Episode Transcript
Hi, this is Rachel on Recovery. We're here with Chellee, and she's going to tell the rest of her story on adult clergy sexual abuse. Thanks for listening, and we will hear the rest of the story. What have you seen? Help with other people's recovery similar to yours?
Top two would be having a competent, trauma informed Counselor who understands clergy, sexual abuse and the support group. The therapist can help with understanding your past so you can have clarity in your presence. They also give you tools to help you when you find yourself triggered or filled with intrusive thoughts. A counselor gives you all the time and space to talk. Telling your story somewhere safe is extremely healthy and helpful in processing exactly what happened and working through all the grief that comes with recognizing the multiple layers. Levels of the trail. A support group is kind of the opposite. You have room to share, but most of your time is spent listening. In restored voices Collective, I found others who understood my deepest wounds. All the doubts, fears, rejection, betrayal. I suffered. They had also experienced and could fully relate. Also, hearing their experiences gave so much insight into my own. So many threads of commonality are woven throughout our stories, and being able to hear others give words to their abuse brought me a lot of clarity in mind. There's so much healing and just understanding what was done before this. I was just so confused. I couldn't make sense of anything at all. But now I can label each step of grooming and abuse properly. This is where things finally started to fit together for me. Um, how has this impacted your community?
Well, I no longer have one, at least not locally. The church, though, they repeatedly told me behind closed doors that the pastor was wrong, that he abused me, he took advantage of me, abused his power, and traumatized me. They would not support me publicly. After all those years serving, tithing, giving, working, and living life with these people who claim to love Christ, not one of them ever tried to show us love. That betrayal was very deep. Our entire community was wrapped up in the church, which we now realize should never have been the case. But it's what we had always been taught was right. When I disclosed the abuse, the leaders of the church allowed rumors to be spread because it was better for these lies to be accepted than for them to admit that they employed a predator who preyed on their sheep. I was basically excommunicated. Eventually, I decided to not honor the church's demand for my silence, and I shared the truth with a couple people I knew were safe, giving me a very tiny local support system.
That's very disheartening. It was. The response of the institution? Was more traumatic than the actual sexual abuse by the pastor initially. We we pretty much lost everything.
How has this impacted your marriage?
When Peter and I got married very young, the first couple of years of our marriage were very difficult. But we figured it out, and the following 18 years after that were easy. And I do mean easy. Parenting was hard, but our marriage never was. We never fight or even argue. We may disagree, but we learned early on that we had to communicate to resolve issues as they arose. Men would seek Peter out for marriage advice. Later, ladies constantly told me that they wanted what we had. I have no problem saying that being married is the easiest and most rewarding thing in my life when our daughter's daughter started struggling and with depression and suicide. I constantly thank God for giving me Peter to go through with. I would never wish this heard on anyone else, but I was also so grateful for my husband to walk through with me. After the abuse, everything turned upside down. Initially, I didn't know what happened. My pastor told me that we had had an affair. And it didn't make any sense to me, but I didn't know what else had happened. So that's what I told Peter and it was so hard. He asked me questions and I answered all of them as fully and honestly as I could. After hearing a jumbled mess of what I had been enduring in the weeks prior, Peter told me that my pastor had pursued me and I tried to protect him. I've since learned that that's what victims do, but Peter repeatedly told me this was my abuser's fault. It took me a couple weeks before I had clarity on predators grooming and manipulation, and then it was several more months before we really had proper labels for things. I would tell Peter everything. Anything I felt shame or guilt over. Anything that seemed trivial but came to mind. If a man talked to me at a store for any reason, I would rush home and confess to Peter like I was hiding something if I didn't. He never acted like I was doing anything wrong. When these men talked to me more, he got angry because the church had put me in this position and caused me to hurt and
respond this way. I probably overshared many times, but I didn't want to hide anything from him. Even when I thought it would hurt him, I knew he deserved to know it all. Every time Peter would take those feelings of shame and guilt that I held for myself and help me properly redirect them to the ones who deserved it, my pastor and the church leaders, he constantly reminded me of my own words. That I had said to my abuser mostly no, and helped me fight the intrusive thoughts and undeserved shame. I really struggled. I thought God didn't love me anymore, I didn't understand why he was causing me to continue to live in total darkness, and I wanted to kill myself. I had a plan and had written suicide notes multiple times over. I thought if I died, the church would rally around Peter and they would love him again. He would have his community back and they would support him and the children. At a counseling session with Peter President, I told him and the counselor was these things, and Peter looked at me and he said. I don't want him. I only want you. I tried so hard to convince myself that the world would be a better place without me. I could make excuses about our kids being old enough and no longer needing me, and I could see how, in my depression and complete uselessness, I wasn't being a mom to them at the time anyhow. But I just couldn't convince myself no matter how hard I tried. That Peter would be all right if I were to die. He's the only reason I didn't take my life if I had nothing. It had nothing to do with me wanting to live, but only not wanting him to suffer any more pain. It's crazy to me to think that before all of this, I really didn't think our marriage could be any better. But somehow all this horrible trauma has brought us even closer together. I thought we shared everything before, but I realized that there were things that we tiptoed around because we didn't want the other to hurt. Or maybe we were embarrassed. We were upset about something that perhaps was petty. Now we share every tiny thing we know, allowing the other into our heart
where we're ashamed of the mess brings us closer together, and often find that the other's perspective from the outside is what we need in order to see beyond our own chaos. My marriage is what saved me. Unfortunately, this is not usually the case. Many survivors, spouses struggle to understand the power dynamics, the praying on vulnerabilities, the strength of imbalance, authority and control. Even if they do try to work through it, the abuse from another man can scar a marriage and cause division, sometimes even divorce, which inevitably causes more trauma to the already suffering. Peter had his own struggles too, though, in part because this man who claimed to be his friend, who just a couple weeks prior to the disclosure disclosure, celebrated Peter's birthday with him. But he was only there because he was trying to figure out how to have sex with me, and neither of us had any clue. It was one day after Peter's actual birthday when the pastor told me his intentions to have sex with me. The betrayal cut deep, but it was compounded by the rejection of the church and coming to terms with how quickly they chose my abuser over us. We both felt so disposable. After all those years serving, tithing, giving, working, living life with these people who claim to love Christ, the betrayal was bottomless. After much time, Peter started seeing a therapist and on her recommendation, went to a rage room to help relieve his anger. These things helped him a lot. And then he started a group for secondary survivors from the survivors in RVC restored Voices Collective so the men could all have the same sort of system of support that US ladies experienced in Group from those who understood better than any.
How has this impacted your reputation?
Oh, it's it's completely devastated. I used to be loved and known, held many leadership positions in several ministries, and now I can barely go to church. I had it influence and was respected, but now I'm seen as a Jezebel and I'm kept at the distance of a leopard.
I guess how has this impacted your social life? Also completely devastated my entire community. The only family I had known for the past 14 years completely abandoned me and my family. I was overwhelmed with darkness and despair, and I wanted to die daily. In fact, every night I would pray that God would let me die, and every morning as soon as I woke up, I would immediately start crying because I hadn't. I refused to leave my house because it was impossible to go anywhere without running into someone from church in a small town. That we are this church is the largest in this part of the county and I feared what people would say if they saw me. I've heard awful rumors about myself, each one making me physically ill, but not a single person reached out to me to see if any of it was true, which none of it is. People I considered my very best friends completely go to me and took my abuser's words as gospel truth. I tried to convince myself that Peter was enough and that I didn't need friends, but the loneliness was suffocating. Slowly, I acquired a few people who wanted to care for me. If we met in public, I would ask that we met a few cities over to limit who we may run into two years later, which is next week, the anniversary of our disclosure I. I'm still willing to meet people and sometimes closer to home, but it's fairly infrequent. I won't go to local events because I know that I'm not welcome. I feel like my kids have to miss out on a lot of fun things because people care more about their church than they do about loving people like Christ. With my support group, I have a whole new community, and even just on Twitter I have found people who understand and walk with me. But none of those people live locally, which makes it difficult sometimes. How has this impacted your career?
The church forced me to resign after the abuse. I had worked there for about a year and a half, and while I wasn't looking for a job when I was approached, it was nice to have a little bit of extra income each month. After the disclosure, I was completely worthless. I couldn't make any decisions. Even getting dressed took me hours and several changes before I could trust myself to make a good choice. Thankfully we were in a spot where the loss of my income wasn't devastating, but it still hurts. In the last two years, both our daughters graduated from high school. They still live at home, but they're more independent home. Our son is just 14 though and still mostly home schooled, so I'm happy to be here for him. About a year after the abuse, I started thinking about work again. I always took a lot of pride in my work and not being able to contribute financially to my family with something I struggled with. Though my husband never complained, getting a job locally isn't really an option. My town is too small and the church is too big. And I'm still afraid of running into people I know from. If I dwell on these nuts too long, my mind goes places. Also, the thought of having a male supervisor terrifies me. It's strange for me to accept this. That this is where I am. I used to be a crime scene technician. 90% of my coworkers were men and all of my supervisors were, and I never felt unsafe. But now, because of my pastor's thoughts alone debilitate me. How has this impacted your parenting?
When everything went down, my younger daughter, the one who suffers from depression, was in a full-time residential facility. I was so grateful that she was away because I was completely useless. I mostly just followed my husband around and sat quietly in whatever room he was working in. I couldn't think enough to make dinner or even engage in conversation. I really couldn't do much more than crying. My physical health suffered, which further impaired my judgment and abilities. I was unproductive and incapable. I couldn't care for myself, let alone my children. On one hand, I'm glad that my kids were all teenagers because they didn't need me for routine tasks. But on the other hand, I grieve that they're old enough to where they will always remember this dark period in our lives. It was a couple months before we shared with the children what had happened. It was obvious I wasn't OK. There was no question there. But once they were made aware, I allowed myself to feel their grace, though they had never withheld it. Knowing they saw my pain and understood where I was helped me try harder. Breaking those generational curses from my family that I grew up in were hard. Things weren't talked about. It was so relieving. I didn't have to hide my heart, not that I ever exceeded in any way. We let the kids ask questions and we answered the best we could. We didn't need to tell them all the terrible details, but they have the right. To understand why our entire lives changed overnight, more so, they deserve to know that they are important enough to fight for. Keeping the abuse that pastors put me through from our children was not protecting them. Pretending anyone who holds authority
is trustworthy does more harm than good. Furthermore, understanding that I have agency has helped me create a space in my children's life where they understand that for themselves and they're given room to exercise it.
How has this impacted your faith?
Right after the abuse, I dug hard into God's word. I tried to maintain the same discipline I had before the abuse, and dove even harder into it after, but I found it all very triggering. Those words were used by my abuser to harm me, and by the church later to justify casting me aside. The abuser and the leaders would pray over me, but then they would hurt me more than anyone in my life ever has. Everything related to God was tainted. The element of spiritual abuse was a huge obstacle in my healing. I never doubted God existed, but I came to a place where I fully believed he must not love me at all. I knew when I prayed he could hear me, but decided he just didn't care. And I would tell that I would pray. I know you don't care about me, but I have no one else and I'm not OK. I don't know why I kept praying. Maybe I wanted him to prove it wrong. It was the first time in my life that I was in existential crisis, and it was a result of me being betrayed and forsaken by my spiritual leaders. Before, when I was suffering with what God was doing in my life, I always had a pastor to talk to, and now I had no one at all. Time after time, through the whole process with the church, there were so many ways God could have brought the truth to light, but again and again it was devastated when he didn't. The truth remained hidden or intentionally covered up, and I was made to suffer as a result. After finding resources about spiritual abuse, which was a term I had never heard before, I was able to heal some again. Being able to name things and understand helped my husband and I are still deconstructing many aspects of our faith. We still love Jesus and his
church, the Big Sea, but we have found freedom in being able to question our beliefs and find the answers ourselves in his word instead of from from what a man spoke at us from his stage. My relationship with God is very different now than it was pre abuse. It's not better, but it's also not worse. It's different and I have total peace about where I'm at, and that includes not being able to pray much or worship with the band at all. I do have hope that someday I will enjoy those things again, but I know that God grieves with me and my pain, and right now, that's enough.
What do you do for self-care?
My husband often tells me that I'm happiest when I have a project, and I find that when I don't feel productive, my mental health suffers. I love to make our house into a home by creating and beautifying things. Maybe it's the control I have when I create things that I enjoy. I get to choose where to cut, how to combine pieces, pick out colors, and build things that weren't there before. I love working with power tools. It makes me feel strong and gives me a sense of accomplishment. But it's never lost on me when I tear something apart and rebuild it better and more beautiful that that is exactly what God often does to us. I had a wall with water intrusion once, and I tore it down to the cinder block, cutting away the damaged wood and removing points where integrity was lost. After I found the point of intrusion, I built the wall back up, reinforcing it with new furring strips, the heavy footer board, adding insulation, and finally drywall. But I went beyond that and it turned out the window to bring distinction and contrast against the flat wall. It's stronger inside now, but you can't see that part. You can see the new outer beauty that was built on that inner strength, though. The trim adds character and catches your eye, it draws your attention and it forces you to acknowledge its presence. I feel like that's what God does with us.
What would you like to say to encourage other survivors?
You are not alone. Even in the moments of utter darkness and despair, there are others that completely understand your heart. Give yourself grace. Healing is a form of growth. Anything in nature that is known for being strong tends to grow very slowly. You cannot expect yourself to embrace the full warmth of the sun when you've been buried so deep in the dirt you can't see your way out. Just like a seed, you must push your way to the light. You have to do the work, and you have to give yourself time. There's a reason that tiny sprouts are called starts. They finally got out of the dark, but they have so much further to go. And like them, our growth is not linear. Healing requires us to branch out in many directions. Just like the abuse touched each part of our lives, our healing must do the same. We begin by straightening ourselves, and then we branch out. We reach out and extend in all directions, searching for beauty and comfort. There are days when storms will break some of our limbs, cause our leaves to fall off, or cover us in muck. Those days are dark and we think we can't bear them. But if we hang on, we'll see the sun again. The process is so slow, but one day we may wake up and find hundreds of tiny blossoms. New life grown from hard work and perseverance. Beauty we didn't know we contained, bursting forth in a way that no one can deny. When we look back during our healing, our progress is evident no matter how little, but eventually where we started is so far below. That what we can now. That now we can only see our own growth and no longer the dirt that once consumed us.
What advice would you say was the most important piece of advice somebody gave you in your journey of recovering?
Your story is valuable, and not everyone is worthy of holding it. I was so eager for anyone to love me post abuse and church. The abandonment was so painful that I felt like I had to tell them everything so that they would know what happened and care for me. There were a couple of people who I trusted that I only hurt me further by listening. Some blame me for my abuse because it made it easier for them to reconcile their own past. Others said they wanted me to be there for me, but then refused to let me share my heart and told me that I needed to move on. Those people didn't really care for me. They cared about the toxic church and were trying to do damage control while simultaneously checking off their Christian duty box. The betrayal by these ladies crushed me more than those who had just ghosted me altogether. Be careful who you trust your trip with your treasure. There are safe spaces and you get to choose who hears you, not the other way around. OK. Alright. Thank you so much, shalet, for coming on our show. And. Sharing your story. Is there anything else you would like to add that we didn't discuss? I think that probably covers a great deal of it, but I just want to say thank you again for having me, for allowing me to to share my story in a safe space and to hear me. It's beautiful. All right, guys. Thanks for listening. Always Tune In to Rachel in recovery. On your favorite podcast and follow us on your favorite social media platform. And always if you have any questions, reach out to rachelonrecovery.com and you can always Tune In at 10:00 AM on Thursday on any platform. Thanks.
