Mountain Lore Living

What life lesson did you learn too late?

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Deconstructing Toxic Church Culture, One Brick At A Time

e.f. king

Growing up in conservative Christian culture, children, especially girls, were taught to allow others to mistreat them because, biblically, you’re supposed to turn the other cheek.

This lesson was painfully instilled, brick by brick, inside a church building full of people who claimed it was best practice for young ladies, young God-fearing Christian women, to allow others to tear them apart until nothing was left but the exterior of expectations carefully constructed.

At ten years old, my head of tousled curls whipped back and forth as others’ expectations weighed heavily on my child-sized frame.

The expectation of kindness, even when I was mistreated inside a building meant to be a safe haven for others.

The expectation of perfection, when that term didn’t resonate inside me, and I certainly didn’t understand its weight.

The expectation of forgiveness, even when others maimed and destroyed every vision you had ever known and left the rubble with you to clean up.

Attending Christian school only exacerbated the view of life constructed by others.

My rose-colored glasses took in snide comments such as, “Women only attend college to get their M-R-S degree” as the grown men and women laughed loudly around me, a view so abhorrent I shudder every time it plays like a loop through me.

Or young girls being the scapegoat for men’s thoughts and actions, time and time again. The “Is that really appropriate?” being said to a child by the principal’s wife for wanting to wear a below knee-length dress to an awards ceremony.

Why were young girls taught this? Why were we called women before our age filled two hands? Why were boys allowed to behave however they wanted because they were boys, with excuse after excuse as justification? Why were they allowed to be children throughout their childhood and teenage years, while girls were women at ten?

There was a time when my noncompliant seventeen-year-old brain would try to understand the truth in my questions for hours. I’d allow boys or friends to mistreat me, thinking it would work how I wanted because I turned the other cheek.

Every moment of my life was defined by the rearview. My eyes kept drifting to that tiny oval, refusing to acknowledge the new life the windshield could offer.

Expectations dragged behind me like Jacob Marley, my feet encased in cement, steel, and iron as I trudged through life. New home, new schools, new friends, new places. Somewhere along the way, the cement began to crumble, the metal clanging behind as I became stronger and wiser.

The Power of “No”

It wasn’t until the past five years that I could utter the word “no.” Such a simple, one-syllable word that would always get stuck at the tip of a defiant tongue, only to ultimately be swallowed down with my pride and others’ expectations.

The first time it escaped as a roar, all-consuming and scorching. As soon as it slipped, I felt undeniable confusion and contentment. Is this what I had feared for so long? The rush of finally stopping toxic behavior is exhilarating and all-consuming, something everyone should experience.

But sometimes, “no” carries painful softness.

Sometimes, it’s an unanswered message, not because you can’t face it, but because you simply don’t have to anymore.

Sometimes, “no” means choosing yourself over others, even though you’ve put other people before yourself your entire life.

Sometimes, “no” is even less than that.

At twenty-eight, I look back and wish I had been bolder, braver, stronger. I wouldn’t be who I am today without these experiences.

I wouldn’t have empathy, something severely lacking in current society, and especially in the current church climate.

I wouldn’t be compassionate, always thinking of others before every decision I make. I wouldn’t be kind to others and myself if those people hadn’t controlled me.

I wouldn’t fully appreciate my wonderful family, husband, and friends who have shown me that true love is soft, silent, and light, with no expectations to weigh me down.

The bricks I mentioned earlier have been destroyed by fire and brimstone that only “no” could create.

Their place remains untaken – allowing me to fully breathe and experience everything the world has to offer through the windshield of my future, the rearview ripped off and tossed in the backseat.