was inside to be expressed. Yes. This.
I often wonder if I could have been a writer had I… made different decisions. For today, I’m resolving to accept that, if you have a pen and paper, then you can be a “writer.” So, bear with me. I have attempted to put this in book form but have yet to succeed in turning that dream into a reality. The following is an abridged version.
Before I get started though…
A few days ago, I became aware that the government had lifted the civil statute of limitations for child sexual abuse victims. (No federal statute of limitations was in place for criminal claims regarding child sex abuse). Victims can now press charges at any length of time after the abuse as opposed to only 10 years from the offense per the previous limitations. This is a huge win considering what we know about childhood trauma and the long-term effects. There’s no textbook length of time that it takes for a victim to be ready to speak up or even process the abuse. When I heard the news, I was elated and emotional. Similarly, in 2022, Maryland officially changed the legal marriage age to 18 with only minor exceptions for some 17yrs old who present their case before a judge. A decision a little ( a lot) too late for me… but gave me comfort in knowing that it might save a solemn few.
The events in my past were not… typical. To some, they may seem small. But to me, well…
In 2018 when everything came to a head, I searched high and low on the internet to find others like me. Someone — ANYONE who could relate. I needed support, I needed help. I needed OUT. I was used to looking outside of myself for answers. For external sources, power, wisdom and… saviors. But it wouldn’t be Jesus who could save me this time. No. More likely the devil if I had to choose. But it wasn’t him either. It was me. I. My strongest weapon would be uncovering, unwrapping, unearthing the individuality that had never been discovered. And music became the vehicle that allowed me to get there. Or more like a white horse, valiantly carrying me on it’s back.
So today, I am telling my story. A gift I’m giving to myself. Thank you for being here to listen.
It Begins
21 years ago, I said “I do” at the age of 16yrs old on a warm afternoon in June. Judah was 22. He might as well have been 32 with his beard and muscles and charismatic energy. His presence was intimidating and could be immediately felt when he entered a room. I never stood a chance. When you think of child marriage, you may think of an arranged or forced situation in the middle east. You may not realize that in many states here in the US the age is very young, even 13 and 14 in some places. Parents are required to sign, of course. Mine did. In fact, they were delighted to have succeeded in raising a daughter who “loved the Lord” and now could see me go to a “Man of God.” He pledged to lead me and guide me just like The Bible tells a man to do. He was considered a radical believer, a “Jesus freak”. His sole purpose in life was to serve God. And me? Same goal. I believed that the only reason we were put on this earth was to worship God and “do His work,” all according to The Bible.
Deep breaths.
Judah first laid eyes on me when I was 14yrs old. His dad, who had two sons, Judah and his older brother, had married my aunt the previous year. It was during our trip from Chicago for the wedding that my dad decided it was time for us to relocate. A few months later, Maryland became my new home. It was the summer of ’99 and I was invited to go on vacation with my cousins and their new blended family. It was only the second time I had met Judah. I was a naturally shy and quiet individual, practically unnoticeable as I tagged along with my older cousins. I was the opposite of one that could be described as having a “loud personality.” Introverted and lacking confidence, that was me. In a family with 4 much louder siblings, my parents often told me when I was young not to mumble when I spoke.
It was on our way driving back home from the 4day trip. I remember the glance like a photograph in time. Judah, the cool 20yr old who’s energy seemed electric, was driving and I was in the very back seat of the Jeep Cherokee, sprawled across a pile of blankets and pillows. The conversation in the vehicle, that I was merely an observer to, had drifted onto the subject of music and suddenly, there was my moment. Someone mentioned that I played violin to which Judah immediately looked through the rear-view mirror at me, his eyes piercing through my entire being. It just so happened that the violin was his favorite instrument, he said. “We’re going to hangout, O’Malley!” he declared as his attention lit up my small world. I remember the shockwave that went through body and I’m sure I turned beet red. I couldn’t BELIEVE he said that. I tried to hide my smile as I usually did to avoid disgracing the world with my crooked teeth. Judah was an enigma to me. Something fascinating I had never encountered. I was sure that he’d forget all about me in the following days and his claim to hangout .
He didn’t forget.
4 months later, after lots of time spent together, he told me that I was the most important person in his life. ME? Do you know how that makes a 15yr old girl with low self-esteem feel — when a 20yr old man tells her that SHE’S his favorite?? Do you? Every time I saw him, he had a Bible with him. He knew it through and through and frequently shared with me all that he had learned. He seemed closer to God than anyone I knew. I wanted that. To be on that level of spirituality, or what I perceived spirituality to be, that he had achieved. Judah just seemed to exude some sort of life power, and I was drawn to it like a bug to a flame. He quickly became my mentor and started writing me long notes filled with scripture and his knowledge of God and the world. He was very, very, sure of what he knew. And I believed, wholeheartedly, that Judah knew all there was to know about anything. And I knew - practically nothing.
I’m lucky, really. That I met Judah and not… Jim Jones, or David Koresh, or Charles Manson. You can laugh, it’s ok. But it’s true. I was that girl. Swept off my feet and under a spell.
Home life had been difficult for a long time. My parents were worn from the years of handling my rebellious siblings. They’d ask themselves over and over again where they had gone wrong to have children that rejected the “godliness” that they had taught and exampled. I was different. I obeyed. Mostly terrified of breaking the rules. I simply wanted to be good, not bad. I found comfort in church and youth group. I read the Bible under the usual biased blur and lack of real cognitive processing. Seeing my parents’ heartache and despair burdened me at a young age. All I wanted was to please God and be a good girl. I felt like an outsider in my own family because I wasn’t in the circle that all of my siblings seemed to have formed full of secrets and loyalty to each other.
Christianity had done its job convincing me that the only value I had was because I was made by God, and because Jesus died on the cross for me. Otherwise I was a hateful sinner who should go to hell. Now I owed God my life. My consciousness. I believed you must dedicate your life to following him. To having faith. To obeying his word (The Bible). THAT is your ultimate purpose. To please God.
I would write long and hard about my experience in Christianity, what I’ve learned from it, and have now spent the last 4 years unlearning. I lived and breathed that religion in many different forms for most of my life and now I want nothing to do with it. Period. The end.
I don’t know if it started before I met Judah or if I already had the conviction to fulfill “God’s calling” for me as a woman. The calling to be a wife and mother. 15yr old me thought it was the most honorable thing a woman could ever become, and Judah agreed. My divine duty as a woman would be to support a man in his journey. Judah had big visions and ideas about how he’d follow God. He spoke to God. He had dreams and revelations. He spoke in tongues. He even prophesied! Judah told me that God had “appointed him to be a prophet” and I believed. With everything in me, I believe that he had all the answers that I would ever need to live a life pleasing to God.
Side note: Mothering and ‘wifering’ still is and will always be a sacred and beautiful role to me. I have grown to perceive through my own lens, the divine masculine and feminine, and the beautiful dance between them, both equal in value. I honor and respect our innate differences and strengths.
My parents were careful to keep a watchful eye on the budding relationship with my new “cousin”. Judah and I were only allowed to hangout in group settings although we’d often find quiet corners within those spaces to bond. Judah had so many stories about his travels and experiences with God. I was in AWE. He said that he could see such beauty in me, that I had a light, and was different from the rest. He validated my existence. No one had been interested in me the way Judah was. Not even close! In fact, the truth is that I had never had a boyfriend. The attention I was getting was over the top. Sometimes he’d show up to pick me up from high-school (where I had little to no friends since I was relatively new to the area — and completely lacking in normal ‘teen girl’ social skills) and I felt like the coolest freshman in school to be picked up by 20yr old Judah who had graduated from there 3 years prior. He came over to my house often and won over my parents, although they had no idea to the extent of relationship that was starting to form between us. Finally, just 5 months after we started hanging out, on one monumental night in January of 2000, my parents let us drive to Wendy’s all by ourselves to get food. He took a detour, of course, and drove down a dark street to park the car. He continued speaking about all the things he knew and believed about God and life, and then… he told me. He said that… “he knew I was going to be his wife.” His WIFE! He KNEW?!
My heart skipped beats. I was speechless. I remember what song was playing on the radio. My heart lifted off in to space (and never came back down). I had been chosen! I was special. My future was laid out before me. Security. Belonging. Love. I believed it was ordained by God. Judah had had “dreams and visions” about me. I was all in. I knew so little about the outside world and didn’t want to, because it was full of evil. I was taking the more “honorable path” and becoming a wife. I couldn’t believe Judah was choosing ME, and I was ready to be his “helper” just like the Bibles says a woman is to be to her husband.
I felt like I had won the lottery. I had been selected by a man who had traveled the country, backpacked through Europe and experienced the world and God in ways I could only dream of. He was ready for a wife. And I was the desirable candidate because… I was innocent. Untouched. Quite literally. My virginity was considered a gift to him. I believed that my performance as a “Godly wife” would be in direct relation to my devotion to God.
Judah and his close friends had formed a tight-knit brotherhood growing up in church and then going on adventures after they all graduated high-school. They scoffed at “regular” religion and wanted a more “hardcore” Christian life. They were obsessed with Jesus, but with young adult angst and rebellion. All of them carried around their Bibles, the pages filled with notes and highlights and markings and double-markings, and they would get together and pray, preach and worship God. There was an air about them. As if they existed on a different plain then everybody else. Their main goal was to build their own church and live in “community”. And that’s what they called it, “Community.” The place we all lived. It might as well have been a cult. The Christians that they looked down on in “regular” church certainly viewed Community that way. Even Judah’s father, who was a prominent member in their local church warned people against them. Community was considered rogue and rebellious. What was actually toxic pride and ego, looked like power and spirituality to 15yr old me.
Judah saw me. The way any young girl starved for attention wants to be seen. He adored me and praised me for not following in my sister’s footsteps. I was on cloud9 most of the time. He would leave me love notes and long detailed letters about his thoughts and revelations. It was considered beautiful that I was a, sort of, blank slate. Uninfluenced or tainted by “the world”. Innocent and moldable. Teachable. This was beautiful to Judah. That‘s what he wanted. Someone he could lead. There were many moments when we were together that were serious spiritual moments where he’d impart his wisdom to me. Sometimes in these moments he was quiet and serious like in a state a prayer “feeling God.” I was always amazed. I had a teacher. A guru! A LEADER. I was on the right path to following Jesus Christ. 15yr old me thought that nothing else truly mattered except for this.
Judah had me read the Bible each day for twice as long as I spent at the gym because according to The Bible “bodily exercise profiteth little: but godliness is profitable unto all things”. I was committed to obeying. To becoming the perfect wife for him. At age 15yrs old, I didn’t think that, as a woman, an education was necessary to please the Lord. The sooner that I could become a wife and serve my husband the better. I’d fulfill my true calling as a female. Education was mostly for godless “worldly” people, is what I believed. Sadly. Oh so sadly.
Unveiled
A few months after he told me that he knew we’d be married one day, Judah felt like it was time for me to really “know him”… like the Bible refers to “knowing” someone. It was summer of 2000 after Judah had turned 21 and we were on a night walk together getting some exercise. When we reached a secluded and dark part of Wilda Drive, he stopped me, and we stood on the side of the road, quiet and still. He was “feeling God” again and I knew a teachable moment was coming. He slowly brought me close and guided me to stand directly in front of him, face to face. After moments of silent pause while he appeared to be “in the Spirit”, he… without warning… (or my consent) unzipped his pants. Eyes closed, he reached for my hand and gently placed his penis in it, his other hand on my shoulder. Then he softly whispered in my ear “I want you to know me.” My young brain didn’t know what I was supposed to do. It was like a ceremony and so I remained composed. In the Bible, there are a few stories where a man and woman enter a chamber and it says “and he knew her” meaning — they had sex. They became “one in the flesh.” I was… honored? I felt special. Like I was graduating to the next level. I trusted him fully. He was treating “it” like something spiritual, not sexual. And so, I believed it was. He was bringing us one step closer to our union as man and wife.
That night, it was only touch.
In the months following, our relationship became very sexual and I pleasured Judah a lot. He believed that it wasn’t a big deal because “God already saw us as man and wife.” I trusted him. It was our secret. On my 16th birthday, he took me to the beach for the sunset and as we lay under a blanket he whispered “you can do anything you want to me.” How lucky was I?! Those were my thoughts. I didn’t think about my pleasure, in fact, I hardly knew it existed. Happy Birthday to me, I guess.
Judah taught me to see the futility of material things too. I had something called a “hope chest” that I collected precious things in for my future as a wife and homemaker. One day, Judah told me that he wanted me to burn my 3 favorite things from the chest. Yes, light on fire. I didn’t want to, but I did. I let go of any sadness I had because emotions (female emotions to be specific) were not Godly either, or so I had been learning from Judah. I knew this was the way to spirituality. My parents didn’t always understand. Judah told me to be careful who I listened to, because “family are those who do the will of the Lord.” We believed that Satan was always trying to destroy Jesus’s people and if people weren’t following God, then they were “agreeing with Satan.” It was one or the other — there was no middle ground. Judah seemed wiser than my parents. That’s what I believed. Him and his friends practiced “manifestations of the Holy Spirit”. Like, speaking in tongues and prophesying and praying for miracles. The spirituality that they displayed seemed more real to me than the religion I had grown up in. Judah had to sneak me over to the church he attended because my parents did not believe in the sort of unorganized Christianity that Judah and his friends participated in. They met with a group of people in a house- “House Church”. They would pray, preach, prophesy and worship in an often unorganized and uninhibited fashion. Sometimes someone would appear “possessed” and they would lay hands on them and pray to cast out a demon. Some of them would fall over while being prayed for. I believed. I desperately wanted to be spiritual enough to “feel the spirit” and fall over too.
Judah had incredible stories about his travels and planned to show me all of those places! Our goal was to “leave and cleave” for a year when we got married and live in Europe. At least, that’s what Judah said. I had never been on a family vacation because we were too poor growing up. I once went to Wisconsin with a schoolmate and Oklahoma with another, but that was it. I could only imagine the excitement of another country. Judah had also committed to “doing to the work of God” here with Community, though which, in the end, was more important. They had pooled their money and bought a house nearby where about 12 or so of them now lived (2 girls). Their goal was to share everything (NOT the women, different cult) and support and encourage each other to follow God. At some point, Judah instructed me to give all my money to Community. I worked at a pizza shop and had just started saving my little money. It was a big ask but I knew that obeying was how I could show my value as a future submissive wife. Judah was one of the leaders in the house and everyone answered to Bear. Bear was considered the Pastor of the house and was indeed, a natural born leader and the only married one at the time. Funny, full of love, but serious and authoritative when he needed to be. You just wanted him to like you. And Bear’s wife, Emma, was a model example of a “godly” submissive woman. I don’t think I ever saw her have an unpleasant emotion or negative attitude during our time in Community. She was naturally docile and cheerful, and I wanted to be just like her.
I do
Finally, at age 16yrs old, it was time. I trusted Judah’s timing, of course. He wrote “many are called, but few are chosen,” in one of his first letters to me. I was chosen. Loved. I had no vision or desires for the future but to become Judah’s wife and bear children. I wanted Jesus to “live through me.” Which to me, meant following my husband and learning how to love God as much as I could. I had already dropped out of school and convinced my parents to let me homeschool in 10th grade but I never really finished my curriculum.
Judah was fasting from talking that day in May 2001 and so he wrote me a note “Put your 2 weeks in. It’s time.” I was elated! Overwhelmed with excitement to start my life with him, albeit, a little apprehensive about living in Community. Everyone was older than me, in their 20’s, and I wasn’t as “spiritual” as everyone else. I needed to be. I would certainly try. When he had proposed (if that’s what we’re calling it) months earlier, we knelt in a field and he had me repeat after him that I would love and obey in sickness and in health and devote myself to following his leadership. He had consulted Bear and Bear had advised him to do this to make sure that I was committed to following him like a Godly wife should. I was happy to sign the “Household Covenant” that was required to live in Community like the rest of the members did. The Bible says to “be in the world but not of the world” and Community was their idea of not being of the world. It’s a basic view that most Christians hold, that the regular world is sinful and full of evil. Christians are to be separate and to spend their lives trying to change the world “for God’s glory.” You can hang out with “unbelievers” but we are different than them… because we know things.
Oh, how dreadfully lost I was.
We got married at the court house and then a few days later, we went to “The Land” in WV that Community had purchased to build our off-grid homestead on. We had a ceremony there where we truly became married in God’s eyes by Bear who married us in the middle of the woods with the rest of the members of Community.
The Land
We all moved shortly after me and Judah’s nuptials and built a log cabin/hay house.
We didn’t have plumbing, just a hole in the ground outside that we called the “poop chute.” Me and Judah’s room was 8x8 with a small window. There were 4 married couples, about 8 single guys and 1 single girl. We roughed it. No electricity. No hot water/heat except for a wood stove that the guys took shifts stocking throughout the night. We all had sold most of our belongings to make the move, and retained only a few vehicles, of which only 2 that could make it up and down the dangerous off-road path up the steep mountain where we lived. Only very skilled drivers could handle it (not me!). There was no leaving the mountain unless it was necessary. The guys worked together doing roofing/home construction and the girls never really left unless it was to go grocery shopping together, or to do the guys’ laundry. All the members were given a weekly allowance. It was like $2 (or maybe $10). We were very poor and survived mostly on deer meat from deer the guys had hunted and slaughtered.
That first year of marriage I learned a lot about how to be a good wife and a Godly woman (according to our belief system). One day, I went to Bear’s wife to vent and talk through an emotional thing I was dealing with. I don’t even remember what it was other then it having to do with Judah. But confiding in Emma turned out to be a bad idea. I got in trouble. Bear overheard me talking to his wife and alerted Judah “Your wife is talking to my wife and I don’t like it.” I had to be re-directed. See… women were not supposed to “give in to their emotions” like I was doing. They were to take their concerns to their husband or God and not spread negativity. I was mortified. I felt stupid and small. I quickly learned my lesson. That women’s emotions were a weakness, and needed to be bridled.
It wasn’t the first time that I had gotten in trouble. A few months before that, I had looked at Judah with “flirtatious eyes” in front of some of the other guys and it caused them to “stumble.” BIG offense.
You see, lust was considered the enemy. All of the guys were trying to keep themselves “pure” and free from sin (sexual thoughts) while they waited for God to give them a wife. I was embarrassed. I didn’t know that much about a man’s… way of thinking. All I knew was that I needed to control my emotion AND expressions. My femininity seemed to be unspiritual and needed to be reconciled to God. I needed to be better. I needed to be careful how I dressed. I needed to keep my emotions at bay and not get carried away in my thought patterns. I needed to align myself with the Word of God and act accordingly. I needed to worship God, read my Bible and focus on Jesus. That was the path to true life. That’s what I believed. That’s what we all believed.
Goodbye, any possibility for identity development. Hello, conformity. Goodbye, tiny, soft, budding seeds of self. Hello, detachment. Hello trauma.
Core Memory
We had a visitor come to The Land, as we did every so often. Her name was Stephanie. She was more… independent than us girls in Community. I didn’t know her well, only that she wasn’t married (gasp!) and was a part of something like the peace core. She seemed… opinionated. It was during her visit that Judah ordered me to stay in my room for 2 days. I didn’t know why. I didn’t need to. He told me that I wasn’t in trouble but that I just needed to trust him. I knew that questioning his authority was not being submissive. A good wife would obey with a cheerful heart. I did. I didn’t mind. I believed it was for some reason that I didn’t need to understand. In fact, I believed that by giving me hard tasks to complete like this one, Judah was giving me an opportunity to display my faith through my act of submission. Meals were brought to me during the day, and I was let out when he got home from work. I read my Bible and I journaled — something else he had instructed me to do before we were married.
I found out years later why he made me stay in my room. It was because Stephanie and the one single lady in the house were bickering, or having negative conversations, or maybe just talking freely about the more liberated views that she held. In any case, he didn’t want me to hear their conversations and be influenced, or have any shift in perspective. Judah thought this was love and leadership, shielding from the outside world.
Writing this even now, conjures up a deep sense of grief. Grief for adolescent me who must have been so detached sitting in that room, existing in some dimension believing that I was being a good girl. Did any one of those members question Judah? Did anyone check on me to see if I was alright? I had no idea what oppression was. I had no idea that I was learning to live completely apart from myself in state of unconsciousness. I didn’t matter. God mattered. Obedience mattered. Truth, according to Judah, mattered.
I reach back in time to my child self and open that door “Go free, my love.”
I didn’t know a lot about sexuality. It’s a taboo thing to talk about in many Christian homes and it’s also like, the greatest sin in most Christian circles. I had never had a boyfriend before Judah. In Christianity, it’s a sin to have sexual desire, “lust of the flesh”, before you’re married. Any talk of sex in youth group is about “staying pure.” Masturbation is akin to “having sex with demons.” And so, I wasn’t really prepared for what was about to happen next…
Almost a year after we were married, Judah came to me and said “I have something I need to tell you, but I want you to forgive me first.” Forgive him before I knew what the offense was? WOW, this was a true test of my faith, I thought. I had no idea what it could be that he needed to tell me but I went to the other ladies in Community and asked them to pray for me so that I could honor his request. Judah wouldn’t ask me to do something that couldn’t be done, I thought. I would need to forgive Judah for an offense that I did not yet know. What I would give for someone in my life back then to be like:
“Girl, what??? NO! Absolutely NOT. What even the f***?!”
But I believed that spirituality was doing what he asked. He took me to his dad’s cabin in WV, far away from friends and family and confessed. He said that he had snuck off for a glorious night at a strip club. A normal guy thing to do, right? Not for Christian guys. I was mortified. Sick to my stomach. I felt ugly (as if I didn’t already have low, undeveloped self-esteem). Stupid. Unloved. Cheated on. I was upset and wanted to get away, but we were 6 hours from home and I had nowhere to go. I took the stick-shift truck that I could barely drive and left, only to return 10 minutes later. I forgave him because that’s what Godly wives do. WWJD, right?? Forgive.
These are some of the events in my past. The one’s that I remember most. This was the foundation to our relationship and our marriage. We didn’t meet and date in college. He didn’t get on one knee and ask me to marry him with nervous anticipation. I didn’t pursue my hobbies or passions and explore my identity as a free human being. I had my driver’s license for 2 weeks before I got married. I didn’t have my own friends. I didn’t think about what I wanted to accomplish in life. I stepped into a role that was created for me. The wife of Judah. He frowned upon what’s called the “honeymoon stage”. To him, that was frivolous emotion. What I believe now to be some of the most divine and sacred aspects of femininity — our intuition, internal wisdom, and feminine expression — I placed on the alter and sacrificed to “God”. Was I in love? Sure. As much as I groomed 15yr old can be.
So. What do you do, 15 years later, when you start to realize the pain..? What do you do, 16yrs later, when you start coming into your body for the first time? What do you do when 17 years later, you start to feel the chains snap and hear the soft whisper of your soul saying “I’m here. Let’s go.”
To say that 2018 was the hardest year of my life is an understatement. The second part of my story will tell you why. Why I came to the very edge of myself.
Those journals, the ones he had me write in when I was a teen, I still have them. And ironically, they hold the most convincing evidence to the state of mind that I was in. They’re a devastating read. A glimpse into an innocent and confused child’s head, that believed that, and I quote, “saying no to Judah would set us back.” It’s not that my past is so very traumatic. There’s so much worse that others have endured. In between all of the bad there was plenty of laughter and love. Is staying in your room for 2 days really all that bad?? He had me touch his penis when I was 15, so what? I will tell you that validating my own experience of these situations and how they made ME feel has been extremely difficult. To allow myself to feel a certain way about them that someone else may not. And that Judah does not. There’s no trauma scale or one size fits all. I told a co-worker my “penis story” once and she laughed “I would have been looking down to see what I was working with.” Her and I are different people, with completely different make-ups. What hurts you, may not hurt me and vice versa. You’d be surprised at how liberating it is to FEEL what it is I feel and not be told by anyone (Judah) how I ought to feel (and think!). My revelation of the past didn’t come with a newfound confidence to stand up for myself. Instead, it was clothed with sorrowful confessions “I’m sorry that I feel this.”
It is painful to look back and see that I was so easily influenced and groomed. My innocence taken advantage of. But the hardest thing for me to swallow is the longevity of my psychosis. 17 years is far too long to live apart from yourself, but that’s the nature of grooming. My mind was still developing. The prefrontal cortex of my brain still forming! Judah was my truth compass for a long time. It’s not something you just snap out of. Childhood trauma can latch on and take significant time to discover and break off.
Before we get to the abusive year of 2018…
Middle Part
Community only lasted about 2–3 years, although we remained close with everyone who was a part of it and still did church and life together long after it ended. We sustained a sense of community, you might say. We were faithful followers of Jesus Christ and dedicated our lives to church and ministry. We were still considered “radical” Christians and held some relatively extreme Christian beliefs. But other than that, we went on to live a pretty normal life.
Judah and I had left Community when our first son was born. At that point, it was still a taboo thing to leave. When we sat down with Bear to discuss our parting and get his blessing, he agreed that it was good for us to leave. He went onto share his Pastoral thoughts about us and said that he didn’t like to be in the same room as me in Community. He mentioned a few of his favorite members and their positive energy, but my aura he didn’t like. My energy “burdened him”, he said. I was devastated. Speechless. Apparently I had not achieved the spirituality I had hoped. I felt like I was in trouble once again. Unlikeable. Ugly. My emotions were oozing from me and they were affecting people. I was usually on edge and anxious in the house and I knew I needed to cleanse myself from… myself. To shutdown whatever part of me was coming out that wasn’t pleasing.
Judah said nothing.
(Bear and his wife eventually moved out West and became hippies. Bear transformed into one the most loving and kind humans anyone would have the pleasure to know. He became a very dear friend to me and years later, was grieved by his contribution to Community. Bear’s heart was BIG. In 2018, he completed his trips around the sun and left a invaluable imprint on a great many people.)
We had our sons when I was 18, 21 and 24yrs old. Motherhood was my happy place. I flourished in that role. Judah thrived in fatherhood too. He invested so much time in the boys often taking them on adventures and playing sports with them. Judah and I both grew up. We changed. Our belief system evolved and over time, our religious beliefs became much more relaxed. To a degree, that is. Life was not spent on the path to understanding self and the world we live in but rather, on understanding God. Reading the Bible or books about the Bible. It wasn’t exploring life’s mysteries. It was figuring out what God wanted us to do with the lives he had given us and, in order to love him, were giving back to him. We remained in ministry and devoted much of our time to serving in the church. Judah would preach (long) sermons and I would sing on the worship team (terrified of projecting my voice).
Judah and I always got along. We were just as much friends as we were husband and wife. He took care of me. I took care of our babies. We were “happy.” I didn’t know anything different. I lived in a closed-minded shell, never truly thinking beyond what had been taught to me. I didn’t question my existence or contemplate the mysteries of the world because the Bible had all the answers I needed. Or, so I thought. Our friends were all the church people we grew up with. We’d have parties and drink beer and cuss like regular people and we’d sometimes laugh about Community and the stories about our past.
I struggled for most of my twenties with emotions and knowing who I was (obviously!), only to be reminded to “find my identity in Christ.” All of my answers could be found in God. That was the Christianity we lived. Pray about it. Seek God. Have faith. Read the Bible or books about the Bible. Talk to other Christians. We spent so many hours in church “worshipping God.” Praying for the world to change. There was always some new phrase the prophets were declaring. Some revelation to worship over. We prayed against abortion and for the health of our country. For there to be some “revival” where everyone would fall on their knees and “come to the Lord.” Towards the end of my marriage, and the beginning of my awakening, I remember being in a Church conference where a particular prophet was preaching and praying and declaring what God was going to do (as if she knew, right?). She encouraged her audience to fill the streets and pray where there was going to be a pride festival taking place.
It makes me sick to write that. It may take years to undo all the bullshit that religion has imprinted. I have hope that soon, more and more eyes will be opened to the monstrosity that is Christianity and to the murderous book called The Bible.
The Shift
It was when the kids were finally all old enough to all be in school, I started to have more time to contemplate. I was depressed. There was no search for reason or understanding, though. To be depressed was “giving into my emotions”, something that I had learned not to do years and years ago. We agreed that it’d be good for me to work part time. I had been waitressing for a few years and had other part-time jobs along the way, but something steadier with a little more pay was needed. I remember the culture shock it was for me when I got a job at Texas Roadhouse in my early 20’s. Restaurant culture was deplorable in my religious eyes! I stood in the corner, shy and unable to socialize. I wasn’t used to being around non-church people. They needed Jesus, I thought. I was so nervous that I could hardly walk up and greet my table. It was good practice for me, being out in the world. My new job was now in the office of the company where my husband had worked for years. It would often take me a whole day to work up the courage to walk into my boss’s office and utter words to try and form a sentence. My boss was handsome, funny, and intelligent. And I had zero confidence. Judah was my security blanket. He was the extravert. If we were ever hosting a party at our house, I’d be terrified of people arriving without him being there. TERRIFIED. Even of our friends! How could I interact with the world if I didn’t even know how to interact with myself?
I hadn’t learned to love myself. I had learned to love Judah, and to love God.
I was over 25yrs old now. A mind finally developed, right? I had emotions. Feelings. Thoughts that I was sure weren’t “pleasing to God.” I didn’t feel love for Judah but how could I not? He was God’s gift to me. Such a good man, I thought. He practically saved me from my troubled family. And plus, lots of couples don’t like each other, that’s just how marriages play out, right? You work on it. You stay together for the kids. Love changes. You adapt. Compromise. I accepted that and believed in doing the work it takes to sustain a marriage. We were good at working through shit. It’s not like I had much of an identity to compete with, anyways. Judah and I were “one”. And I felt ashamed for not feeling love towards him. I felt like a bad Christian and did all that I could to avoid those negative feelings. I prayed over and over for God to “help me love my husband.”
But the cry in my heart was getting too strong to be silent. In my struggle to love Judah I started to wonder… “Did I really choose him? Or was I…”
Around age 31, I started to see the past through a more accurate lens when I began searching for answers as to why I was feeling the way I was. And that’s when I realized… that what had happened when we were young affected me in a much deeper and profound way than anybody could understand. For the first time, I felt… like I had been mis-treated. Groomed. Taken. Abused even, although I wouldn’t dare use that word. I asked myself again “Did I choose him?? Was I of sound mind??” And then the hardest question “Was it okay for him to expose himself to me when I was only 15yrs old?” The older I got, the younger 16 became. It’s not something you just snap out of overnight. You don’t wake up one day and say “Oh.” It’s a slow, gnawing, a gradual painful process of unlocking certain emotions and feelings that were locked away and suppressed. It was scary to be able to say to myself “I feel this. And it matters.” Even harder was it to confess this to Judah.
How do you even start this conversation with your husband of 17 years?
My awakening was gradual, and then very sudden.
Picture a box. That’s where I lived. My mind existed in a controlled state of delusion for years. Judah was, in many ways, an amazing husband. He worked hard to provide for his family and treated me well. But the person I was becoming, did not want — could not be married to him any longer. I didn’t hate him. I just wanted to be free. Free for the first time in my life. And I finally felt like I had a choice. That as a human being I was allowed to choose a thing or not. A basic human right, really, and I wanted to make it, unencumbered by my husband or the church. I didn’t yet know what that looked like. The only thing I really knew is that I didn’t love Judah and I finally was giving that a voice, or rather, a whisper. A shaky, guilty, and sorrowful resolve. I wasn’t angry. And I wasn’t sure if God was on my side or not. I just didn’t care anymore. I felt too much inside and I couldn’t keep on living the way I was. There was a me emerging and I didn’t want to stifle it.
All of this was a huge struggle to put into words, especially to Judah. I spent that year trying to be very honest but gentle about my thoughts and feelings towards him and the past. Judah felt horrible about all of it. Sorrowful, even. He could see my pain, it seemed. Divorce at the time still seemed like a selfish and terrible thing. We had 3 beautiful children. There was no solution, really. I couldn’t put the kids through a divorce. And plus…. there was hardly a me to fall back on. I had nothing else in my life. When I pictured divorcing Judah, I pictured me sitting in an empty apartment with white walls, no furniture, and a rickety ceiling fan with a lightbulb hanging and swaying back and forth. My world had been church and raising kids. The outside world was still strange to me. I had hardly any friends. Anybody that I knew in my circle encouraged me to stay in my marriage. Even my cousin who I had been close with from time to time said that she did not support me. I felt so alone.
White Horse
It was music’s fault, really. Music helped to awaken me in a way that I didn’t know existed. I had nervously sung in church and played violin for a few years slowly gaining momentum. Emotion. I started practicing at home more often, learning new songs. I had no idea that the piano was gently coaxing me out of my shell, breathing life in to me, stirring my unconscious. I had taught myself just enough chords to be able to stumble through some covers and started to get more comfortable with my voice. My voice. Something that had been so scary to me. Being projected out into the world. In church, I would always stand far away from the microphone.
In 2018, in a rare moment of pride, I randomly and without much intention posted a video on FB for the first time. It was one of the first songs I had learned how to play on the piano, “The Water” by Johnny Flynn. I would sometimes make videos just to listen back to and judge (harshly) and this one, I felt, was not so bad! I actually, kind of, liked the timbre of my voice. I posted it and couldn’t BELIEVE the response. I was shocked that people liked it. Or at least were being very very nice. Did I actually have some talent?! I suddenly fell in love with singing and with music altogether in a much deeper way than I had before in all of those years singing empty Christian songs in church. It was as if someone had placed defibrillator paddles on my chest and shocked my heart.
It was music. That was the “sudden”. Like coming out of the water and gasping for air. After I posted that video, a love was awakening in me that would eventually carry me through the hardest battle I’d ever have to face: Divorce. I didn’t know it then. I hadn’t imagined music in my future, but I thought, maybe, I could be in someone’s band. Maybe I could find some people to play music with and be a back-up vocal or something. I was still deathly afraid, but I knew that this was a part of me that wanted to be expressed or that I at least wanted to explore. Judah was excited too. He saw me emerging like a butterfly and wanted to be a part of it in every way and to come and root for me as I began to nervously step out at open mics. He was very encouraging and supportive.
But… there it was. This unusual desire to, sort of, not let him have it, in a way. For this newly discovered piece of me to be only mine and not his. I didn’t want him there. I didn’t want him to have this part of me like he had the rest of my soul. Scary as it may be, I wanted to step out in this unknown territory, as… me. Not us. Somehow, the atmosphere that musical expression created, birthed a pulling of myself into my being and couldn’t help but feel as if Judah had, in a sense, owned me. I didn’t like it. It was a tiny seed of awareness, not a full blown, well-defined revelation. And it certainly felt wrong to be feeling this way. But I couldn’t breathe. I wanted to get away. To be independent. It felt like an integral piece of the puzzle was being put in place. A piece that had a supernatural mechanism to unlock.
I can imagine the pain that Judah was beginning to feel. The sharp and unrelenting pain of rejection.
It all happened at the same time. This new essence being discovered and an old skin that I seemed to be shedding. I had spent many months convincing myself that staying with Judah was ultimately the right thing to do, at least for everyone else’s sake and I was going to grin and bear it. Deny the ache. Swallow the large pill of acceptance.
Judah and I had never spent a significant time apart, but in the beginning of 2018, he had a couple of opportunities to travel. And I felt it… the relief when he was away. I finally looked at myself in the mirror at age 33, having been married for 17 years, and thought… I can’t. I can’t live out of duty for the next 20, the next 30 years… the rest of my life. I can’t. This little fire in my heart was getting brighter and stronger than the righteous convictions that I thought I had. I was taught to deny my intuition long ago. To ignore emotion and feeling. To detach from negative thoughts. But I couldn’t any longer. I just. Couldn’t.
Judah adored me. He told me that I was such an angel and had practically done no wrong in his eyes. He took all the blame and deeply regretted his actions in the past and throughout our marriage. He wanted me to “spread my wings”. He wanted me to be happy, “even if it wasn’t with him”, he said. He assured me that he could never love another. That no matter whether I stayed with him or not he’d support me forever. But he would never stop trying to get me back, he said. He also suggested that I didn’t have to love him, he just wanted me to let him love me. He begged me to give him a chance. To give him a year to show me that he’d changed. He love-bombed me. Bringing me coffee every morning. Leaving letters on my pillow. Letters filled with scripture and poems and declarations that God loved me and would heal our marriage. He apologized for everything and more.
It was too much. His letters reminded me of the letters when I was 15. Was this love? …or was this manipulation…?
I didn’t need him to change. I wasn’t angry at him. In fact, I hurt for him. To watch his world crumble and know that I was causing him pain. I sat with him. Listened to him. Tried to offer my love and kindness to help him through it all even when it was uncomfortable. It wasn’t about forgiveness. I forgave him a thousand times over, and still do. But that didn’t change who I was becoming. That didn’t remove the past. That didn’t change the abuse (which I was hesitant to name as such) or the subtle thread of disrespect for years after. In fact, in the months following, it was clear to me that the love he professed to have for me was not love at all. It was Ownership. Suffocation. His love was the center, as if it were the only thing that mattered. Not my pain. Not my story. Not me. It was his love that was the most important reason for why we should be together. Him.
Grasping
When Judah realized the finality in my decision, his love quickly turned to animosity. He reminded me of how much he had given me and done for me, lived his life for me. And that I was confused. That I can’t just give up because I want to. To him, that was not acceptable. I at least needed to give him a chance. My reasons were not good enough reasons. He could see that I was unwavering and it upset him greatly. I knew that counseling wouldn’t help me or change my mind. But we did go to a Christian counselor for multiple sessions. The big take away from our sessions was “Yes, you have free will and choice. But…”
Despite my efforts to minimize the friction between us, Judah eventually looked me straight in the eyes one day, and told me that he wanted God to kill one of us. I remember where we sat in the living room. His countenance was solid. I knew he was hurting but…. my mind couldn’t digest the cruel sentiment. He then added that his dad had prayed the same thing in his previous marriage struggle, and Judah’s mom died 3 months later. My skin felt tingly. Conversations with Judah started to get out of hand. Although I didn’t know it at the time, I was being majorly gaslighted and manipulated. Judah could always talk in circles, and I’ve always struggled to communicate effectively. I would enter conversations with him being mostly sure of who I was and what I believed, and come out the other end utterly defeated. Reduced to nothing. Helpless. In a puddle on the floor. Blurry. Confused. I didn’t have any idea how any of this was going to work. I felt wrong. Bad. Stupid. He told me over and over how much he loved me and how hurt he was and how he couldn’t lose me. Maybe I really was selfish and confused. My mind was fragile. Judah had always been a beacon of truth to me. Since age 15 it’s just how I learned to be in the world, with Judah as the voice of wisdom and knowledge. Going against him, thinking differently, feeling differently, was a total mind fuck, and something that I was brand new at. My mind has gone through intense recovery, but in 2018, I was barely hanging by a thread. I still believed that Judah was right anytime he spoke. There’s a certain presence, a certain power that he had over me that I can’t explain. I don’t know who can truly understand what that power felt like. If you know Judah, you know he’s one of the most confident men around.
His father came over one day and crouched down in front of me while I sat on a chair. He (creepily) put his hands on my legs and in his most convincing tone, expressed his sorrow for not having taught Judah to be a better husband. But… Judah’s dad and mom’s story wasn’t dissimilar to ours. And she didn’t survive. Cancer took her and I wouldn’t be surprised if oppression was the root cause of her illness. She didn’t get to tell her story. I was afraid of the same fate. Judah’s dad claimed he supported me no matter what, but in the months following, he would text me things like “the grass isn’t greener on the other side, its full of thorns and poison and death” and “you are so wrong in God’s eyes” and that the boys eventually wouldn’t even speak to me. He made sure to text me when he had just attended a funeral of a 13yr old boy who had just committed suicide allegedly due to his parents’ divorce.
I broke. Hopeless. Trying. Scared. Alone. I didn’t feel like anyone could understand my muted suffering. It was practically invisible. No bruises to show for or infidelity to speak of. Nothing but hidden emotional and psychological wounds.
I knew this was going to tremendously hurt my kids, and even now when I say that, the tears start forming. But, my boys, they’re remarkable people. While I knew this would be painful, I knew that it wouldn’t break them. It would be a critical time in their life that, in the long run, I believed would be what was best for everyone, even Judah. He deserved to be with someone who loved him. I no longer felt like I needed to shield the kids from reality. But trust me when I say that this was the deepest struggle. If you’re a mother, then you know. I didn’t believe in the mantra of just “doing it for the kids.” I couldn’t bring myself to believe that avoiding reality and living a miserable, sacrificial life would necessarily benefit my kids. The jury is still out on this, though. Is there a dimension where I could have stayed and “worked things out?” Sure. Is it possible that seeing a woman truly stand up for herself might potentially contribute to a healthy regard and respect for the female species and affect the greater good in their lives and the world around them? I wouldn’t dare believe. I knew the potential negative side effects but somehow took comfort in knowing that they were in the universe’s hands. That their stories would unfold exactly how they were meant to.
So how does this all end? How did it finally play out? Well…
Not easily.
The Departure
Ascension.
During these crucial months I worked up the courage to peruse Craigslist in hopes of finding a band of sorts that I could stand in the shadows of and whisper some harmonies. Maybe I could be a handy back-up vocal, I thought. I contacted a couple of ads and found one in particular that caught my eye, a friendly looking guy that needed a duet partner to help cover some gigs. Terrified as I was, I reached out and sent my little video. I was so incredibly nervous to go meet him and, sort of, audition. We’ll call him “The Canadian.” My brother came with me that day and I only squeaked out a couple of songs but it was enough for The Canadian to see my potential. We became fast friends and began having long practice sessions to get ready for the gigs. He was also working on an album and I was thrilled to be asked to be a part of it. A real recording.
Practices instantly became my escape from the psychological warfare going on at home. I needed an out. The Canadian didn’t live in Westminster, and every time I hit the highway to his house, I felt a long clearing breath go out. Practices with The Canadian were a safe space for me. It was an atmosphere where I felt… free. We spent hours together learning songs. A new sense of self began to emerge. I eventually opened up about my marriage struggle and The Canadian was devastated to hear. He had thought so highly of me and Judah and the family life we had chosen at such a young age. To him, it was precious and something he was looking to replicate in his own life. He rooted for us to stay together and said that he was “against anything that hurt kids” referring to divorce. It was difficult to explain my past in any definable way. But the more we talked, the more I believe he understood. He wasn’t indoctrinated with religion like most of the people in my world. He was a kind and loving person and not because Jesus saved him. He was my first real world friend. And yes… I started to fall in love. Who wouldn’t? My heart was unbounded. I had let it out of its cage. And music… it’s an intimate experience to share with someone. The Canadian was careful not to cross boundaries in respect of my marital status, and I never felt like he had ulterior motives. But a deep and undeniable friendship was forming. Have you ever met someone like that? Where you know that you were meant to meet? We bonded and clicked effortlessly. I was in a very desperate time in my life and The Canadian became an essential part in my healing journey.
After a couple of weeks knowing that feelings were growing at a rapid pace, we knew it was something we needed to snap out of, or at least put on hold in respect for Judah. Even though I was going to leave Judah, I didn’t want this as a distraction, and certainly didn’t intend on jumping to something right after a 17yr marriage. Even though I felt justified in some ways for finding refuge and comfort elsewhere, I felt compelled to confess to Judah. I had betrayed him and it weighed so heavy on my heart.
Judah was crushed. I can only imagine the pain he must have felt. The Canadian and I wanted to make things right and the best we came up with was vowing not to see each other or do gigs for at least a month and giving Judah the reins to make sure we kept our word. No music. No telephone calls. Zero communication. We thought maybe we could “reset” our friendship and throw away our attraction to each other. Judah made sure that we had no contact. He made VERY sure. Unbeknownst to me, he started tracking my location and my phone usage. He started calling The Canadian every day and building a relationship with him, convincing him that he was going to save our marriage and that he’d be the hero of the story. He painted the picture that I was hurt but confused and that God was going to turn it all around. I don’t think The Canadian knew anyone quite like Judah and he took him at his word. Judah eventually urged The Canadian to shun me. He was amazed that Judah had forgiven him so quickly and didn’t want to be the cause of any suffering.
I was distraught. The Canadian had been a lifeline. My heart had started to come alive in certain ways. Before the break, he had given me a key to his house so that if he was at work, and I needed a place to crumble, I could go there. One day, I found it missing out of my wallet and frantically called Judah, knowing he must have taken it. I can remember his patronizing voice on the phone telling me how the Canadian didn’t want me to have it. The Canadian must have confessed to Judah that I had a key and Judah took it out of my wallet. My heart hurt. I felt alone. Why couldn’t have Judah just asked me for it? Why was I being treated like a child? Months later, I heard a different story from The Canadian about the key.
The Canadian and I had no future plans to be together. We were in very different places in our lives, obviously, but there was a lot of love and respect and it gave me strength. The strength that I needed to carry on and carry out what lay ahead.
I took to journaling during the month or so apart from the Canadian. I felt things ever so deeply and had to let them out. I wrote almost every day about the turmoil I was in. The easiest space to do this in was my laptop, but after a while it occurred to me that Judah would be able to access it if he wanted to. I felt like it was best to tell him that I was journaling in my laptop and politely ask him to respect my privacy. That was obviously a mistake. I’m sure you’re shaking your head right now because I’m totally that character in a horror movie walking towards a trap, so stupidly! Why did I tell him??
We can all put ourselves in his shoes can’t we? Given the situation. What would you do?
Days later he came to me angry and in tears. He had cracked my password and read every last bit. I felt exposed. Naked. Powerless. Violated. He had sovereignty over me. My things were not my own. My thoughts were not my own.
I finally found a room to rent from a friend. An angel named Sig. A fellow soccer mom. I had no idea how I was going to support myself. Judah was giving me a weekly allowance but cut me off when he found out that I was talking to a new guy friend on the phone that I had met at a music festival — my FIRST music festival which was life-changing! Judah had been tracking my calls even after I moved out. When he noticed a pattern of long-ended calls to the same phone number, he dialed it up and spoke to my friend Brandon. Brandon knew my story and told Judah “You don’t own her” and I will forever be grateful to him for saying that. No one else spoke to Judah that way and he was furious with me. “WHO’S BRANDON??” he demanded. My stomach was on the floor. I had met Brandon at the music festival in Floyd, VA where The Canadian and I had performed and Brandon became my second friend. We exchanged stories of hurtful pasts and he understood my pain. Brandon had been tossed around through nearly 20 foster homes as a child and saw his fair share of darkness in the world and yet, here he was, with kindness and compassion in his heart. He lived in VA and upon connecting on social media I would often call him and cry my eyes out after conversations with Judah and he would encourage me to stay strong. He listened. That’s what I needed. I didn’t have friends here. My sisters and brother were there when they could be and our church friends didn’t know me on any sort of deep level. Judah’s personality overshadowed mine by far and I was never really good at making friends.
My mind was fragile. When Judah confronted me about Brandon, he said in a heated rage “Do you want to be a WHORE like your sisters!??” I froze. Speechless. I often couldn’t respond in Judah’s presence. He was so angry with me. I felt like a bad girl (not in the cool way). I was so confused with myself. He’s was probably right about me, I thought. This is why I eventually started recording conversations. Because they would practically ruin me and so I would listen back and try to understand why. I could listen back when I was alone and dismantle his attempts to tear me down or instill fear. Judah was truth to me, and it was too hard to oppose him in the moment.
That night, my world broke. It would be the toughest battle through all of it and bring me to the edge of sanity. After he laid in to me about my friend Brandon, he turned and pointed to the house, “And THEY’RE going to find out soon” he said with anger and resolve. What?? What did he mean? He said he was going to tell the kids. Our 3 sons. He said the kids would ask questions when they saw that I was cut off (from money), and he would explain to them that I was talking to other guys. That’s when I knew. That the horrible thing that I was putting my kids through was going to be so much worse than I thought. I had expected — I had hoped — that Judah and I would handle it as a united front and not put one or the other at fault, for the kids’ sake. We wouldn’t put each other down or discuss the details of our hurtful past or present. No… That night he declared that he’d tell the kids what I had done. He was going to tell the boys his version. And he did. He told them that daddy loved mommy so so much but mom didn’t love dad anymore. That dad was devastated and hurt and now mom loved someone else (The Canadian). He told them I was controlling (and crazy) and that, because of me, he hadn’t been able to fulfill some of his dreams. Poor dad. Of course, it was far from the truth of why our marriage had to end, but there was nothing that I could say. The kids were too young to be told my story. And besides that, I didn’t want to skew their view of their father. Boys need to look up to their dad and I wasn’t about to destroy that. I never thought he wouldn’t reciprocate. My heart was hanging again by a thread knowing that he was about to change their idea of me forever and there was no stopping it. My beloved sons, who I had spent my life raising and loved every minute of, he wanted to tell them that mommy was bad and dad was good. The hero of the story. It’s the one time I felt like running away. It was 11pm and I wanted to fill a back pack and walk out into the night and become nobody. Never come back. I truly felt defeated. It was too much pain. Instead, I drove to Catoctin Mountains and slept in my car on the side of the road. I cried my eyes out and woke up the next day to hike around the forest. I took a nap on a large, cradling rock and shared my sorrows with the trees. Months later, after reconnecting with The Canadian, he told me that Judah had drove to the mountains that night and creeped in my window to make sure that I was alone, after tracking my location. During that time, he was calling The Canadian almost daily and telling him everything. He liked to talk. A lot.
Judah needed the boys on his side. Narcissists need that. He couldn’t risk them seeing him as a failure. My attempt to shield my emotion and pain from the boys probably didn’t benefit them in the long run, either. “I’m fine. Were fine. Everything’s fine”. I likely appeared to be heartless and cold. I just wanted to save any bit of a carefree childhood that I could for them. I hoped to co-parent and consciously decide to craft a family dynamic where there was still honor and respect between parents, with family dinners and such. Their perception of family, marriage and even us as parents was undoubtedly going to shift. I just hoped to create as healthy an environment as possible for them to process. To leave pain at the door. Maybe that’s not very human.
I’ll never forget one afternoon; my middle son was acting out with some unpleasant behavior. He seemed overly emotional and angry at something relatively small. I could tell that something else was contributing to the distress. I sat down with him and asked calmly “Buddy. Are you okay? What’s going on?” He burst in to tears and as his anger dissipated, he reluctantly said “Dad said you love someone else”. We both cried and I just held him. What was I supposed to say? If I defended myself, it would have painted his father as a liar. If the kids had already been poisoned against me, how could I add doubt towards their father on top of that? I had to accept being the bad guy in the story. And trust me, I didn’t necessarily think that I was the “good guy.” Technically, I did have love for another, but… it wasn’t the whole story. I held my middle son that afternoon and hoped that one day, when my kids were old enough, maybe they would be able to understand why I left. It’s not guaranteed. And either way, it doesn’t lessen the pain that they had no choice but to take. Their love needs were my main concern, not how they perceived me. On another occasion my son screamed at me “No wonder dad said you’re crazy and controlling and freakin’ annoying as crap!”
My next hurdle would be how to support myself financially for the first time in my life. I’d never made more than $200 a week and I didn’t even have a GED.
Judah assured me that he would quit his job and leave if I tried to get any money from him. I believed him. I always did. “IT DOESN’T WORK,” he said over and over again. That it simply would never work for me to go live on my own. That we couldn’t afford 2 households and that it would only “fuck over the kids” if I wanted child support. He was very adamant and my mind was fragile. I didn’t know if I really deserved financial support from him. It felt selfish of me and I felt hopeless. He was probably right, I thought. How could I choose to leave him and expect money from him. I didn’t know what to do. My parents had just moved to Florida and so I didn’t have family that I could fall on. My parents didn’t have any resources to help me with. I knew I’d need to work harder. And I did. I started working full time at my job. For weeks I asked Judah to go to mediation so that we could figure out what was fair, but he refused. He sought out a lawyer immediately and tried to get me to sign an agreement he had drafted that, among other things, said he didn’t owe me anything since he had taken care of me for the last 17 years. He was willing to give me the car as a “parting gift” to help me get on my feet. I was scared to say, in my small voice, “I… think we have to… split everything. I think there’s a formula to follow.” It was hard to find the guts to tell him that I did in fact need child support. He kept refusing and telling me that I was just trying to “put the squeeze on him” and how I was just “fucking over the kids.” He then assured me that he would tell the kids that I was taking money from him if I pursued child support. And he did. Another blow. He treated me like a thief in front of them when I finally got a place and proceeded to take some things from the house. Half of it was mine, right? As I carried our bedroom lamp downstairs and almost out the door, he stopped me right in front of our youngest son “Oh. You’re taking the lamp? I umm… I like that lamp.” Stunned, I looked at our 9yr old son who looked back at me with loyalty for his father and softness in his eyes. I held the lamp and pretended not to care “The lamp? Oh, yeah, it’s no problem, I can leave it. I can just buy another one. No worries” with a forced smile on my face. I left it for my son. Not for Judah.
Judah eventually told me what an awful wife I had been. That it was like having a 4th child (ironic, I thought to myself) and that I never contributed. Judah and I had chosen a lifestyle where I could stay home to raise our 3 boys as much as I could and it hurt that he was throwing that in my face. I had had various part-time jobs and even waited tables when I was pregnant with our youngest. He claimed that I was a narcissist (which I had to chuckle at but then agonize over the possibility that I very well could be). He professed to have loved me so deeply and that what had happened when we were young wasn’t that bad. He reminded me that I had vowed to love him. To which I carefully replied,” Judah, I was a child.” He scoffed back, “no you weren’t.” In that moment, I questioned myself. I questioned actual facts. Had I been a child when our relationship started?? I had been 15yrs old — was that a child? This is what gaslighting looks like, although I didn’t know the term at the time. Questioning reality. My learned instinct was to believe him. I wanted the earth to absorb me. His words and accusations penetrated the slippery corners of my mind. They didn’t easily roll off my shoulder because of the imprint he had on my psyche. Someone who had practically raised me. It wasn’t until after feeling utterly beaten down during that conversation that I was able to collect myself when he’d left and start to clear away the fog. YES. I was a child. I am real. I am here.
Suicide
It was the night before their first day of school. I was still renting a room from my friend but spent most of my time at the house to be with the kids. Judah was especially serious and somber that evening. Around dinner time, we were standing in the kitchen and he eyes pierced through the room at me. Something was strange. “Are you okay?” I asked.
“No,” he said. “I can’t live without you. I’ve decided. I’ve been planning it for months. It’s my decision and I’ve made it.” He went on to say “It’ll look like an accident. I’ll get my insurance raised first so you can get lots of money. I’m done.”
“What are you talking about??” I said worried.
He explained that “his heart was mine, and my life was his.” He couldn’t bear to live anymore and wanted to end his life. He said he could live for me or die for me, I had to choose.
I was in disbelief. Judah was a dramatic and emotional person, but not dark. Not like this.
I held him on the couch and assured him that I didn’t want him to die. Nobody did. He calmly stared into my eyes and told me in detail about his plan. It was getting late and the unsettling grew. After tucking the kids in to bed I felt like I needed to stay because of his irrational behavior. I camped out on the couch as Judah went upstairs to sleep, but not long afterwards he came down and asked to lay next to me. I agreed even though it made me uncomfortable. It was all so strange. He kept telling me about his decision and how I couldn’t take that from him. I urged him to try and get some sleep thinking that this would all be over in the morning and he finally went back upstairs. After a while, I went and checked on him and he was laying there awake, arms wide open like a cross. I asked if he was okay and he said “no.” I reluctantly offered to lay with him again and he quickly accepted. He continued to tell me that his life was going to be over. He wanted me to come back and “share his bed” for a month and “be his wife” so that he had some good memories to go out on. It was terrifying. He told me that I couldn’t tell anyone or else I “wouldn’t get the money.” I didn’t want any money. I asked about the kids and he said “If I don’t go, then I’ll end up killing your next boyfriend or husband and that would be much worse for them.” He couldn’t share me. This went on for hours. At one point I had tried to go back to sleep downstairs but heard him shuffling around his room and got nervous. I knew he stored his guns in there and that’s all I could think of. I hurriedly sent out a text to Judah’s brother and close friend explaining the situation and asking for help. “Please reach out to him” I pleaded. It was around 3am at this point. I went upstairs not knowing what I’d be walking in to and so I put my phone on record. Truthfully… I was scared.
What I recorded that night became proof for my own sanity. He had just been getting ready for the gym but went on and on again about his desire to die and his plan to carry it out. I had “completely shattered his heart”, he said. The next morning, after running home to change, he glared at me as I neared the front door. He had found out that I texted people and was livid. No one had responded to me but instead went straight to him. Judah urged me to text them again and tell them it was just a bad night and that everything was fine, so that I would still “get money.” “It needs to look like we’re working on things,” he said. Then, he continued to prod me for an answer about coming home for a month before he… went away. “You can’t take this away from me. It’s MY decision” he said. Still in shock that this was actually happening, I carefully told him that I couldn’t come back home for a month and play house, wondering if he knew how absurd of a suggestion that was. He answered steadily “Then you are now my foe,” as I walked out the door.
That evening, after I had gone to sleep back at my rental, I woke up in the middle of the night to find that my phone had been magically reset. WIPED. All photos and voice memos LOST. He had been suspicious about me recording the rant. It wasn’t a secret that I had started recording our conversations and the morning after the suicide threat he asked “You didn’t record that did you? Cause that would be bad…” I lied and said no. Before I had gone to sleep that night, I found myself over at his kindhearted brother’s house seeking some sort of help or support. Him and his wife were kind and loving and I seriously didn’t know who to turn to. My mind was in a thousand places, grasping for sanity. I had little to no one in my court. I told his brother what had happened and that I had recorded it. Judah showed up moments later (tracking my location still unbeknownst to me) upset that I was conversing with his brother. He turned at me before I left with a vengeful stare “Fuck you”, he said. I left. I awoke to an erased phone. He still denies that it was him. I’ll never know. Now that I (sort of) understand how iCloud works and that you control your iPhone from another device, I don’t see any other explanation.
Time hop.
2 months later, he brought a new girlfriend home to the kids and nobody killed themselves.
That was 4 years ago.
Validation
Desperately, I had brought the recording to our Christian marriage counselor who had previously been won over by Judah and was instructing him on how to handle me. After she heard the recording, her eyes were open. I wept in her office after she uttered the term “narcissist” and “the highest form of manipulation.” I hadn’t heard the word before that year, “narcissist.” It kept coming up when I sat helpless at work googling things like: Child marriage, Emotional abuse, mental suffering, psychological manipulation. I found the term “gaslighting” too. I was reluctant to use the word “narcissism” since it had seemingly gained popularity and appeared to be thrown around out of context, yet I knew what it felt like now, to be a victim of it. A few days after his suicide rant, he said “I don’t know what you think you heard…” and I finally found the guts to reply “do NOT tell me what I think I heard.” He made me look like a crazy person, like I was trying to fabricate something. Finding information about narcissism finally gave me a definition to what I was up against. Thus began my exploration into psychology and consciousness. And SO much more. The Bible didn’t provide answers for me any longer. I finally realized that there was a whole, untapped well of wisdom and knowledge out there right under my nose.
Hello, world.
I like to say that I was born 4 years ago. Sometimes I even jokingly tell people “I got to this planet 4 years ago.” The planet of self-authenticity. There’s a lot that I’ve experienced now that I hadn’t before, and it’s been a truly wild ride.
I did successfully leave and create a life. Judah finally agreed to mediation and our divorce was final in 2020. The boys now split their time between houses and are the only true heroes of the story. I’m incredibly honored to be their mother and will forever grieve over the pain and loss they suffered by my decisions. They are resilient and extraordinary humans and I hope this part in their story will one day be a teacher.
The Canadian helped me tremendously, more than I have time to write about. If ever I tried to decline his generosity he’d adamantly say “Alisha. We MUST help the ones in need or else society crumbles.” It wasn’t up for discussion. Every single penny of the many gigs we performed together, he insisted I take. No matter how stubborn I was, I’d still find a wad of cash on my table after he’d left. It wasn’t uncommon for him to call at the end of the month to make sure I could pay rent, or check in when the boys came for their week with me to ensure we had enough food. My brother was a lifeline as well and by my side at the drop of a hat. 2 years younger than I, he said that even at age 13, he knew something wasn’t quite right about my situation. I couldn’t have survived my divorce without his support. The Canadian now lives happily with his wife and children. I’m thankful to have experienced a friendship and love like his and consider it a blessing to have gone through the subsequent heartbreak that followed. Let’s be honest, it was inevitable! I had latched on to The Canadian like white on rice. The perspective and invaluable lessons that rejection and heartache provided was a necessary step in my journey. Since then, I have had very meaningful relationships and met many beautiful humans who have deepened my sense of connection to humanity and the world around me. People not weighed down by the thick cloud of captivity that I had gotten so used to. My spiritual journey began 4 years ago.
I suspect a lot of people flop around in their 20’s trying to discover themselves. Mine just looked a little different. I have sought out healing in many forms. I can’t afford traditional therapy and so my recovery has mostly come from nature and books and friends. Learning. Listening. Being. And of course, from some life-changing plant medicine experiences. Still, a massage would sure be nice, and more days in the mountains! Returning to my body is a process. As a young wife I learned not to consider my body as my own:
1 Corinthians 7:4 The wife does not have authority over her own body, but the husband does.
1 Corinthians 7:5 Abstaining from sex is permissible for a period of time if you both agree to it, and if it’s for the purposes of prayer and fasting — but only for such times. Then come back together again. Satan has an ingenious way of tempting us when we least expect it.
No amens here. MY body my choice.
I have connected to nature in a way that was never promoted in Christianity. In all of the churches, and all of the preachers and prophets that I had listened to, NONE of them spoke to the immutable beauty and value of Mother Earth. There’s SO much that fascinates me about Her and I’m in love.
Music, though. I can’t even explain the home I have found there.
I’ll never forget the first time that I sang with The Canadian in a crowded bar in DC in 2018. I was absolutely terrified. Shaking, even before our performance, just existing there amidst the crowd of people. I was so intimidated being out in the world like that. But it’s not so scary anymore. Because I’m a part of it now, the world. Singing became the most effective therapy. A means to turn inward and explore new depths. Writing music became absolutely necessary. I had tried to write songs before 2018 and never had the inspiration. There was no me to express. That all changed. Every time I was at the brink of insanity, I would sit down at my piano and sing my pain or find the right chords that would provide the sound interpretation to my emotion. I found my voice there. My soul. I realized I was just now getting to know it. To own it. It was like writing in a diary. I let out all of the hurt and frustration onto the keys. I sang the deepest parts of me. I’d love to share these songs with the world someday, but resources are few. I’ve been able to release one single so far called, “You’re the Ocean.”
Nothing’s free, is it? There’s always a trade. My freedom has come at a cost called ‘working my ass off’ to barely squeak by. I’d rather be devouring books, writing songs, spending more time with my kids and practicing hours and hours of self-care to recover from the past. Wouldn’t we all? Give me a daily hike and I’ll be just fine! Struggle precedes strength, though. To the transformation of the higher self.
In 2019 while still finding my feet… I began to journal again. This time it was so that I wouldn’t lose my mind or forget what had happened. I needed to talk about it. Often times, I’d be on a long drive to a gig and would be replaying the events of 2018, telling the story in my head as if I was meeting someone knew and explaining it in detail. Mostly, though, I had an increasing fear that I was going to die soon and my kids would never know the truth. They would only know what their dad had told them. One day I hoped they’d understand why I had to leave, or at least had the facts, but what If I didn’t have the chance to tell them? I started to write. Everything. I also knew that my mind was not as sharp as Judah’s, and over time, he could start to twist the story. Gaslighting. And I would believe him and question my reality once again. I wanted to remember. I needed to remember. But it wasn’t healthy to have it circling around in my head. I wanted it on paper and able to put it away on a shelf, out of my consciousness. The more I wrote, I began to wonder, “… maybe I could turn this into an actual book…” A book about healing. A book about invisible abuse. A book about realizing inner strength. A book about deconstructing religion. A book about hope. But most importantly, a tale of child marriage and the devastating effects.
Judah really is a wonderful human capable of much good. He was kind, loving, and generous in all the in betweens, and we lived the majority of our life together happily. I don’t hate him for the emotional distress he caused me. Especially when we were young. He wasn’t aware that his actions were deeply harmful. And ultimately, when I decided to leave, he acted out of pain and rejection. Don’t we all at times? Judah has his own story that includes a long family line of misogyny. The grasp for power and control over others comes from a deep lack of love somewhere in the midst of it. Judah recently accused me of “wanting control” and as I contemplate that, other than the aspect of control itself not being a negative practice unless abused by usurping power over others, the truth is, to him, me having any voice at all over something is me “wanting control” it seems. In my opinion, Judah didn’t love me. He needed me. Someone to rule over because of his own insecurity. And me, for my insecurity, I needed a leader. In the book titled, Why Does He DO That, the author writes:
“…for example, does a 22-year-old man pursue a sixteen-year-old adolescent girl? Because he is stimulated and challenged by her? Obviously not. They are at completely different developmental points in life with a dramatic imbalance in their levels of knowledge and experience. He is attracted to power and seeks a partner who will look up to him with aw and allow him to lead her. Of course, he usually tells her the opposite, insisting that he wants to be with her because of how unusually mature and sophisticated she is for her age. He may even compliment her on her sexual prowess and say how much power she has over him, setting up the young victim so that she won’t recognize what is happening to her. Even without a chronological age difference, some abusive men are drawn to women who have less life experience, knowledge, or self-confidence, and will look up to the man as a teacher or mentor.”
When I read this, I closed the book and wept. It’s as if I had written it myself.
I am allowed to feel every single emotion that I have about the past no matter how small and insignificant it is to him or anyone else. I stopped grappling for outside validation and acceptance. Defeatedly, I asked a counselor once “Just tell me how I should feel. Please. What emotion am I supposed to have??” Because that’s how I had learned to exist in the world. I had to let go of my incessant need to do what’s “right”, and allow what is.
In 2018, I called my parents and through tears, told them everything. They were heart broken and asked for my forgiveness. They confessed to have felt intimidated by Community and Bear, but they thought that it was better to be giving their daughter to someone who was surrounded by accountability and support. We cried together and I forgave them. It turns out that Judah had already been calling them (another narcissistic move) and trying to convince them that he was going to win my heart back. They loved him like a son but in the end, had my back. I don’t blame them for giving me away at 16yrs old. They thought they were making a sound religious decision. I love my parents very much and it’s evident how much they love their children. My siblings, they’re a group of rebels and I’m so honored to have them in my court.
I do NOT believe that child marriage should be legal. If you can’t vote, then you certainly cannot make an even greater life-long decision. Age gap is a big deal when you’re still a child. I made that choice when I was 16yrs old and a large part of my healing has been to not just forgive Judah, but to forgive myself. I have made many mistakes and continue to do so, but now I relish in the journey of becoming. I spent almost 20 years not being curious and not questioning my reality. I am now. Until I breathe my last breath and sing my last song. I am here.
I wrote this, in some ways, to close a chapter in my life. Not to prove anything or provoke a certain reaction. At the same time, I accept and honor my past as a deep part of who I am today. I don’t have to “let it go” or “get over it” in the way that society might see fit. Life is “Everything all at once,” writes Steph Catudal. I interpret that as all of the suffering, healing, victory, aching, joy, triumph, and defeat sometimes being simultaneously experienced, happening all at once. It would be great to wait until I ‘figured everything out’ to write, but instead I come to you in process. Integrating the shadow. Flawed. Fighting. And living.
When I hit “publish” the part of me that needed to express this, will finally be fulfilled. Even if it lives in the dark, unread corners of the internet.
Thank you.
Note: Pseudo names have been used for Judah, Bear, Emma, and The Canadian
