Sometimes people ask me how I came to be an atheist. This is the story I tell them. It's all true.
Like lots of other people, I was drafted into religion as a little kid. My mom got involved with Jehovah's Witnesses because my aunt, or neighbor, or someone else of influence, convinced her it would help her deal with her crappy life choices (IE. my dad) if she went to the Kingdom Hall and got "right" with God. She didn't have the guts to kill my drunken insane father so, she went. I guess she hoped God would help her put up with his shit, or maybe she just hoped God would kill him for her, if she played her cards right. Who knows?
Since I was just a kid, with no say-so in the matter, several times a week I was shamed into donning a little itchy dress with a fru-fru slip and roll down socks. I was told to act "ladylike" and sit quietly on a cold metal folding chair which cut into the back of my knees. Both evening and day, I sat and listened to adults drone on about things I didn't understand, while glaring florescent lights beat down on me. The meeting rooms were decorated in 60's ultra-bleak -- joyless wood paneling and carpet the color of depression. Dentist waiting rooms were more animated and cheerful than the inside of the Kingdom Hall.
Still, I was a good little girl, a compliant little girl. So I patiently sat through the meetings, pretending I was happy to be there.
Unlike some religions which only expect you to show up once a week and sing or chant or act devout, the Truth (what the JW's call their religion) became a lifestyle, a full-time-24/7-no-vacations-or-days-off job. It was the Blob of religions--sucking me in, absorbing my time and my life, removing all traces of individuality and free thought, as it rolled along looking for other victims to eat.
Years passed, and I trudged on in the Christian way. As a teenager, I got baptized. I adopted the attitudes and "facts" of the Truth as my own. I educated myself in the Christian rules and regulations by reading the Bible beginning to end and going to "bible study" sessions three times a week. I tried to do "good works" on a regular basis. I became one with the Blob.
Being physically disabled, the good works part was particularly hard on me. As a JW, it was expected by the congregation (and evidently, Jehovah himself) that each of us log a minimum of 20 hours of ministry a month. While ministering or "Witnessing" to the "Worldly" (non-JW's) was supposed to be joyful and voluntary, there was a lot of peer pressure involved. In the literature and in the talks (sermons) of the Elders, I was repeatedly reminded that good works were important in order to score God points, which could eventually be cashed in for the grand prize -- "eternal life in an earthly paradise." IE. If I wanted to live, I had to "Witness."
Witnessing consisted of walking door-to-door, hawking 10 cent magazines to complete strangers in order to entice them into the "Truth." Although it sounds like a load o' fun, it wasn't. Because, despite my pert little nose, my sweet young smile and my shiny, full-length crutches, many of those unexpectedly called upon strangers had no problem slamming their doors in my face.
Summer was the worst. Hobbling door-to-door in a polyester pantsuit, lugging a book bag of Watchtowers and Awakes, I trudged for blocks at a time. Almost as soon as I climbed out of the car and began my route (sometimes alone, sometimes with a partner) I started to get red-faced, sweat rolling down my back. Panting like a dog on the outside, on the inside I was nervously rehearsing my spiel I had to say at the next door. I had to remind myself to smile and be nice, no matter what. With each step (or hop), my book bag bounced, hitting the side of my crutch and threatened to throw me off balance. And as I crutched along in my uncomfortable dress shoes and sweaty pantsuit, bag bouncing, the pressure and friction of the wooden handles of my crutches eventually wore calluses on the palms of my hands. Later, the calluses would blister and then burst open to leak watery stuff, leaving raw spots -- a sure reminder of (and reward for) all my "good works" if ever there was one. If I had believed in hell (the JW's rejected the Hell concept), it would have been an eternal repetition of those hot summer days spent pimping for Jehovah.
Anyway, it was somewhere around my eighteenth birthday when my golden chimera of religious certainty started to fissure. From the beginning, I had been indoctrinated about "God's Plan" for humanity, for the planet, for the universe. Over and over, it was preached and praised. There were FAQ's and charts. Every answer was covered by JW literature but if there was one which could not be molded to fit the "Truth," then the old God-works-in-mysterious-ways rule was pulled out and slapped on like a faith bandaid. It had all worked . . . for awhile.
But it wasn't long until I began to feel very dissatisfied with the no answer answer. One thought took hold of me and wouldn't let go. I thought, if God is so smart and good, why is there so much misery in the world?
I studied this question. The answer was in the FAQ. According to the "Truth," two jerks had screwed things up for everybody way back when things first got started in "The Garden." So, because of this incident and a few others, God had devised this great plan for the future of humanity. And in that plan, well, we had to wait for stuff to happen and as a by-product people were slated to suffer. It was not God's fault, it was those other two assholes. Really, what could He do? It just wasn't in His plan to get "involved" yet. His hands were tied.
It didn't make sense to me. I was thinking, well, if it's His plan--why doesn't he just CHANGE it? I was confused but a seed of doubt had been planted.
Then another thought bubbled up and refused to leave. I thought--So, it's His plan. He could change it. He just didn't WANT to!
This last bit of reasoning started to piss me off. I began to think God was an egotistical asshole. I was mad that his plan was more important to Him than any amount of suffering of anyone else. To me, nothing seemed able to justify God's apparent apathy and cruelty toward His "creations." Once sprouted, my anger at Yehweh began to grow.
Still, I was (at that time) a good girl and I never vocalized my negative thoughts about God out loud. And then came an epiphany.
I was sitting in the Kingdom Hall one day, like hundreds of times before, surrounded by dreary furnishings and listening to tedious "talks" about Jehovah, the Truth, how to avoid sins or even thinking about sins and it came -- my awakening. Something clicked. A light switched on inside my head and I suddenly could see what was in front of me all along. And more importantly, I knew what I had to do. I looked up from the book in my lap and gazed around the room at the bowed heads of my "brothers" and "sisters."
"I would rather die than live forever with these people and their God," I thought. I felt instant relief.
It was not long after that, I left the Jehovah's Witnesses and all religion, for good.
Though I had separated myself from religion, I still had a belief in, and thus anger toward, God. For years I held on to this anger and I called myself an agnostic. Then, several years ago I was watching Austin cable access TV and a local atheist group broadcast their show. It was called the The Atheist Experience. It was a new experience for me--to see and hear atheists. I thought it was great that these people were loud and proud of their no-god stance. Everything they said on the show made perfect sense. It was stuff that was so obvious and rational, that I wondered why I didn't see it myself. I decided I was an atheist too.
It was a little scary at first, to decide to be and to out myself as an atheist, but a weird thing happened when I did. The anger toward God evaporated. It was a burden removed.
Now, I just say to people who accuse me of "hating" god and thus rejecting him -- How can you hate a Unicorn? Or a Frankenstein? Or Zeus? Or the Toothfairy? You just can't.
So, I don't.
Like lots of other people, I was drafted into religion as a little kid. My mom got involved with Jehovah's Witnesses because my aunt, or neighbor, or someone else of influence, convinced her it would help her deal with her crappy life choices (IE. my dad) if she went to the Kingdom Hall and got "right" with God. She didn't have the guts to kill my drunken insane father so, she went. I guess she hoped God would help her put up with his shit, or maybe she just hoped God would kill him for her, if she played her cards right. Who knows?
Since I was just a kid, with no say-so in the matter, several times a week I was shamed into donning a little itchy dress with a fru-fru slip and roll down socks. I was told to act "ladylike" and sit quietly on a cold metal folding chair which cut into the back of my knees. Both evening and day, I sat and listened to adults drone on about things I didn't understand, while glaring florescent lights beat down on me. The meeting rooms were decorated in 60's ultra-bleak -- joyless wood paneling and carpet the color of depression. Dentist waiting rooms were more animated and cheerful than the inside of the Kingdom Hall.
Still, I was a good little girl, a compliant little girl. So I patiently sat through the meetings, pretending I was happy to be there.
Unlike some religions which only expect you to show up once a week and sing or chant or act devout, the Truth (what the JW's call their religion) became a lifestyle, a full-time-24/7-no-vacations-or-days-off job. It was the Blob of religions--sucking me in, absorbing my time and my life, removing all traces of individuality and free thought, as it rolled along looking for other victims to eat.
Years passed, and I trudged on in the Christian way. As a teenager, I got baptized. I adopted the attitudes and "facts" of the Truth as my own. I educated myself in the Christian rules and regulations by reading the Bible beginning to end and going to "bible study" sessions three times a week. I tried to do "good works" on a regular basis. I became one with the Blob.
Being physically disabled, the good works part was particularly hard on me. As a JW, it was expected by the congregation (and evidently, Jehovah himself) that each of us log a minimum of 20 hours of ministry a month. While ministering or "Witnessing" to the "Worldly" (non-JW's) was supposed to be joyful and voluntary, there was a lot of peer pressure involved. In the literature and in the talks (sermons) of the Elders, I was repeatedly reminded that good works were important in order to score God points, which could eventually be cashed in for the grand prize -- "eternal life in an earthly paradise." IE. If I wanted to live, I had to "Witness."
Witnessing consisted of walking door-to-door, hawking 10 cent magazines to complete strangers in order to entice them into the "Truth." Although it sounds like a load o' fun, it wasn't. Because, despite my pert little nose, my sweet young smile and my shiny, full-length crutches, many of those unexpectedly called upon strangers had no problem slamming their doors in my face.
Summer was the worst. Hobbling door-to-door in a polyester pantsuit, lugging a book bag of Watchtowers and Awakes, I trudged for blocks at a time. Almost as soon as I climbed out of the car and began my route (sometimes alone, sometimes with a partner) I started to get red-faced, sweat rolling down my back. Panting like a dog on the outside, on the inside I was nervously rehearsing my spiel I had to say at the next door. I had to remind myself to smile and be nice, no matter what. With each step (or hop), my book bag bounced, hitting the side of my crutch and threatened to throw me off balance. And as I crutched along in my uncomfortable dress shoes and sweaty pantsuit, bag bouncing, the pressure and friction of the wooden handles of my crutches eventually wore calluses on the palms of my hands. Later, the calluses would blister and then burst open to leak watery stuff, leaving raw spots -- a sure reminder of (and reward for) all my "good works" if ever there was one. If I had believed in hell (the JW's rejected the Hell concept), it would have been an eternal repetition of those hot summer days spent pimping for Jehovah.
Anyway, it was somewhere around my eighteenth birthday when my golden chimera of religious certainty started to fissure. From the beginning, I had been indoctrinated about "God's Plan" for humanity, for the planet, for the universe. Over and over, it was preached and praised. There were FAQ's and charts. Every answer was covered by JW literature but if there was one which could not be molded to fit the "Truth," then the old God-works-in-mysterious-ways rule was pulled out and slapped on like a faith bandaid. It had all worked . . . for awhile.
But it wasn't long until I began to feel very dissatisfied with the no answer answer. One thought took hold of me and wouldn't let go. I thought, if God is so smart and good, why is there so much misery in the world?
I studied this question. The answer was in the FAQ. According to the "Truth," two jerks had screwed things up for everybody way back when things first got started in "The Garden." So, because of this incident and a few others, God had devised this great plan for the future of humanity. And in that plan, well, we had to wait for stuff to happen and as a by-product people were slated to suffer. It was not God's fault, it was those other two assholes. Really, what could He do? It just wasn't in His plan to get "involved" yet. His hands were tied.
It didn't make sense to me. I was thinking, well, if it's His plan--why doesn't he just CHANGE it? I was confused but a seed of doubt had been planted.
Then another thought bubbled up and refused to leave. I thought--So, it's His plan. He could change it. He just didn't WANT to!
This last bit of reasoning started to piss me off. I began to think God was an egotistical asshole. I was mad that his plan was more important to Him than any amount of suffering of anyone else. To me, nothing seemed able to justify God's apparent apathy and cruelty toward His "creations." Once sprouted, my anger at Yehweh began to grow.
Still, I was (at that time) a good girl and I never vocalized my negative thoughts about God out loud. And then came an epiphany.
I was sitting in the Kingdom Hall one day, like hundreds of times before, surrounded by dreary furnishings and listening to tedious "talks" about Jehovah, the Truth, how to avoid sins or even thinking about sins and it came -- my awakening. Something clicked. A light switched on inside my head and I suddenly could see what was in front of me all along. And more importantly, I knew what I had to do. I looked up from the book in my lap and gazed around the room at the bowed heads of my "brothers" and "sisters."
"I would rather die than live forever with these people and their God," I thought. I felt instant relief.
It was not long after that, I left the Jehovah's Witnesses and all religion, for good.
Though I had separated myself from religion, I still had a belief in, and thus anger toward, God. For years I held on to this anger and I called myself an agnostic. Then, several years ago I was watching Austin cable access TV and a local atheist group broadcast their show. It was called the The Atheist Experience. It was a new experience for me--to see and hear atheists. I thought it was great that these people were loud and proud of their no-god stance. Everything they said on the show made perfect sense. It was stuff that was so obvious and rational, that I wondered why I didn't see it myself. I decided I was an atheist too.
It was a little scary at first, to decide to be and to out myself as an atheist, but a weird thing happened when I did. The anger toward God evaporated. It was a burden removed.
Now, I just say to people who accuse me of "hating" god and thus rejecting him -- How can you hate a Unicorn? Or a Frankenstein? Or Zeus? Or the Toothfairy? You just can't.
So, I don't.
2 comments:
When I was a kid I was indoctrinated as a pentecostal. (yea the crazies - hangs head in shame) While I can't say that prostelitizing was as difficult for me physically, I resented god for wanting me to be a salesman, I never liked sales.
Anyway on a note of irony it was JW's that started me down the path to atheism. They had knocked on my door one morning, and while I can't say what led to the discussion, we had a healthy debate over the existence of hell. In short, they sort of won cause after they left I was questioning what I believed. Ofcourse there is another long drawn-out sequence of events that led me to study every other belief / religion (couldn't have just learned after the first one) until I threw every thing out.
You are an excellent writer and should turn this into a book. I would buy it. Whereas Dawkins and Hitchens make brilliant, logical and intellectual arguments as to why there is no god, you speak to the majority of many atheists on a personal, and common sense level. Many of us are now atheists after experiencing much of what you have experienced. In my case, I had breast cancer. My mother and both aunts were all "christians" who had breast cancer also, after they prayed, the church prayed, they were saved, blah, blah, blah. It dawned on me, that praying to god a being saved doesn't do a god damn thing. Therefore, when I was diagnosed with breast cancer, I took the bible, rolled it up like a football and threw it across the street. I decided that if I was going to be "cured" it was me that was going to do it...The good news is that I cured my own cancer without god. I remain cancer free for the last four years, whereas, some of the women I met who were "religious" and pray to god...now have cancer again, and they are going to unfortunately die soon. Ergo, religion takes up a lot of time and energy, that can be used by the human being to cure themselves. Religion is a belief in magic, and yet we know that magic does not exist.
Again, thank you for your experience. Turn it into a book. You can also put other people's experiences into your book to...how and why they became atheists too after being indoctrinated since childhood.
my best, diana, proud atheist
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