It was supposed to be just another ordinary day. I remember packing my humble bundle of expectations, the fabric of my bag familiar beneath my fingers, as I prepared for the spiritual gathering. Like clockwork, every day at 4pm, a specific location became a magnet calling in girls and boys of all ages for what we were told was ‘divine purification’.

The car ride was intense just as my heartbeat in the moment as something felt off. Honk. The sharp sound of the horn brought me back to reality. I instinctively pressed a hand over my heart, fearful that it was finally time to let myself feel the truth I had been terrified to breathe for years.

The Smile and the Script

Why are you so calm? She asked. One of the participants stood before me, entirely oblivious to the roaring sentiments crashing inside me. She reached out, shaking my arm and offered me a forged smile that made me do the same. On that day, the veil didn’t just completely slip; it shredded to pieces.

We were made to believe that our self-worth was attached to being present in the institution, making the cost of leaving feel like a total loss.

How did this happen? I wondered, the thoughts racing like a fever. How could I have been so blind? When did the benefit become a betrayal?

I looked toward the stage and saw him come in; all jolly and gay ready to present his script and make us his fans time and again. I felt suspended in time, waiting for reality to hit me in the face with full force. Wasn’t religious freedom designed to protect conscience, and here I was losing mine.

The air in the room grew heavy. I was made to stand, a public spectacle, and recount the details of my dysfunctional family and how isolation from them was my only........

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