Note: This post is categorized under “EMDR & Recovery” because it was written while I was receiving EMDR. It is also categorized under “Escape Route” because people who grew up in a church youth group may relate to my experience.
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I overate last night and felt weird about it. Because of this, I started the day by reading the Eating Disorders Anonymous book. A paragraph that stood out to me mentioned trying to cram this crazy-messy experience called life into pretty black and white containers. I really need to ask myself where I do this (spoiler alert: everywhere). My answer? Mostly in my marriage...when I feel angry or lonely or small. It’s probably time to open those little black and white boxes and see what kind of messes spill out all over the floor.
My friend Katherine came over last night. She’s also a survivor of evangelicalism at its worst. There were, however, so many good things about growing up in a cult. One of them being that euphoric, enmeshing quality of bonding that takes place during summer camps, weekend retreats, and youth groups. They always say “those who pray together stay together.” But I think is more like “those who trauma-bond over the fear of Hell survive by merging with each other and celebrating a dysfunctional unit of collective judgement.” Mmmm, the web of codependency - so delicious...
I know people that get this intoxicating camaraderie from the brotherhood of fraternities, the sisterhood of sororities, or all-encompassing events like Burning Man and raves. Veterans speak of this familial loyalty, as do ex-gang members and hurricane survivors. But for people like Katherine and me, we never had to “come back to earth” once the experience was over...because when you go to church three times per week for 20 years, the experience is never over - it’s your permanent reality.
Katherine and I were chatting about how it’s easy to want that egoless, boundaryless, total fantasy-like connection with your spouse (or boyfriend or partner, whatever). And then we followed up with reasons why this desire is absolutely impossible and unrealistic and destructively persistent. She and I both grew up in families with suppressed emotional tension, which can be somewhat alienating. Our parents were good parents - average ones probably. But even good parents have issues. The inconsistencies of intermittent neglect and sin-based discipline, along with values like self-sacrifice and patriarchal gender roles, make amazingly strong candidates for evangelical fundamentalism. We were primed for it, baby. Fuckin’ religious olympians.
Our religious groups offered us things we so desperately craved in adolesence: clear cut lines by which to evaluate right and wrong, reliable community and affection, safe adventure and exploration, escape from the demands of home-life, a sense of awe and purpose. As lost teens fumbling through the emotional pollution of our daily lives, institutionalized Christianity gave meaning to the chaos for which we had no answers. This plate of developmental delicacies was instantly addictive. Evangelical theology perfectly justified our feelings of insecurity, our worldly doubts, and our confused reality. The dogma explained that we should have the sexual shame we’d previously sought to ignore. Mostly, though, it co-signed our propensity for fantasy, escapism, and disassociation. It made us make sense to ourselves.
Well, as much as I’d like to say this recipe for endless happiness worked out fabulously, Katherine and I met in...you guessed it (!) - Overeaters Anonymous. For those who don’t know, anonymous programs help control freaks and fantasy addicts recover from mind-altering habits. Katherine and I are the types you judge on trashy daytime TV talk-shows: the kind who - despite service to humanitarian causes - accidentally destroy their lives and “come to” in other countries.
She is a sponsee turned friend. We are both ex-missionaries, and reminisce about the codependent highs of our church-going days, ignoring the righteous legalism that soured us. We wonder if it’s possible sometimes - to get high again. High on fantasy. High on love. High on the escape of some totally unconventional, not-adult lifestyle. And when we forget that every flight awaits a crash, we call eachother to ground down in reality. We remind each other that we have good men in our lives - they are honest, kind, and helpful. They are responsible, law-abiding citizens...and they love us dearly. We remind each other that trying to escape mundane routines and responsibilities by “adventuring” ourselves to death has never worked out.
Katherine and I - we just be with each other. We share about the soulful stuff that’s most easily recognized by those who've lived their whole lives without it...things like acceptance and beauty and sex and listening and essence and equality and freedom and innate value and advocacy and room to exist. They are the very things our partners may never quite understand...because they never had to free themselves from prison.
So yeah. I suppose I feel angry and lonely in my marriage sometimes. But then I remember feeling is part of life, and flying is for the birds, and being with Katherine makes things Ok.