![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
(From this writing exercise comes this:)
I am from landwash, mountain valley, trailer park, and forest, from saddle leather, horse liniment, big yellow bags of No Name dog food, and from baling twine and Watchtower magazines.
I am from the white and green mobile home converted to wooden house. I am from the home-made white camper, and 31' fifth wheel travel trailer pulled on the back of a 3/4 tonne crew cab bright orange Chevy.
I am from the humble potato, planted, weeded, picked, peeled, and chopped until my back ached, knees cried out, and fingers cramped and waterlogged, from the fields of green and gold timothy, heads bobbing in sweet-smelling breeze, pulled out with care so I could chew the tender stems and pick my teeth with the tough ones.
I am from door-to-door Saturday mornings and three-times-a-week Kingdom Hall meetings, from hours spent reading novels on the back of a pony, from picking berries and rose hips after school, from stacking wood onto the dogsled and alongside the house, from Powell and Twombly and Rolf.
I am from the attention-seeking side of the family, the side that always says "Look at me!", and from the side who believes it is a sign of weakness to show tears. I'm from skin stinging from turning the other cheek.
From blood of the butchered chickens, pigs, deer, moose, goats, rabbits, and fish being poured onto the ground and always reading the labels to be sure there were no animal byproducts--not even in the cat food--and being told we weren't superstitious even while I shivered to hear tales of demons coming out of role-playing books, second-hand clothing, and Smurf wallpaper.
I am from three preceding generations of Jehovah's Witnesses, zig-zagging their ways back and forth across both sides of the family. There will be no fifth generation. It stopped with my sister and with me.
I'm from Dorn Ridge and Springhill and Dead Man's Bay, from plain-cooked meat and boiled potatoes, and from Jiggs dinner on Sundays.
From my Dad embarrassing me by doing backflips and log-rolling down hills in front of the other kids, Mom's Barbara Cartland and Louis L'amour books covering every table, countertop, and shelf in the house, my sister spearing a broom handle through my door during yet another fight between us.
I am from washed-out photos from Cameron Beach, pictures of us eating lobsters or of us all holding collie puppies up by their arms, from hikes through sagebrush and tumbleweeds to craggy outcrops and jigsaw pines, where we'd light a fire and boil water in a tin can and eat bannock cooked over a stick. I couldn't want for more colour and flavour.
I am from landwash, mountain valley, trailer park, and forest, from saddle leather, horse liniment, big yellow bags of No Name dog food, and from baling twine and Watchtower magazines.
I am from the white and green mobile home converted to wooden house. I am from the home-made white camper, and 31' fifth wheel travel trailer pulled on the back of a 3/4 tonne crew cab bright orange Chevy.
I am from the humble potato, planted, weeded, picked, peeled, and chopped until my back ached, knees cried out, and fingers cramped and waterlogged, from the fields of green and gold timothy, heads bobbing in sweet-smelling breeze, pulled out with care so I could chew the tender stems and pick my teeth with the tough ones.
I am from door-to-door Saturday mornings and three-times-a-week Kingdom Hall meetings, from hours spent reading novels on the back of a pony, from picking berries and rose hips after school, from stacking wood onto the dogsled and alongside the house, from Powell and Twombly and Rolf.
I am from the attention-seeking side of the family, the side that always says "Look at me!", and from the side who believes it is a sign of weakness to show tears. I'm from skin stinging from turning the other cheek.
From blood of the butchered chickens, pigs, deer, moose, goats, rabbits, and fish being poured onto the ground and always reading the labels to be sure there were no animal byproducts--not even in the cat food--and being told we weren't superstitious even while I shivered to hear tales of demons coming out of role-playing books, second-hand clothing, and Smurf wallpaper.
I am from three preceding generations of Jehovah's Witnesses, zig-zagging their ways back and forth across both sides of the family. There will be no fifth generation. It stopped with my sister and with me.
I'm from Dorn Ridge and Springhill and Dead Man's Bay, from plain-cooked meat and boiled potatoes, and from Jiggs dinner on Sundays.
From my Dad embarrassing me by doing backflips and log-rolling down hills in front of the other kids, Mom's Barbara Cartland and Louis L'amour books covering every table, countertop, and shelf in the house, my sister spearing a broom handle through my door during yet another fight between us.
I am from washed-out photos from Cameron Beach, pictures of us eating lobsters or of us all holding collie puppies up by their arms, from hikes through sagebrush and tumbleweeds to craggy outcrops and jigsaw pines, where we'd light a fire and boil water in a tin can and eat bannock cooked over a stick. I couldn't want for more colour and flavour.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2011-10-03 12:07 am (UTC)From:You are beautiful. And I am so proud of your strength to get out, to be who you are. No matter what, to get out of it alive means courage.
I was having a conversation with my mother, asking her to put her beliefs aside for one moment(yea that went over well) and tell me, did she really believe in her heart women should not teach or give talks solo or ever be a part of any of the whole power thing in their religion (like female elders etc)
What I got back was this ...really upsetting diatribe of how women are stupid and weak and have no strength and she would rather put a man she hates in power than a woman she knows because a woman would not have the brains to do it right.
And then she said to me "what ex-JW from the internet (say what?) asked you to ask me that?"
And I blew up...I said "so you don't think I, a woman, could possibly have a thought in my head without someone putting it there for me? HOW DARE YOU, NO ...HOW DARE YOU..." (I felt like a creepy soap opera) and I started to raise my voice like I never had, I was shaking with anger and I said to her...HOW DARE YOU THINK I COULD NOT THINK THAT ON MY OWN, ACCUSE ME OF BRINGING IT FROM SOMEONE ELSE AND HOW DARE YOU RAISE 2 DAUGHTERS WITH NO CONFIDENCE, NO STRENGTH AND NO SENSE OF WORTH JUST BECAUSE WE ARE FEMALE."
And I swear, I had to get out of that room because I was sobbing...and did for two hours, realizing that ...this broken woman had been the one as a child I looked up to for strength and found none. Of course I had no confidence, why would I? It just hit me so suddenly and so hard. And devastated me as if I were 11 and realizing it all over again.
The anger and force in me terrified me. But at least I have a voice.
So for you to get out, to be the woman you are, I think that's incredible. That any of us can look back and find peace...because for a religion that teaches peace, that's the one emotion I *never* felt.
And this "I shivered to hear tales of demons coming out of role-playing books, second-hand clothing, and Smurf wallpaper." OMG NOT YOU TOO ABOUT THE SMURFS? Did you hear the story of one of the stuffed smurfs walking up an aisle possessed during meeting? Damn I wanted that Smurf.
Also...SECOND HAND STUFF. What the fuckity fuck? Omg.
no subject
Date: 2011-10-03 12:18 am (UTC)From:And yeah, my Mom has had similar talks with me, only more about things like, "Well, I know that deep down you realize how bad and wrong it is for people to be homosexuals," and me telling her I knew no such thing. Mostly, it's easier to just not bring up certain topics. The sad thing is, if Mom weren't stuck in this religion, I'm pretty sure she'd be quite the radical feminist. But that's something she keeps firmly locked up inside.
I remember crying at nights with the outrage that God had made me a girl and not a boy, when girls are inferior. I remember wanting to be able to carry the microphone or run the sound equipment, and being bitter that only boys were permitted, but I could certainly sweep or vacuum, if I wanted to help out at the Kingdom Hall. Yeah, right.
Yes, you have a voice, and it is a damned good one. I very much enjoy reading what you write. It stands on its own, and also shows that others escaped, and turned out pretty fucking cool.
Yes, I heard about the possessed Smurf walking up the aisle, too. And I sure did want that Smurf wallpaper that came alive and cleaned up the kid's bedroom. I don't think I've ever seen an entire episode of the Smurfs, you know. Have you?
Yeah, second-hand clothing, unless it came from Brothers and Sisters, came from worldly people, and could therefore be demonized. Ooooh. Scary. *rolls eyes*
no subject
Date: 2011-10-03 12:29 am (UTC)From:It's funny how a book and some magazines that come from a place they don't know, don't know who exactly wrote them etc...can affect and alter their entire life and what they believe. You wonder what would happen if they came out of the building like Wonka and said "we're done here, no more JWs bye!"
What would they without someone telling them what to do?
Maybe that's how we got out, we like to think and anyone telling us how to think or what to think was as wrong to us as it is for them to *not* be a JW.
I used to get so frustrated because I just wanted answers that had logic. Not to be told "JUST SHUT UP! BECAUSE! ALRIGHT?"
OMG there was wallpaper that cleaned a kids room and THIS WAS A BAD THING? And no, I never saw Smurfs either, how weird is that? It came around after I was little so ..never saw it and my niece could never have anything Smurf related because of that stupid myth. Like what...demons just choose smurfs?
I told my mother "let me try to explain how difficult it was for me to grow up a witness. It would be like if you woke up tomorrow and you were in an Amish family and wearing a hat and riding in a buggy and talking and said THOUST and WHILST and ....I felt that out of place." And she said "I didn't think it was that hard for anyone." But god it was , and I used to believe something was deeply flawed in me that I did not love it like they did. That maybe it was true and I had no faith and was godless.
no subject
Date: 2011-10-03 12:39 am (UTC)From:Do you remember the book study about "avoid independent thinking?" I was in junior high at the time, and that always stuck with me. I remember thinking that I couldn't possibly be the only one who thought there was something fundamentally flawed with that, and how come no one else could see it? But I kept my mouth shut, because if I questioned too much, it'd just earn me a cuff.
Yeah! The Smurfs came to life during the night and cleaned the room. I knew I was bad, because I wanted that wallpaper sooooo bad. I've always been messy, and probably always will. But if I could find magical wallpaper that tidied up for me, I'd have it, no matter how ugly or twee.
I suspect that even if I hadn't grown up a JW, I still would have been weird as hell, because we moved around so bloody much. No one trusts the new kid in the old hand-me-downs. That I was a JW was just a huge dash of bizarre flavour, like balsamic vinegar in your corn flakes or something.
no subject
Date: 2011-10-03 12:07 am (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2011-10-03 12:18 am (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2011-10-03 02:38 pm (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2011-10-03 04:08 pm (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2011-10-03 04:10 pm (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2011-10-03 04:15 pm (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2011-10-04 12:56 am (UTC)From:You were strong then, and you are strong now, and you are beautiful.