The unscheduled hours often felt like a cavernous vacuum. We didn't know how to live our lives without someone telling us what to do, where to go, when to arrive, and when to leave. What did normal people DO with all their spare time?...I'd told myself that leaving The Assembly was the solution we'd been waiting for, that freedom was all we needed to create our new-and-improved lives. I'd assumed that I could easily cobble together a patchwork quilt of belonging. If I drank Diet Coke, wore the right clothes, attended a thriving megachurch, and made friends with Southern California Christians, I'd find my place. I'd find my home. —excerpt from Girl at The End of the World, page 152, 154

Here's one thing I know for sure: loneliness is real and it keeps coming back.

Perhaps loneliness is a kind of homesickness.

What if my loneliness is homesickness for God? What if loneliness is homesickness for home I've rarely known, a home more Person than place?

I've tried to assuage this homesickness with everything other than God. I've done this with "good things" like small groups and Christian conferences and scrubbing toilets to pay for my daughter's ballet tuition. I've also tried to fill the homesickness with dangerous things like alcohol and sarcasm. All of these things end in disappointment.

Do you want to know the times I've felt most lonely? Directly after a big, success. Right after a big speaking engagement. Right after an appearance on national television. Right after a packed-out book signing. Right after a conference. Right after a deeply intimate moment with someone I love. 

I'll be flying home or going back to my regularly-scheduled life and I can feel it: a black cavern of loneliness cracking open inside me. Sometimes it makes me scream.

I've worked through some of this in therapy—the panic and emptiness is sometimes a result of self-sabotage. One of my core negative beliefs is that I'm not good enough, that I don't believe I deserve success or good things in my life. So, when good things happen I feel like it's a mistake or a fluke. I feel like a fraud. 

But there's another aspect to my loneliness: success truly highlights how empty and unfulfilling it all is, how NOT GOD it is. In fact, the bigger the success, the more NOT GOD it feels. The bigger my accomplishment, the more lonely I feel.

I am learning that a tiny sip of God is much sweeter than an ocean of personal achievement.

I am learning that I am precious and free. These days I find God in the backrooms and basements of 12-step groups. I find God in our common fellowship of brokenness, not successes. 

I find God in the deep, bottomless chasm of my loneliness. I find God in the nothingness.

This nothingness takes me to the beginning, to the the nothingness before creation. It is "formless and void, and darkness was over the surface of the deep..." (Genesis 1:2, NASB).

I am learning that darkness is nothing to be scared of because even in the darkest nothingness, God is there, the Spirit of God is "moving over the surface of the waters."

And in that nothingness, I breathe a prayer: "God, all that I am—please, take it. I'll do whatever you want because my way has led me down all the wrong paths. My way leads to greater pain and disappointment. Teach me Your way."

I am just so tired of trying to fill my homesickness with something other than God. I don't have any other ideas. I don't have any more "tries" left in me. I need Jesus and that's all there is to it.

Here's another thing I know for sure: all of us are lonely and when we help each other, some of that loneliness melts away.

I feel the least lonely when I make food for my children and teach them about God's love. I feel the least lonely when I help old people, when I do volunteer work, when I buy the homeless guy a lunch, when I go to bed numbering all the things in my life, when I call my mom just because I know she likes phone calls, when I write a note of encouragement to someone who is going through a stressful time, when I hold space for a friend who is struggling, when I help a young mom who is frazzled with her new baby, when I listen to my husband talk about his business, when I smile at a stranger.

Service is the antidote to loneliness. 

Pope Francis' visit to the United States inspired me to dedicate more of my life to service. Today, I am putting that into action. This afternoon I'll begin teaching First Communion classes to 2nd graders. I am terrified and feel inadequate. But I can feel the Spirit "moving over the surface of the waters" and so I'm stepping out in faith...God, I offer myself to You. Do with me as You will for Your will is always good.

Don't you miss the good, old days when you could push two chairs together and call it a bed?

Me, too.

These days I find myself waking up at 4:28am shouting epithets at Donald Trump. Or Tea Party Republicans. Or the California drought. And just when I'm feeling all ridiculous, I remember that I'm an old lady now and waking up at odd hours to worry about things like incontinence and government shutdowns is totes norms. 

I gotta say, though, old age isn't all bad. It's a relief to ease up on obsessive attempts at being good and let myself be real and honest instead. 

Speaking of honesty, having five kids has ruined my bladder. 

"Mom, why do you cross your legs when you sneeze?" my kids ask. I have no good answer for this except: "It looks prettier that way! Like a curtsy!" GAH.

Anyway, 4:28am. I heave myself out of bed and hobble to the bathroom—yes, hobble. I'm the oldest 38 year old you've ever met. My bones ache. My back hurts. I'm a hunched over heffalump. It's super sexy.

Now that I'm an old crone, my latent hypochondria has flared up. I worry constantly that maybe I have a serious, deadly disease. I pose this question to my sixteen year old daughter who is the Voice of Reason in my life and she rolls her eyes, "You don't have cancer, Mom. You have five kids." 

This answer actually works for a variety of questions: "Why am I so tired?" Because I have five kids.

"Why am I never organized?" Because I have five kids. "Why did someone carve a happy face in the dining room table?" Because I have five kids. Why do I yodel in the grocery store? Because I have five kids. Why do hipster dudes in skinny jeans tell me: "Dude, you have kids EVERYWHERE"? Because I have five kids.

This answer also works for a variety of kid questions: "Mom, why can't we do organized sports?"

Because we have five kids.

"Mom, why can't we have a house and boat up in Lake Arrowhead?"

Because we have five kids.

"Mom, why does Savannah get to have a big birthday party every year?"

BECAUSE SHE IS AN ONLY CHILD.

I don't really mind growing old except that I live in Orange County, California, where you're supposed to look young even when you're seventy because WHY ELSE THIS LIFE? 

The comment I hear most often is: "Wow, you don't look like you've had five kids!" which I guess is a compliment in a backhanded kind of way. I like to reply by saying: "Well, my bladder looks like I've had five kids." 

[My mother is dying of embarrassment because I'm writing about Private Body Issues on my Public Blog and WHAT would the Brethren think?]

But bodily dysfunctions aside, the dead giveaway that I'm an old lady now is that my most exciting recent purchase was....a mattress.

Other ladies go bonkers for Jimmy Choos, I go bonkers for individually wrapped coils. And cooling gel pillow tops and foam cores and EGADS, IS THAT A SHREDDED LATEX PILLOW? 

Sidebar: Do you know ANYONE under the age of 60 who uses the word "egads"? No? Point proven. I'm geriatric.

ANYWAY: mattress. I researched it for months. I took naps on hundreds of mattresses. I sprawled out in showroom after showroom. It took me a long time to find my favorite because not only am I an old lady, I am also as sensitive as The Princess and The Pea. I finally found my perfect fit and it was called the Black Diamond because that's about how much it cost. 

Welp, I didn't buy it. BECAUSE WE HAVE FIVE KIDS.

In the end, I bought a mattress I didn't even try. I bought a mattress that was highly reviewed and quality tested and about a quarter of the cost. It arrives tomorrow and I'm about as giddy as if I just popped Donald Trump in the schnozzle. WHAM! BAM! SHIZAM! I may be an old lady, but I'm still a superhero. I'm The Princess and The Pee Party.

My board of directors says I need to remind people that I WROTE A BOOK AND YOU SHOULD PLEASE BUY ONE OR FIFTY. Then tell your friends that I wrote a book. Because book. I wrote. Read, please. Thanks, The Management.

It will always hurt this much. It will never go away. Nobody cares. You are all alone. Better off dead. 

This is what Depression says to me. And it is a lie. All lies.

The truth is this and it is ALWAYS this:

It will pass. It gets better. I am loved. I am not alone. My life matters.

****

It was hard for me to get out of bed one morning this week—and not because I didn't get enough sleep the night before.

It was Depression, hanging heavy around my neck. I dragged it like a ball and chain to the bathroom, then down to the kitchen to fix breakfast for the kids, then back up upstairs where I crash landed in bed.

The tears came. Hot and fast. Not again, I thought. Please, God. Not again.

But Depression isn't something I can control. It comes when it wants, it leaves when it wants. 

Still, I am not helpless. I have my tools: daily medication, daily meditation, prayer, exercise, healthy food, a support network.

When I feel the darkness closing in, all I want to do is fall asleep because sleep is an escape.

But it is not a solution.

This is the truth:

Depression wants me to give up, give in, let the darkness take over.

I don't have to let it. Even when the darkness is all around me, I have choice.

I have agency.

****

I didn't stay in bed today. I let myself cry for five minutes because it's good to cry but it's also good to stop. And I need limits and boundaries.

I asked for help. 

I talked about it.

I got out of bed and did my hair. I put on makeup. I got dressed—and not in sweatpants. I wore nice clothes.

"Mama, you look so pretty!" 

The children notice. It means something to them that I get out of bed and fix myself up. It makes them feel secure, I think. Like their world is ordered and stable. If Mama is OK, then everything is OK.

And so I do it for them. And I do it for me.

Getting dressed doesn't fix everything, but it is something. And that something is always better than nothing, always better than burrowed deep under the covers with dirty hair and unbrushed teeth.

I don't know why lipstick helps, but it does.

****

I met up with some friends. Man, that was hard. It was hard to get in the car and drive to meet them. It was hard to park and get out of the car. It was hard to walk across the parking lot. Depression was pushing me back every step of the way. Like walking against 100 mph winds.

But I kept going.

Smiles met me.

Depression says I need to be alone. Depression says nobody wants to see me. 

But those, too, are lies. Depression thrives in isolation.

The truth is that my friends want to see me. They are happy to see me. Their smiles are like sunshine. And it dissipates the fog of melancholy. Yes, I'm struggling. But I'm not struggling alone. That makes all the difference.

****

I went for a walk. This is what I've learned: it's hard to stay really depressed when I'm outdoors. The sunshine, the breeze, the sky, the birds....being in nature soothes my worried mind and restores my soul.

Going on a walk feels like a Herculean task when I'm depressed. But I go anyway. And about a half mile into it, I feel the weight lift. I feel the inner sigh of relief. 

It might be hard to get outside when I'm feeling bad inside but when I do, I always feel a little bit better. And every little bit helps.

****

This is what I want you to know: it's not your fault. Please hear me. It's not your fault. You didn't choose Depression. 

I also want you to know there is hope. Every day. There is always hope. You are never, EVER alone. If you feel like nobody cares, keep looking. There are helpers everywhere.

You are infinitely and unconditionally loved. Your life matters. Do you hear me? YOU MATTER. Yes, you. We need you here. I need you here.

Just for today, get up. Just for today, reach out. Just for today, don't listen to the lies.

Just for today, believe that you have a life worth living.

Now look around you. Can you pick out ONE good thing in your life?

Just one thing. I know it's tough to see the light when everything feels dark.

But the good is there. Look for it.

See it? YES?! Me, too!

I'm holding onto the good today.

I'm holding on with you.

We're gonna be OK.

If you're like me, you stared in helpless horror at the image of a drowned little boy washed ashore on a Turkish beach.

If you're like me, you couldn't sleep that night. You tossed and turned. You couldn't get that image out of your head. His little blue sneakers. 

If you're like me, you started reading and reading and reading. You wanted to know what had happened and WHY. And when the magnitude of this disaster hit you—nearly 12 million people displaced by ISIS, 50% of them under the age of 18—you felt helpless. What can one person do to stop this horror?

I felt this helplessness. I know I can't do much. But I can SOMETHING. I can do ONE or two things. Maybe three.

Here's how I helped and how you can, too!

1. Make a sign with the hashtag #RefugeesWelcome or #RefugeesWelcomeHere and tag your local or state representative on social media.

2. Donate to humanitarian organizations already on the ground, ready to serve. I donated to World Vision. They have a special crisis relief fund especially set up for Syria. You can FIND THAT HERE.

3. Partner with the Justice Conference, World Relief and Ann Voskamp to help welcome refugees.

Alone, we can't do much. Together, we can change the world. Let's be the church. Let's be the hands and feet of Jesus. #RefugeesWelcome #RefugeesWelcomeHere

Lots of fun stuff has been happening around here, not the least of which is:

1. I finished my 2nd book ("Spiritual Sobriety" hits shelves March 2016! WOOT!)
2. The kids went back to school
3. I started a podcast!

Yep, I've joined the ranks of the podcasting. And let me tell you, it is SO MUCH FUN. I feel a new freedom! So much of my writing is serious. Podcasting offers a way for me to explore topics more loosely and in a casual, relaxed format. Plus, you get to hear my voice! My tone! My inflection! 

My podcast is called "Accidental Expert" because I'm an expert on things I never intended on being an expert in. 

I talk about everything from movie reviews (I just watched The Breakfast Club for the very first time!), tips for managing depression & anxiety, time-management for ADD, my irrational fear of the DMV and how I'm learning to reconfigure my understanding of God. Check it out! Here is the latest episode!

My plan is to do about TEN episodes of "Accidental Expert" and then sometime in October, switch to a new, book-themed podcast. Of course, I'll keep all the fun stuff because what's a podcast without the fun?

You can see ALL of my "Accidental Expert" podcast episodes here. You can listen on any device by pressing play or by opening it in your own podcast app.

Please give it a listen and let me know what you think! I'd love to hear your feedback, comments and suggestions.

Other interesting stuff that happened in the last few months:

I wrote an article for TIME magazine about the Duggars (this was before the Ashley Madison hack):

"Whenever I watched TLC’s 19 Kids & Counting, I never questioned what I saw—I questioned what I didn’t see. I just knew too much. I grew up in a similar religious environment. As a little girl, I knew how to put on a good public performance, and I also knew what happened when nobody was watching."

I wrote an article for Christianity Today about the Netflix show "The Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt":

For those of us who left isolationist, abusive, or restrictive religious environments, “making it” in the outside world is often much harder than we expected. There is so much to learn and so much to unlearn. It’s disconcerting to realize that even though we’ve left the cult, the cult hasn’t left us. And many of us need therapy, support groups, and an ongoing commitment to “deprogram” harmful patterns of thinking. Even with a super-positive attitude like Kimmy’s, adjusting to mainstream America was bewildering.

And today, September 2nd, I'll be joining my friend Jennifer Fulwiler on her radio show! SiriusXM, channel 129 @ 3:20pm EST, 12:20pm PST.

Have you subscribed to my email list yet?

Insider updates coming soon—ONLY to email list subscribers!

Internet, stop gloating for one hot minute. Sure, we saw this coming. Sure, we TOLD YOU SO. Sure, we are not surprised. But reveling in someone else's tragedy? Is that the kind of person you are—the kind who gets pleasure out of other people's suffering? No? Ok, then knock it off. 

Have a little decency. Imagine what it's like to be Anna Duggar right now:

In the span of three months the world finds out your husband molested little girls—his sisters!—then you have a baby and then? THEN he's exposed as a cheater. Your husband confesses to being the "biggest hypocrite ever" and just like that you're having the worst day of your life. And PEOPLE ARE HAPPY ABOUT IT. Heck, they're practically gleeful.

Tabloids are screaming and everyone has an opinion. Everyone seems to know what is best for you. Thousands upon thousands of people are saying hateful things about this man you love. Thousands upon thousands of people are saying the most hateful things about this family you married into. On top of that, your heart is shattered. Did I mention you just found out your husband cheated on you? Did I mention you just had a baby? 

Here's what's up: leave Anna Duggar alone. She doesn't have to make a decision RIGHT NOW RIGHT NOW BECAUSE THE INTERNET SAYS RIGHT NOW. Anna gets to make her own decision. We don't have to like what she decides but we don't get to decide FOR her.

It's enough to know that the Duggar family is screwed up fifteen ways from Sunday. It's enough to know that Josh Duggar is one sick puppy. It's pretty clear Jim Bob and Michelle have no clue WHAT is happening or how to fix it.

It's pretty clear this problem is much  bigger than the Duggar family.

This isn't just about Josh Duggar. It's about an entire system of abuse (see also my article for TIME magazine).

This isn't just about one guy's sexual screw-ups. It's about American Christian culture as a WHOLE and OUR really messed up relationship with sexuality. 

This isn't just about the downfall of one family, it's about an ENTIRE Christian culture that is now reaping the bitter fruits of our misguided, ugly "culture wars." This is about an entire CULTURE of American Christianity that equates political victories with moral ones.

The biggest mistake we can make right now is to believe that what is happening in the Duggar family is an isolated incident and isn't indicative of the broader, American Christian culture.

This is about an American Christian culture that made insane promises like: "If you just wait until you're married to have sex, everything will be wonderful."

This is about an American Christian culture that turned purity into profit; using a 21-year old kid named Josh Harris to promote the fantasy that if you just "kiss dating goodbye," you'll end up with a faithful, godly, loving spouse for the rest of your life.

This is about an ENTIRE culture of American Christianity that has wreaked havoc in the physical, emotional and spiritual lives of millions. This is about an ENTIRE culture that has traded an authentic relationship with God for the trappings of "good Christian living."

This is about an entire culture of Christianity that became so obsessed with 'looking like a good Christian' that it created an impossible standard of "purity" and made it completely unsafe to be a real, broken human being. 

This is about a Christian culture that sets people up for failure. 

This isn't just about Josh Duggar, it's about our really sick, twisted relationship with sex, shame, self-loathing and perfectionism.

And if we can't see that, then NONE of us will get better.

Further reading:

"I Kissed My Humanity Goodbye: how evangelical purity culture dehumanizes women."

"I've always wanted to write a book." This is, by far, the most frequent response I get whenever I tell someone I've written two books.

My response: "Go for it!"

Followed by: "Even if it never gets published."

Here's How To Start, Keep Going & Enjoy It!

1. Write a book because you have a burning desire to WRITE and TELL A STORY—not because you have a burning desire to get published. (Or make money! HA!)

Getting published is a nice bonus but truly, writing is its own reward. I know, I know, it's easy for me to say, right? But hear me out: long before I was a published author, I loved writing. I wrote because I couldn't NOT write. Writing fed me, healed me and fascinated me. I can tell you with 100% certainty that even if my work didn't get published, I would still be writing. Why? Because getting published didn't make me a writer. Writing made me a writer!

This is good news because it means the joy of writing is available to you, right now, today. You don't need a book contract to experience the joy of writing. You are allowed to love writing and be a writer right NOW.

And if you want to share your writing with others, then write what you know and write for the people you know. Start there. Who knows? Maybe you'll end up writing for millions. Or maybe you'll bring joy to five people and listen to me, THAT matters. To this day, I write to five very specific people in my life. I can't write for five million people—I don't know them! But when I write honestly and beautifully for my five people, then those words make wings and fly to all the other people who need my words, too.

Secondly, most authors I know can't make a living just by writing books. Most of us have to do something else as well: teach, tutor, create e-seminars, host sponsored podcasts or just work a regular 9-5 job. Only a very tiny, TINY percentage of published authors make enough money to live on. Even NYT bestselling authors often have to subsidize their writing income with other work like paid speaking engagements. My point is, don't write a book because you're hoping to get rich. Write a book because you can't NOT write a book.

2. Set specific goals.

When I first started blogging, I had a specific goal in mind: to build an online platform large enough to attract the attention of a literary agent. It wasn't enough to say: "I'd like to write a book someday." I needed to be more specific. Wanting to write a book is a desire, but unless you have a specific action plan it's not a goal. Blogging worked for me. As a stay-at-home-mom, I wasn't able to attend writers' workshops or get an MFA in writing. A long time ago, I read a piece of writing advice that said: "Just get your work out in front of other people." Blogging did that for me. These days there is talk about the death of blogging and that bloggers aren't getting book contracts anymore. I say: ignore the negativity. Even if you don't blog everyday, having a personal website can act as an excellent portfolio. Agents and editors are always looking for compelling content. You can do that by providing high-quality writing through blog posts and links to your published works (or guest posts!). The point is, get your work in front of people. Even if blogging doesn't land you a book contract, the practice of writing for an audience is beneficial. It hones your writing skills.

Other specific goals might be: 1. attend a writer's conference to learn more about the craft and business of writing, 2. join a writer's group, 3. research writers in your genre (pro-tip: a writer will often thank their editors and agent in the Acknowledgments sections of a book—this is an easy way to see which agents are representing the kind of book you're interested in writing).

And if you're really serious about getting a book contract, you will take the next step:

3. Write a book outline or book proposal.

Maybe you already have a good idea about the kind of book you want to write. Awesome! Outlining your book will take that idea and make it a concrete reality. I love the snowflake method. It's an easy-to-follow guide for turning your book idea into tangible, helpful structure. For my first book, I did a book proposal instead of a full, snowflake outline. I did this because I already had some solid sample chapters ready and had written one full draft even before I got an agent. Believe me, when you approach a literary agent (or the agent approaches you), you want to be ready. You want to be able to say exactly what your book is about—preferably in one sentence. Good agents and editors are busy. They don't have time for rambling explanations. You don't necessarily need to have your whole book written (although some agents require a complete first draft, especially for fiction) but you need to have done your homework.

4. Set limits.

I learned the hard way that I need to set limits on how much I write everyday. I can produce high-quality writing for two hours. Then I need to take a break. I need to do something entirely different. I know there are some writers who can write for 4-6 hours. They amaze me! I can't do it. I've tried. My best writing happens when I write for two hours in the morning and (maybe) 1-2 hours at night. In between, I live my life. And sometimes, all I can do is two hours in one day. That's OK. Two hours of good writing is better than no writing at all and it's also better than 6 hours of crappy writing. Good writers do other things besides write: they read extensively, they exercise, they have relationships.

Writing requires discipline, organization and patience. Being a writer isn't romantic. Try not to get swept up in the romanticized idea of a "Writer's Life." Smoking all morning, drinking all afternoon and hanging out in a writers' Facebook group until the wee hours isn't the same as actually writing. There's this old Earnest-Hemingway-esque adage that says "write drunk, edit sober." I think that's a bunch of crap. Writing is like any other job: you need control of all your faculties and you have to work hard. Just like other jobs, you can't do that very well when you're drunk. Set limits on your writing time, your drinking and your Internet. You'll be a better writer for it. 

Lastly, setting limits often means saying no to things you love—for a season. Book writing season is for book writing. Try not to remodel the house at the same time. DON'T ASK ME HOW I KNOW. 

5. Set deadlines.

Most writers, myself included, can attest to the magical powers (and agony) of a deadline. We need deadlines because without them, the work doesn't get done. And while people like to say: "You can't force art!"—it's amazing how much you can do when you have a little deadline motivating you. If you don't have an editor or agent yet, you can still set deadlines for yourself. In fact, self-made deadlines are my favorite. I get really anxious when someone else creates a deadline for me. I'd rather set my own pace, thankyouverymuch. If you're just beginning your writing journey, set a deadline for everything I mentioned in this blog post: set a deadline for setting goals, set a deadline for writing an outline, set a deadline for writing a book proposal. You can even set a deadline for setting limits. For example, while I was writing my books I had to set limits on how much volunteer work I was doing at my kids' schools. I loved volunteering so much that I knew I wouldn't have stopped unless I set a deadline for stopping. 

This is important: if you don't meet your deadline, forgive yourself. Here's my dirty secret: I've missed a bunch of my deadlines. I've learned that hitting the deadline isn't as important as having a deadline. Write it down. Start working towards it. Editors are more willing to give you an extension if they can see you are making progress. That said: don't take advantage of the deadline. Make every effort to be prompt. A finished manuscript is better than no manuscript. Let yourself turn in imperfect writing (that's why we have editors—or friends who will read it and provide feedback). Resist perfectionism. Here's the thing: every time I finish a book, I'm always convinced I could have done a better job. It's never gonna be perfect. And that's ok. I completed two books. That's amazing!

I hope this inspires you! Please let me know if you have any further questions or comments!

If I can help, I'd love to share what I've learned!

XO. EE.

Dear Feminist Sisters,

Have we forgotten who we are? Feminism is not about gatekeeping. Feminism is about throwing gates open.

When I was locked deep inside patriarchal fundamentalism, feminism was the beacon of hope that told me my voice mattered, that even if I didn't agree with every feminist—we stood together. Among the feminists I met in college, there was mutual respect. We didn't attack our own and publicly humiliate them. We didn't try to silence each other. We celebrated our differences.

Today, I know who I am. I know what I believe and, yes, I am pro-life. This does not endanger my feminism.

The way I see it, the only thing that endangers feminism is feminists tearing each other apart. 

This must stop.

Listen to me: feminism needs pro-life feminists because without diversity, feminism won't thrive.

Without pro-life feminists, our cause is in danger of becoming a hyper-polarized, ivory-tower feminism that is completely inaccessible to the everyday, potential ally who isn't up-to-date on all the approved terminology and dogma.

I believe in a feminism that finds common ground. I believe in a feminism that loves and respects men. I believe in a feminism that doesn't demand conformity.

 You can write hurtful blog posts saying you don't "trust pro-life feminists," you can leave unkind comments on my FB page telling me you "literally don't even care one little bit" that the Planned Parenthood videos disturbed me, you can use your social media platform to tear me down— but that kind of behavior says more about you than me. I've earned my stripes. I know how hard I've worked to become the woman I am today and I am proud of my pro-life feminism. Nobody can take that away from me—not even other feminists.

But here's the thing: when feminists tear down other feminists, it hurts our cause. It hinders our ability to gain allies. It diffuses our efficacy and potency. 

Maybe you can't see it right now, but believe me—feminism needs pro-life feminists because if the only "feminist-approved" response to the Planned Parenthood videos is "BUT EDITING!" then feminism looks heartless and inhumane.

Feminism needs pro-life feminists because if the only "feminist-approved" response to the Planned Parenthood videos is "BUT IT'S NOT ILLEGAL!" then feminism looks amoral.

Feminism needs pro-life feminists because if the only "feminist-approved" position is to side with adult women, then feminism looks like it sides against the women in our wombs.

Feminism needs pro-life feminists like me who cry out that something is terribly wrong with discarding a baby while preserving its organs. Feminism needs pro-life feminists because feminism is not an either/or cause. It is both/and. Feminism can support mamas AND babies both. 

I need pro-choice feminists to stand with me and say, "Hey, maybe we don't agree on everything but your voice is important because it reaches people outside my sphere of influence and so we need to work together." 

And the truth is that there is so much that unites us. For me, being pro-life encompasses so much:

• Being pro-life means I support mamas and babies before AND after birth. 
• I don't believe tax dollars should go toward Planned Parenthood but I DO believe in subsidizing low-cost/free prenatal care, WIC, free school lunch, subsidized preschool, food stamps and affordable housing.
• A consistent pro-life ethic means that I am anti-death penalty. Because ALL life is sacred.
• My pro-life ethic means I stand with St. Francis when he says that "the only way to win a war is never to go to war." America, let's stop going to war and instead, spend that money feeding and educating our kids!
• A pro-life ethic means I don't stigmatize ANY pregnant woman. I support my local teen pregnancy shelter.

Sisters, we need each other. Our cause is big enough for all of us.

Let's stand together.

Today, I am honored to share my space with author, Tam Hodge. Her book, "And Now I Choose: a story for those who believe they have no choice," is the story of how she found hope and healing after suffering abuse, homelessness and multiple abortions. Tam has graciously offered a free copy of her book to one of my readers. Please leave a comment. Recipient will be randomly selected and notified by email. I hope Tam's story touches your heart as it has touched mine. xo. EE.

 

 

A Letter To My 16 Year old Self in the Abortion Clinic

Dear 16 year old Me,

It’s 28 years, almost to the day, from where you are sitting right now. I see you there.

I see you in your white paper gown that you’ve struggled with all afternoon, trying to prevent it from opening and exposing your bare self. I see you sitting there, even in the gown, still bare.

A part of me feels like you can hear me. Or, at least, you sense me. I can see it in your eyes. You’re looking around the room, searching for something, but you can’t find it. It’s me. You’re searching for your voice. I know you want to get up and run. I know you are afraid. I know you feel alone. I know you know what to do but you’re too afraid to do it.

I know deep down you don’t want to do this. I understand.

You are going to wake up soon and you will be in a tremendous amount of pain. You will physically hurt. You will hurt a lot. Oh, how I wish you could hear my voice right now. Because the physical pain will pale in comparison to the heart and emotional pain you will carry with you.

I see you waking up. I see you crying. I see you holding your tummy. Yes. Yes, you did it. No. No, it isn’t there anymore. It’s gone.

I want so badly to hold you. I know no one is holding you. I know no one is going to hold you. I’m sorry you’re alone. I’m sorry you feel alone. But you’re not. I’m there. God’s there. You don’t know it… but we are.

You need to know that you’re going to have a very tough journey. You’re going to be very mad at yourself. The amount of shame will feel heavier than anything you’ve ever felt before. You will hurt in ways that you will never understand.

You will think about this day forever. You will find yourself rubbing your tummy, crying, wondering…

You will have triggers. You will have reminders. It will never go away.

Can you hear me? Why can’t you hear me? I want so badly for you to hear me.

You can’t see it now, but your life is going to get better.

Though the memory of that day will never, ever, go away. You’re going to relive the day you spent in that white gown. You’re going to relive it often. It will always be a part of who you are.

But one day you will learn about grace and forgiveness. One day you will learn about true love. Hold onto that. Tuck that away in your heart, because there will be days when the hope of that moment will be all you have.

Tam, you need to know that I forgive you. And I will forgive you when you’re back in that gown next year, too. I understand why you’re doing this. You really believe you have no other option. Why can’t you hear me…

I will be here waiting for you, and you will soon see that forgiveness and redemption will hold your heart and you won’t be alone any longer.

You will find that one day, the choice that you are making now, will somehow help another young girl not make the same decision.

And though that doesn’t make what you’re about to do right, it will at least give those little ones a beautiful legacy.

But still, I wish you could hear me...

***

Tam Hodge is a writer and speaker. You can find her online at www.tamhodge.com and on Facebook. She lives in Franklin, TN with her husband and their two children. Tam says: "If I could share one thing with everyone I meet it's that we don't have to live under the pain and regret of our life's choices and hurts. We can let them grow us into something powerful that God can use to help others." Thank you, Tam, for sharing your love and light with us.

As I'm becoming aware of my addictive behaviors around food, I'm learning quite a bit about the difference between willingness and willpower. I'm noticing that relying on willpower to resist over-eating doesn't work. My willpower manifests itself through diets, resolutions, commitments; i.e., "trying harder." I've learned the hard way that addictive behavior doesn't respond to "trying harder." It does, however, seem to respond to willingness; a willingness to let go to a power greater than myself; i.e., God.

I've sketched out some of the differences between willpower and willingness and thought I'd share them with you:

Willpower is:

1. Finite: even if I have the most amazing willpower at 8am, chances are that by 2pm, my willpower is fizzling out. There are limitations to my willpower. Therefore, relying on willpower alone is not a reliable tool for sustaining healthy eating.
2. Affected by external circumstances: it's easy for me to make healthy choices when the bills are paid, the children are happy and my marriage is peaceful. When everything is going well, so is my willpower. But when stress comes, my willpower loses strength. I need something stronger than my own willpower to help me eat healthily even in times of stress.
3. Self-generated: my willpower comes from me. The problem is that my food addiction is stronger than me. All my resolutions and diet-plans fall down when faced by the cunning beast that is my hankering for Skittles. 
4. A brutal dictator: There is no room for grace or mistakes in my willpower. When I fail, my willpower just tells me I wasn't trying hard enough. My willpower shames me so hard that I usually give up because I can't even live up to my own standards for myself.
5. Isolating: my willpower functions from a place that says I can do this all by myself, that I am the "self-made" hero of my own story. My willpower won't allow me to ask for help. It certainly won't allow me to admit my mistakes to others. The thing is, I can't get better on my own. I need the help and fellowship of those who have struggled and found some recovery.

Willingness is:

1. Infinite: willingness is limitless because it doesn't come from myself, it comes from God. Yes, I do my part by making a decision to turn my will over to the care of God but then God is right there, immediately meeting that decision with an infinite supply of His grace and strength. Willingness comes after I've experienced God's love. I can only turn over my will to God when I believe a. God is good and b. God loves me. In his book, Breathing Under Water: Spirituality and the Twelve Steps, Richard Rohr writes that turning our lives over to God means, "a radical surrendering of our will to Another whom we trust more than ourselves" (p. 21). When I come to believe that God is FOR me, everything changes. I am more than willing to surrender because saying "Thy will, not mine be done" isn't scary; it's more like relief, more like letting my burden fall into the unconditional love and mercy of an ever-loving God.
2. Hopeful: unlike willpower, willingness is not affected by circumstances. Willingness is founded in hope: hope that things can get better, that everything will work out, that God will do for me what I cannot do for myself. Willingness is not derailed by stress, a broken washing machine, grouchy kids or my own exhaustion. I can be willing even when everything is falling apart. Willingness is the hope that says: "I can't, You can, I'll let you."
3. God-generated: willingness isn't dependent upon my ability to "work up" some kind of feeling or transformational energy. 
4. Full of grace and truth: willingness is an economy of acceptance. Shaming myself only makes things worse. I know the truth (things need to change) and grace is the willingness to accept help. 
5. Fellowship: willingness leans on the support of others. Willingness understands that we cannot heal alone. We need the non-judgmental support of those who have struggled similarly. In the fellowship of brokenness, it is safe to be willing.

The question is: how do I become willing?

My 12-step sponsor suggests that one way to become willing is to pray for the willingness to be willing. Ha. 

Also, pain. When I'm in enough pain (regret for overeating, shame, feeling yucky, low energy, etc), then I become willing to do something different. When the consequences for my overeating become painful enough (stepping on the scale, for example), then being willing to change is the lesser of two pains.

I wish I could say I choose willingness because I'm all spiritual and stuff. But NOPE. Usually, I find willingness once the consequences of my addictive behavior are more painful than turning my will over to God.

In other words, I get SO SICK of doing things my way that I'm finally like: God's way has to be the better option. At the very least, I'm willing to see if it is. I'm willing to see if maybe God is God.

Success for me today meant not eating ice-cream when I was stressed. I ate bacon instead. PROGRESS, THO.

— Elizabeth Esther (@elizabethesther) August 1, 2015

Some of my food-sober friends say that the first step is awareness. If that's true, then boy oh boy am I aware. For a long time I was eating unconsciously, just stuffing food into my mouth whenever and wherever and without any kind of awareness.

Now, I can see my hand going toward my mouth and I'm all: WAIT. IT'S NOT MEAL-TIME. WHY AM I SNACKING?

And then I get to sit there and feel all my feelings. WHICH REALLY SUCKS.

I would so much rather stick a handful of Cheez-its in my mouth than feel all my feelings.

Here's the awful truth: after I binge on Cheezits, I feel even worse. I still feel what I felt before I ate and on top of that, I feel guilty for eating so much.

It's been really hard for me to admit this to myself but I have a problem with gluttony. I am a compulsive overeater. Cue weeping and gnashing of teeth.

Here's why I want to change: because I just don't feel good. Eating like this makes me sluggish, tired, low-energy, grumpy.

This week I discovered that being tired is a HUGE trigger for me. My brain starts short-circuiting. My eyes get prickly. My back hurts. My shoulders sag. I yawn incessantly. And then I start snacking.

I learned this awesome little acronym: H.A.L.T. It stands for: Hungry, Angry, Lonely, Tired.

Whenever I'm feeling super-tempted to gorge on Cheezits, I HALT. I ask myself: am I hungry, angry, lonely or tired? I'm beginning to distinguish between Real Hunger and Boredom/Stress Hunger. I'm also realizing that my body needs to nap. Everyday. I'm a napper. It's just how it is. If I don't get a 15-20 minute nap at about 2pm, I will be a raving lunatic by 5pm.

Here's another revelation: you're supposed to feel hungry before a meal. That's normal. Huh. WHO KNEW?!

It's like I've been running around for the past two years desperately trying to avoid Ever Feeling Hungry. Because feeling hungry makes me feel all kinds of other things like: anxious, worried that I won't get enough....

I'm still working on what foods I need to abstain from—I'm going really slow about this because my tendency is to OVERWORK my food program. I will abstain from All The Things! I'll never eat sugar again! DEATH TO DONUTS!

But deprivation is the road that leads straight into Taco Bell. DON'T ASK ME HOW I KNOW.

Yesterday afternoon by 4pm, I was exhausted. I'd been driving the kids around all day long. Then my washing machine broke. Then one kid sprained his ankle. Another kid lost her favorite friendship bracelet.

I was crying by 4:30pm. And I still needed to make dinner. GAH.

Here's another thing I learned: I need to plan my meals in advance because if I wait until I'm starving, I will just grab whatever is in front of me. 

Awareness, man. It's like my entire life has been lit up by stadium lights and I can't NOT see what I'm doing. I can't pretend anymore. I see it all and holy maccabees, this food-sobriety journey will probably last the rest of my life.

This is Day 2.

I.

"I want to tell you something," grandfather said, pulling me aside after a family dinner. "Don't let yourself go."

I blanched, felt the heat rise in my cheeks. I tried to suck in my tummy. I'd had a baby ten months ago and struggled with losing the baby weight.

I nodded furiously, forcing myself not to cry. "Of course," I said. "You're right. I'll work on it. I'll get skinny again."

He patted my shoulder. "That's a good girl."

That night was my sister's engagement party. The whole family had come together to have dinner at the beach. Sixteen years later, the only thing I remember about that night are the words my grandfather said. And how much I hatred I felt for my post-pregnancy body.

II.

Small. Quiet. Preferably, invisible. These were the virtues of womanhood.

Take up as little space as possible. Keep your thoughts to yourself. Make yourself useful and helpful—but without drawing attention. Eat small portions. And never take seconds.

The first time I had a Coca-Cola I was in high school. It was so sweet, too sweet. But Diet Coke—now there was a soda I could drink every day. It was diet.

III.

Every year or so there was some new "holy" diet. Pritikin. The Zone. Juicing. Cleanses. And if there wasn't a diet, there were prohibitions: no sugar, no white flour, no white rice, sometimes no dairy, millet for breakfast, steel-cut oatmeal. I stayed slender and small the first twenty years of my life. And then I had my first baby and couldn't stop eating.

IV.

I gained and lost, gained and lost for the next eight years. If I wasn't pregnant, I was breastfeeding. 

My eating was out of control. I developed an appetite for donuts—I'd never eaten donuts while growing up. And cheeseburgers. And fries. And pizza. Now that I was out of my parents house, I could bring home whatever I wanted. Diet Coke, Cheetos, Oreos. I discovered Dr. Pepper.

After the twins were born, I made a significant change. I started exercising regularly. Hard exercise. Bootcamp. I lost twenty pounds—which for a 5'2" woman like me makes a big difference. I was the fittest I'd ever been in my life. 

But then I wrote two books. 

V.

Since June of 2013, I've gained thirty five pounds. 

For whatever reason, the stress of writing two books broke something in me. I couldn't stop eating. I was hungry all the time. Ravenous, really.

I was eating for comfort, eating to numb out, eating to relax, eating to celebrate, eating because I was bored.....

But then I couldn't stop.

VI.

Being strict with myself didn't help. Fasting didn't help. Trying a new diet didn't help.

I was burned out on bootcamp. High impact exercise was taking a toll on my joints. My knees ached all the time. My wrists and shoulders hurt.

Six weeks ago I began barre class.

Four weeks ago I attended my first Overeaters Anonymous meeting. I cried because I recognized my story in other people's stories. Afterwards, I felt sane. For the first time in two years, I didn't eat anything after dinner. I didn't need to eat anything. I didn't feel full but I felt...satisfied.

It's not about the number on the scale. I know the weight comes off—but something inside me needs to change.

There is a big, empty hole of hungry inside me that no cheeseburger can fill.

I can bootcamp my way to physical fitness, but that still won't heal the hungry little girl inside me.

It's time to make a change—but this time my goal is different. I'm not aiming at weight loss so much as I'm aiming at soul healing. I have an unhealthy relationship with food. I want to understand why. 

When I know better, I do better.

I'm tired of food running my life. I don't want to feel like this anymore. I want more of that sanity I felt at my first OA meeting.

Day One begins today.

In hindsight, that TWANG I felt while the dentist drilled into my partially numbed skull was when I should have raised my hand. Or punched him in the nose. But since I'm prone to giving the patriarchy the benefit of the doubt, I did nothing but submit to the drill, baby, drill.

The second clue that Something Was Rotten In The State of Toothmark was when medicine-drenched cotton balls were stuffed into the gaping hole that used to be my cheekbone.

I was cranked into an upright position and firmly exhorted to sit still and not swallow, DO.NOT.SWALLOW. 

Of course, what I heard was: "We've just filled your mouth with poison. GOOD LUCK WITH NOT DYING!" 

And then the good doctor and his efficacious assistant scurried off to another patient while I sat alone in a quiet panic. I told myself not to salivate so I wouldn't need to swallow. DO.NOT.SALIVATE. Spoiler alert: salivary glands do not take kindly to orders.

Do you know how hard it is not to swallow when Niagara Falls is pouring into your mouth? It's like dry drowning, if such a thing exists. My only option was to drool all over that humiliating baby bib they tie around your neck.

"Georgia On My Mind" was piping through the overhead speakers. You know, soothing music to keep the masses from PANICKING OH MY GOD MY JAW IS DISSOLVING.

I hate that song now. Just an old sweet song keeps Georgia on my mind? Yeah right. More like an old sweet tooth keeps drill-a on my maxilla.

When the assistant came back to check on me she called me a "CHAMPION SALIVATOR" which was NO COMFORT AT ALL. Nor did it win me any prizes. On the bright side, I didn't swallow poison. Soooo.... winning?!

Then there was more drilling and more smoke spiraling up out of my mouth and flecks of tooth flying in all directions. It was basically the Battle of Waterloo going on in there. I closed my eyes and said my final prayers. I said goodbye to my children. I apologized to my dogs for not giving them more treats.

And then the dentist was like: "You're all set."

I blinked.

What?! I'm alive?! I survived.That was my prize. Well, that plus a bottle of Norco.

Guess how long it took for the searing pain to stop smarting? Yep. Two weeks. Just in time to come back in and get the permanent crown cemented into my head. Because that is so exactly how my life goes.

I don't mind telling you that I cried like a baby the second time around. No, really. They had to stop everything, sit me up and offer tissues until I could pull myself together.

Here's the thing: I've birthed five humans. I know pain. But this pain? It was unreasonable. I mean, when you push seven pounds of baby out of your body, you expect it to hurt, ya know? But one tiny tooth RUINING MY LIFE FOR WEEKS? That's nope. That's what I call Nope-Pain.

Here's what's crazy: three days after the permanent crown was in, the pain magically disappeared. All of it.

I could finally chew on that side of my mouth like a normal human. No more gnawing at steak with my front teeth. No more nibbling at soft foods like a geriatric squirrel. I finally had a properly functioning mandible.

It was GLORIOUS.

And the heavens opened and all the angels and saints rejoiced for the woman who forgot her anguish because of her joy that her new porcelain tooth had been born into the world.

Now, I'm recommending my dentist to everyone I know because oh my word he's not the patriarchy, he's a superhero. The Tooth Liberator, if you will.

He will free you from your miserable banana diet and liberate you to steak and nachos! He will restore all mandibles unto himself! He even swoops in singing hymns! "CROWN THEM WITH MANY CROWNS!" 

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some granola cereal to enjoy.

This is what you need to understand about Megyn Kelly's interview with the Duggar girls: she wasn't speaking with Jill & Jessa themselves; she was speaking with an ideology.

Why? Because context is EVERYTHING. A free woman? Yes, she can speak for herself. But women inside families like the Duggars' are not free. In that environment, everything a woman speaks has been pre-approved and vetted by the men in "authority" over her.

From infancy, they are literally TRAINED to submit themselves to the "headship" and "authority" of men—first their fathers, then their husbands—because submitting to your father/husband is the same as submitting to God.

In this environment, it's impossible to think for yourself, let alone speak for yourself.

So, if you watched Megyn Kelly interview Jill & Jessa Duggar, you were listening to pre-approved talking points. You were listening to a cleverly crafted, Daddy-and-husband-approved message.

How do I know this? Because I had to do the same exact thing.

When I was living inside a fundamentalist group (you can read more about that in my book), I was coached on how to "give an answer" to anyone who asked about our way of life. I was told that whenever I spoke, I was representing The Family or The Church. If I ever spoke "off message," my good standing with God AND my family was in jeopardy. 

My well-being DEPENDED on me staying on message. Thus, I would have told ANY media outlet that I WANTED to be in my church and not to call my abusers ABUSERS. I, too, would have claimed to have forgiven and "moved on."

Most heartbreaking of all? I sincerely believed what I said. It was like religious Stockholm Syndrome. I loved my abusers.

Back to the interview.

Here are the talking points I noticed:

1.) The abuse wasn't abusive but the media talking about it is TOTALLY abusive. 

During the interview, Josh's sexual abuse was NEVER ONCE referred to as sexual abuse. It was repeatedly called "inappropriate touch" and "a mistake." When you can't name the evil, then you can pretend it doesn't exist. And that makes it easy to sweep it under the rug, tell yourself you're OK (hey, it could have been worse!) and "move on." Cleverly, though, the girls still hung onto the "victim" label—not as victims of Josh but as victims of the media. Megyn Kelly picked up this refrain and by the end of her show she was actually suggesting that public discussion of child abuse will PREVENT and DISCOURAGE other people from speaking up. Ugh. So irresponsible. The truth is that by raising awareness about this issue, MORE of us will recognize abusive behavior and SPEAK UP. 

2.) We didn't even know what had happened.

Both girls claimed they didn't "know what had happened." But there's a big difference between NOT KNOWING what had happened and NOT REMEMBERING it. Megyn Kelly *almost* made the distinction, but didn't follow up on it. My guess: Jill & Jessa remember very clearly what happened but because no-one had ever talked to them about sexual assault, they literally didn't KNOW it WAS sexual assault. 

3.) Our parents protected us. SAFEGUARDS!

This is probably the most heartbreaking talking point because it's the one most fraught with fear. In fundamentalism, the worst sin of all is to "bring shame" upon your parents. Speaking up, questioning, casting ANY doubt on your parents is a huge no-no. Even if Jim-Bob and Michelle HAD acted negligently, Jill & Jessa would NEVER say this outloud—and especially not on TV. Remember, they are under intense pressure to preserve the family reputation. I'm not Jim-Bob and Michelle did NOTHING to protect their daughters, but it's pretty clear it wasn't enough because the abuse happened repeatedly. My point, here, is that the context from which Jill & Jessa were speaking absolutely prevented them from even suggesting that their parents could have done more.

Many of you have asked: "Well, what SHOULD the Duggars have done?"

My friend, Mary DeMuth has a beautiful and touching response to this question. Please read her post: WHAT IF? 

THAT is how a Daddy defends and protects his daughter. THAT is what we ALL should do to protect our children.

That is what our precious children deserve.

I almost feel a moral obligation to write about the Duggars—not because I am a former fundamentalist who wrote a book about that kind of life— but because I'm sick of the gleeful, click-baity tabloids dominating the narrative.

So, let's start there.

To the tabloids: shame on you.

I have no idea how tabloid editors sleep at night. They clearly have problem devastating the lives of four young women in pursuit of pageviews and money. Editors, if you truly CARED about the victims, you would have redacted and redacted and redacted until their identities were fully and completely protected. You cannot pretend to care about women while simultaneously destroying their privacy. Period.

To Jim-Bob & Michelle: I hear your story. Do YOU hear it?

There is something missing from the story Jim-Bob and Michelle told tonight. I've heard many, MANY Christians tell difficult  stories about their lives and I know when I can trust the words they're speaking because there are three essential ingredients: humility, responsibility and understanding.

The first missing piece of the story was humility.

Let me explain by summarizing the Duggars' main talking points: "We did all the right things. Josh repented. Everyone is fine. We love Jesus and that's why we're being victimized by the media." 

Nowhere in the interview did we hear Jim-Bob or Michelle express regret for launching a reality TV show in the immediate wake of the abuse (Josh was 15 when he was sent to a "Christian treatment center" and the show began when he was 16). Nowhere did they express sorrow for how badly they had handled things when they FIRST heard about it— a terrible lapse in judgment that led to further molestation incidents. 

The second missing piece was responsibility

Instead of taking responsibility for how they handled things, Jim-Bob and Michelle repeatedly deflected, shifted blame and defended their actions. At one point, Jim-Bob said he'd talked with "other families who had worse things happen." Did you catch that? Basically, Jim-Bob is saying: "Hey, what Josh did is NOTHING compared to what so-and-so's son did!"—which is really no defense at all but essentially an admission that there is ALL KINDS of sexual molestation happening in homeschooling/Quiverfull/ATI/Gothard families. I really hope the authorities follow up on that. 

It was pretty clear that the Duggars viewed themselves as the true victims. Michelle suggested there was "an agenda that purposed to twist and slander" them. Essentially, Michelle is saying: "People hate us because we love Jesus." You know, I'm really, really weary of Christians saying this. It's a cop-out. The truth is that this whole thing could have been avoided if the Duggars had simply been upfront and honest BEFORE they signed onto a TV show.

By not taking responsibility for the abuse going on in their own family, the Duggars simply participated in their future "media victimization." 

The third missing piece was understanding

In talking about the sexual molestation, Michelle said: "Every one of us has done wrong things. That's why Jesus came!" Michelle doesn't understand how this statement downplays abuse. Jim-Bob said: "This wasn't rape or anything like that"—I mean, what kind of comfort is that to victims of sexual abuse? It's like saying: "Hey, at least you weren't raped."

But those statements demonstrate the critical flaw in the Duggar fundamentalist theology; it's why they don't see sexual molestation as particularly worse than, say, lying about how many cookies you stole from the cookie jar. When everything is evil, NOTHING is actually evil.

What the Duggars fail to understand is how serious sexual molestation is and why it's not something you can just resolve at a "Christian Treatment Center." It's not something you sweep under the rug when a TV show knocks on your door. I think what most disturbed me about the Duggar interview was the way Jim-Bob kept trying to direct the interview to IT'S ALL RESOLVED NOW when what we really needed to hear was that he truly understands the gravity of what happened and why his subsequent actions were so disturbing. THAT was missing from the whole interview. THAT is what makes me worry for the safety and wellbeing of his other children.

Hear me on this: I truly feel pity for the Duggars. 

Watching their interview reminded me of the time I had to confront my cult-founding grandfather about the domestic violence happening in our family. Although my grandfather never admitted to his cover-ups (at least Jim-Bob admitted bad things happened), I recognized the similarities in speech and tactic.

Like my grandfather, Jim-Bob had a lot of "Christian-speak" going on. Jim-Bob talked about Josh becoming "a new creature"—I can only imagine how that sounded to a secular audience. A new what? What's a new creature? But this is the only language Jim-Bob has to describe what happened. Fundamentalism is, by its very nature, not a language of the heart but of a cold, black-and-white theology. 

Like my grandfather, Jim-Bob's answers to direct questions were vague and dodgy. On the one hand, I was relieved to hear that all the children involved had received "professional counseling." Then again, every fundamentalist I knew never took their kids to professional counselors. So, I was left with more questions than answers: what sort of professional counseling? And what kind of "Christian treatment center"?

It took me a long time to forgive my grandfather for the abuses he wrought on my family and so many others in our cult. My heart softened when I stopped seeing him as evil and began seeing him as a terribly, terribly sick person. I forgave him when I realized his lies had so sickened him that he was fatally ill with religious addiction. 

And this is how I feel about the Duggars. In my heart of hearts, I feel nothing but pity and sadness for them because this is a terribly sick family.

This is a family so entrenched in the story they've told themselves that even if reality differs, the Duggars would rather see themselves as victims of persecution than admit something might be wrong with the story they're telling. 

That should break all our hearts.

I don't know about you but I am SO ready for summer! Beaches, books, cookouts, fireworks, hikes, long hours spent reading by the pool...I can't wait! I've put together a fun little list of my summer favorites and thought I'd share them here with you!

#1 Light Summer Reading

Can I be honest for a minute? My brain is tired. I've spent the last four years reading such serious, heavy books that I'm pretty sure the wiring in my brain is starting to short-circuit. This summer I plan on reading nothing but LIGHT, FUN, FLUFFY FLUFFERSONS. Here are my picks (you can click on book covers for direct Amazon link):

 

 

#2 Leave-in Hair Conditioner

My hair stylist recommended Marrakesh Argan & Hemp Oil Therapy and now I use it after EVERY hair wash. I've used a bazillion hair products (my hair is slightly wavy, fine and prone to breakage). This leave-in conditioner is BY FAR the best. It's light, non-greasy and smells AMAZING. As a bonus, it acts as a smoother and detangler. YAY, less split ends! PERFECT for summer!

 

 

#3 Breezy, fresh fragrance

I wear this perfume year-round but I especially appreciate it during the hot, sweaty summer months. Light, delicate with the barest hint of floral, all you need is one spray on your wrists and this Chanel Chance perfume will last the whole day. There are several varieties of Chance perfumes. I remember my favorite is the PINK ONE. :) Or, in fancier terms, "Eau Tendre." 

#4 Glowing daily moisturizer

I rarely use self-tanners but when I saw how beautifully this Jergens lotion worked on a friend, I had to try it. I use it every morning as a daily moisturizer for my legs and arms (avoid ankles, knee caps, elbows). The bronze color develops gradually—I saw results in about 7 days—and it looks just gorgeous. It even smells delicious!

#5 Mini lip balm

I know Vaseline isn't anything new or fancy but this MINI size is super convenient. I bought it on impulse but found that I use it more than my other, more expensive lip balms. It makes my lips SO SOFT. My kids love it, too—especially because it's not "smelly" like other chapsticks. It's small size is perfect for stashing in a purse or makeup bag. I'll be carrying at least two of these with me all summer.

*some affiliate links used*

I grew up in a Christian fundamentalist cult. You can read more about that in my book, Girl at The End of the World. Suffice to say, I understand the fundamentalist/Quiverfull system. I know the theology. I know what happens in these home-churched, no-kissing-before-wedding-day families. I know because my childhood cult was very, very similar.

But today, I'm not interested in rehashing my own past. Today, I want to address WHY these things keep happening.

I am far more interested in the systems and structures that enable and perpetuate abuse because until those systems change, we'll just keep putting out fires.

The greatest mistake we can make right now is believing that this latest exposure of sexual assault is an isolated incident. I am here to tell you that the Christian church—as a whole—has a major, MAJOR problem with the physical and sexual abuse of children. It's time we examined not only WHAT is happening but WHY this is happening.

To get a clearer understanding of the problem, let's look at how prominent Christians are responding to the information that Josh Duggar sexually assaulted multiple young girls.

Within hours of the Duggar statement, prominent Christian leaders began trumpeting a "Josh Duggar Redemption Story." I mean, we barely had time to process the information before we were bombarded with Christians demanding we all Stop Judging! Forgive! Haven't You Ever Sinned? Look! He repented! 

Mike Huckabee took to Facebook to express his righteous indignation over the "insensitive bloodthirst" of those who exposed "long ago sins." Apparently, the real horror here was NOT the sexual assault itself but the fact that it had been made public.

Popular Christian blogger, Matt Walsh, published a piece on The Blaze opining that the problem was not sexual assault but....hypocritical, opportunist liberals.  He even went so far as to say if his son confessed to sexual assault, he wasn't sure whether he'd report him to the authorities. Um. WHAT?

The Christian Post published an article called "Finding Redemption in The Josh Duggar Story" wherein author Michael Brown suggested that "Josh can be an ambassador on behalf of the abused" and that his "future can be bright in the Lord." Um. Pretty much the very LAST thing survivors of sexual abuse need is for their perpetrator to advocate on their behalf. 

Billy Graham's grandson and founder of the website "Liberate," published an article by two pastors who claimed that ALL of us are the Duggars because "all of us harbor our demons." So, essentially, sexual assault is just like any other sin. Come on, guys! FORGIVE! EXTEND GRACE. 

These are just a few examples. I'm sure there are dozens and dozens more.

Here's what troubles me: these Christians demonstrate a profound (and dangerous!) confusion about the differences between forgiveness vs. reconciliation and forgiveness vs. accepting the reality of consequences. And THAT confusion is symptomatic of an entire system that enables abuse.

SYMPTOM #1: EQUATING FORGIVENESS WITH RECONCILIATION

The authors of the bestselling book "BOUNDARIES" explain the difference between forgiveness and reconciliation: "Do not think that because you have forgiven means you have to reconcile. You can offer reconciliation, but it must be contingent upon the other person owning [their] behavior and bringing forth trustworthy fruits…Forgiveness is very hard. It means letting go of something that someone ‘owes’ you…Warning: forgiveness and opening up to more abuse are not the same thing. Forgiveness has to do with the past. Reconciliation and boundaries have to do with the future." (p. 256,257,258, 268, 269).

Especially in spiritually abusive environments, people are told that forgiveness is the same thing as reconciliation. We are told we must accept the abuser’s apology and allow him/her back into our lives. Victims are often encouraged to smile and welcome the abuser back because once an abuser has "repented," it's a sin to "hold bitterness" in our hearts. But this isn’t true. It’s actually harmful for us to reconcile with someone who hasn’t demonstrated changed behavior because it’s a violation of our God-given rights and boundaries. 

Forgiveness is something I can do on my own; i.e., release someone from the debt they owe me, "charge off" their account, so to speak. But forgiveness DOES NOT MEAN I am required to reconcile with that person. And furthermore, it does NOT mean that I am required to release them from the legal consequences of their actions.

SYMPTOM #2: DEALING WITH CRIMINAL BEHAVIOR "IN HOUSE" AND NOT REPORTING TO CIVIL AUTHORITIES

As demonstrated by Huckabee and Walsh's posts, the greater sin is not the crime itself but the exposure of the crime. This is a classic tactic of spiritually abusive systems. I can't tell you HOW MANY times I've heard stories of abuse that were simply brought to the attention of the "church authority" but never reported to civil authorities. The theological justification for this is that since sin is essentially a "spiritual matter," it needs to be dealt with in a spiritual context; i.e., the church. But this idea is wrong and it enables abuse.

Christ's forgiveness does NOT mean immunity from earthly consequences. As Christians, we believe Jesus died to save us from the eternal consequences of our sin. But let's be clear: we are still responsible for our earthly actions and whatever consequences those may incur. Indeed, a true Christian ethic respects and acknowledges the validity of civil authority. We do not get to circumnavigate the laws of our country just because we believe Jesus forgives our sins.

SYMPTOM #3: WE ARE ALL VILE, EVIL HUMAN BEINGS

Fundamentalist Christians (and many other Protestants, too) ascribe to the we-are-inherently-wicked theology. This is why pastors (like the ones above) can assert that we are ALL THE DUGGARS because, hey! we're all evil! Essentially, every sin carries the same weight. Thinking hateful thoughts is the same as murdering someone. Gluttony is just as bad as sexually abusing a child.

But here's the problem: when EVERYTHING and EVERYONE is equally evil, then NOTHING is actually evil.

In other words, the unintended consequence of we-are-all-evil is that it literally makes a mean thought as bad as actual murder. There are no gradations of sin in fundamentalism. And therefore, since we wouldn't take a glutton to court for overeating, then we shouldn't prosecute a sexual molester for abusing children because it's ALL THE SAME.

Can you see how dangerous this theology is? Can you see how this is a system that perpetuates abuse?

SYMPTOM #4: FOCUSING ON THE ABUSER'S "REDEMPTION STORY" 

This is the most insidious symptom of abusive systems. And it was neatly embodied in the writing of Michael Brown (above) where he claims that Josh Duggar can still have a bright future and become an ambassador for the abused. YEAH. Let's talk about that.

First of all, focusing on the abuser's "redemption story" piles abuse on abuse because it inherently de-centers the victims story and the victim's needs. What sex abuse victims want above all else is for their abusers to be held accountable for their crimes and prevented from ever hurting anyone else. Sex abuse victims DO NOT want perpetrators advocating on their behalf (talk about re-traumatizing! how is this not obvious???). Sex abuse victims ARE NOT REQUIRED to rally around the abuser's "redemption story." Sexual assault is not just a "teenage mistake" that everyone will laugh about later on. 

Putting on a pair of mismatched socks? That's a mistake. Forgetting to change the oil in your car? That's a mistake. Sexually assaulting girls while they are sleeping is a CHOICE. And it's a CRIME. 

Over and over again I've witnessed Christians dismissing, minimizing and denying the severity of sexual assault. Even among my own real-life acquaintances I've heard ridiculous things like: "Hey, it's a big family, that stuff is bound to happen." Or, "Didn't we ALL do stuff like that when we were kids?"

We break the cycle by focusing on accountability for the abuser and providing unequivocal support and advocacy for the victim.

On a personal note, the past few days have been very triggering and difficult for me. It's absolutely crushing to see how many Christians do not take abuse seriously. I haven't felt this discouraged about the state of Christianity since I left my childhood cult. I have spent years (YEARS!) writing about this stuff—including a painfully personal book (the writing of which exacted a steep, emotional toll on my life) and honestly, it's super depressing to see how LITTLE (nothing?) has changed. Furthermore, it's frustrating and sickening to see major media outlets pounce on the Duggar situation with ratings-starved glee. As Micah Murray noted, these media conglomerates have NO IDEA what it's like for sexual, physical and spiritual abuse to be your normal: "What the gawkers and headline-makers can’t comprehend is that for every scandal splashed across their glossy tabloids, there are a thousand broken lives that will never make the news....there will never be headlines for broken marriages and broken hearts, for eating disorders and suicidal depression. For innocent faith destroyed beyond repair. You won’t read in the news about years and years of therapy, about brainwashing and codependency and deprogramming."

Like Micah, I am SO SICK of writing about this shit. My archives are full of 8 years of this writing. I am exhausted. And I am DONE. And I am SO ANGRY that big name Christians have NOT stood up to unequivocally denounce this evil.

On the other hand, I am thankful that this stuff is finally hitting a bigger platform. I am thankful that more people see what's going on.

I am thankful for my little band of encouragers who have read my blog for all these years. I am thankful that yes, maybe things are changing a tiny bit. I am thankful for other writers who have spoken out for years, as well. 

This past week I've been called all kinds of names by Christians who do NOT want to look at what is going on. You know what? I laughed. Yeah, I did. I laughed because if defending children means I'm "bitter," then so be it. If speaking up against the systems that enable abuse means I "deny the Gospel," then I'll wear that label proudly.

I'm not afraid of these systems of religious power. I know how weak they actually are—I've seen them fall.

And now I'm going to go drink a second cup of coffee and eat a donut. Carry on, beloveds. We are loved, lovable and loving and we WILL NOT STOP until all the children are free and happy and safe.

Love, EE (bitter, Gospel-denying activist)

I love the hush of Holy Saturday. It reminds me that new life doesn't happen immediately.

First, we must wait.

We allow time for things to not be ok—in fact, things have gone terribly, terribly wrong. All is not as it should be. We can't rush the solution because the Solution itself is lying in the grave.

The discipline of waiting, I think, is to resist despair and engage hope. 

Hope is not like the loud evil that happened the night before. Hope is like the quiet dawn of a new day.

Holy Saturday is when we lean into quiet.

We quietly hope that the end is not the end. We call to remembrance the prophet Isaiah's words, "He will swallow up death forever. And the Lord God will wipe away tears from all faces..."

Holy Saturday is the sacred pause between death and life.

We redeem this time by holding space, by remaining open to the possibility that this is not the end.

Death, we hope, is not the end of the story. Death, we hope, will not have the final word. Love, we believe, is stronger than death.

And so, we wait.

These days, there are many scoffers of Christianity masquerading as "honest critics." Ye shall know them by their lack of constructive solutions. As someone who has been outspoken about abusive church systems, I see the increasing need for self-correction among those of us who call out injustice.

Here's why: deconstructionism has its place. But if it is never followed by practical innovation and solution, then it is no better than empty ridicule.

Let me begin by admitting my own advocacy has been quite imperfect. Many, many times I have crossed a line and had to apologize for it. We are human. We make mistakes. I still believe it's better to say something poorly than to say nothing at all. 

But here's the difference: missteps and mistakes are different than an intentional strategy of aggression.

I am writing this post today because I am grieved by the increasingly ungracious posture of some fellow Christian advocates. To read some of these blogs and FB groups, you'd think Christianity was a total rot of sexual molesters, abusers and embezzlers. It's a 24 hr. news cycle of death, destruction and despair—all delivered in snarky, sarcastic, confrontational tones.

I am guilty of this myself. Time and again I've resorted to sarcastic language and mockery when confronting abusive systems. But recently, something has changed for me.

I've begun asking myself: does sarcasm and confrontational questioning effect true change? Does fault-finding build bridges? And most of all: does this kind of advocacy prevent future abuse? I fear the answer is no.

From what I can tell, aggressive advocacy creates nothing more than an angry echo chamber. The tragic irony is that having left closed religious systems, we have simply recreated a different closed system: one that is defined by all that we oppose.

My friends, this is not the way of Jesus. This is the way of the scoffer.

I know the word "scoffer" is old-fashioned, but I still think it's a good word. A scoffer is someone who always has some negative critique to make—usually in a ridiculing or sarcastic manner—and, furthermore, a scoffer actively recruits others to join their opposition. It's easy to identify scoffers: they NEVER offer solutions. 

An honest critic, however, is able to identify the problem and suggest a solution.

Let me give an example. When I was writing my first book I often galloped off in the wrong direction. And not just trotted in the wrong direction. I mean, full-on, full-out galloping into a tangent, going way off-topic and entirely abandoning the story at hand.

My editors often needed to gently rein me in. But they didn't just use the reins, they helped me find my way back. 

Here's what they didn't do: my editors didn't take my bad writing personally. They didn't take it public. They didn't start tweeting negative things about me. They didn't write sarcastic Facebook updates about my long-winded tangents. Why not? Because we were in a partnership together. We had the same goal: a good finished book.

Likewise, we fellow Christians are in partnership together. We have the same goals. We love the same Jesus. If we must pull on the reins, we must also provide helpful solutions.

We deconstructors are excellent critical thinkers. If we applied our energies towards finding solutions with equal fervor, imagine the progress we could make!

I know I have been part of this problem—especially as a blogger. The frantic pace of Internet "time" lends itself to speaking before thinking.

The thing is, coming up with solutions takes time. It takes creative energy. Honestly, it's easier for me to point out problems than offer solutions. But without solutions, we make no progress and worse, we fail to protect future victims.

So, in the spirit of offering solutions, I'd like to propose the following ideas for how we advocates might conduct ourselves:

1. Try private entreaty first

The New Testament is pretty clear that if we have a problem with a fellow Christian, we are to approach them privately. It is only after repeated refusals to heed our concerns that we make the matter public. In the age of the Internet, it's easy to go public first. But going public often makes matters worse because public confrontation encourages shame, not reconciliation. There are, of course, certain situations where personal contact is not possible—for example, if we are refuting the public teachings of a public figure we do not know personally. Or if confronting the person places us or others in harm's way. However, I still think the principle remains true: the Christian ethic instructs us to privately entreat rather than publicly confront. At the very least, we ought to try. 

2. Refrain from sarcasm, mockery and Internet shaming

In order to effect true change, we must perform our work non-violently—this includes refraining from verbal violence. Shaming others may result in temporary behavior modification. But only love, patience and gentleness can effect lasting change. If our manner is ungracious, harsh and demeaning, those who have offended us will become defensive, shut down or withdraw from the conversation. The sad truth is that a victim of abuse can also become an abuser. We ought to defend the abused without resorting to abusive tactics.While our anger and distress is understandable, it does not justify our behaving in harmful and destructive ways. The ends do not justify the means. It matters how we advocate. It matters how we question and how we deconstruct and how we criticize. Otherwise, we simply become what we hate.

3. Use gracious speech

Some advocates would say we don't need to use polite, civil or gracious words because that's "tone-policing."

I've heard it argued that "tone-policing" is a silencing measure, that it re-traumatizes the victim. I've even heard some advocates say that harsh language should be encouraged because when Jesus was outraged by abuses in the temple, he overturned tables and called people names.

First of all, I think it's important we remember that we are not Jesus. Just because Jesus walked on water doesn't mean I should try that the next time I go sailing. And just because Jesus overturned tables and called people "whitewashed tombs" doesn't give me a free pass to rant about fellow Christians. 

Furthermore, nowhere in Scripture do I find Jesus telling the oppressed to rise up and violently attack their oppressors. Rather, I see Jesus telling us to turn the other cheek. In the Old Testament, we read that a soft answer turns away wrath. What I'm trying to say is that being abused doesn't give us the right to abuse others—at least, for Christians.

As advocates, I believe we ought to model gracious, kind speech. There's a thin line between "righteous anger" and plain old anger. Wisdom encourages gracious speech in all interactions. It helps me remember that the "anger of man does not accomplish the righteousness of God." (St. James 1:20)

4. Action not reaction 

I've learned that my triggers aren't always indicative of reality.

I have to quell my reflexive instinct to react to everything that triggers me. As a trauma survivor, there are lots of things about Christian church culture that trigger me! It helps me to remember that my being triggered does not always indicate the presence of danger. Not every pastor is a cult leader. Not every non-denominatal church is abusive. In fact, the opposite is more often true. Most pastors are loving shepherds. Most churches are safe places. Most harm is done unintentionally and is not personal.

When it's clear I do need to take action, wait until I'm calm. It's usually not beneficial for me to make big decisions while I'm hungry, angry, lonely or tired.

5. Give the benefit of the doubt

It helps me to remember that I may not have all the facts. Even when I think I know everything there is to know, it's important to remember I'm still human. It find it helpful to refrain from attributing malicious motives to others' actions when, for all I know, they might not even know that what they're doing is hurtful. If nothing else, proceeding with an assumption of innocence is better for my own sanity and serenity.

6. Check my motives, check-in with a trusted friend

Sometimes we advocates can mistake our personal opinions and feelings as the Ultimate Truth For Everyone.

Our intention is good: we just want to help! But sometimes we can miss the opportunity for authentic connection by brandishing our Big Feelings like a weapon. If I'm feeling fired up about something, it's helpful for me to honestly check my motives: are my personal likes or dislikes hindering me from seeing this situation clearly? Do I need to be right? Is it necessary for me to say something? Is there a solution I can suggest instead of a criticism?

If I'm having trouble seeing things clearly, I seek the wisdom of a trusted friend. An objective perspective is immensely helpful.

7. Be kind

And last of all, when I make a mistake, I practice these principles toward myself: admitting I made a mistake, giving myself the benefit of the doubt and always, always using a kind tone of voice with myself.

I've learned that the harshest critics are usually even harsher towards themselves. We could all use a little more kindness and gentleness, don't you think?

In the end, being mean never changes things. It only makes things worse. Being kind, however, has the power to change everything.

I went back to bootcamp a month ago—not because I particularly like exercise but because I always like the results.

I gained 35 pounds last year. Dear God. It was like a switch flipped in my brain and suddenly I was voracious for yeasty rolls, scones, biscuits, croissants, chocolate chip cookies. Baked goods are my kryptonite. 

The first item of self-care was to stop weighing myself. It had become a torture session. A terrible way to start my day. It felt like quitting a bad habit. I had to replace stepping on the scale with some other activity. Unfortunately, that activity usually involved eating. Heh.

But I went back to bootcamp and although my "Christmas Baby" (as I affectionately call my tummy) isn't really shrinking yet, I am experiencing an immediate positive benefit: increased energy and zero depressive mood swings. Hard exercise blasts away the cobwebs of my mind. There is really nothing like a hot, sweaty, difficult workout to handily eliminate the blues. I don't know why I forget this, but I do. And that's ok.

I'm embracing the idea that we have seasons in life. I had an Exercise Season. And then I had a Baked Goods Season. Up next: Vegan Season? Who knows? Stranger things have happened.

Last week I picked up my first book to find a quote and found myself flipping through the pages thinking: I wrote this? This is such crap. It was disconcerting. Just a few months ago I felt like "Girl at The End of the World" was my best writing ever and now, here I was feeling embarrassed that I couldn't go back and write it prettier, more perfectly. 

I had to sit with this discomfort for awhile. It got under my skin and bothered me. 

Why didn't I do a better job? Why didn't I rewrite it a fourth time?

But then I realized I was simply affirming a lie I've believed for too long: I'm Not Good Enough.

Here's the truth: I did the best I could. I wrote to the best of my ability. And I'm learning to forgive myself for not being perfect.

Perfectionism is paralyzing. I did a good enough job and that's good enough.

My little book didn't break any records or make any big bestsellers lists. But it did touch the hearts of the people it was supposed to touch. I get emails everyday. This has become my new definition of success: I did good for a few people. That's all I could ever hope for.

I'm learning to embrace every stage of my life without self-rejection, without self-judgment.

I practice looking at myself through the eyes of compassion, instead of scrutiny. I give myself permission to take breaks. To stop pushing so hard. My daily to-do list is much shorter these days. I say "no" more frequently. I say "yes" to fewer things. 

I spent years burning the candle at both ends and the only thing that came from that was anxiety, frustration and a kind of frantic urgency that permeated the fabric of my days.

I'm so weary of judgmental thoughts, words and actions.

I'm weary of being judgmental toward myself, I'm weary of judging others. What possible good does being judgmental accomplish? As the early desert fathers would say, "Being judgmental is too heavy a burden a bear." It's true, isn't it? We carry such a heavy load when we live our lives judging ourselves, judging others. I'm learning the difference between judgment and discernment.

Discernment looks like wisdom. It is able to decide and take action without harshness, without personal attachment. Discernment is gentle. It isn't loud. It moves quite softly. Tenderly. It doesn't need to be right. It only needs to honor its still, small voice.

I am learning to embrace my soft, sensitive self. I am learning to honor my need for rest.

Writing this second book has been a much different experience for me. I'm not pushing myself. When I hit writer's block, I allow myself to walk away. I've begun keeping a small crochet project on my writing desk. When I am stuck, I pick up the piece I'm working on and gently crochet my way out of writer's block.

Tomorrow I will get up and go back to bootcamp again. I will run through dark streets. I will sweat. I will grunt. I will despise the pain. But then I will drive home and the sky will be shot through with pink. I will see the sunrise and feel the dawning hope of a new day.