I wish he knew.

Today John Pavlovitz posed a question.

If you're no longer in a church or struggle with the one you're a part of, what do you wish your pastor/priest/minister/leader knew?

It was a good question and I was surprised by my answer. I anticipated writing about how hurt I was, how I was struggling to recover, how awful his behaviour had been. I expected to make a long list, perhaps driven by pain and a desire for recompense.

But when I sat and considered what I genuinely wished he knew, I felt sadness, yes, so very much sadness, but I wasn't angry and could discern no longing for revenge or restitution. I wrote this.

I wish the leader of my previous church knew that he was completely loved by God no matter what size congration he led. I wish he knew that his behaviour was hurting people. I wish he knew that I was never a threat to him or his congregation even when I was trying to address the fact that I had experienced his behaviour as bulling. I wish he knew that I wanted nothing more than to reach understanding and maintain healthy boundaries in our working relationship and friendship. I wish he knew how to relate to people without attempting to control or exert power over them. I wish more than anything that he knew freedom from his pain and brokenness

And I felt compassion for myself and for him. Don't get me wrong, I'm not about to throw myself back into his crazy, toxic world. But for the first time I didn't feel fear. I didn't feel the talons of post traumatic stress spiking into my stomach and twisting my insides.

Maybe only a tiny step, but a step nonetheless, and it feels good for now.

unravelling

This week I started sorting through emails connected to our previous church. It wasn't much fun. Early messages to the senior leaders, a husband and wife team, reveal a trusting, affectionate, effusive version of myself. Knowing now what I didn't know then, I struggle to read these emails. "Protect yourself", I want to scream. "It's not safe".

Back then, I don't hear. I write and share my heart and my love, wading into the swamp. I'm trapped without ever noticing the prison bars. I keep on loving and giving until I have nothing left to give. I work as the 18-25's leader for two years. By then I am exhausted physically, emotionally and mentally. The male leader persuades me not to visit a doctor. Some weeks later I remember crying during a planning meeting. Within days, the female leader visits me. Gently she explains that she believes God is asking her to give me the opportunity to step down from my position. I am so worn down I agree and leave...no sick pay, no job, no support. Just exhaustion and brokenness.   

But still I don't realise. Another staff member visits me after a meeting with the leaders during which she has been shouted at for 'an offence'. She is heartbroken, exhausted and frightened. I recognise myself after a similar incident. A few weeks later the male leader talks to me about this other woman. Cautiously I ask questions. "I'm not a bully" he snaps. "I really want to believe that's true" I reply. He marches away and does not talk to me for four months.

And I still don't understand. I am wretched. Desperate to make amends. Eventually I am allowed back into the fold. Then they offer my husband a job. On the verge of announcing this role to the church we meet with the male leader. I raise a few concerns about the work load and the meeting doesn't go well. Within 24 hours the job offer is withdrawn. I am heartbroken, blaming myself and suffering increased anxiety. We attempt to recover, but struggle. Most people don't know what has happened and we are forbidden from telling them "to protect the church". I worry that people will notice I am not quite right and I will get into trouble. I start antidepressants because I am now experiencing constant hyper vigilance and anxiety as post traumatic stress begins to develop.

Then I start my counselling course. I meet other Christians and explain my story. My tutor affirms me, cares for me and occasionally he says "I feel angry on your behalf". This is a revelation. Angry on my behalf? Something has happened to me which deserves your anger? Light begins to break through but I do not ever wish to leave my church. I have loved the people that make this church for twenty years. I still love the leaders. My children are so happy here. It cannot be right to leave. 

I read a book about adult and workplace bullying. It describes everything that I have experienced from these leaders and the environment they have created. Cautiously I start to speak to a few people who I think might help without stirring gossip. My biggest hope is that, if we pray and speak the truth in love, things could change. I do not believe these leaders mean to bully. I believe that if I can help them to understand what is happening they will be shocked and sad and will do everything to ensure nobody experiences bullying again. I trust them.

I never get to speak the truth in love. Instead my friends "speak the truth in love to me". 'You are wrong' they say. 'He has spoken to us, he doesn't understand your hurtful accusations'. 'Why won't you spend time with him?'. 'You are being bitter and divisive, you are deceived'. 'He is God's appointed leader and as such you must honour, respect and submit to him'. One friend arranges to meet with me for coffee. She has borrowed the book about bullying. I haven't seen her for three months which is unusual but I am looking forward to catching up and discussing the book. It becomes a nightmare. 'My friends have been speaking' she says. 'We are worried about your behaviour'. 'It is not right that you are talking about things'. 'He has made mistakes, but you need to let things go'. I am terrified, I am experiencing emotional flashbacks and feel as if I am in his office being shouted at. I tell her I am frightened, but she doesn't appear to believe me. I panic, I say things she doesn't like in an attempt to get her to understand. I swear.  She tells me she has to leave, I apologise. I ask about what we do to sort this out. She says she has to leave. Looking back, it was a horrible experience for her too. She has never spoken to me again.

I see a friend at the school gate. I am upset. She says she has seen the other friend and she knows what has happened. Later that day I receive a text from yet another friend saying that I probably shouldn't visit her the next day as she is worried I am going to behave badly. I am sobbing on the floor, I feel as if my world is falling apart. I have never felt so frightened or so desolate. The husband of the lady from the coffee shop replies to a message from my husband saying that I need to be able to receive feedback from people. I send an email to apologise. A message in response says it does not go far enough. I wonder how we got here? I begin to realise that no one believes me. I am emotionally unstable, over-sensitive and untrustworthy. Why would anyone believe me over a dynamic and charismatic church leader who has built a church of hundreds?

A couple of days later my husband receives a text from one of the elders, another close friend. In the light of recent events he is asked to meet with the elders. In the meantime he is asked not to be part of the worship team. 

We write a letter. I visit my doctor and we increase my medication. We never attend a service at that church again.  

reconciliation...

Another long gap. It will soon be two years since we limped away from our church of 21 years. Many people expected my views would change as time went by, I would be "less emotional", see things more clearly,

They were right. I am a bit less emotional and, from a distance, the view is clearer. But it's not the view they were expecting.  Put bluntly, I'm now certain I was bullied and exploited by a church leader who displays many traits of a narcissistic personality. It's possible it was unintentional. It's possible that his sense of entitlement is such that he believes his behaviour was appropriate. I realise now how churches can provide the perfect environment for narcissistic leadership to thrive.

A few weeks ago the leader of our new church sent us an email. Apparently the leader of our previous church had been in contact.

He has had a dream about you and has been thinking.  He doesn’t expect to reach agreement with you about all things but he does have a strong desire for reconcilliation nonetheless.  I believe he is looking to make peace and move on not drag up history.  Thus he would like to invite you to meet.  He is happy for me to be present.

Great. Reconciliation. That must be good right? But I felt anything but good reading the email. I felt trapped. We were being offered a meeting where discussing the past would be "dragging up history". We were to "move on" otherwise we would be obstructing reconciliation.

Eighteen months ago we were the ones offering to meet, suggesting it on two occasions as we left the church. When we observed that our offer hadn't been taken up, we received the strangest of replies. "May we remind you that the refusal to meet is yours" he wrote. We have assumed he was referring to our request for more time a few months previously, when he had asked that my husband present himself before the elders, seemingly to find out if we were "with him, heart and soul". In the same letter he requested that we didn't communicate with him directly, from now on we were to communicate with him only through the leader of the church we were about to join.

As I've written that paragraph I can feel some of the emotions, the confusion, the fear, the sadness. How could a request for time be twisted in such a way? Why such blatant triangulation tactics? How could the elders and trustees, our friends, agree and put their names to such a letter?

This is not a world to which it would be wise to return. If nothing else the email demonstrates that very little has changed. Perhaps if it had, the email might read more like this.

He has had a dream about you and has been thinking. He is sad about how things ended between you and is wondering if you would still like to meet. If you do he is interested in pursuing reconciliation together. Given the past he realises that this could be a painful process and you may not feel able to go through more pain at this time. The offer is open ended and if you would like to start this process then he would like you to contact him, if and when you feel ready. 

I don't think we will ever receive an email like that.

bullying?

I haven't written since last August. I don't think I was ready. Nothing made enough sense and I didn't know how to articulate what was going on inside. I don't know if I'm ready now but I'm going to give it a go.

I'm still sad, but it's so much better than it was. I still experience post traumatic stress responses at times, but I'm much more able to manage them and recover.

I still struggle with feeling that "it" wasn't bad enough, that the leader of my previous church didn't really misuse his power enough to justify my struggle to recover. Sometimes I just wish the behaviour had been more obvious. That I had more evidence to account for the scars.

Because I don't. I was shouted at occasionally, as a church worker....but he would say it was just 'raised voices'. I was ignored for four months after questioning his treatment of another staff member...but I don't think he would call it ignoring. I made a joke once and was subsequently "told off" and had to decide if I had the grace to keep working at the church...but I think he would feel that was justified. There were other times, things that might seem petty on their own, but over six years they built up until I was scared of putting a foot wrong, taking the blame for anything if it meant I wasn't going to be told off and living in a state of high anxiety, which increased to constant hyper vigilance by the end.

I read a book about bullying a few years ago. It was then I realised what was happening to me. I thought if I talked with people, trustworthy people, in the church then they would help things to change. I didn't want to "bring down" this leader, I wanted to work together to find better ways of relating. I wanted him to understand the effect his behaviour had on me and others. I was sure that if he could see it, he would want to change. I believed his heart was to do good even if something wasn't quite right.

I was wrong. I became the problem because I had raised a problem. I was told I was making serious accusations. My friends began to question my sanity and my character. Very few believed that there was anything the matter with the "strong leadership" that was getting great results and numerical growth in our church. I questioned my understanding, I questioned my sanity, I re-read the book and recognised my experience.

"The doubt in your own mind is bad enough, but to prove to others that you are being bullied is harder still. It’s frequently one person’s word against another with few, if any, witnesses. Like sand slipping between your fingers, the evidence of the existence of bullying quickly disappears and you are left with nothing tangible to explain." [Insight into Childhood and Adult Bullying (Waveley Abbey Insight Series)]

It's about ten months now since the situation became unbearable and we "took a sabbatical" from our old church. I didn't want to leave, I wanted a summer break to be enough. In a way it was. I recovered enough to realise that there was nothing healthy about returning and that it was time to take a new path.

I'm so sad and so glad we did.

process

Writing a blog. Why am I here? Why now? I've thought about it before, but never felt a strong enough push. It seemed a luxury, self indulgent even. But now I think I need to write. Not for anyone else, although maybe I'd like some 'readers'. But I need to process and I think words on a page might help.

It's hard to know where to start. Right now I'm waiting, paused for breath between old and new. I can't quite see 'new' and I feel sad when I think about 'old'. Now is definitely OK, but it's hard to be present without past and future competing for attention.

And I find it really hard to just state the facts plainly. Maybe because those facts don't seem enough for the emotions that go with them. Paragraph three and I've managed vague references to old and new. Why can't I just say that 'old' is my church of twenty one years. My church that I'm leaving. And 'new' is a different church, perhaps a different outworking of my faith. Just writing those three sentences and I'm crying. I'm so, so sad.

So I'm going to write because I need to acknowledge how I feel. For almost seven years I've thought my emotions should be hidden. Particularly in church. But not just hidden. I've ignored my feelings, thought they weren't trustworthy. Ignoring turned out badly in the end. Perhaps more about that next time.