Christy La Guardia

These days, I rarely tell people I meet, acquaintance or colleagues about my shunning experience. Not that I would like to keep it a secret or even hide my past, but since I’ve been out in the world, I’ve had several negative experience. I’ve been hurt by well-meaning people that have invalidated my experience with a few ignorant words. Today, I really want to be my authentic self and wear my freedom story on my sleeve, but I dread hearing these comments again. I think the issue is that identifying as a “cult survivor,” means that we need to become a “cult educator.” Which can be a tall order when you’re in the process of recovery. Ideally, I would be able to tell people about myself without a 30 minute PowerPoint presentation on the BITE model. In an effort to help myself be prepared for this I invented Reasoning from the Scripture style responses to get out of talking with these ingorant or shitty people. You’re fine now, so like what’s the problem? Whew! I’m glad to know that

  Leaving the Witness: Exiting a Religion and Finding a Life  by Amber Scorah.  Available on  Amazon . I recently read Amber Scorah’s memoir Leaving the Witness: Exiting a Religion and Finding a Life and thought I share some of my highlights about her story and how it helped me reflect on my own. If you haven’t read it yet, be aware there are spoilers! Amber was raised as a Witness, and although her parents were inactive, her grandmother made sure to indoctrinate her. As a teenager, she formed a romantic relationship with an older Witness man, which eventually lead to both of their disfellowshipping. When the relationship ended, she returned to the congregation and married a spiritually strong Brother, whom she did not love. Preaching became their focus and their Pioneer careers led them to Shanghai as incognito missionaries, where she finally awakened. I actually remember hearing of a Pioneer in China going apostate when I was a Witness. Missionaries turning apostate during their a

Getting dunked at the 2003 Convention "Give God Gory" in Tacoma, Washington. I told my parents I wanted to get baptized when I was 12 year old, proving I had dedicated myself to serving Jehovah. My older sisters were baptized at 12, and I wanted to follow in their footsteps and not be a late spiritual bloomer. In the next few years, they had both been either disfellowshipped, reproved or marked that I postponed my baptism. Eventually, my parents forced me to cut off all contact with them, since they were now labeled as bad influences. It was an incredibly difficult and confusing time for me. After I turned 16, I started to feel the pressure from my parents and the congregation that I need to get baptized soon. Time was running out for me to make my choice. It was expected for children that are raised in the religion that they commit while they’re teenagers. Some would argue that since Jesus was mentioned in the Bible having amazing spiritual answers at the age of 12, that sh

"Let Nothing Distance You From Jehovah", The Watchtower—2013   “Choose for yourselves today whom you will serve...But as for me and my household, we shall serve Jehovah.” – Joshua 24:15, The New World Translation of the Holy Scriptures A family of pioneers in my congregation had a rustic wooden plank with the above verse carved into it. They nailed above the doorway to their kitchen. When I asked about it, they told me that an elderly brother from their previous congregation in Maine handcarved it for them. It didn’t look like anything more than a thrift shop find, but I could tell it was special to them. Every time they moved to serve as “need greaters,” they made sure to hang it near the kitchen, where it could be read every day. Given how dedicated this family, and most Witnesses are, it’s surprising that we needed daily reminders that we chose to serve Jehovah. What got me about this verse, is how tightly coupled Joshua’s choice was with his family’s, they were practi

Columbia River from Marine Drive trail in Portland, Oregon, photo from imgur. I parked my car along the side of the road. It was 6:15 am and the sun was starting to come up. I arrived exactly according to schedule. I was supposed to be at work at 6:30 am but I knew my absence wouldn’t be noticed for at least an hour. I wanted to leave earlier but thought that would arouse suspicion. I looked out my window, staring at the gentle and peaceful waves of the Columbia River. The water would be cold, but strangely, I felt warm and peaceful knowing that after months of agony I would soon have relief. My thoughts started to speed up in eager expectation of what I was about to do. Should I leave a note? What should I say? Is there anything I’ve forgotten? Would it be too much trouble for someone to find my car? I filled the gas tank in case Mom needed my car. Should I transfer all my money to their account? No, Dad would be sure to catch that immediately, then they’d know something was up bef

Last night, I read A Visit from St Nicolas  by Clement Clarke Moore for the first time. In school, my class read this poem practically every year before winter break. But as a kid raised Jehovah Witness, I was sent to the library or stuck awkwardly in a corner with some Bible literature trying extremely hard not to listen. Every Christmas, I immerse myself in the holiday and embrace new traditions, like reading this poem. For me, participating gives me a feeling of connection to the people and the world around me. Something that I didn’t experience growing up. So, feeling inspired by this poem, and doing things for the first time, I wrote a version from my perspective when I was a Jehovah Witness. ~ Merry Christmas! 'Twas the night before Christmas, when all throughout the hall, Not a creature was feasting, nor shopping the mall. We Witnesses' steered clear, of things festive and bright. St Nick missed our houses, with no Christmas light. Daily we preached, from door to door.

My family at a Circuit Assembly in Woodburn, Oregon, mid-90s, I’m the one with the bad hair. Raised in a Jehovah's Witness family I was raised in a Jehovah’s Witness family. Although not universally recognized as a cult, Jehovah's Witnesses fit the definition perfectly. But don’t just take my word for it, read JWfacts . Growing up, this meant that our lives revolved around Witness activities. Sunday morning we met at the Kingdom Hall to listen to a talk, followed by a question-and-answer discussion of the current issue of the Watchtower. Monday and Tuesday evenings were spent in personal Bible study and preparing student assignments for the ministry school, which was on Wednesday evening. Thursday was the small group Bible study (this one was my favorite because we usually met at someone’s house and had dessert after). Friday was used to preparing for the ministry, and Saturday was spent going door-to-door and driving around trying to find someone to “witness” to. Then t