Opinion
E
RACHEL
ighteen years ago I ran away from
a life and a world I could no longer
stand, which I could never have fit
MATHEWS- into or belonged to. The details and
circumstances of my story won’t be
the same as too many other people
MCKAY in the LGBT community’s, but what
isn’t unique to me is the experience
of growing up feeling confused,
voiceless and hopeless.
@RAMathewsMckay When my mum was very young she met
and joined a religious cult commonly known as
#GrowingUpGay ‘The Moonies’, though officially known as the
Unification Church. I spent most of my first 18
years living with my mum and later step-dad
MY EXPERIENCES AS A under the control of this cult, its expectations
and endless rules, a lot of which made no sense,
LESBIAN GROWING UP IN and were both contradictory and demeaning.
A RELIGIOUS CULT AREN’T Intermittently I would be banished as the next
church fad kicked in, mission and edict, and my
THAT MUCH DIFFERENT grandparents and other family members would
TO THOSE OF CATHOLIC rescue me.
I should point out that no one in my family
CHILDREN has anything to do with the movement anymore,
except for a few friends and ex-members we’ve
stayed connected with.
The teachings, rules and belief system of this
particular cult are detailed and complex. If they
approach you, they may seem nice; they can talk
a good talk but I promise they are dangerous
and damaging. The community is small here in
Ireland, but they’ve been known to skulk outside
the GPO.
I grew up under the influence of a Messianic
megalomaniac leader named Sun Myung Moon
(who has since died leaving his wife and son in
charge), who dictated our daily family life, what
we should think, when we would sleep, how many
times a day we must pray, who we should marry
(they have arranged, mass weddings), how we
should be educated, how we should have sex, how
many children to have and what to name them.
The list goes on and on – there was nothing left
to free will or personal desire; not even your own
taste buds were safe. Commune life controlled
your food intake and having your own source of
money was discouraged. Can you imagine as a
teenager being banned from listening to secular
music, or being forced to wear certain clothes on
the basis of gender? It sounds like an MTV reality
show, but it was my childhood. I was regularly
chastised for wanting to wear trousers, Doc
Martens and my hair short, to name just a few of
my “deviations”.
I’m sure there are many who grew up in
devout religious homes that can identify with
how insidious church/institutional dogma can
can be. Reverend Moon and his behavioural
management style was often no different to that
of the Catholic hierarchy or Imams of Islamic
States, using fear of God, fear of punishment in the
afterlife, fear of shame, and often using sex as a
device to administer those fears and then offering
redemption as a source of hope.
The Guinness Book of Records-famous arranged
marriages and the off-spring of these unions
were, and still are, the focal point of Moonie life,
again not too different to a lot of the fundamental
Judeo-Christian-Islamic rhetoric – marry your
own, pro-create and educate within the confines
of heteronormativity. Homosexuality (or being
transgender) doesn’t visibly exist within the
membership of this international religion’s
congregation, and if it does it’s viewed as a
sickness to be overcome or a sign of ‘satanic
possession’, to be cast out.
For adults who join the movement there
are a series of trials, workshops, and training
programmes, and a separate set of rules to
adopt than for the children growing up in the
community. But all the roads and paths lead in one
direction – to the arranged marriages and the pro-
creation of more members from those marriages.
Stepping out of the designed plans, as my mum
temporarily did when she had me, meant that I
was about as welcome as an illegitimate child in
1930s Ireland.
As I grew up my grandparents were incredibly
kind and offered me the opportunity to live,
breathe and think outside of cult life every now
and again. They provided stability, turned a
blind eye to small-minded cultural norms in rural
Ireland, and set a good example as open-minded
humanitarians. But this occassional freedom was
also a curse, as long as I had no real freedom of
my own.
As soon as I turned 18 I ran as far away as
I possibly could. It was 1997 when I made the
official break, jumping on a train in the dead of
night. In November of the same year I got word
that the photograph of my intended spouse was
ready for me to see, that my wedding band,
wedding dress and plane tickets to Washington
DC, where my mass ceremony was being held
that year, were in London awaiting collection. I
knew I couldn’t re-enter a life that felt like a living
hell, so I wrote to them informing them that I
would expose all and press charges if they didn’t
leave me alone. It took a while, and a few more
traumatic experiences, but eventually I broke free.
I could blame my mum for the wretched parts
of my childhood and it’s true that she’s not entirely
blameless, but I respect that her intentions and
faith were pure, even if they were misguided.
And my mum has had the courage to ask for
forgiveness and to be open to who I need to be.
Not only does she no longer stand in my way,
but she publically supports my activist life and
welcomes my intimate relationships.
I appreciate that my personal experiences
are an extreme example of the need for, and the
emergence of, personal autonomy, and I hope very
few people share with the few details I’ve written
about. But I speak in solidarity to all who have
found or are on the verge of finding the courage
and the self-determination to step out of an
abusive home, or a marriage that no longer makes
sense, out of a life that doesn’t feel like yours,
or out of a mindset that is holding you back. No
matter how high the wall, thick the chain or strong
the grip, you can be free to be who you need to be
and want to be. And there’s no shame in asking
for help along the way.
WWW.GCN.IE 33