“…in Jesus’ name we pray, Amen.” Those were words I would hear three times a week at the commencement and ending of our congregational meetings. At the age of 16 I was willingly baptized as one of Jehovah’s Witnesses. I studied with diligence. I prayed incessantly. I actively participated in congregational meetings, my association only involved fellow believers, and I regularly went door-to-door preaching. My faith was my saving grace, my backbone, my life’s security. It kept my morals high and my positivity just the same. It kept me on a path that I vowed I would never waiver from, as I felt it was the only path ever in front of me. I would mourn those that committed a sin to where association with them no longer was possible, and I would judge those that were led astray to inactivity. My vow to be devoted and unbreakable to the faith was heartfelt. Immediate peace and security was felt within the four walls of the congregation as soon as I stepped foot beyond its doors, until just one day neither of those feelings were felt by me. Instead, I became consumed with feelings of being deadened, numbed, and betrayed as soon as I would enter the Kingdom Hall. The peace that once existed within those walls had evaporated.

What was the change? It was the summer of 2012 where I, out of obligation, had divulged my personal life, intimate details, including my sexual life with my then husband, before three men, whom I merely beforehand only spoke the words ‘hello’ to. Being confined in a room for hours, where I was to expose the flaws of my marriage, give detail-by-detail of my last intimate moment with my now ex-husband, and discuss his infidelity, has been one of the most humiliating moments of my life. I became victimized by my ex-husband’s reckless decision for a second time around in that room with those men.

The listening ears of these individuals were to determine if my marriage had the grounds for a biblical divorce. After hours of deep sobbing to these elders for the heartache, betrayal and deception that fell within my marriage, the initial belief was I played a role in my husband’s act of unfaithfulness. I should have spoken up to any elder the moment my marriage was less than stellar, and I should have done more than I was already doing to maintain my marriage. My marriage’s success, or lack thereof, unbeknownst to myself until this night, evidently fell as my sole responsibility. I never suspected that my ex, the one that lost his faith and committed the gross sin, would have been viewed as the victim, and I’d be deemed as the villain. Yet, that was the atmosphere of the room the night I left confessing my life to these elders. I, the faithful congregant, was left feeling as if I was the unfaithful party. That exhausting night when I departed from that meeting, was the night my spirit was slaughtered. I left and never returned the same.

A deliberation on whether or not my marriage had the basis of a god-approved divorce had to be made. The solid evidence of the wrongdoing was before them. My then husband confessed. My obvious pain due to my heartbreak made these grown men highly uncomfortable, yet they still were not convinced that I could seek a biblical divorce because I had laid down with my husband one time after his unfaithfulness was unveiled. His words of deception for my willingness to comply now had to be evaluated. Better stated, they had to be prayed about. My future now laid in the hands of these elders.

I had to wait for days for a phone call to announce my outcome. Within those days I was on edge. I was a wreck. In fact, I was put in a daunting position where I fixated on the possibility that the only way out of my marriage was to jeopardize my good standing within the congregation by committing adultery myself, and what a despicable, debilitating thought that was. Yet, that was a reality I might have had to face.

Thankfully, the call finally came through, and I was given the right to end my marriage through a divorce. Relief and remorse ensued me. I was relieved to know that I didn’t have to compromise my standing to get the outcome I so deserved, but I was remorseful to know this was the ending of my family as one, and that I had to wait days to get the proper decision. Having to plead your case, threaten to challenge a decision if it was anything other than an approved divorce was tiring, belittling, crippling and shocking. Since then, I’ve been accused of not having enough faith to sustain this hit, but I beg to differ. My faith was so strong, so engrained within my mind, and it flowed within my veins, that this slap in my face by my partner, in addition to the doubtful, extensive, taxing mental process by these elders, kidnapped my entire belief system. My foundation was not just cracked; it was now crumbled.

Since the decision to get a divorce was approved, I tried to re-establish my faith until I realized the empty feeling inside of me was not disappearing. At this point, fellow believers would have termed me as being stumbled, and I wouldn’t beg to differ. I then walked away from my practices because I couldn’t resurrect the faith that was stripped. At this point, some might disagree on that statement, claiming it’s just an excuse, but this is my experience. These are my feelings, and this is the chronology. I have no hate within my heart for those three elders. I have no hate within my heart for my ex-husband. I have no hate within my heart for my ex’s wife. In fact, I have no hate within my heart for the organization and those that still carry the practices.

On the other hand, I do despise this: that when I’ve walked into the Kingdom Hall to support my daughter, the congregation is divided. I am either loved and embraced by some, whereas by others I am snubbed, shunned, stared at, and made to feel like I don’t belong, as if I am Jezebel herself in the flesh. Judgement and ridicule are facial expressions many congregants cannot disguise when they take a look at me. Yet, if only they knew my personal hurdles, but they will never ask. They will only view me worst than an unbeliever, a non-follower. Furthermore, my daughter’s friends in the congregation will be told that they cannot come to my home because I am not a practicing Jehovah’s Witness. To these ones I am labeled as ‘bad association’ or ‘lost,’ and it’s to these adults that I have pity for.

I don’t live my life to divert ones from practicing their faith, as I support my daughter’s with hers, nor do I ridicule the organization and its teachings. That’s not for me to do. I will still give you the shirt off my back, my last cup of water, prepare you a home-cooked meal, and even pray for your peace and safety. But here are some major, current differences within myself: I am full of more love, sympathy, empathy, and acceptance than I was when I was a practicing Jehovah’s Witness. I now view myself not better than you, but rather equal to. I rely only on the one that can truly read my heart versus imperfect men, and now judgement, ridicule, division, haughtiness, a gossiping spirit and hypocrisy no longer resides within me, and for that I can only say ‘Amen’…