I have traveled a long journey from my upbringing in a southern christian fundamentalist rightwing family and wonder sometimes if what I learned along the way would be helpful to those of you who are trying to understand “the other side.” So I thought I’d try to write this to give you at least a little of the insight I have gained in the process.
First of all, let me say that I was never a real rebel from my upbringing as many others were who traveled the same path. I bought everything I was taught until I was in my 20’s and was a very “good girl.” Things started to unravel as I was finishing college and I took the next 5-10 years working things through and finally rejecting pretty much everything to start over.
I had a real turning point while I was in graduate school (you might be able to tell as you read this that I was trained as a therapist) just before I turned 30. There was a moment in time for me that I hope might be instructive for others. You see, the biggest thing I had to overcome from my background was that I was taught that I was born “originally sinful.” To me this meant that at the core of my being was something that was evil and to be overcome.
How this plays itself out in those from a fundamentalist mindset (I think this is similar for fundamentalists from all religious traditions) is that you cannot trust yourself, but are looking to God to provide the direction from outside yourself. And how does God speak to you? Since you can’t trust your inner voice/self, it comes in the form of rules and dogma that are interpreted from a concrete source. For fundamentalist protestants, that’s the Bible (or their interpretation of the Bible), for Catholics – its the Pope. So at your core, you are evil and you are constantly trying to conform to the rules. And of course, if you don’t get it right – there’s always that hell thing, so its all based on fear.
My healing began to happen when my mentor in graduate school offered to me the gift of trust. He trusted me completely and invited me to begin to trust myself. I was truly “born again” in a way that contradicts everything that I was taught.
But in the middle of all of this, I had a day (literally a day) of a severe panic attack. I didn’t know what was happening at the time, but I know now in retrospect that David Whyte described it perfectly in his poem titled, “Revelation Must Be Terrible.”
Revelation must be terrible with no time left
to say goodbye.
Imagine that moment staring at the still waters
with only the brief tremor
of your body to say you are leaving everything
and everyone you know behind.
Being far from home is hard, but you know,
at least we are all exiled together.
When you open you eyes to the world
you are on you own for the first time.
No one is even interested in saving you now
and the world steps in to test the calm fluidity of your body
from moment to moment
as if it believed you could join its vibrant dance
of fire and calmness and final stillness.
As if you were meant to be exactly where you are, as if
like the dark branch of a desert river
you could flow on without a speck of guilt and everything
everywhere would still be just as it should be.
As if your place in the world mattered and the world could
neither speak nor hear the fullness of
its own bitter and beautiful cry without the deep well
of your body resonating in the echo.
Knowing that it takes only that one, terrible
word to make the circle complete
revelation must be terrible knowing you can
never hide your voice again.
