I kind of need a funny story, but I don’t really have one at the moment. Religious trauma and spiritual abuse are real, yo. Sometimes re-telling some of the stories associated with that traumatic time triggers me. I’m going to get through it, but I have another story to tell from that hell-hole church that I talked about in my previous church. This one is pretty gahtdamb fucked up, honestly.
One morning a few years ago, I walked into the church building on a Sunday morning only to come face to face with someone I never thought I’d see again. My former best friend’s ex, and father of her daughter. I did a like quadruple take because what in the fuck was, let’s call him Cecil, doing here? Like was I dreaming? How was this possible?
Here’s how: a friend of mine was in rehab, and started inviting other members of the rehab programs to our church. Cecil was one of those people. I was one of two black people in that church up until that point. Cecil happened to be black as well.
So Cecil was there to get his life right with God, find godly support during recovery, and be mentored by our pastor and the other men. Apparently, part of finding godly support was to find a good godly woman to help get him through his recovery.
Like I noted in my previous post, our pastor referred to himself as the “doctor of love” (he had his doctorate in biblical counseling), and he was trying to set Cecil up with me.
Lemme tell y’all about good ol Cecil here. Back when I was fresh out of high school my friend, let’s call her Amanda, was talking to this dude who was in jail. I’m not even sure how she met him, but she was trying to decide whether to date him or this other dude. Apparently, she picked Cecil. Amanda had made it to the final semester of her high school career, Cecil was out of jail, and they had met up at some point. I remember eating lunch with her one day, and talking about how her emotions and hormones seemed a little out of whack. I asked if she thought she was pregnant. God, she hoped not. We went on a walk a few weeks later, and I knew then just because of her behavior and reactions that she was probably pregnant. We had a girls night the next week, bought her a pregnancy test, and went to the Barnes and Noble to conduct this pregnancy test. I think it came out inconclusive, but we knew. She was pregnant. With Cecil’s baby.
Cecil was selling drugs, in a gang, and probably an alcoholic. He was only 18, and Amanda was 17 at this point. He had been in some pretty serious altercations, and involved in at least one shooting that I had known of. He talked about actually killing someone, but I never did find out if that was true. Antyway, he was hardcore, and this little white suburbanite Christian girl, Amanda, had fallen for him. Their relationship was rocky as fuck. He cheated on her when she was pregnant (I was around for some of those dramatic meet ups to confront him about his cheating). They broke up several times, but he always came back to apologize. He said he’d do better every single time. Baby was born, and they were still off and on. (I should also mention that her parents didn’t really approve not because he was into all of this fucked up shit, but because he was black). For the next, god, maybe few years they were together off and on still. He would get back together with Amanda, come back to Jesus, try to get out of hustling, and then he’d get back into it all over again. This happened quite a bit. He also put his hands on her. He was physically abusive, and I know at one point Amanda was actually afraid that he was going to kill her.
So this is the brick wall of a dude that I ran into on that Sunday morning a few years ago. Since then he had his parental rights stripped away from him and Amanda’s daughter, Amanda had gotten married, and her husband had officially adopted Amanda and Cecil’s daughter. Amanda and her new husband were so perfect for each other, happy, and building their life together.
Not two weeks into his attendance to our church the campaign to set Cecil and I up began. Almost everyone was on board for this because OH MY GOD how cute would our black babies look?! We were perfect for each other largely because we were black. Cecil was just starting out as a Christian. He was what we used to call a baby Christian. I was not. I was in ministry, knew my shit about the Bible, was actively living out my life as a mature Christian. Our pastor encouraged Cecil to start wooing me, and to start courting me. They tried to convince me to let this all happen. Just let it happen! He needs a good woman to keep him from stumbling again. I needed a good godly man to lead me spiritually, have babies with, and live my life with.
The thing was, I knew all of this shit about Cecil. He was my friend’s ex! Apparently he didn’t tell the pastor the whole truth about his past. Or it didn’t matter because he had actually gotten saved this time. He was redeemed now. Or whatever.
I kept saying no to this. I told my pastor and my friends who were supportive of this potential relationship, “Hell no!” I kept saying they didn’t know him like I did. He had done this all before: have a come to Jesus life thing happen, and then he’d revert back to abuse and hustling. Also, he was, at that point my former, best friend’s ex! Like how was that okay?! I tried and tried and tried to tell the pastor and them to leave drop this because this wasn’t going to happen. They didn’t listen, and they kept trying to push us together.
I don’t know why I didn’t leave the church then. I probably should have, but I was also pissed because that was my church, and he had just started going there. Also, I was so involved in ministries. However, because of the fucking patriarchal system in place he was way more valuable as a man, even though he had just become a Christian, than I was. He had more value, authority, and potential.
I didn’t out him for his past abuses and activity to the pastor and the others. I probably should have because I know that Cecil didn’t tell them everything. Or he did, and it really just didn’t matter. I just wanted and needed them to stop, and listen to me when I said, “No. Absolutely not.” I felt powerless and silenced. I needed my pastor to trust me when I said, “No.” I needed him to trust that I knew what was best for me. Cecil wasn’t it, and I would have ended up being cheated on and abused. But the pastor just kept at it because I was under his authority, and he knew what was best for me. I was like his “third daughter” until I rebelled later. Then I was just a problematic rebellious woman.
I’m not sure how long this went on. Maybe a couple of months? Cecil moved on, the pastor and them stopped trying to push me into that relationship, and I was angry and relieved. Eventually, Cecil stopped coming to church altogether, and the last I had heard he had shot someone point blank on the side walk of his and his girlfriend’s house. The shot guy died. What’s kind of crazy is that Cecil’s girlfriend then? I went to elementary school with her. This town is so fucked up sometimes.
Antyway, so this is a totally true story.
The worst part about it, besides the racism and patriarchy, is that my pastor knew I wanted to be in a relationship. Not only was I supposed to be his “third daughter,” but he was also my counselor. Except he basically preyed on his knowledge and my desire to be in a relationship to try to make this one with Cecil work out. He thought that since I trusted him, and was his “third daughter” that if he endorsed this Cecil, gave his blessing for us to have this romantic relationship, and pushed me enough that I, his “third daughter,” would cave. He knew best because not only was he my spiritual leader, but he was also acting as my father at that point and time, and he used and abused that.
Writing all of this kind of makes me realize just how fucked up everything about that last church was. I keep telling myself it wasn’t that bad, and I have blocked out a lot of stuff as a bit of a trauma response to convince myself it wasn’t that bad. However, this was not normal. The culture and people of that church were not normal. None of this was normal and healthy!! It WAS bad, and it WAS toxic. Somehow, I made it out though. Somehow, I have not managed to end my own life despite the dark and twisty feelings, emotions, and thoughts this all brings up. I’m just sitting here with a shocked expression on my face right now.
I need...I don’t know. Something happy, and probably not to be alone for the next few hours.
Which is why I’m at work, trying to function. I kind of just need a hug and to get out of my house tonight.
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