The last blog I wrote (or blob, as my 86-year-old mother calls them) was entitled “Dropping the C-Word”. After I published it, a person kindly pointed out to me that he thought I was referring to cancer. I apologised profusely if my title was triggering for anyone and felt terrible for not thinking that through properly. A few months later, strangely, weirdly, I find myself writing a blog that this time, really is about cancer.
Mine.
I’d hoped to keep it short. Word of warning: I’ve failed.
Hopefully I’m not dying. It’s breast cancer, the treatable kind. At time of writing I’m on Day 3, Round One of six rounds of chemo, then surgery, then some radio therapy. So, at best it’s an inconvenience and at worst a brand, new makeover with some nasty side effects. I’ve been told in about a year it will probably all be over (fingers crossed). I’m largely philosophical. Someone had to get it (one in two in the UK apparently) and I have plenty of friends and family who’ve rung that “end of treatment” bell before me and lived healthily for decades. But I’ve also lost a few friends and family to it. So, it’s not nothing.
I don’t wish to scare you ladies (I know some of you may be terrified right now: what is Jess doing that I’m not? Is her diet the same as mine? Has she lived next to a nuclear plant? Hasn’t she had a lot of stress in her life? Etc….), but these are the facts:
· There is cancer on the female side of my family (Great Grandmother, Grandmother and Great aunt all died of it, although not sure if it was breast), which could mean I have a genetic propensity;
· I had a clear mammogram a year ago AND a clear mammogram four weeks ago even though I can feel a large hard area on my boob right now. Ultrasound showed up cancer immediately after the mammogram in the breast and some lymph nodes.
· CHECK YOUR BOOBIES. That’s how this got spotted. Cos I cop a feel of those Mummas pretty regularly for that very reason, (calm down.)
· The fear is worse than the reality. Don’t be scared of what you might find. This crap is real ladies, so we have to woman up.
FACING THE FEAR:
This part of the blob is the brain washed bit. It’s about how the eff ‘n’ jeff I intend to try and navigate this excrement show from a spiritual perspective. Feel free to scroll down if you’re just wanting to know how to help us through the cancer. But read on if you have a religious role somewhere, even if you think you understand spiritual abuse or want to know more about its wondrous side-effects. This bit is for those trying not to keep dishing it out and those still suffering under the debris it leaves behind.
Here's the thing: I’m facing my biggest challenge without the faith (distorted in parts as it was) that got me through… well, basically everything before I turned 55.
As I’ve already spoken about, in 2020 I realised for the first time I’d been raised in a cult and I began to understand the deep and long-lasting effects of this on my thinking, feeling and mental health. I had been indoctrinated with a belief that I was special, that I was chosen, that I was called to be a super-duper-turbo powered better than the average Christian. I was encouraged to give up all my life ambitions and beliefs, to surrender myself to God (aka the cult), be obedient to its teachings and live the rest of my life under the shadow of its safe, almighty, bulwark wings. As I’ve written about before, I threw myself into this, and was fully recruited aged 14 by a man who has credible allegations of being a sexual predator and molester of young girls. A man who went on to groom and molest multiple girls (there is still an open case against him in Belfast). Thankfully, he did not assault me, but others weren’t so lucky. He’s the tip of the iceberg by the way.
Around 2021, alongside other like-minded people, I started shining a spotlight on that cult publicly and have now, finally, distanced myself from most of those relationships, after a few years of arguing with a handful of them. I was and am still, too triggered to have many such conversations. Some listened to my concerns with compassionate faces, others gas lit me and decimated me with their lack of understanding for what it is to be a survivor of spiritual abuse all the while telling me how much they loved me. Some of their actions and words made me feel completely unloved, funnily enough. Others have not known what to say. I do understand why. I would not have known how to deal with someone like me when I was still a covenanted member. Speaking out against the cult has cost me dearly within my family relationships and friendships that I thought were solid – plus, no self-respecting people-pleaser likes to be the person that everyone thinks has turned into a mad, troublemaking loudmouth. It’s been fun. Not.
Stepping out of that cult over twenty years ago I thought I was getting rid of its power over me. How wrong could I have been? I still thought I was called to be a super-duper-turbo powered better than the average Christian, now even more so because I had to PROVE to people still in the cult that I was still special and successful. I went to a local church where I found new friends and some healing from what I’d experienced, but still found myself desperately trying to find validation from the things I did and the ways I behaved. I had to be the best and holiest worship leader the church had ever seen, evangelising wherever I went, being prepared to talk about Jesus at the drop of a hat, walking through the streets of Ealing at 5 am praying for all the people who lived there while they slept in their beds. I did this on my own, un-prompted and unseen. I shed many tears over the fact that my husband had “lost his faith” and prayed for untold hours with others about this “problem”. I saw him and treated him like my enemy. If my husband would only “see the light” then my marriage would be fixed and we’d become “the lovely Christian family” God had intended us to be in the first place. This belief was reinforced by an underlying, unspoken culture in many parts of the church that a power couple is much more effective in God’s kingdom than a lone woman. I was once introduced to a prominent female church leader whose opening sentence was “Who’s your husband?”
For thirty years I had no idea that my thirty-three year old marriage had been largely arranged while in the cult. I had no idea that I’d been brainwashed and groomed and manipulated and coerced. I didn’t know what spiritual abuse was or that it had happened to me.
So, what does all of this mean as I now face cancer? As I now face the hard truth that one day (hopefully a long way off in the future) my life is going to actually end.
The way that I have dealt with every single challenge and problem up until recently has been to pray, pray, pray, pray, pray. To search the Bible for answers and solutions and comfort and a REASON. To wring my hands asking God for a sign, for guidance, a picture, a word, a dream. To phone my friends and ask them to do the same. To make sure that even in adversity I am doing everything PERFECTLY. All of this with the underlying, fearful, spine-chilling terror that I might not be good enough. That I might not be in “his will”. That I might not be holy enough, surrendered enough, godly enough, broken enough, humble enough, open enough, faith-filled enough, enough-enough. Because I am no longer the preaching/teaching/worship leading machine that I used to be. I am no longer the street walking at 5 a.m, witnessing to the homeless person, certain, certain, CERTAIN about EVERYTHING, (even my doubt, what the actual??) uber-Christian that I was between the ages of 16 and 50. I don’t even go to a “liberal” church. I’m not even calm and serene, “everything is in God’s hands”, sitting in the yoga position with whale music billowing around my hair, looking like (in my wildest dreams) Beyonce.
Spiritually speaking, I’m largely an effing jeffing mess.
For example: The sun might rise in a beautiful hue of gold-tipped amaranth pink and instead of just enjoying the wonders of nature I become convinced (for half an hour) that it’s a sign that “God” is telling me he is “preparing me to meet him”. I might be lying in my bed at 3 a.m. certain that I’m going to go to hell for betraying “God’s people”, for letting “him” down, for being “used by Satan”. On top of that, my washed brain has always told me that when faced with the inevitability of mortality I should embrace and welcome it, that I should be surrendered and trusting and calm and not scared at all, because “my plans are not his plans”. I’m supposed to be an example to all and sundry of wondrous, it’s-all-about-Jesus, peace.
In truth however, I’m effing jeffing fuming. I want to have a long life, meet my future grandchildren, hug and kiss my family a million more times each, see my work published, keep teaching my wonderful pupils, read great books, hear great music, watch great cinema, enjoy more crap TV, celebrate weddings, births, many Christmases, laugh, sing more Sondheim, watch more sunsets, breathe more air, tickle more pets, pee myself laughing with my mates, eat more orzo pasta, drink more champagne, dance the night away with my incredible, beautiful husband. Is that too much to ask?
I am absolutely, categorically NOT longing for the afterlife, even though I sang about that prospect in rapturous delight for decades.
As a result of all this scrambled, messed up theology, I tie myself in self-blaming knots – It’s my own fault I’m ill. God is punishing me. Under the panic I feel a sinking passivity, a tide of “che sera sera ” bubbling under my thoughts and I have heard myself saying out loud “well at least I’m really good at letting other people control what happens to me.” Even with a diploma in Biblical theology under my belt (taken after I left the cult), my traumatised brain can still, even after all this time, sink back to its default position:
Obedient, quiet passivity = wisdom = holiness. ESPECIALLY if you are a woman.
However, that concept….drum roll…. Is not biblical.
The reality is that I need to fight this cancer not just get through it in an aura of calm. Resist it, not surrender to it, or allow it to subdue me. It’s not My Cancer or The Big C. It’s an invader and it’s not welcome. On a daily basis I have to claw my way out of damaging thought patterns, reminding myself to show some self-compassion for a change. For the Christians out there, let me be 100% clear. I have not lost my faith. But it looks different, and most importantly it is private. Because “God”, or whoever, has compassion for me. She/They/He understands what spiritual abuse is, and I feel, deep in my bones, that it is ok to be confused about this stuff especially given what has happened to me. I feel “Kindness” (my thanks to a fellow cult survivor John Flaherty for that word) every single day through my family and friends, through the people at the hospital, through the circumstances of my life fitting into place despite this curve ball. Me and “Kindness” are all good, thanks. And anyway, it’s got nothing to do with anyone else. Despite being told by some in the past that thinking the way that I do now is “influenced by Satan” I have to say that the only place I have ever come across truly evil behaviour is from some who profess piety and holiness and knowledge of what God says about stuff. Just saying.
So…..
If you want to support me, please, please, please ease off the God bits. Thank you in advance. I know some of you might feel a duty to represent “truth” or whatever. To override my request, and make your point, albeit gently, or subtly, with love, because of your job/standing in the church/ beliefs/conviction that you are right/ discomfort with being dictated to or you might feel disrespected by my request. I get that. I’ve been there too, remember. If you feel my request is too much for you, then it’s absolutely fine to just keep your distance. Please have some compassion and understanding for what I have written here. As that famous Christian, Francis of Assisi once said “Preach the Gospel at all times. Use words only when necessary.” I’d paraphrase that to “In my case, please don’t use religious words”.
So….moving swiftly on.
HOW CAN YOU HELP?
This bit is for the many people who have said over the last month “let me know if there is anything I can do to help.”
Our challenges will be real: Financial, physical, practical and emotional. We have set up a Go Fund Me page because we don't qualify for any other help unfortunately and have no insurance or savings. https://gofund.me/614594d5 A contribution to this fund would make a big difference to. If you live near us, we’d appreciate a small bag of essential groceries, a lift to the hospital, a Krispy Kreme donut left outside my back door, a text, a joke, a memory, a stupid meme. If you don’t want to bombard me or impose then just text first e.g “Hey Jess I’m in Tesco’s do you need anything?” or “Hey Jess when’s your next appointment? Do you need a lift?” or “Hey Jess I’ve got a spare 15 minutes – can I come and hoover for you?”. Doing that once will be enough – you don’t have to commit to doing it every week for the length of my illness and I won’t be offended if you just do one thing once. That would be amazing. Heads up: if you want to cook for us we tend to eat mostly vegetarian (I know that excludes half the audience lols). Also, this is going to take roughly 9 months to get sorted, so staggering your help across those months would be super helpful (ie my freezer won’t cope with 20 vegetarian lasagnes in December.)
If you live further away a text or message is always gratefully received. A real fear for me is that when people text and I don’t reply (because I’m asleep/ overwhelmed/ at the hospital) that they will give up and think I don’t appreciate it and stop texting/messaging. Please don’t stop if I don’t reply. Going forward, if you live far away, Pete and I need financial help. We are both self-employed, with no insurance or savings and I will have little to no income for most of 2023 (I’m carrying on teaching my private pupils from home to keep me busy, and keep them as normal as possible, but I only have 15 pupils right now and I can’t foresee how this will play out during chemo etc.). We are not on the poverty line by ANY means and have already had help from friends and family that has meant the world to us, but if you wish to, do visit the Go Fund Me page (link above). We know everyone is tightening their belts so fully understand if this is not an option for people.
It’s embarrassing to admit, but this will be a real challenge for us. Please don’t assume (or judge us) by the social media posts, past or future, showing nice meals out, holidays, cars, clothing etc…We may have been gifted those wonderful things for all you know. The truth is nobody knows the detail of each others’ finances or the struggles we all face.
That’s all for now.
Lastly, and most importantly Thank You. To everyone who has already done all of the above and more without us even asking. For the many, many cards and flowers and gift boxes of treats. For the no-strings-attached, compassionate kindness from our friends, family, neighbours, pupils, and their parents and our many colleagues. Thank you for reading and for caring and for being there, even if only virtually. At worst I’ll come out of it all looking like Stanley Tucci (silver linings, eh?) or Uncle Fester (hmmmm) and live for another thirty years. But you may know me. I’m a bad ass. I’m bloody brave. I’m not afraid to shine light on situations that are difficult to talk about or largely avoided for fear of causing offence. I can overcome cancer with the help of modern medicine and my friends and family. And perhaps another presence / being/ entity that loves me unconditionally, (UNCONDITIONALLY) and is proud of me, just as I am.
