Hot Topics
It started with a veggie burger
“I have a gift for you!”
Mom and my stepdad sit in front of me, and I stand in the living room with a white gift bag. The handles are suffocating from the grip of my sweaty right hand. I release the sweaty handles of the gift bag, placing it into the hands of my Mom. Upon realization of the contents within, Mom gasped. It wasn’t my first time; it was my fifth time, to be exact. Yet, when Mom asked how it happened, my nerves spoke, and I replied, “ I don’t know; it just did!”
I knew how it happened; it wasn’t my first rodeo. A sultry three-day weekend that began with a shared bubble bath in September of 2018 was how.
A sultry weekend + ovulation + the fertility of a rabbit = a fetus.
Unfortunately, it had only been five months since being kicked out of the cult, and my education on women and abortion rights was entry-level.
With it being my fifth pregnancy, I knew my urine would light up a $25 pregnancy test without waiting the three-minute wait time, long before the ‘best time to test window.’
Halloween 2018 was the first time I could wear a costume in twenty-six years. It was the first time my children and I had the pleasure of dressing up and going trick-or-treating. My ex-husband was on house arrest for bank fraud and received the privilege of extra hours, allowing him to join us out on the streets.
I knew I was pregnant. Beyond the missing period, the symptoms of constant urination, heightened smell, cramping, and what felt like 8-week bloatation guaranteed the fetus was 5 weeks gestation.
We hit the streets with Jack-O-Lantern buckets to be filled with candy. I dressed up as a (pregnant) Bitchy Witch, the pregnant part was unknown to all but me.
With great disdain, I dislike chocolate unless I am pregnant with a girl. It's weird, wild, yet true. I stalled drinking alcohol for months post-cult due in part to the fear that I had surrounding it. William Branham said it would defile my body. God, speaking to Branham as a whirlwind in a tree, told him not to defile his body in any way, and because that is definitely not a sign of a mental health concern (sarcasm), the cult leader adhered.
We walked up to a home where the homeowners offered chocolate alcoholic shots to the adults to “ keep warm.”
My brain says, “We are pregnant, no alcohol.”
So, I declined, respectfully.
Our friends and my ex-husband turned their heads to my decline. All eyes were on me.
“ Why not, Bre?”
My brain says, “ QUICK, THINK OF SOMETHING!! HURRY UP, THEY WILL CATCH ON!”
My lips, “Oh, I hate chocolate.”
With shock, our friends replied, “WHAT!”
The ex-husband said, “ It’s true.”
Crisis averted.
You’re probably wondering why my ex-husband didn’t know by this point of my pregnancy, and it is fair of you to wonder and ask. The tragedy lies within his reactions to each one of my positive pregnancy tests. I remember taking them and going on to create cute scenes (i.e. placing a bun in the oven) for him to discover, only to be met with anger, abuse, disgust, denial, and him challenging who the baby daddy is. From the moment the pregnancy tests blinked, PREGNANT, I fell in love with the little ball of cells making its home within my body, so much so that I embraced the nausea and wouldn’t dare pop a Tylenol. I spoke and sang to my bump. Unquestionably, my unborn babies knew Jesus loved them. I dressed my bump as “cute” as one can in an extremist cult. I took my prenatal pill religiously, at the same time every morning.
On the other hand, he resented it. He refused to touch my pregnant belly once the baby began to kick, and they could be felt. It was “creepy.” I found an exciting solace in researching baby names while he told me not to bring them to him until the fetus was at least 36 weeks gestation. Pregnancy, I cherished. He repudiated it, and I braced for his harm during it. The only thing he found somewhat endearing was the fact he impregnated me. It was an abusive ownership kink. He took a positive and turned it negative.
I knew I would have to endure his emotional and physical loathing once I announced that I was pregnant for a fifth time. My anxiety was the keeper of the occupied womb secret. He grabbed, hit, threw a hotdog at me and left for a weekend when I told him I was pregnant with baby #3. The stakes and anxiety were higher this time.
During this pregnancy, he was serving house arrest, and we were both dealing with the turbulence of finding our feet post-cult, and we were on two opposing paths.
I texted him, informing that I had something to tell once he came home from work. He did not appreciate that, so he demanded I tell him whatever I needed to say, or he could not concentrate on work.
The text bubble turned green upon delivery, filled with ten letters spelling out,
“I’m Pregnant.”
Like a predictable 28-day cycle, his anger and questioning began.
“Are you sure?! Have you taken a test?! Whose baby is it??”
Green text bubbles filled with my responses of “ I am sure. I haven’t taken a test. The baby is yours.”
He arrived home from work with two pregnancy tests in hand.
It was not my first-morning urine as they recommend for best results; it was early evening, and my urine was diluted. I ripped open the box, tore the plastic off of the test and before my urine stream finished, ‘PREGNANT 2-3’ weeks popped up.
I held it up to his face, and with his usual denial, he said, “They lie. " Then he ran out the door, back to the store, and purchased three more tests.
I am here to tell you that the “ PREGNANT 2-3 weeks” is now a 5-year-old menace.
Little did I know that this pregnancy would be the genesis of my post-cult education, the first time I met opposing views that challenged mine, engrained by the cult and the highway I would take to the left of the political spectrum.
It all happened through an online forum titled, ‘ Hot Topics.’
‘What to Expect When You’re Expecting’ was the go-to website I visited during my pregnancy to learn about the size of my fetus, what body parts the fetus was growing and to calculate and recalculate my due date. It was also the place my Trump-thumping, conservative ass sat down and obtained silence. For the first time, I heard women’s voices and opinions worldwide. I became aware of racism, homophobia, xenophobia, Women’s rights, Trans Rights, socialism, abuse and ….. veggie burgers. Nothing could have prepared me for it. I struggled, I squirmed over many threads I read, I dug my heels in, I yelled back in the comment section, and I wrestled daily with the confrontation each woman brought to my cult indoctrination.
But I vowed. During night one of my cult kick-out, I vowed to myself to unlearn, educate, risk and lose anything and anyone on the journey I was about to embark on into the real world, leading me to the truth of, well, Bre.
A pivotal thread on ‘Hot Topics’ that altered my brain chemistry and life trajectory was that of a vegan poster encouraging others to try A&W’s Beyond Burger. In true bitch fashion, I laughed and commented that animals were put on the earth for human consumption (a William Branham teaching) and if I was going to use my hard-earned cash to buy a burger, it would be a beef patty and not one made of vegetables.
I was undeserving, but these women met me with empathy and education, and I was encouraged to say, “ Don’t knock it till you try it.”
It was a kindness foreign to me. It stirred confusion within me, not settling.
I remained active on ‘ Hot Topics’ for a year, reading, sitting uncomfortably, soaking in the world views of incredible women and sharing the birth month of my fifth baby with many.
A year later, after continued education and deconstruction, I recognized my projection and angst, which led me to write a thread apologizing to the original poster of the A&W Beyond Burger post.
Today, six years later, a handful of those incredible women continue to follow me via Instagram. We send DMS and keep in touch. They fill the front row seats to my post-cult deconstruction and journey of self. They continued to show that foreign kindness in my darkest of times, and even though we have not met in person, they continue to show it, and they hold a special place in my heart, eternally.
And yes, I have since enjoyed an A&W beyond burger and I encourage you to do the same.
Really bummed you blocked me. Not sure what I did but hoping for the best for you