I have tried to tell my story several times…. and faltered. With much kind encouragement, I will try one more time. My story is not a short one … please bear with me.
I was the firstborn of the sixth generation of JW’s in my family. We had the kind of “Christian Heritage” that they spoke of in assembly parts. According to family legend, both of my maternal great- great-great-grandfathers were postmasters, one in Arkansas and one in West Virginia, when the Bible Students circulated a mass mailing to all of the US postmasters. They both accepted these new teachings and were fundamental in founding the first congregations in these two states. There were several of those 5 generations past ancestors of mine who claimed to be of the anointed. Of the later generations, too many to count have served in congregational positions that include Regular and Special Pioneers, Ministerial Servants, Elders, CO’s, PO’s, City Overseers. I have never attended, in all of my life, a District Assembly where one of my relatives was not delivering an address, participating in a drama or demonstration, or giving their experience. I myself served as a Regular Pioneer for 5 years and in a Spanish-speaking congregation for 2.
My maternal great-grandfather was a pedophile. He abused my grandmother, my mother, myself. Three of the six generations. He abused three generations of congregation children. He died in his 90’s, in good standing. He was never disfellowshipped, although I have been assured that he was counseled on occasion.
My mother was baptized when she was 9 years old, my father converted from the Pentecostal faith to become a JW when he was 16 years old. I was baptized when I was 14. The very first time I saw my father cry was when he performed my baptism.
I never had a choice. I was JW for generations before my birth. I was JW when I was two years old and my great-grandfather was fondling me. I was JW when I was seven and being molested by the son of a witness family that lived down the block. I was JW when I was 12 and my first Witness crush thought that it would be funny to slip his hand down my skirt in the backseat of the car while we were out in field service. I was JW when he would hit me. I was JW when I was informed, upon the reporting of these incidents to the elders, that I was being put on reproof for not having “screamed”. It was thier belief that because these abuses happened both before and after my baptism, that my failing to bring it to them again post dedication indicated my willing participation in the events. The fact that my father was a member of the body of elders and had already informed me that "if anything like that was happening, you must be doing something to encourage it". I was JW when these three men held me accountable for the "sins" of my past.
I had a choice when I was 22. I sought therapy. I had a choice when I confronted my family and the brothers about my great-grandfathers’ pedophilia and the behavior of certain brothers in the congregation. I had a choice when I became the first person in six generations of witnesses to walk away.
When these men made their choice, I made mine. Not out of spite, not to live the decadent lifestyle, but to be safe. I had been raped, beaten and emotionally assaulted to the point that I was convinced of two things. First, I knew that if I were to continue association with this organization I would die, probably by my own hand. Second, this was not the house of God.
I “drifted” for two years, finally deciding to move 2 hours North and start a new life. My life after leaving the JW’s has convinced me of many new things.
I believe that there is a God.
I do not believe that he had anything to do with what happened to me.
I believe that, like any perfect parent, he/she/it scooped me up in gentle arms and began gently kissing my wounds away with little blessings. I met a man that loves me, madly. I met a man that I could trust, lust after, and love, madly. Fortunately, for the both of us, he was the same man! I was a princess on my wedding day. I felt like a virgin. We have a perfect son. I finally understand what unconditional love means. I have dear friends. I own a home. I have not one, but two retirement accounts.
I am a very lucky woman. I have also lost more to this organization than I can say. I am now trying to decide whether to participate in the proposed lawsuits. Whatever my choice on this matter, I am facing the inevitable loss of contact with my family. I know that one-day they will choose this faith and their heritage over me. I know it, I just don’t want to see or hear it. Not yet.
BobsGirl