Grovel
Part 3
The clock struck midnight. My glass slipper… wait, what glass slipper? My story is not a fairytale but a book by the Grimm Brothers.
No prince was about to set forth to rescue me. I was about to lie my way through the next seven weeks that faced me to have my husband have a place to lay his head at night.
The thing about highly controlled environments, and in my case, a cult, is that you are beaten into silent obedience. It helped to strive to not disrupt the status quo, question, or doubt. The formidable men of leadership have the mind of Christ, and with that came trepidation.
As Elder E and I sat on the couches in my in-laws' living room, I listened rather than spoke. I only spoke when spoken to. He did the talking, the convincing….. the breaking.
I loved and adored him, and the suffering destroyed me. Would it kill me today? Not a chance, but my ‘good Christian girl’ upbringing had me groveling.
When asked what I wanted to do after convincing Elder Eric, his wife, and Elder E, I chose to kick my husband out of the house until further notice. They worked hard to have me agree to six months, offering up examples of others who chose similar, only to leave out the detrimental reasons for how it worked: generational wealth and cult status privilege, neither of which I had.
Along with being kicked out of our home, the ex-husband had been kicked out of the cult. I was on my own again. Yes, it was not the first time. That happened in 2014 when my husband first laid his hands on me after I told him I was pregnant with baby #3—a story for another blog.
I was twenty-four with three children four years and under, with parents kicked into the world and with in-laws that loathed me; I was left to fend and find out for myself. I was a stay-at-home mom in our rental with landlords who disallowed me from having a day home in the home. The only money I could access was money my husband made, but it was not enough. Our pantry and fridge remained empty more often than not. Epcor shut the power off more than once, and illegally, the husband would configure it back on. If there was ever a time I was kicked when I was down, this was it. However, those surrounding me always held me to an unattainable standard. It was a set-up to fail from the very start.
Church services, three times per week, had me single-handedly caring for three toddlers. At the tender ages of four and two, my boys would sit through a 2.5-hour sermon by themselves. When I asked my mother-in-law for help, she replied, “ My place is sitting at the front of the sanctuary with my husband. I won’t be helping you.” My toddlers were trained by fear of God to sit still in silence at the hands of those who claimed to love them.
The husband had a work office ten minutes from our home. With a camping cot, the office became living quarters. Adamant, for the first two weeks, he didn’t step foot into our home. Constant check-ins from the men of leadership made me feel that formidable Christ-mindedness.
Until I didn’t.
He was going to the local rec center to shower and went days without eating as there was no money in the bank account. I loved and adored him, and the suffering destroyed me. Would it kill me today? Not a chance, but my ‘good Christian girl’ upbringing had me groveling.
And thus the secret began.
Nobody knows this information, and if cult members are reading this blog, they should enjoy the tea.
I snuck him home after 11:00 pm every night for seven weeks. He showered and slept in our bed. I cooked and fed him supper and packed his lunch for the next day.
For those seven weeks, the three children never looked at him; if they did, that formidable Christ-mindedness I played would have been revoked, and I, too, would be thrown to the worldly streets.
On Christmas Eve, 2016, I sent a Whatsapp message to Elder E that read, “ I have decided to allow the husband home. Merry Christmas.”
On New Year's Eve 2016, after a missed period, I peed on a stick…
PREGNANT
2-3 WEEKS …
Fuck. There goes the timeline of secrecy.
