Our Stories, Our Lives
While watching the disgraceful treatment of Dr. Christine Blasey Ford unfold this week, I’ve been haunted by parts of my life I don’t care to relive. I’ve tried stuffing them away, but these memories refuse to be erased. I’ve shared bits and pieces of my story over time, but Dr. Ford’s testimony beckons me to bare my soul.
Because her story is my story.
And now, with her astounding bravery, her story is our collective story — whether we decide to believe her or not.
I was once married to an Associate Pastor in the United Methodist Church. After seven years of friendship, dating, and marriage, he came home one day and declared I wasn’t “submissive enough” and wanted a divorce. Mind you, I turned from fundamentalism to feminism well before we even met. We shared similar beliefs, so this sudden disdain for my values was profoundly shocking.
For six months we tried to work it out, and I became suicidal the more that I became a submissive shell of myself to meet his needs. We both went to individual and marital counseling, which ended after our therapist told my clergy spouse he was emotionally abusive and had developed a Narcissistic Personality Disorder.
After my partner left me with nothing but a note on the parsonage counter, I finally stopped denying the abuse and reported it to my Senior Pastor and District Superintendent. When they did nothing and kept my spouse in ministry, I shared my plight with the entire congregation (Matthew 18:15–17).
In the fallout, I was abandoned and chastised by friends and congregants who told me I was out to ruin his career…that I made it all up…that I was too angry and vocal…that I was mentally unstable…that this was a private matter which did not involve the church — the same church where we were married and church members had covenanted to help us uphold our vows.
A sham of an investigation ensued, where I was interviewed by two of my partner’s peers, including a pastor who once served as his mentor/supervisor. In the end, the case was dismissed by the Bishop who met with us, told me my allegations were unfounded, and patronizingly offered to get me (not my partner) therapeutic support.
At our final divorce hearing, the Senior Pastor — the same one who married us and then ignored my abuse report — served as the legal witness for my ex-clergy spouse. Later, I would find out that my ex married and had a child with one of the young adult members of our church soon after our divorce. Despite all of this, he is still serving as a pastor in the UMC.
This season of my life shattered me in unspeakable ways, and I still struggle to find my voice. By some miracle, I eventually found a new church home and a supportive partner. But it doesn’t mean the pain has gone away.
I’m still mad as hell by how I was discredited and disbelieved, and I’ll never understand why our community and church leadership failed me/us in so many ways.
Today, I’ve channeled that energy into a career in fighting for women’s rights. Yet, I still have very little hope that Dr. Ford will receive the justice she deserves. After all, institutions and systems are built to protect the status quo and serve those in power. But sometimes, that is not the point.
We, survivors, share our stories because truth demands it.
We share our stories to reclaim our power.
We share our stories to stop blaming ourselves.
We share our stories as a means of survival.
We share our stories as an act of resilience and resistance.
And we share our stories because they are ours to tell, and we are the experts of our own lives — no matter who believes us.
I will always fight for the day when all survivors are believed. But until that day comes, know that we will never be silenced.
