Spiritual Abuse in the Christian Patriarchy Movement
When I was asked as a child what I wanted to be when I grew up, I would say, “I’m going to be a stay-at-home wife and mother.” This wasn’t what I really wanted to be, but I believed it was my destiny and that I had no other option.
As I got older, I was trained for this future, and I was told that after I graduated high school, I would stay in my parents’ home as a stay-at-home daughter until I got married. All my friends from church were given the same expectations. This was the norm in the Christian patriarchy movement.
Daughters were treated differently from sons because we were helpers in training. We were supposed to be dependent on men, protected by men. Any independence of thought or action was shut down.
My education at home highlighted homemaking skills like cooking and sewing, and any non-homemaking skills I learned were supposed to help me relate to and serve my future husband. Because I was homeschooled, I interacted little with people outside of my family’s belief system. I was taught we were the true followers of God.
The biblical or Christian patriarchy movement is connected with Quiverfull teaching, homeschooling, and family-integrated worship. These beliefs were taught at my church as if they were God’s commands. So anyone who used birth control, who sent their kids to public school, or who wanted to have age-segregated Sunday school was looked down on and called sinful. Spiritual abuse was the air we breathed. Powerful men used the Bible as a tool to control our behavior, telling us they knew the only way to God.
Behavior control. Information control. Thought control. Emotional control. Our church had all the elements of Steve Hassan’s BITE model of authoritarian control.
After graduating from homeschool, I felt like I had no purpose in my life, except to wait for the “right man” to come along. I wasn’t allowed to go away to college because I wasn’t allowed to have a career. I wasn’t allowed to have a job, because that would mean I would have a boss other than my father. So the only thing I could do to make any money was teach piano lessons out of my parents’ living room.
Few people asked me about why I stayed home, and for those who did ask, I had a robotic answer: “I’m waiting to get married. I don’t want a career.” Even though I had been convinced this was true, over time my rote answers became insincere. I didn’t want this life anymore.
Being a stay-at-home daughter also meant I was supposed to go through a courtship process rather than dating in order to get married. Courtship, for us, was based on Old Testament practices where the father is in control of the process and ensures that sexual and emotional purity is maintained. I had one courtship that failed, and because of the emotional and spiritual abuse I experienced from my father during the process, I decided I never wanted to go through another courtship again.
Eventually I got my own computer and was able to read about other people’s experiences, some of whom had left this stay-at-home-daughter lifestyle. It felt so dangerous to even think about because I had been taught that this was how to honor God, how to live in God’s blessing. But I knew there had to be more than this.
I dreamed about going to college and learning. I read textbooks for fun. I wondered what it would be like to have more of a choice about my future. I kept reading in secret. Writing kept me alive.
When I finally left my home and the movement, I was twenty-five years old with no work experience (except teaching piano), no college education, no understanding of how to find housing or how to get a job. But despite all the difficulties I faced, leaving was the best decision I’ve ever made. Because I am finally free to make my own choices.
When I left, I was also free to marry my best friend, who had been through it all with me. He saw what it was like at home; he knew I was unhappy. He supported me in my pursuit of independence. And we’ve built a new life together.
Within a year of leaving, I got my first job, started going to community college, and began to feel happy and purposeful. But I also struggled with the aftermath of trauma. Leaving my family and community--everything I knew--was like cutting off part of myself.
I’ve been out for nearly a decade now, and I’m able to look back on both the struggles and the triumphs I’ve experienced since leaving. I have been able to earn a college degree, find my voice in writing, and work in a job doing what I love to do. I’ve also been through trauma therapy, gained vocabulary for my PTSD symptoms, and found supportive people who accept me for who I am.
So, if you get anything from this story, remember to never give up. I've been on the edge of giving up over and over again, and I never thought I would be where I am today. You are not alone even if it sometimes feels like you are, and there is hope and healing to be found after spiritual abuse.
Cait West is a member of Tears of Eden’s Editorial Board. She focuses on writing about the patriarchal movement and how patriarchy influences Spiritual Abuse. Find her at caitwest.com and on Instagram and Twitter at @caitwestwrites.
Photo by Rowan Chestnut on Unsplash