I finally stopped living in shame and fear…and you can too!
I’ve hidden my true identity for 30 years, I’m now 36. Let that sink in for a minute. Since the age of six, I’ve been LYING about my identity.
I grew up in the notorious sex cult The Family aka The Children of God. I was born as a child celebrity in the cult founder’s home, and my mother was a top leader for decades. When we began living a more public life in Brazil, I was told to lie about my identity as a celebrity child (cult name: Mary Dear) because supposedly my family was at risk of being “captured” by the authorities, or so I was told.
My sisters and I were often shipped off to secret hiding locations when the police showed up at the commune’s door. During the day, we’d socialize with other cult kids and read cult propaganda with stories of me in it. I’d sit quietly, pretending that the girl on those pages was a complete stranger, not some convoluted distortion of my own persona staring right back at me.
Six years old in Japan, about to leave to Brazil
When I left the cult at 18, I struggled between hiding my identity, grasping at straws to keep our fragmented family together, and trying to live a “normal” life to be like my normal friends. I approached every relationship with trepidation, dreading the day I would have to “explain” my life to a boyfriend or close friend, wondering if they’d run out the door and never return.
In 2004, Ricky Rodriguez, whom I considered a brother, committed a murder-suicide as a direct result of the severe abuse he suffered as a child--partly at the hands of my own mother, Sara Kelley. This thrust my family permanently into the spotlight. Every channel covered the story, photos of my family were everywhere. My older sister appeared in countless interviews and the wish to kill my mother became regular talk among ex-cult members. All privacy and what little control I had over my life was gone forever.
I couldn’t bear the humiliating feeling that my entire family seemed to be blamed for this. No one knew the relationship Ricky had with us. No one knew I’d kept in contact with him. No one knew I had a face-to-face conversation with him about my mother. Everyone knew of his anger toward her, but no one knew he told me that while he wished her dead, he would never kill her as that would hurt us, her children, whom he considered sisters.
I battled daily with the shame of loving my mother, while also knowing how many people she’d hurt along the way. I wanted to protect her, yet also hold her accountable for her actions. I felt the pain from fellow cult members when they told me of their childhood abuses, but I also didn’t think putting my mother in jail would heal it. I understood people died as a result of her actions, yet I believed that life was not so black and white. It was far more nuanced than that, I simply could not explain how.
I attempted to fix our family problems myself. I took on the pain of all my family members to lessen their own. Their problems became my problems, their worries, my worries. We had all finally escaped from the cult yet it seemed we could not escape from our past. So we lived it, over, and over again, watching ourselves on the news, at any hour of the day, at times every few months.
As the years passed and my sisters married, I watched how they protected their own families as I had done ours. It was no longer about protecting my immediate family, but a new generation of innocent children never in the cult and far removed from all its abuses. My family became too large for me to protect.
As much as I tried, there was no hiding. When others searched our names online and discovered who my mother was, there was never a sit down talk or a question to hear our side. Somehow we were all to blame. Five sisters, all innocent, our only crime being born to the wrong parents.
I felt completely helpless and alone. No matter what I did, I couldn’t fix us. I couldn’t protect my sisters from the vicious attacks of others wanting to bring us down. I couldn’t erase history or the Internet. I figured there was something inherently wrong with me, with my family, with my life. Maybe everyone was right, this was somehow my fault. I must be bad to love my mother.
Gradually I sunk under a pile of shame, afraid to speak out, talk about my life, or be myself for fear of the next person waiting to attack us by bringing up my family name.
My health started to fail. I developed candida, gum disease, inexplicable hair loss, gut issues, chronic back pain, skin issues, depression, chronic stress, anxiety, and multiple eating disorders. My body was literally shutting down. I’d taken on so much that it was coming out in other ways, demanding to be released from the pain, trauma, and secrets I’d compounded for three decades.
It took years of deep spiritual, emotional, and physical healing, countless tears grieving for my lost childhood and healing from my traumas that finally, one day I just...stopped. And let it all go. Someone criticized my sister and brought up my mother’s name. For the first time in my life, I wasn’t fazed in the least. In fact, I spoke out about it. That day was my turning point. Yesterday, I would’ve cowered into silence. Today, I would not be shamed into silence.
I realized that my upbringing, the choices my parents made, the things I was forced to believe, the way I was treated, my unstable childhood, the abuse, the extreme religion, the accusations hurled my way about my parents...none of that was my fault. I had no say in anything in my life, it was ALL controlled by the cult. None of it was my doing. Finally, I knew this to be true.
That day I truly believed there was nothing to be ashamed of. Not about who my parents are, or the life I led. In fact, it was the exact opposite. I was proud of my life. How in spite of everything, my sisters and I made it out and became successful, stable, kind women. Women who are strong, who support each other, and refuse to be disrespected and shamed because of our family name.
I released the useless weight I’d dragged around for years that was never mine to carry. I stopped worrying about what others said about my life. I stopped expecting the worst from everyone. I stopped living in fear, preparing for the next attack from the usual angry mob. And I simply existed...in pure, unfettered, shameless enthusiasm for life.
These days comments about my family don’t affect me because I understand where it’s coming from. I can’t change it, I can’t control it, so why even stress about it? If someone tries to use my mother against me, if a new article appears online or a TV segment aired, now I think, how can I turn this into a positive? How I can turn this into something I'm proud of and not ashamed?
I don’t owe anyone an explanation about my life, my parents, or my actions. Neither am I owed apologies or explanations from others. What I do owe is to stop hiding behind the persona I built around to be accepted by everyone and to start living authentically. I owe it to the world to speak my truth, tell my story with courage, and help others do the same
The next time you judge someone harshly or place blame on another, think about your own life and your own circumstances. Ask yourself, am I happy with my life? Am I am fulfilled, am I satisfied? Do I believe I’m perfect, do I believe I'm enough? If any answer is no, then start looking at your own life first, rather than trying to tear down another. Understand that we are all doing the best we can with the resources available to us at that time.
Your parents may not be perfect, and that’s ok. If your parents have made horrendous mistakes you still love them, THAT’S OK too. You are not bad, there is nothing wrong with you. Stop living in dread, stop living in fear, and start believing in yourself. Stop judging others and you’ll stop living in fear of others judging you.
I’ve done it, and it’s made a world of difference.