This post is written by community member, Shannon Ashley.
This past summer, I turned thirty. It’s strange to consider I’m in an entirely new decade of my life and that my time at Teen Mania ended eleven years ago. My first Acquire the Fire convention was sixteen years ago! Those numbers boggle my mind because my entire Teen Mania experience feels both so near and far. Some days, the internship is simply something I did when I was kid and wanted to change the world. Some days it’s something I actively work to forget. Still other days it’s something I feel angry or sad about–it’s a life-altering decision I deeply regret. And on some days I even miss being there in Texas or I long for that sense of belonging to something bigger than myself.
Frequently, I feel ashamed that my Teen Mania experience is not over, that even after all these years, I still carry broken pieces of the person I used to be when I was eighteen. My therapist tells me that these are normal and even good feelings. That the recovery from post-cult trauma is a process, and it’s a little bit different for everyone. In our sessions, Teen Mania often doesn’t even come up anymore. It’s become a backdrop, something that’s contributed to who I am today. But it’s not me. Lately we discuss how I feel day-to-day and the demands I put upon myself. We talk about what I want out of life (more!) and my therapist says she is beginning to hear my voice emerge, which is significant progress. Apparently, many cult or abuse survivors struggle finding their voice, and I am learning that it’s really what “recovery” is all about. Finding my voice and living the life I want to live.
I didn’t know I lost my voice. For a long time during and after Teen Mania, I knew I felt distant and detached. Life felt like a drudgery–something I just had to do because I was on the planet. I felt like a constant disappointment to myself, to God, to everyone around me. I believed that God was punishing me for being a “less-than” Christian because I found that I couldn’t paint or write or create like I used to do so well. I thought that I was maybe crazy or had become really stupid because I used to be a good reader–I loved it–but after Teen Mania I found it difficult to concentrate. I skimmed pages quickly, looking for the “point” or “purpose” of the text. All of these things were part of my life and they comprised the picture I had of myself in my head. And when I started therapy earlier this year, it was painful to share what I’d become. I expected to be told I was bi-polar or had ADD or a narcissistic personality. Maybe some other severe imbalance.
Instead I was told I’d lost my voice. Really? Okay… so I wondered: did I leave it on a bus like an overlooked textbook? Was it in Texas? Was it something else God had taken away from me because I’m such a bad person? And if I found my voice, would I even have anything valuable to say? Would anyone want to hear me speak? According to some alumni, according to Ron and Heath and Dave–No. My voice was that of someone who simply couldn’t cut it. I wasn’t a good fit for the Honor Academy, or I was unwilling to allow God to be God. My voice spoke lies, misunderstandings, and bitterness. Heath and Dave and old friends told me I needed to forgive and that they were praying for me. And I felt more lost than ever before.
It took turning thirty to help me understand that it’s okay–TRULY–okay to find my voice again. It took eleven years of hell to let me know that I don’t want to be unhappy anymore. In turn, I learned to begin to trust my heart again. So I started changing my daily life. I started working out and nixed my disordered eating. I began to care for myself despite the fact that I felt I was unworthy. I quit putting my life under the Teen Mania litmus: Does This Have Eternal Value? And I began to find my voice.
The most exciting thing for me is that I’ve started to write again. Even though it’s difficult and I want to bash my head against the wall when I can’t form an eloquent sentence or I can’t remember the word that’s on the tip of my tongue, I write and I do so unabashedly. Currently, I’m working on a novel. I love seeing my progress, I love getting to know the characters and feeling my creativity again. Sometimes I worry what THEY might think. I am tempted to put it under the Teen Mania litmus–it’s not overtly Christian, it’s not worthy, who do I think I am… etc. But in those moments, I take a deep breath, and remember what I want. LIFE! JOY! PASSION! And maybe I say something like, “Screw you–I’m taking my life back!” Then I enjoy the fact that THEY don’t filter every thought inside my head anymore, which lets me breathe (more) easy. So I write some more.
I didn’t find my voice until I found out I wasn’t alone. Well, I’d *known* I wasn’t alone for a while, but it wasn’t until I was in therapy for some months before I finally believed it. As it turned out, I didn’t become stupid after Teen Mania. God didn’t punish me. I wasn’t crazy. In therapy I learned a completely logical explanation which kind of blew my mind–spending time in a cult, or otherwise manipulative/thought-controlling group can change your cognitive processes. Cults like Teen Mania can actually change not just what you think, but how. The repetition of buzz words, constant prayer, exercises to label thoughts and confess every possible potential sin, etc… they actually work to rewire your brain. In a cult, you spend your time taking in so much information that there’s no opportunity to develop your own ideas. In fact, your inner thoughts aren’t allowed to be your own and personal opinions are pushed aside to make room for the group ideals. This reshaping can exhibit itself in different ways. A really proficient speller might struggle with rudimentary spelling after the leave a cult. An artistic person might feel so burnt out they’re unable to tap into that side of themselves again. A good student might flunk out of college after leaving a cult.
The point I want to make here is that recovery is about finding your voice. But the process of doing so varies. Some people can do it on their own, but I think more people will need help, like I did. And there’s nothing to be ashamed about needing help, getting help, and taking the time you need to recover. I know I’m not done. I don’t have everything all together. In a nutshell, since my recovery became real to me, I’ve lost over forty pounds, am working on a novel and several other writing projects, and I have dreams for my future again. Those are small steps but in the life of a cult survivor, they are huge victories. I get to wake up excited to be alive again–that’s something Teen Mania took away from me for more than a decade. If your time at Teen Mania or another controlling group wounded you–there is hope. There is recovery. There are people like you who’ve been where you’ve been too. You simply do not have to live with the pain of abuse as if it’s your fault. You can find your voice again.
