The Church Stole our Honeymoon

The recent events concerning James River Church and its annual men’s conference have flooded my feed. I find myself standing in the middle line of the dodgeball court which is the debacle. The topic is being discussed, or rather debated, amongst family members, friends, and acquaintances and I’ll explain why I have been privy to all sides of the fight. What you may or may not know is that I attended James River Church and was enrolled in, at the time James River Leadership College, now called James River College. That is where I met Josiah and where our story began. What you also may or may not know is that the year I attended the college competed for the spot as one of the worst years of my life.

While attending I became a victim of bullying, nasty rumors, sexual assault, and constant judgment. I had belongings stolen from me and never returned or I would have to steal my property back and hide my possessions. When I began dating Josiah the rumors about me got worse, I was spied on, and Josiah was informed that I was not good enough for him and that we should never get married. When we were engaged Josiah was sat down by leadership and told (I’m paraphrasing and using harsher language) that we would wind up making mistakes or get divorced, I had a Jezebel spirit, and I would tear him away from his purpose.

I credit my imposter syndrome partly to childhood trauma and the other part to the religious trauma from college and church. Any time I have auditioned for a worship team I play back every word that was spoken to me in auditions at JRC. When I was placed on the worship team I was made very aware that I was on the B team and I would have to claw my way up if I ever wanted to make it on a bigger stage. Looking back that should’ve never been a cultivated goal, but alas, we can’t change the past. I watched favoritism play out and with every blow to my character or confidence I shut down more and more. I lost my autonomy. I tried my best to become who I thought leadership would love and promote. I longed to be noticed and praised because others were receiving accolades. I tried my best to fit the mold of the church and failed time and time again, so I gave up. I allowed rebellion, addiction, and lust to take control because that numbed the pain from the neglect and rejection. I watched in silence as the light drained from my eyes and depression filled every crevice of my soul.

A few months into starting school is also when I began experiencing symptoms of endometriosis and PCOS, however, it would not be until years later that I would discover that diagnosis. I was told the contracts I signed and the duties to the church were more important than my health and chronic pain. So to please and maintain my responsibilities I took hydrocodone like it was candy. I became dependent on narcotics to function. It was normal for me to skip class to take naps and rest so that I could make it to every church service, rehearsal, event, and performance because if I failed to do so I would be kicked out. When the pain persisted and I had overstayed my welcome at the altar comments like, “You just don’t have enough faith,” or “You’re living in sin, that’s why you aren’t healed,” were commonplace. My physical pain was the straw that broke the camel’s back.

So when I say I have seen all sides of the fight it is because I have a friends list full of people affiliated with James River. Some just live in the city and go to neighboring churches or church plants that were funded by James River. Some of my friends left the church with more traumatic stories than my own and are just as angry or angrier than me. Some still attend regularly or are on staff at one of the many campuses of James River and still sing the praises of the church. I must admit I roll my eyes often at those friends because singing praises of the church that hurt me so deeply often triggers me. However, I will always be the biggest cheerleader and I love watching families grow, love stories play out, and people accomplish new things so I don’t clear out my friends list. It takes personal and constant attacks for me to block you. I also understand that people who still love James River may block me if they read this blog. Others in my friends list who posted about the recent events are outsiders looking in who have never been affiliated with the church but are offended by what transpired and don’t believe a church should conduct themselves as such. So I have watched as people have rallied behind the leadership of James River and I have watched as others attack and call out said leadership in silence.

In all honesty, I don’t have an opinion about the events, if that is what you began reading this blog searching for. As I mentioned in my most recent blog I am deconstructing. For years I gaslit myself and told myself that my pain was all in my head. I convinced myself there was no abuse and I was dramatic. I allowed myself to believe the narrative that no one would’ve hurt me on purpose or it’s not all about me, but what if they did, and what if it was? I truly didn’t know that attending James River or the college was still a heart issue for me, but this last week has been so triggering and I am realizing that that year is at the roots of the problem I have with the church as a whole.

I am separating myself from the church to test and see for myself who God truly is and to see if I even still want to hold onto a faith that I once held dear, but now holds the majority of my pain. To do so I am learning I must first separate the actions of people from the actions of God, and with all of my past religious trauma, I am struggling to do so right now. I am also learning that I am not alone in my experiences and in the past week have heard story after story of church hurt from James River and other churches and denominations in general. So many of us are traumatized and yet all the church focuses on is bearing down on political correctness, who is tithing the most, and how many recited a prayer to be “saved.”

When an offer arose to drop out and move to New Orleans, Josiah and I abandoned ship as quickly as we could. Neither of us received our associate’s degree and we didn’t care. We got married because we were told if we got pregnant out of wedlock then that would be the worst sin we could ever commit, or rather people would have proof we were indulging in the worst sin we could commit. Never mind that we were having sex to fill voids of connection. Never mind that we were having sex in general as long as we didn’t bring an unwanted life into this world. Plus you can’t be unmarried and in leadership roles at church, and especially not on the staff of a church plant. Marriage equaled success and status. Marriage equaled freedom.

All that to say Josiah and I do not regret marrying each other at all, but my heart breaks for those young people we once were. If anyone had taken the time to sit us down and learn more than surface level they would’ve seen that we were drowning and taking each other down. They would’ve seen the addictive personalities. They would’ve seen the entrapment of lust, anger, and neglect. Perhaps they would’ve seen through the lies we told our pre-marital counselor who signed off on our marriage.

On our wedding night, the first time we had sex within the confines of marriage, I cried. I cried because all of the shame I had hidden and the guilt I had felt surrounding my body and my desires were no longer causing me spiritual torment. However, for the years to come, I would continue to carry the shame of my sexual desires, the things that bring my body pleasure, and the joy I find in my husband’s touch. All of the things done in the dark could officially be discussed in public and that threatened my safety and reputation that I worked so hard to protect and build.

For four years Josiah and I hurt each other over and over again. His pain reacted to my pain and his addictions brought out my addictions. My trauma made him realize his trauma and my anger made him reactive. We sunk our teeth into each other and dared one another to let go first because whoever does so loses. It was not until we were on the brink of divorce that we called out to God and begged to be saved.

The fact that our marriage is still standing today, the spiritual encounters we had over the years that followed, and that our babies are alive and healthy is the one thing that keeps me holding onto a tiny sliver of faith. I still find myself struggling with the concept that our time was stolen from us. If the church had truly done what they claim their purpose is, which is, setting captives free, unconditional love, breaking chains of sin and addiction, and grace then I truly believe that Josiah and I would’ve healed and laid a better foundation for our marriage. True mentorship would’ve unearthed the addictions we buried, brought our sins to the light, and then gracefully led us to the altar while showering us with love and forgiveness. Instead, we were met with hostility and judgment, and death was spoken over us. Our honeymoon bubble burst within months because we were too busy fighting against one another instead of for each other. Then on top of that, we began to raise babies, lost ourselves in a roommate phase, and I began to battle my physical health.

I am thankful every day that we chose to love each other no matter what. I know that we are not alone and many couples have faced similar stories. I also know we won’t be the last with a story like this and I know that one day our story will shine as a beacon for others. However, it breaks my heart that this is our story. It was never designed to be like this.

When searching for a therapist I purposefully picked a therapist that was not defined as a Christian counselor. We often still talk about faith because she knows that it is important to me. She also knows every dark piece of my history, every event of abuse, every assault, and all accounts of religious trauma. She knows the inner workings of our marriage and how we are as parents. She knows my fears and insecurities. She knows that I see people and think if God created people and people hurt me then how can I trust God to not hurt me? She knows that I fight the belief that if God is a good God then why is my path so dark and painful? How could a good God allow an innocent child and someone so full of faith to be beaten to a pulp?

My counselor asked me when the last time I had stepped foot in a church was and I explained it’s been about 4 months but longer than that since I stopped going religiously, because the last church we attended hurt me as well. So for the first time, a person looked me in my eyes and told me that it was okay to be afraid to attend church and it was okay to refuse to go. She did, however, challenge me to try praying again. Praying like I used to, at all hours of the day and everywhere I went, not just with the kids or at bedtime. Then she permitted me to fail. She permitted me to be terrified of what I might feel or say. She allowed me the freedom to choose. She gave me the freedom to run away. She gave me the freedom to find autonomy again. A woman who does not call herself a Christian showed me more love, patience, and freedom than the church ever has. That was healing.

So today I’ll try praying again and when I ultimately chicken out I’ll try again tomorrow. I won’t step foot in a church this weekend but I might just try falling into the arms of the Father again.