Abused by my Father & Others
Today is my father’s birthday. It’s been three years since a chain of events started that I could’ve never imagined. I received a return call from an out-of-state overseer as my husband and I were walking out of Wed afternoon mtg. It was an answer that yes, I need to report my father’s Child Sexual Abuse (CSA) to the proper authorities as he lives next door to a convention grounds. I received a call back from the overseer saying he would take it out of my hands and report it. He did.
Of course, I knew it was long past the statute of limitations and would be a closed file and only opened again if there were reports by others to add to it. Then I received another conference call from the overseer and Dad’s elder that Dad would be confronted by another worker and his mtg elder, and after the confrontation the people in his mtgs would be told. I remember trying not to cry on the conference call and apologizing for not coming forward sooner because I could tell my dad’s elder was angry that he didn’t know this information sooner, and to his credit he quickly changed his tone and was kind towards me. I understood his initial anger and thoughts for his own children, now grown.
I remember begging the elder and overseer in that call to not confront Dad that day because it was his birthday and I didn’t want to ruin his day. Later, I realized how pathetic I must’ve sounded. My anxiety during the conversations was through the roof; I felt like I was going to black out and felt tingly and shaky. That evening, I received a surprise voicemail with a message from Dad’s local sheriff. With dread in my heart, I returned that call. The sheriff told me they were ready to kick doors down with guns pulled if there were children in the house. I had to convince him there wasn’t imminent threat and people were now aware of him. Talk about retraumatizing!
It was a few days before Dad was confronted after all because schedules had to be lined up. It was also the beginning of preps at the convention grounds. Dad did admit the abuse and later confirmed it before hundreds later at convention by telling the congregation that he was thankful for their forgiveness and hoped God would forgive him. After being confronted, his meetings were told at which time it was also revealed I was his victim.
I know it was probably out of ignorance, but I remember feeling so humiliated that the people I met with when I visited and the people who knew me growing up now knew something so vile about me. Shortly after they confronted him and told his meetings, I received a few phone calls and texts from people I knew. While some made me feel validated and supported, it also made me feel extremely vulnerable and exposed. None of my Dad’s family who had heard reached out to see if I was ok.
The man who had owned the convention grounds while I was growing up and who I had thought of as a grandfather figure was going around at preps telling people that I was telling stories about a “good man.” Being a people-pleaser because of trauma, I felt absolutely devastated. Since preps was going on, I imagined that I was now part of the subject of gossip amongst the workers and friends. I know some of that is just perceived, but some of it was also a reality.
There were even family members gossiping about it. I know this because I had a family member tell me what they had heard. If there was an upside to this, I now have thicker skin and don’t care as much what others think of me.
Nightly, the nightmares for me were coming fast and furious. I dreamt of my father trying to kill me, I dreamt of men escaping prison and trying to sexual abuse or kill me, I dreamt men were trying to hurt me. I would wake up sobbing or clawing my way out of the nightmares whimpering and crying. I was often so emotionally spent by the time I began my day.
One well-meaning person who was trying to advocate with overseers for victims at the time, released a voice clip with inaccurate information regarding my abuse. I was so thankful for Cynthia Liles’ empathy, kindness and vetting in all things who called to give me a heads up so I wouldn’t be blindsided. Subsequently the clip with inaccurate info was pulled offline. My abuse was vile but it didn’t need to be made more so by horrid, inaccurate information. That sent me into a tailspin with more awful thoughts of my abuse and more nightmares that followed. No matter how much I tried not to, I would almost daily reprocess most of my trauma from beginning to end during this time.
**Please remember that while advocacy is amazing and greatly needed, it’s so important for the victims/survivors that what is being put out there is true and accurate information. Otherwise, it continues to re-victimize the survivors. Thank you to Cynthia and team for always doing the hard work of vetting information before posting. She doesn’t take what she does lightly.
It was another nine months before I started therapy, and it has taken me an additional two years to not feel so guilty about not “honoring my father” and not feeling like it was my fault his Wednesday night meeting was removed from his home. I struggle with not acknowledging him on his birthday now, and even as recently as last year I still sent him a gift card for Father’s Day. Slowly but surely that is changing.
I will forever be grateful for the strength of other survivors coming forward with their stories. It gave me strength knowing I wasn’t alone and yet still feels so devastating knowing so many more children and adults have been harmed from the shuffling of perpetrators, the complicity of overseers, and the silencing of the friends than so many of us ever realized. It hits hard when you hear family members, a beloved worker your age, a brother of a friend, males, and females have been victims of such evil within “the fellowship.”
Almost as devastating is the dismissiveness of the ministry and those in the “fellowship” that we had loved and trusted for so long. I’m weary of the comment “It can happen anywhere” or “it happens in other churches, too.” It doesn’t excuse us.
For almost three years I’ve wanted to tell my story if it could maybe encourage or help even just one person feel like they can come forward about their abuse. I know I wasn’t abused by a worker or an elder so I didn’t feel like my story should be told in a broader way, but I grew up living next door to a convention grounds and can tell my story from that perspective. I think “friends” and workers alike should know how chronic CSA and SA (Child Sexual Abuse and Adult Sexual Abuse) can also cause people to continue falling into very toxic relationships as one grows into adulthood. Also, I’ve wanted to tell my story from the perspective of someone who had been abused over and over not understanding boundaries.
I didn’t want to engage in certain behaviors, I really did want to be a good person doing Godly things, but I also didn’t know how to speak up/out or say no. I would freeze or scream in my head “no!” which we know does absolutely no good in stopping a situation from occurring. Mind you, I still feel a lot of shame because my younger adult years weren’t “professing” behavior, and it’s not anything I’m proud of because I knew better as a young adult making choices and take full responsibility for my actions but also always felt out-of-body and incapable of standing up for myself and didn’t have a clue about self-worth. I also felt like I lived a “soiled” childhood and wouldn’t be good enough to have professing girlfriends or boyfriends. I felt like if anyone knew anything about me, they wouldn’t care about my heart but would shun me.
There was only one convention in the state I grew up in, and at that time the “friend” pool was relatively small compared to some states, so we were either related to them or we knew pretty much everybody in the state. Our family often traveled to different parts of the state to see other family, so we were in every gospel meeting at one time or another throughout the state. Our mom would often tell us everybody in the state was watching us so we needed to be good examples. Looking back, that was a lot of pressure to put on a nine-year-old or a teenager.
As a female, I was always told to look at the sister workers for my example of how to dress and wear my hair. “If a sister worker can climb a ladder in a skirt, so can you.” I was probably in my 30s before I saw a young sister worker with long but trimmed hair. I was absolutely shocked. I didn’t think they would even be allowed to be in the work if they did that! Once in high school, I dared to change into a shorter skirt for work and the convention grounds owner happened to drive by unbeknownst to me and reported it to my mom. I definitely received an earful when I got home.
The only other time I dared don something unapproved (shorts) at school was for field day to make a human pyramid and it just so happened that our picture was taken and splashed on the front page of the small town newspaper. Oops! Oh, in 4th grade I pulled a pair of my brother’s jeans out of the mending pile and changed into them at school. They were just missing a button. I threw them in a neighbor’s yard after school. I’m sure they were baffled as to how a random pair of jeans ended up in their yard.
I can never tell a long story short or a short story short for that matter . I learned in therapy that over-explaining can be a result of trauma, too. I first started journaling my story as a part of therapy but quit because reliving it through writing was harder than I wanted to deal with at the time, so this story has been started and stopped multiple times, especially early on. I’m a little OCD and so originally wanted it to be chronologically correct. Today, I am just winging it.
My story of child sexual abuse first started when I was three. I have very vivid memories of an immigrant farm worker abusing me in his place of residence with my twin in the background. My father was a foreman on a family member’s farm when we were born until we were four years old. I believe my mother found out from either blood or dirt being on my underwear, and she sat me down and asked if someone hurt me and so I told her who and what happened.
Through the years, my mother’s way of handling my abuse was to try to sit down and interview me. In later years, I would just deflect and tell her the bare minimum. My mom would later tell me that she didn’t tell my father about the first 2 abusers because she felt like he would kill them. My mother passed away never knowing that my own father was one of several of my abusers. I chose as a child to keep that information from her. Looking back, I have wondered if he had been told maybe he wouldn’t have become one of my abusers. I will never know now.
I remember at convention around that time, my mom wanted to give me a bath in the sink of the “baby house” at convention. I was so self-conscious about my body by that time that I remember crying and begging her not to make me take a bath in front of everybody. It only served to make her mad, and I was forced to have that bath anyway. I know now if I was able to have that conversation with her, she would hopefully understand the additional trauma that would’ve caused me. I’m sure at the time she didn’t think anything wrong about making me take a bath completely exposed.
I was a very private child and anybody that knew our family knew our parents were extremely strict. Our parents were definitely some that hauled us out of meeting to spank us if we were perceived to be too wiggly or noisy or unruly. My mom could shoot us a look that would make us wither. If we didn’t get in trouble then, we knew we would later. Growing up I often had sprained pinkies because I would hold my hands to protect my bottom and even though I would be told 100 times to move my hands I just couldn’t.
My second memory of child sexual abuse was at the age of five and was by the teenage son of a family friend that we would often visit. Even more devastating is that teenage boy went on to abuse other family members and the daycare children of his mother. A couple of mothers, including mine, confronted his mother, but to my knowledge that’s all that was done. That teenage boy was a serial abuser and assaulter and went on to abuse many others. He has been in and out of prison for years for other cases not including ours.
At one point in my childhood, I remember riding in an elevator with his mother, mine, and another discussing him getting out of jail and bringing his girlfriend to convention. I cannot tell you the anxiety that caused me! I also remember him actually attending that convention with his girlfriend! He is on the national registry of sex offenders and recently released from prison yet again in another state but should still be behind bars with the key thrown away. It frustrates and saddens me that the original “guidelines” the safety team proposed were ultimately abandoned because I feel like had our moms had that kind of knowledge and guidance even back when I was a child, it could’ve possibly empowered them to go to the law instead of nothing being done.
Around that time at the age of five, my father also became my third abuser. The abuse by him continued until I was 13. The morning after the first time, I remember walking to school with my twin. I wanted so desperately to tell him what had happened but just couldn’t come up with the words for it. I really started turning inward with my feelings and thoughts by this time. This is when I really remember my childhood nightmares happening. My mom tried explaining to me that no, an elephant couldn’t get me because they were in zoos behind bars. Every time I would have a nightmare, I would go lay on the floor next to my mother’s side of the bed. These nightmares continued well into my teens, and if it was bad enough, I would still go lay on my mother’s side of the bed on the floor until daylight.
When I was about seven, I vividly remember my dad sitting on the toilet seat in front of me kneeling on the floor, and as he was crying, he told me I needed to tell him “no” next time. I remember thinking in my head that there was no way I could tell my dad no because I would get in trouble for that and even possibly a spanking. Remember my strict parents? I knew at a very young age telling them no was not an option. This was so confusing to me.
I now know because of all of the trauma, I didn’t understand how to set boundaries or speak up for myself and say “no” even though I would be faced with many more situations in my future. When I was seven, I also remember my dad telling me I was fat because I wasn’t vacuuming the living room fast enough for him. That deeply affected my self-confidence and feelings about body. I also know I was very particular in trying to please my super-particular mother by vacuuming slowly and methodically and not running into walls. I couldn’t understand why slow and steady wasn’t acceptable.
I also have a main memory from seven years old when my mom was kneeling with me at the side of my bed trying to get me to pray out loud. and the quieter I remained. the angrier she got with me until she threw up her hands and left. I felt like such a failure and disappointment. I still remember talking to her in my head trying to tell her I couldn’t pray out loud. Of course, she couldn’t hear my thoughts.
Because of my abuse and moments like this, I was a very sensitive child and could cry easily under extreme pressure or criticism so when I was pressured by a peer to profess at the age of nine, I started crying when I stood up at convention on the last verse of the hymn that was chosen for testing the meeting. I was so self-conscious that I hated any attention on me, so standing in front of hundreds was torture. My mother told me immediately after mtg to shut up and quit crying.
The trauma of the unspoken prayer when I was seven and not being able to put my thoughts into words very easily when my dad abused me bled over into me only being able to give my testimony but not pray in meeting until I was 16. After much pressure by certain ones in our meeting, especially an older gentleman that had to point out after just about every meeting that I hadn’t prayed, and he was waiting for me to pray, I finally worked up the courage to pray a few short sentences every meeting. It was still painful to do it.
My fourth childhood sexual abuser was the adult teenager of a family friend when I was 12. I never bothered telling anyone about it because at some point it felt like why bother, this seemed to be my normal, and I felt like I would get in trouble for some reason. I just didn’t want to have to be grilled and explain anything.
At the age of 15, I was recruited from my high school typing class to work in a local business. I was sexually assaulted there at separate times by two different men in their 30s. I only told my mom about one of them.
I was mortified to find out that my mother had confided to one of my male teachers about the early childhood abuses she knew about and included the recent sexual assault that she was aware of at a parent teacher conference when I was a sophomore or junior. That teacher began grooming me and making me feel like I could trust him with little comments that made me feel special and like he truly cared, even going so far as to whip out photos of me from his desk that he had picked out of piles from the yearbook class’ extra photo pile. Later, I would go on to have a brief affair with him as a young adult because I didn’t know how to vocalize the word “no.”
In the 90’s, our local small town newspaper published photos of Elks and Rotary Club student-of-the-month articles and photos. As a senior, I had a paid job as an assistant to the secretary in the HS office and answered phones as part of that job. Back then, students gave out their name in greeting. I remember a random adult man in the community calling (for what specifically, I no longer remember). I greeted him with my name per training and he recognized it and started telling me about seeing me in the local paper and telling me he wanted to look for me at the upcoming homecoming game. I remember panicking and yet feeling I had to be cordial as it was now my job and then being so thankful he didn’t make himself known to me at the football game, but I also felt so exposed since I was driving a convertible carrying some homecoming royalty.
While a teenager still at home, our family often hosted special meeting or preps meals for workers since we lived next door to the convention grounds. When I was about 16 or 17, a brother worker in his 20s, sitting across the table from me at one of these meals, began running his foot up and down one of my legs. I froze feeling mortified and not sure what to do. I moved my leg over a little in case he mistook me for a table leg. He continued running his foot up and down my leg for a few more minutes. I looked underneath afterwards, but there were only legs at each end of the folding table. I told my mother afterwards, and we just kind of laughed it off as a one-off occurrence.
I became a mother at the age of 18 right after HS. Being a mother is my greatest privilege, and I consider motherhood one of the greatest blessings in life. I wouldn’t change being a teen mom for anything.
When I was about 16, a guy from out of state started flirting with me at convention. He was five years older. Not long after having my little one at 18 and just looking for someone professing, “stable”, and good, I responded to his flirtations. I was definitely in a vulnerable state as a young mother looking for love and not understanding my self-worth at all. I had no interest in being promiscuous and felt my responsibility towards being a mother. I thought the relationship would naturally go to the next step with just kissing and making out. Instead, he went right for touching me sexually. I froze. I screamed in my head, “No, not again!” It hurt, as usual. He wasn’t gentle. When he pulled his hand away, he asked how I felt about it. I felt violated again, but just shrugged when all I wanted to do was weep with sadness, hurt and disappointment. This was supposed to be a “professing” man.
Unfortunately, that toxic relationship continued with sometimes consensual, sometimes non-consensual sexual activity. In the beginning it was him always touching me sexually, and I would freeze because he was hurting me, and if I would try to pull his hand away, he would out-strengthen me and keep going so I would give up fighting against him. Sometimes I’d whisper stop but that always fell on deaf ears. Sometimes I would pretend it was pleasurable because it was the only way to get it over with faster, but sometimes that would just prolong the pain, too.
Because of my background, I didn’t understand this wasn’t normal or acceptable relationship behavior. I remember the excruciating pain of being sodomized a couple times and thinking it was him trying to be “careful” or maybe he didn’t know what he was doing, but I couldn’t bring myself to speak up or talk about it. Eventually, I asked him if he got me pregnant would he possibly marry me. When he told me “no,” that was my wake-up call and I knew I deserved better. I just wasn’t sure how to attain “better” or even know what that was.
The whole time we were together, he wouldn’t commit to being my boyfriend, he just wanted a friend with benefits. He’d dated a girl prior to me and later I learned (from him) in his professing mind he felt because he’d had a sexual relationship with her first that he was married to her in the eyes of God. He apparently didn’t mind having a side piece though, even though she no longer wanted anything to do with him. I also learned along the way his prior “girlfriend” situation was CSA as she was a very young teen when the relationship started.
During that time period when I was about 19, I moved with my little one into an apartment to be in the city and closer to professing young adults. An older professing girl friend brought her much older estranged husband over once when several of us were together at my apartment. Early one Saturday morning shortly afterwards, I was awakened by rocks pelting my 2nd story bedroom window. Still in my pjs, I peeked out and recognized that man as the one throwing rocks at my window. My infant son was still sleeping in his crib and I panicked. I picked up my phone and called the guy I was seeing and he came over and sent the man away.
A few weeks later, it happened again. I was awakened by the estranged husband of my older girl friend throwing rocks at my window. Not being on the best terms with my guy friend and wanting to sever that relationship, I didn’t call him this time. I remember panicking again and picking up my cordless phone beside my bed to dial 911 but having never called emergency services before and 911 seeming to be a relatively new resource then, I thought it wasn’t emergency enough to qualify when a man was bothering me. I also wondered if I might get in trouble for calling without a really good reason so I set the phone down hoping he would just go away. My parents also lived an hour away so I couldn’t call them for help.
I tried ignoring this estranged husband who seemed to be stalking me, but when I didn’t open my blinds, he eventually came upstairs to my door. I looked through the peephole and confirmed it was him. I continued panicking and not answering the door still hoping he’d just give up and leave, but he knew I was home because he could see my car parked outside. He continued being persistent, and I eventually felt like I had to open the door. He used to profess so a part of me felt like I was supposed to be nice. Not having any experience with drugs but hearing about them, I recognized he looked pretty high with dilated pupils when he was talking to me. I was so scared especially with my little one in the next room. Pressured to have sex, I eventually did to make him go away.
I moved back home shortly afterwards but not before losing a friendship (obviously) over it. I take full responsibility for my part in it. Of course, it ended the girl friendship and the non-boyfriend “boyfriend” I had blamed me and used it as an excuse to sever our relationship even though I’d already pulled back from seeing him. I still felt/feel immense shame and regret for that encounter. I was beyond thankful that by moving, the harassment stopped. Since my girl friend was related to quite a few friends in the area, it also made it extremely hard to hold my head up while still attending meetings.
I worked on healing from that super toxic relationship with someone who “wasn’t my boyfriend” but who wanted to act like a father to my child and carry him into mtgs in front of everyone to the front row and carry on with extracurricular activities with me behind the scenes. It was definitely hard that I couldn’t talk to anyone but we still went to the same gospel mtg and he acted as if nothing happened between us and was condescending towards me for the sexual encounter with our mutual friend’s estranged husband.
I commuted an hour each way for work and had to stop and fill up my gas tank every few days. I frequented a fuel station at the edge of our small town. The owner, a much older man, started trying to pursue a relationship with me. Again, not knowing how to kindly reject him, I just quit using that fuel station and had to find a different one.
My son and I moved the next year to another town where I worked 2 jobs and continued my higher education full-time as I wanted to become a nurse and had already been certified as a nursing assistant. I was required to take 2 PE courses as part of Gen Ed requirements so chose weightlifting for one of them. Not long after starting the class, a man older than my father started following me to my car trying to convince me to do things with him socially, even after he told me he had a daughter that was my age. At 21, I was still incapable of telling a man no but had zero interest and was actually quite scared of the advances because he kept trying to get me to go hiking alone with him and my brain thought of worst case scenarios, so I went into flight mode and dropped out of my classes to avoid him.
While still working, I had a brief romantic relationship with someone nine years older than myself, and I became pregnant with baby number two. Even though he talked about marriage, he was still living at home with his parents and not professing which I thought wasn’t the life I wanted at the time, and so I was so scared and didn’t know what to do and obviously didn’t think it out long term.
Remember, I go into fight or flight mode and one of my weaknesses is making snap decisions, good or bad. I’m not proud to say I had an abortion, especially with all the mamas and families out there who have had losses or are unable to conceive and would give anything for a precious little one. My heart aches every day for the life that could’ve been. I believe in God’s forgiveness and love, and pray he’ll have mercy on my soul. I realize I could leave out some of the really hard or ugly pieces of my story, but I think they’re important for the overall picture of what a trauma victim can go through and how each and every experience has contributed to actions and reactions and non-actions.
Again, I moved home with my parents, one being a prior abuser. I poured myself into working and being a good mother and eventually was approached by one of the sister workers to be baptized. I felt so unworthy yet at the same time felt like it could be a new start spiritually. I still felt plagued by the unwanted advances of a few men. I was still 21 when my boss, being close to my father’s age, decided it was appropriate to approach me from behind one evening when I had to work late and was stuffing paychecks in envelopes and nuzzled my neck and wrapped his arms around me under my breasts and pulled me to him hugging me tight. I froze. I could feel and hear the blood pounding in my ears. Such an awkward, awful moment. I felt so relieved when he seemed to have a bout of good conscience and stepped away and soon headed home. We never spoke about that moment.
A couple years later, I met my future husband out of state at convention. Within months we became engaged and planned a fairly quick wedding. Originally, it was to be a few more months out but we knew preps was starting and since the wedding was at the convention grounds, I was pressured by my mother to invite all the workers but pressured by my husband-to-be to have a very small wedding so very few family members and almost none of my friends were invited. In hindsight, I would’ve definitely done that differently or just eloped because when we moved to my husband’s hometown there was a huge reception for people on his side.
This part of my story might be controversial, but it all is a huge part of my story and might even help someone with addictions since some of these subjects seem to be so taboo amongst professing people along with discussing CSA and SA. I believe the more we can be open and transparent about things the less evil can lurk in the shadows and the more people are willing to talk about things and bring things to the forefront there can be some help whether it’s for addictions or to help victims in coming forward about their abuse.
Just before getting married, on a phone call with my fiancé, I could hear breathing that I was accustomed to hearing from some of my abusers. I knew without a doubt it was the sound of a man masturbating. He told me he was looking at a picture of me. It gave me the icks, not excitement. To me, that was a red flag or at the very least, it was necessary to have a big conversation after having been through CSA and SA. I’m far from naïve and know that if you have a mutual understanding and consensual relationship that behavior might be appropriate. In our case, it wasn’t. I froze and ignored my feelings and pretended I didn’t hear anything.
The day I got married was one of the hardest days knowing that my abuser was walking me down the aisle to be wed to a man I didn’t really know but already had gut feelings about that I was willing to ignore. I didn’t feel like I could back out because I felt such a responsibility to my engagement and the people-pleaser in me did not want to disappoint 20-ish workers, family and friends sitting outside waiting for me to walk down the aisle.
Don’t get me wrong, I cared about my fiancé and I loved his family. On my wedding night, though, I cried myself to sleep knowing there was so many unknown things I could feel were present to be concerned about in my new marriage. Addictions started being revealed very quickly. In the beginning, I spoke to my mom about my concerns but eventually began feeling very alone in what was happening in my marriage. As my mom began having health issues, I no longer wanted to burden her with my marital issues.
It seemed like every few months the addictions were more prevalent and would always send me into a tailspin especially since they were sexual in nature, and they made me start feeling even more less-than, even though as a married couple we were very sexually active together. In my unhappiness, I started lashing out by nitpicking stupid things I didn’t like such as lights left on, cupboard doors left open. Very petty. None of my family lived in the state where we lived, and I definitely didn’t feel like I could talk to any of his family, the workers, or the friends.
My husband’s sexual addictions also manifested in having to have performative sex, some sexual abuse by definition, with a little bit of physical abuse mixed in. That did not aid in my healing from childhood trauma. That continued for about our first 15 years together until I told him I would be leaving. I ended up not leaving for the sake of our children still at home, and instead ended up putting a lot of emotional walls up telling myself I no longer cared about his addictions.
My mother passed away in 2019 and in early 2020 after another family member passed away. I just felt like I could no longer hold in that my father had abused me. I finally told my husband for the first time. I had never wanted my mom to find out in advertently, so I had never told anybody including my husband about my father’s sexual abuse of me. I stayed with my dad only twice after my mother’s passing while visiting family since we lived out of state and that’s what I’d always done when my mother was still alive.
The last time I stayed with my dad was in 2021. He is in a wheelchair and one particular day he wheeled his chair in front of me and asked why a particular professing man I’d grown up with was in prison. It felt like an elephant sitting on my chest while my mind raced as to how to answer him. When I had worked up a few words and I finally told my father that this man was in prison for raping his daughter, I thought I was going to pass out. I don’t think my dad even said much of anything and I jumped up and got out of there as quickly as I could.
Looking back, I don’t know how he didn’t know about that man’s crimes. It was a quick Google search. I wonder if he was setting me up because he wanted to have a talk about my own abuse but didn’t know how to broach the subject? Who knows. I drove to a family member’s house several hours away and told her about the abuse as well as another close family member on my way back to my father’s house. I didn’t discuss it with my dad, and I never stayed there again either. It was immediately that my childhood nightmares returned.
In 2023, I remember getting a very vague email from one of our workers stating that something big had happened, but not saying what, and if we had any questions, we were to call him. My husband has family members in the work, so he immediately called one of them and was told the details of Dean Bruer (aka DB). Another thing to add to my story is I grew up knowing DB’s family and anytime I visited my home state DB’s family was also in the same meeting.
This horrific news immediately sent my world tumbling as I know it did for probably all survivors in one way or another who heard about his crimes. It was the very next day that I called a trusted family member I’d first told about my dad besides my husband to ask if I should talk to an overseer about my own father since he lives next-door to a convention grounds. As they say, the rest is history.
My husband and I had a Sunday morning meeting in our home at the time and during Covid a convicted felon of CSA/SA was put in our mtg as the workers were at a loss as to where to put him. Since I hadn’t processed my own trauma at that point, I didn’t make a fuss about it, trying to be a good elder’s wife. On two different occasions after the DB exposure, two different male workers were sent to our home to ask me if I was OK with that arrangement.
At the time, again because I wanted to be a submissive, good elder’s wife, I said I was fine with it. I hated that the decision sat squarely on my shoulders, and I felt like his salvation was in my hands when that decision should have been made immediately on my behalf as well as on the behalf of others in our meeting, including a child. One of those brother workers that sat across from me also went on to tell me about false accusers and his own story of a child falsely accusing her father. I wish I could have a do over of that conversation. Unfortunately, I just sat quietly listening to his spiel wondering if the purpose was to warn me not to falsely accuse my abusers.
We also quickly learned of another man who had been grooming our family for years who had allegedly committed CSA years ago. I knew there were red flags when he first started coming over years ago when I was a newlywed with toddlers. He showed up in the middle of the day when he knew my husband was working with a pan of gingerbread cookies for the children. I figured the main reason was because he worked the night shift and that was the only available time for him. I’m so thankful I did not allow him in the house in spite of what I went through when I was younger. He continued through the years making gestures like that, mostly gifts of food. I now know after therapy that we are told by our abusers to ignore the red flags and the gut feelings we have with their threats and grooming. I no longer ignore them though sometimes I wonder if they’re as sharp as they used to be.
We also learned of another convicted felon in a field we had been in several years while our children were little. We have heard over and over the last few years that all is good because he attended all of his therapy, followed procedures and protocols, hasn’t reoffended, he’s watched closely by his wife, yadda yadda yadda. It is hard for me in this situation to not be angry, as we had them over at our home for gatherings with our children and over for dinner once even, and we were invited to their house once as well. His wife had me in the kitchen or in another room with her so I wouldn’t exactly say he was being monitored at all times around children. We were completely unaware of his conviction and crimes. The friends in the field and many workers who came through our field didn’t once give us a heads up. The friends had apparently been told in the past to not talk about it. This convicted felon even told a professing friend of theirs that he would never be rehabilitated.
We were also in the field in 2023 where our overseer was our field worker and admitted to multiple cases of CSA. My husband and I being elders at the time were asked to be in on a meeting with the panel of three new overseers and three other elders in the field to determine how to cut all ties between the overseer, with admissions of guilt of CSA from the work. That meeting ended up being quite a show as the couple harboring a pedophile sat on their soapbox even after a couple of us said we knew of or were a victim of CSA and tried to tell all of us that no victims needed to go to therapy and that they themselves had provided a place of refuge to past victims and were able to counsel them through healing. They shared they were more than willing to help others through their trauma.
This couple, who went on to harbor at least one more alleged CSA worker, also told us about the poor health of said overseer and how it was affecting his life and the great sympathy they had for him in his circumstances. They also told us they refused to read any of the letters that had been posted regarding victims and/or abusers. They wanted to continue gatekeeping for this abuser and his gatekeeping family and told the new overseers they had to go through them to access the ex-overseer.
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing from that couple who so many revered and continue to. They hold themselves to savior status offering the poor abusers employment in their business. They also stated multiple times that none of us would understand the hard lives their little non-English speaking church followers have endured and nobody was fit to shepherd their flock besides them.
I continued trying to go to meetings for about another 6 to 7 months, but started having more and more nightmares and started having panic attacks for the first time in my life. Quite often anxiety or panic attacks would hit as I was having a shower and trying to get ready for Sunday morning meeting. I started breaking down in meeting. I could be singing a hymn and just start crying for seemingly no reason at all. One time, I came back in after getting my emotions in check and was asked by a family member if I was being sensitive.
Another time, I started crying during my prayer and fumbled through the rest of it. On Sunday morning after having such panic attacks, I would eventually regulate my breathing and try to gather myself to sit in our meeting. One particular Sunday, it took me three tries of going in, starting to cry, walking out and gathering myself, going back in. I began feeling like I was more of a distraction than an addition to the meeting. I started telling my husband I wasn’t feeling well and would sit in the bedroom.
After a few weeks of feeling guilty for listening to everybody out in the living room singing and speaking but not being out there, I finally asked my husband if we could stop meetings in our home for now. At one of our gospel meetings, I couldn’t quit shaking and started crying so I had to leave and sit in the truck till my husband came out after and we could leave. One of the last times going to gospel meeting, a well-meaning lady hooked arms with me and chatted as we walked in but as soon as I hit the threshold I couldn’t go in because I was sobbing. The lady was unaware, thankfully. However, when I stopped going to meetings, I was sent a well-intentioned note by her that along with encouraging words, it also mentioned I might be attention seeking. That was hard to swallow. A couple of well-meaning family members went to dinner with us once and asked if I might have a mental problem.
Back to the last time I attended meeting with my father in 2023, he was two seats down from me and sitting across from me was also DB’s family (I fully acknowledge they have nothing to do with his abuse, but it is a reminder when I see them of what has been currently happening). I knew everyone in the meeting sitting around me had been told of my father’s abuse, and they now knew the victim was me. It was all I could do to get through the meeting. I felt so humiliated and horrified that they knew something so vile about me. I walked out once before mtg started but managed to come back in and stay. I was so thankful I wasn’t taking part. It was the last time I went to meeting there.
While I love and care about the people I grew up around and know there, I see and understand more and more why a known pedophile should not be in a meeting with a victim or victims. It’s taken a lot of therapy (and yet I still struggle with my familial bond and perceived obligation) to treat my dad as I would any other offender/pedophile. I also cannot understand why some people can’t see the harm in abusers attending meetings with the vulnerable and victims.
My interview with the FBI was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to endure besides the abuse. It was like reliving the abuse all over again because I was required to explain everything in great detail.
Another thing I’ve dealt with is suicidal ideations. I’ve never struggled with depression or thoughts of suicide before. It has become a very real thing to me. Please reach out to someone to talk if you’re having similar thoughts. You are not alone.
During the last three years, like many of you, we were hearing left and right of workers who had been in our home many, many times over the years and elders that my family had put on a pedestal along with the workers which just continued to send my world spinning, as I’m sure most of you have experienced. I have married into family with multiple worker royalty (my phone also seems to think so because it keeps wanting to capitalize the word worker ) and have been at family gatherings where I have heard family members express sympathy for an abuser.
I had a worker say in front of me one preps that they and their peers all wish this would go away. I have had someone tell my husband in front of me who still goes to meetings that the people in his meetings really appreciate what he’s going through and what he brings to the meeting then turned to me and told me that someday that would be me again . I have had someone tell me that if I wanted hugs from them again, I could come back to meeting, etc. I am thankful for my husband’s growth through this as he first started off in 2023 stating to me that either there were a lot of liars or the workers were lying when he was hearing about alleged perpetrators. Of course, I told him how hurtful that was to hear from him after having been a victim myself. I know some people might feel like I have thrown my husband under the bus, and it should be his choice to tell his story but I have spared the details for him to tell if he ever wants to. However, because he is such a huge part of my story, I have included him. He recently started his own journey with therapy and has expressed multiple times that he would love to be a help to others in his situation if anyone needs it.
What the Hammon ladies spoke of in the three person interview about the feeling they got when walking into the room of workers/the spirit of those gatherings is exactly what I have felt at times. I attended a family funeral last year FaceTiming a close family member out of the country so they could be there, and afterwards they wanted to say “hi” to multiple people including workers. I didn’t realize until afterwards it looked like I was filming the service and walking around confronting workers and friends with my phone camera when in reality I was just FaceTiming. The deer-in-the headlight looks, as well as attitudes I got, especially from workers that I used to think respected me as a person, was off the charts.
This is the long gist of my truth. It’s far from perfectly written, but I feel it’s now or never and it felt appropriate being on the third anniversary of a lot of these things being set into motion for me in my recent story. It has taken all day to get this down, I leave with a slight headache feeling like I’ve been through an emotional wringer. Feel free to share my story elsewhere. I would gladly sign my name to this as parts of my story are not a mystery to a number of people, but for now I remain “anonymous” to protect some family members to some degree. I know there are those of you who will recognize me through my story and anyone is more than welcome to reach out if they need or want to talk.
I hope this can help even just one person, victim, survivor. You are so brave, and I want those of you who have come forward already with your own stories to know they have struck a cord with me and encouraged me to come forward and to continue to heal. There’s no one right way to heal. I have learned everyone is on their own journey, their own schedule, and we need to honor each one. One survivor mentioned feeling like a little child again. That is exactly something this experience the last few years has caused me to feel. Helpless at times, so very vulnerable.
Again, I will forever be thankful to Advocates for The Truth (AFTT), Cynthia Liles, and her team for being so kind, considerate, compassionate, and professional in the work that they are doing and in their response to victims and survivors when we make some of the toughest calls of our life to report our abuse to them so that they can have as complete a list as possible of abusers and can seek to get justice for the victims and survivors where possible. I still remember my body going numb, my vision narrowing with dots and feeling like I was going to pass out. With all of my heart, thank you for making it as easy as it can possibly be under the circumstances.
I’m thankful for the admins of this group who have also held space for me, been patient, and given me a place to share my story.
Anonymous Account #10
March 30, 2026
Permission to share provided in text above.