CW Sexual harassment, sexual assault, spiritual abuse

In 2016, during the YWAM Dunham School of Digital Filmmaking, we were working on our 48-hour film project, when one of the staff guys kissed me on the neck. It was not consensual. For years, I didn’t think this was a big deal, but it turns out this is considered sexual assault. 

This event was part of a bigger pattern of spiritual abuse, sexual harassment, and manipulation by a male staff member of the School of Acting for the Screen, from Chile. His name is Pablo. I was not his only victim. 

And because words like “sexual harassment” and “spiritual abuse” can be very vague and broad, here are specific examples of what Pablo did:

• Styled himself as a mentor to me, even though I didn’t ask for that attention or that kind of relationship. He said he wanted to help me grow in my identity and recover from purity culture. 
• Repeatedly gave me hugs over the first couple weeks of my relationship with him after I admitted I wasn’t super comfortable with physical affection from guys (due to the purity culture). Would ask me “what percentage of awkward is this?” during each hug, until I eventually said 0%. 
• Challenged me to wear more brightly coloured and form-fitting clothing and pants. Ostensibly, this was to help me deconstruct modesty culture. I did try experimenting with different clothing during the school, but when he suggested I cut my hair and try a different style I dug in my heels and said no. (He still pestered me about cutting my hair a few years later in a facebook message.)
• Paid me close attention and spent large amounts of time with me, and had deep conversations with me for the first part of the school, then withdrew those affections in the latter part of the school (classic lovebombing)
• Trash-talked my school leaders to seed distrust between me and them
• Took advantage of my compassion by encouraging me to stay up late praying for his depression and for another student’s struggles, frequently. (I needed that sleep for film school!)
• Refused to accept my influence and leadership during the 48-hour film when I was the producer, and made a big fuss on set about being put on boom pole operator rather than being an acting coach like he wanted, this caused enough disruption we had to do a formal debrief with the whole cast and crew after the film. (Remember this was the guy who said he wanted to encourage me in my identity and giftings. . . but as soon as my leadership conflicted with his ego, he threw a tantrum.)

That’s just the stuff I remember best, I’m sure there’s more. From the Ontario Human Rights Commission definition of sexual harassment, here’s what Pablo’s actions towards me check off: 

• demanding hugs
• invading personal space
• unnecessary physical contact, including unwanted touching, etc.
• requiring an employee to dress in a sexualized or gender-specific way
• paternalistic behaviour based on gender which a person feels undermines their status or position of responsibility

A lot of what he did is also textbook manipulation and abuse: lovebombing, separating me from friends and leaders, taking advantage of my insecurities, styling himself as a spiritual mentor, systematically wearing down boundaries, sowing confusion, gaslighting. 

Notice that it was during the 48-hour film, when I was the producer, that Pablo kissed my neck. This happened in public, as I was talking to another member of the crew. I froze in that moment. Pablo knew my history with purity culture, and that at that point I had the conviction of saving my first kiss for marriage, and did not want to kiss people or be kissed. Up until this point, our physical affection had been hugs and hand-holding. This was out of the blue. I was at work on set. 

I was busy, and didn’t know how to deal with the neck kiss. I didn’t say anything, just kept talking with the crew member, and pretended this didn’t happen, but internally I was frozen and bewildered, should I speak up about this or not? I just stuffed it down and kept going.

For years, I didn’t think it was that big of a deal. But I think that was part of the abuse, Pablo doing this in plain sight, while nobody around me reacted, was strategic. It sowed confusion. It minimised what happened (that was sexual assault). And the fact that I still felt confused and frozen about it six years later means that it was a bigger deal than I first realised. In fact, those feelings overwhelmed a lot of my memories of shooting the 48-hour film — so much so that I forgot I was the producer of that short. He not only violated my consent and my autonomy for his own ego, he stole my confidence and the memories of my accomplishments by his actions. He undermined my leadership. And put me into freeze mode for six years. That’s why I didn’t think it was that big of a deal. Well. Now I do.

Part of what made that non-consensual neck kiss so damaging is that it isolated me, and I felt like I couldn’t speak up or say anything. So now it’s an important part of my healing to say “Hey, this happened. It’s not ok. He shouldn’t have done that. And everyone, look and listen to what this guy did, witness with me that this was wrong.“

This is me trying to untangle the giant knot of thoughts, feeling, beliefs and worries I have around money and finances.

I. Background

I grew up in a middle class Australian-Canadian evangelical family. My parents both have degrees, Dad is an electrical engineer, Mom was a stay-at-home-parent for most of my childhood. My Opa and Oma were Dutch immigrants to Canada, and my Opa started a successful greenhouse business, originally with tomatoes to get the business off the ground, but then transitioned to his true love, roses.

My parents are frugal, but not tight-fisted. They value being financially responsible, working diligently, and are consistent tithers. Growing up, I never had to worry about money. We didn’t get to do things like buy snacks at a movie theatre or midway carnival tickets, but we would occasionally get treats like ice cream or go on camel ride at the local fair. My parents bought a lot of things second hand, but we never felt pinched or squeezed for finances. It seemed like being tempered and wise, you could avoid financial issues.

We were given pocket money for chores, and gifted birthday cash from grandparents. In this way we could save up for things we wanted to buy. Mom didn’t approve of us spending money on things like candy, and praised us for our wise financial decisions in purchasing books or Schleich plastic animals (good for imaginative play). We also tithed as kids. I think it was strongly encouraged, but I also wanted to tithe and give my money to those less fortunate than me. I was also pretty terrible at spending money, and was such a saver/hoarder. . . when we moved to Canada I still had $15 worth of Australian coins that I had found on supermarket floors and streets years earlier. (I still have them, if you were wondering.) When I was 12 I saved up for my biggest purchase to date: a fish tank that cost around $100. My parents had purchased it on sale because I really wanted it, and they thought it was a good investment and wanted me to be able to pay for it (not at full price, with the sale benefit), and so I worked to save up and pay them back for the tank.

I also earned a fair bit of money through winning prizes for craft projects at a local show, and I tried selling friendship bracelets and scarves at markets to pretty much no success as a kid.

II. Teen Years, Being Paid By Others

My first job was delivering papers, at age 14. I didn’t get paid a lot, maybe 8c per paper with 50ish papers per week, but it added up and allowed me to buy things like books. It’s also the first time I had a bank account, shared with my sisters and Mom who also delivered papers. (We had meticulous excel sheets to keep track of our individual earnings.)

I had a series of other random jobs, some retail, some odd jobs, some contract work (like elections when I turned 18). Again, money at this point was mostly pin money for things that I wanted, and for giving to others. I also saved a lot because I felt like most of things I would buy would be frivolous. I didn’t need clothes or anything really, my parents covered that.

I was also a little fundie teen who wanted to be a stay at home daughter, so I didn’t believe in looking for a job outside the home and would have never considered a job-job like McDonalds.

III. College

I kind of didn’t want to go to college (y’know, the whole stay at home daughter thing), but my parents both value higher education and were kind of pushing me in that direction, and then I found a program that was perfect: Apparel Technology, a two-year diploma at a college an hour away from home. So I ended up going to college. My parents covered tuition, rent and groceries. I paid for all my supplies (pretty pricey when you’re talking about fashion and costuming) and some of my textbooks with the money I’d made as a teen.

I knew I was super lucky not having to worry about working or student loans while I was at college, I saw the extra toll that took on my classmates.

I got really high grades in college (due in part to being able to focus solely on my studies, and because I was little perfectionist — do not recommend, Cs get degrees babe, and you might just get a bit more sleep with those Cs), which meant that I received a lot of scholarships too. It covered a good portion of my tuition.

In the summers I had jobs, my most consistent and close to full time work yet. The first year I worked in an alterations shop, and the next two years I worked in the wardrobe department of The Canadian Badlands Passion Play. This was the first time I was making adult amounts of money. Most of the money went toward school supplies or savings.

I graduated college with no student debt. My parents didn’t expect me to pay them back. (I did, however, graduate with burnout. So, body-energy debt.)

IV. My Wild Decision

After college and my second year working at the Passion Play, I decided to go to YWAM and do a Discipleship Training School (DTS). I talked with my parents and they thought it was a great idea, but they had one question, “How are you going to pay for it?” I had some money saved up, but not enough for the whole school.

And I said, “I want to trust God for finances”.

I had grown up hearing stories of God’s miraculous provision from missionaries, YWAMers and books. But I’d never seen it for myself. And I realised that was because I’d never been in a position where I needed that, I had grown up so solidly middle-class I’d never needed to trust God for finances. I wanted to put myself in a risky position, give God space to work.

Maybe it was foolish. Maybe it was one of the smartest decisions I’ve made. I don’t know. But my parents let me go without trying to talk me out of it.

V. YWAM

So I went to YWAM with about half the money I needed for lecture phase. At one point, I gave half of THAT to another student because they were more in need than I was, and I’d heard stories about radical generosity and thought that would be a cool thing to do. In a hilarious turn of events, the other student gave me half of the anonymous donation (from me) they’d received because they knew I didn’t have enough for my lecture phase. Anyways, it was very silly and joyful.

I still didn’t have enough for outreach but on the last day before the deadline, I called my parents STRESSED OUT, and they agreed to give me loan to cover the rest. Right after I got off that call, my school leaders told me that because they’d gotten such a good deal on the flights, they could make it work with what I had. But I told them it was ok, my parents had given me a loan.

I felt disappointed in myself, like I hadn’t trusted God enough. I also felt betrayed, like why didn’t God provide for me even though I trusted Him?

Anyways, I finished my DTS, went home, and paid back the loan to my parents through working for a friend with a skincare business.

But then I felt like I should go back to YWAM to do their film school. Again, I had about half of what I needed before I left. A bunch of people generously donated. But still by the end of the school I didn’t have enough, and my parents bailed me out with another loan.

I went home after the film school and felt like I heard strongly from the Holy Spirit to not get a job. I felt just as strongly that I should go back to YWAM for their acting school. I also did some fundraising and again people were generous in their donations, and my Grandma gave me the ‘living inheritance’ she gave all her grandkids — in my case, to go toward my acting school. So I had enough to go start doing the acting school. But my parents told me they wouldn’t bail me out again. I also paid back my parents somehow, I think maybe I worked an election?

I left YWAM for the third time also in debt, this time to my youngest sister who was now working full time at McDonald’s and had enough to loan me, and in debt to the YWAM base itself.

I came away from my grand experiment of trusting God feeling betrayed and confused. Why hadn’t God provided what I needed? I thought following Him meant not being in debt?

(I later realised that this period taught me a LOT about privilege and poverty. It completely destroyed any notion I had that people are poor because they don’t work hard enough or trust God enough — rather, it’s systemic issues of greed and lack of care for neighbour that make people poor. And it’s only because I had social safety nets that I didn’t end up homeless or hungry. Being broke in YWAM radicalised me. And for that reason, I don’t regret my decision to trust God for finances one bit.)

VI. Paying Back Debts

I came back home from YWAM over $6k in debt. I got a job at a local garden centre, full time in spring that went down to veeery part time in winter. This is probably the most financially ‘normal’ I’ve been in my entire life. I made a steady paycheck. I slowly paid down debt. It was such a good feeling to finally pay off both loans, to my sister and to the YWAM base.

I had a couple other random contract jobs at this time too, though I was still employed at the garden centre. I was still living at home, and developed an agreement with my parents to pay 30% of my income to them as rent, and be responsible for my own cell phone bill, because I wanted to be better practiced at adult financial responsibilities.

I worked at the garden centre for a couple years, and liked my job and coworkers, but was starting to contemplate a career change when lo and behold, it was 2020.

VII. COVID

I was laid off from my job at the beginning of COVID, which was a bit upsetting but since I had been contemplating a career change anyway, wasn’t devastating. I was also able to apply for CERB, the Canada Emergency Relief Benefit. . . which paid me more than my old job. It’s a bit weird to say that COVID was the time I’ve made the most money and been the most financially stable. I benefitted immensely from CERB, it allowed me to pay for a lot of therapy and purchase a laptop that I use all the time for work and leisure, so anyways I’m now a HUGE fan of universal basic income because I’ve personally experienced how life-changing it can be.

I also tried starting my zero-waste fashion business that I had been wanting to do for ages during COVID, but got overwhelmed with depression once winter arrived and put it on hold.

VIII. Coming out of COVID

CERB also allowed me to go back to YWAM for an acting internship, and develop my acting skills further. This time, I had savings, and no debts.

When I came back from YWAM, I got a job at a local restaurant that I really loved. It was just dishwashing, but I loved the vibe of the restaurant, being around people, feeling good at my job, earning a steady paycheck. So it was a kick in the gut when I was unexpectedly laid off three months into my job. Maybe it was the return of covid restrictions, maybe it was something else, I don’t know.

I had enough saved up and the world was kind of shut down in the Fall of 2021 so I decided not to look for any jobs until after Christmas. Oh. I also had a really disappointing experience where I made a bunch of embroidered jewellery for a local art market, to sell and help me out financially, but didn’t sell a single item.

IX. My Own Business

I decided to start working on LyndenTree Designs, my zero-waste fashion business again in early 2022. Even though my parents had made it pretty clear I shouldn’t go to them for a bailout, I figured a business loan was different, so I presented my business plan, and the ask of $2k to launch LyndenTree Designs. They agreed. I put the money toward a website and the first order of fabric, which arrived in April.

I got COVID right after that. I was also able to apply for financial relief from the government because COVID made me unable to work.

Much of 2022 was me working slowly on my business (made difficult by having ADHD), and stressing about finding a job. I was feeling pretty tired, and didn’t want a full-time job because I also wanted to have energy for LyndenTree Designs. I looked at a lot of jobs, and applied in various places, but nothing came through. All my other jobs in the past kind of dropped into my lap first try. And now it was inexplicably hard to find a job. I was also fussy, because waking up before 10am was hard for me, and again, I didn’t want something that took all my time. I also felt a lot of pressure from my parents to have a job, but I didn’t actually want a job, I wanted to work on my own business. I spent a lot of time feeling stressed and pulled between job/financial stability and personal fulfilment/creativity.

In October 2022 I did my first market with LyndenTree Designs. I didn’t sell anything, but I also didn’t expect to sell anything, I saw it more as a networking experience. I also told myself that if I didn’t sell anything then it would be time to look for a Real Job somewhere else. My bank account was running low.

But I realised I’d made a severe error in calculating my finances — even if I did get a job right away, I wouldn’t be paid for a couple weeks. And I didn’t think I had enough in my account to last me that long. STRESS. So in a panic I printed out some resumes and intended to drop them off in town after visiting a friend for tea.

After tea, I took a new road out of my friend’s neighbourhood, got disoriented, and by the time I figured out where I was, I was halfway through a red light, and a van was running into me. I burst out sobbing, at the thought of how expensive this was going to be. I pulled over to the side of the road, no one was injured. I was driving my parents’ vehicle and they made it clear when I started driving that if I was in a collision, I’d be responsible for covering the cost of repairs. So a trip that started out in an attempt to solve my financial worries only quadrupled them. I was devastated. And it felt like a blazingly obvious sign not to pursue an external job because I literally got knocked off my path. It felt even clearer a couple days later when I sold my first garment from LyndenTree Designs that my focus should be on my business, not pursing a job outside of the home to make my parents happy.

Anyways I added another obligation to my parents in addition to the business loan: Paying them back for car repairs and the increased cost of insurance. They made it clear there was no rush, so that helped a bit with the stress.

X. 2023

I went into 2023 with the resolve to focus wholeheartedly on LyndenTree Designs. At this point, my energy had declined even further, and I knew I either had enough for a part-time job which meant financial security and energetic burnout, or my business which meant financial precarity but also creativity, flexibility and a healthier schedule. I chose my business. (I chose to prioritise my health.)

I had peace deep down, even though I was often stressed on the surface. At this point, all my savings had run out. I started using my credit card to pay for essentials. And boiiii the guilt and shame I felt about that. . . It went against everything I’d learned in my childhood about being financially responsible and not going into debt.

My health and my energy levels completely tanked from January to May. They didn’t get better in May, I just learned why I felt so awful: I likely have MCAS, a chronic illness that’s a cousin of allergies but involves more body systems. And in the most cruelly ironic twist of fate, one of my biggest triggers was the fabric I bought to start LyndenTree Designs.

My energy levels were so low, I could barely do more than just survive. It was an awful mix, knowing that if I needed to work for money, but not having the energy to work. But also I was in survival mode so I couldn’t see that I was in survival mode because I had no extra energy to devote toward long-term thinking or planning.

I’ve survived 2023 through
– Selling a few skirts for LyndenTree Designs
– A few random sewing jobs
– The generosity of friends (who donated to my ko-fi or sent etransfers)
– The unexpected generosity of random strangers on Twitter
– A crap tonne of credit card debt
– My parents allowing me to live in the basement suite rent-free
– Various government subsidies (Alberta Adult Health Benefit, Carbon Tax Rebate, etc.)
– A local food rescue and our garden keeping grocery costs low
– A lot of creativity with spending and paying bills

I’m very proud of my resourcefulness. But this year has been stressful and frustrating. I haven’t sold any skirts from LyndenTree Designs since July. I don’t feel like I can ask my parents for help, since they’ve made it very clear to not come to them for bail outs. I also kind of don’t want to ask them for help, I’m thirty-one and I want to feel like an adult. Asking my parents would make me feel like a child or a teen again.

I’m finally at the end of my own capacity. My bank account is less than $50, with no solid promise of income on the horizon. My credit card is maxed out. The holidays are coming, and I have no money to purchase gifts for my family. And I have a chronic illness that makes it very hard to go out and get a job.

I’ve tried doing things my parents’ way, and it didn’t work. I’ve tried doing this all on my own, and it didn’t work. My only hope is community.

INTRO

“What is a crush?” is a question I’ve had since I was about eleven, and I’ve never quite got a satisfactory answer. I’m starting to wonder if what I call a crush is what others would also label a crush. The only way to know is to explain what this word means to me (in great detail), and then others will be able to compare and tell me how it matches or doesn’t match what they consider a crush.

So brace yourself. I’ve got a lot of explaining to do. 

HISTORY

When I was eleven, my best friend began developing crushes on boys. She told me all about how dreamy this particular guy was. She was very involved in thinking about her crushes, almost to the point of distress. I was confused. “What is a crush?” I asked her and I asked my Mom. Well, they said, it’s when you like a boy and want to be around him and feel nervous around him. 

I guess my first crush was Mom’s piano student [redacted] then. I always ran away nervous when he arrived, and felt kind of weird and fluttery inside. Like there was something I wanted but I was embarrassed I wanted it. 

Then we moved to Canada when I was thirteen and I was still confused about what crushes were. Or how to act around guys, since I only had sisters. TV, movies and the culture around me told me that now I was a teenager, I had to look at boys differently. Because I wanted help, I started reading Purity Culture books like Before You Meet Prince Charming and Answering The Guy Questions. 

These books didn’t really tell me what a crush IS, they just kind of assumed I knew. They talked about the results of a crush (daydreaming about him, attaching my last name to his, choosing the colour of my bridesmaids dresses) and what not to do (don’t talk about him with friends, don’t intentionally do anything that will stir up more thoughts of him, don’t tell him how you feel or give any indications you’re interested, don’t dwell on thoughts of him or get carried away by your dreamy imaginations). 

So I developed my own definition of a crush from reading these books and listening to cultural messages in books and movies.

Having strong emotions related to a specific guy, and not being able to stop thinking about him, meant I had a crush. 

I had no idea that I had ADHD, which often comes with hyperfocuses that can attach themselves to a person as well as ideas and things. I had no idea that there were different kinds of attraction: romantic, sexual, platonic, sensual, aesthetic, kindred-spirit. 

ADHD hyperfocuses, the fact that I’m an Enneagram four, asexuality, purity culture and fundamentalism all make defining a crush super confusing, even now in my late 20s. 

WHEN I HAVE A CRUSH

What do I want to do with a guy when I have a crush on him? 

• I want to hang out with him for long stretches of time.
• I want to listen to him talk about the things he’s passionate about and interested in, whatever lights his imagination
• I want to hyperfocus on our areas of mutual interest. Music. Filmmaking. Acting. Fashion. Community building. 
• I want hugs
• I want to stay up late talking about deep random bunny trails
• I want to snuggle with him on the couch or on the lawn
• I want to go for walks 
• I want to laugh about lame inside jokes. I want that knowing look where the two of you know exactly what the other person is thinking without saying a word. 
• I want to be surprised with thoughtful gestures that show he really knows and understands me
• I want to be kissed 
• I want to hold hands 
• I want him to pick me up and spin me around
• I want to go to fun events together
• I want to dance with him, both the wild ridiculous dance around the living room kind of dance, and the more romantic ballroom or slow dance.
• I want to create art with him
• I want to read books with him and discuss them
• I want to go cloud watching
• I want to send random facebook messages and get random messages during the day
• I want to sneak up behind him and give him random hugs
• I want to go on long road trips
• I want him to stay when I’m angry and upset and emotional, and just be still and steady, and then comfort me when I need it
• I want to play with his hair and have him play with my hair
• I want to admire him in a suit
• I want to do crazy things like run around in a rain storm 

All of my crushes but one have been unrequited. So there’s a strong element of wanting to be seen and noticed. I want him to notice me, to come to me, to initiate conversations, to tell me he’s interested in me. To plan get togethers. When I look back at my past crushes, I didn’t so much want THEM as I wanted them to notice ME. 

I look at this list, and my past crushes, and sex never even entered my thoughts. When I had a crush on a guy, their body rarely was as interesting as their mind or their talents and skills. I got excited when my only boyfriend thus far talked about musical theory and technical stuff, but I don’t think it was a sexual excitement. It was more of a “I love watching passionate people talk about what they’re passionate about” thing. I love learning stuff from knowledgeable people.

And now I’m completely doubting myself and just wondering if I’ve been so duped by purity culture that I unintentionally trained myself to completely avoid all sexual thoughts related to guys. But on the flip side, perhaps I was attracted to purity culture because I didn’t think about sex and I could relate to the sexless version of dating/courting they were talking about. 

When I had a crush in the past, I’d also immediately start daydreaming about marriage (as in planning a wedding in my head). This is because fundamentalism told me being close friends with a guy outside of marriage is very Off Limits. So if I wanted to be close to a guy, marriage had to be involved. 

I don’t daydream about weddings as much any more, but I do like the idea of a guy being there long term and not going anywhere and being able to share life experiences together and not have to EXPLAIN everything, because he was there for it and lived it with me. 

When I have a crush, I want to be seen, known, loved. I don’t care about sex. Well, perhaps care is too strong of a word. I just don’t think about it. 

THE QUALITIES OF A CRUSH

I’ve made a list of all the people I’ve had a crush on in the past. And I noticed something startling. Every crush had something that I wanted in my life at that time.

• Musical skill
• Humour
• Confidence
• Acting skill
• Attention 
• Leadership position
• Kindness
• Sound skill/technical knowledge
• Freedom
• Enthusiasm 
• Emotional intelligence
• Authority from skill and experience
• Not fully fitting in with mainstream culture

Yes, there was a small aesthetic component too, they were all, in my eyes, good looking in some way. But not always conventionally attractive. (I tend to go for the tall skinny nerdy types, but not all the time. Hemsworths have never really attracted me.) But their looks were rarely, if ever the first reason why I was attracted. 

THIS IS WHERE I BRING IT ALL TOGETHER

I’m now wondering if I’ve every legitimately been attracted to a guy. . . or if I was attracted to something he possessed.

It’s not so much that wanted the guy, but more that wanted TO BE the guy. Is it a crush, or is it jealousy/longing for certain character traits in my life that are then outwardly projected on to the young man? Every time I’ve had a crush, it lines up with what value/want in myself in that season. I think I wanted what they have, not necessarily THEM.

Is what I call a crush actually jealousy or yearning? I. . . think it might be. A longing for certain character traits or experiences.

It’s like when a friend told me yeah, he’s kissed girls. I haven’t kissed anyone (thanks purity culture) and I’m annoyed about it. And then, I felt myself feeling strong emotions as I thought about my guy friend. And I thought it was a crush but as I looked more at the feelings. . . I didn’t so much want to kiss him in particular, I just wanted the experience that he’d had. 

The venn diagram looks like this.

See, I’ve had this yearning/jealousy/whatever the strong emotion is around women and married people (like that time I was obsessed with Lin-Manuel Miranda because I just wanted to make music and do theatre and listen to him talk about his love for both), but I never labelled it a crush. However, if this yearning emotion was directed towards a single guy, because it was a strong emotion and a young man, then I thought it was a crush — because Fundamentalism taught me that ANY strong emotions directed toward young men were crushes. When I had that feeling for anyone else, I didn’t label it a crush. Same emotion, different words depending on who is the source of the emotion. 

Honestly this is a bit of a dismal thought, to consider that maybe all of my romantic crushes were just self-projections of things I wanted to see in my own life. It seems very self-absorbed. Like I’m saying to each guy, You are the positive to my negative. My negatives are attracted to their positives. My lack attracted to their skill or character. I wonder, would I still feel attraction if my negative turned into a positive? Or is it only the distance, the gap that determines the strength of attraction? 

And throw in ADHD, where I hyperfocus on random interesting things, and often times that interesting thing is whatever area of my life I’m currently working on and want to get better at. So, hyperfocus on my negative as I slowly turn it into a positive. . . and hyperfocus on a guy who demonstrates the quality I want in my life at that point. 

Remember how the purity culture books told me to recognize a crush? ‘Not being able to stop thinking about him.’ Well that happens with ANY of my ADHD hyperfocuses. Goldfish. Zero Waste living. Tiny houses. Somatic therapy. Lin-Manuel Miranda. I can’t stop thinking about them. But obviously I don’t have a romantic crush on goldfish soooo. . . “Not being able to stop thinking about a guy” makes it really confusing when I’m trying to differentiate a crush from an ADHD hyperfocus.

I’m an Enneagram Four. The Enneagram Four’s core wound expresses itself as a desire to be truly seen. I feel like what I call crushes almost always came out of that desire to be deeply seen, which culture told me happens in a romantic relationships. I also don’t have brothers, so I crave masculine relationships. Wanting to be seen, wanting to be seen by a guy, being told those desires automatically meant romance because a romantic/marriage relationship were the only ways to satisfy that. . . presto, we have a “crush”. 

And so I’m left to wonder, what would a crush not from lack look like? What would it look like for me to develop feelings for someone from a place of enoughness, rather than a place of yearning and jealousy and empty space? I honestly don’t know.

But one thing I do know, I have a much better picture of what the word “crush” has meant for me in the past. I don’t think it lines up with what others consider a crush, though I’d have to read their breakdown of what “crush” means to them to be certain. So, what even is a crush? I’d still like to know. . .

I’ve been trying on the label of grey asexual/demisexual. . . And it fits. (1,2)

I learned about asexuality and demisexuality a couple years ago, from a friend who is demisexual. I’ve been wondering if it fits me since the beginning of this year. But it was hard to tell, because of my teen years that were steeped in purity culture. When sexual attraction, romantic attraction, aesthetic attraction, strong emotions, flirting, crushes, pleasure and hormones all get tied up together and labelled into one bundle called “lust” that must then be avoided at all cost, things get confusing. 

I’ve been slowly sorting through all of that, and reading more about demisexuality, asexuality and grey asexuality. Am I demisexual or is it just purity culture ghosts? Is something I’ve asked myself a lot over the past few months. 

But quite frankly, I’ve always been confused by what people mean when they talk about sexual attraction. What IS sexual attraction? I still don’t really know and I’m 28. 

Apparently when people watch Bridgerton and said the Duke was hot they didn’t just mean he looks good? There was something more going on with that? Apparently people got excited about the sex scenes for more than just OH DAYUM LOOK AT THE STORYTELLING GOING ON HERE? (Me, I was excited that finally it wasn’t just two people having sex; it actually moved the plot along.) 

Apparently, when people say someone is hot they actually are interested in what is between someone’s legs and not between their ears? They’re not interested in what radiates from someone’s personality?  

Weird. 

But what tipped me over from “Hm I wonder if I’m demisexual or grey ace?” into “Yeah, I’m owning the label of grey asexual now” was a work party a week and a half ago. 

There were about 12 of us hanging out in one girl’s backyard, all in our 20s, all girls except for one gay guy. Basically like the demographics of my college classes (lol fashion school). And I swear literally half the conversation was sexual in nature. Who likes who at work, what they’d like to do with them. Descriptions of body parts. Talking about how hot someone is. Innuendo.

And I did not relate. I wanted to go back to talking about how brussel sprouts, cauliflower, kohlrabi, kale and canola all have the same ancestor plant, because that was legitimately more interesting to me.

I had the same roll my eyes can we get back to real conversation reaction in college to my classmates talking about sex, but back then I thought it was all because talking about sex outside of marriage was indecent and borderline sinful. 

Now, I don’t really care, and I don’t consider sex a forbidden thing. The fear and knee jerk religious shame and disgust were gone. But I was having the same eye rolling reaction. 

Being around so much sexual conversation made me realize how much I don’t care about sexual conversation. . . and made me see that people don’t conceptualize sexual attraction the same way I do. Like when they say someone’s hot they actually want to bone them? A complete stranger? A celebrity? When I say someone’s hot I mean they look good and I want be around them and pester them with 12 billion questions to get to know them better and maybe snuggle with them (with clothes ON). 

The next night I went down major bunny trails on asexualityarchive.com and related so much to what was being said, it threw the events of the work party into even starker contrast and I thought

well. Guess I’m some sort of asexual. 

(I’m still not sure if I’m actually demisexual, because again, I’m a bit mystified about what sexual attraction IS. I think I’ve experienced it in the past, and most of the time there was emotional connection first, but I’m still examining my past experiences so I’m currently using and prefer the label “grey asexual”, because it allows for more ambiguity.)

I’ve done a lot of untangling of purity culture’s harmful ideas over the past seven years. But with my new revelation of being grey asexual, things are about to get even more interesting. 

Because here’s the thing. I fit really well into courtship culture and purity culture because “don’t have sex until you’re married” I just shrug and say ok, sex before being in a committed relationship sounds sketchy anyway. Gold star. A+ for following purity culture rules. In a lot of ways, I didn’t experience damage from purity culture because I wasn’t fighting my sexual urges. But I experienced damage in a lot of other ways, because sexual and romantic attraction were conflated, and then I was shamed for what I now understand was romantic attraction toward guys. I’ll be unpacking how purity culture did and didn’t affect me due to being grey asexual for a while, I think. 

And then there’s the consideration that uh, I’m on the LGBTQ+ spectrum. I kind of landed there with a bump. Thankfully, I’ve unpacked and deconstructed enough of evangelical purity culture that I’m cool with people being LGBTQ+, and I don’t think God is at all against that. But it’s strange to find myself in that spectrum, that I was told for years and years is sinful. And at the same time I SUPER fit the stereotypical perfect Pure Christian Girl because of my sexual orientation and y’all that is a weird feeling. 

So uh, hi, guess I’m grey ace.

1. For those not familiar with these terms, asexual means someone who doesn’t experience sexual attraction to other people. Grey asexual (greyace/greysexual) or demisexual are terms that fall under the broader umbrella of asexuality. Greyace people experience sexual attraction toward people only under specific circumstances, and demisexual people only experience sexual attraction toward someone if they have a strong emotional connection established. 

2. The language of sexuality in the Asexual and LGBTQ+ community is very precise. (Asexuality is also considered part of the LGBTQ+ spectrum.) Using those terms, I would now say I’m a cisgender heteroromantic grey asexual woman. This means I was assigned female at birth, and identify as female. I’m romantically attracted towards men. And I experience sexual attraction toward people (specifically men in my case) rarely and under specific circumstances. 

“Hey, can you guys pray for me? I’m going through a rough patch.”

These were my words to a group chat of Christian artists last week. The group is full of people from all sorts of faith backgrounds, and I know about two thirds of the people in person.

I received many encouraging responses. I received a new one today, which I found particularly interesting. 

“How are you doing this week? Are you feeling a wee bit of victory?”

Uhhhhh. How to answer that? It would take an entire essay to answer it. So, I guess I’m gonna write an essay?

Yesterday I read a thread on Twitter by Kate Bowler that I found super fascinating. It was about the difference between Canadian and American ways of thinking, Americans tend to believe that things must be conquered, whereas Canadians tend to believe that things are to be coped with. I happen to be a stereotypical Canadian in this sense. 

I don’t think in terms of victory/defeat when it comes to hardships in my spiritual life. So answering the question “Are you feeling a wee bit of victory?” is rather complicated. The question itself creates a false dilemma. 

No, I’m not experiencing victory would seem like I’m either failing in my faith life, or I’m REALLY in trouble. 

Yes, I’m experiencing victory isn’t true, because I don’t think in terms of victory. 

I think in terms of health and wholeness, are my systems, my spiritual ecology working well together? There’s not just black and white, there is,  What needs tending? What needs encouragement? Where are things out of balance? 

I don’t need to overcome this rough patch. I need to integrate it, and to know I’m not alone in the process. 

 

I.
Watching Hamilton for the first time in July was a life changing experience. . . Not because of the story itself, but because of Lin-Manuel Miranda.

I’ve been watching YouTube interviews with Lin-Manuel Miranda every night for the past two weeks. For probably the first time in my life, I’m seeing someone who creates in the same way I do. His creative energy feels the same as mine, like siblings or twins. We’re both drama nerds, actors, writers.  We live in that weird cultural middle-ground: he’s a child of immigrants, I’m Canadian-Australian. And the way he loves people and characters and creating, and is just so PRESENT, it’s magnetic and I can’t tear my eyes away. I feel like my creativity tank fills up just being around him, even if it’s only through the internet. I’m inspired, and after what feels like forever, I finally have energy to make things.

II.
I am jealous of Lin-Manuel Miranda. I don’t envy his success or his fame; I envy his freedom to create. I envy the support he has from his family, his fellow actors, and his co-collaborators. I envy his community. I envy his mental stability.

When I create I have to climb past and wade through
depression, anxiety, ADHD
loneliness, insecurity
utter lack of encouragement and support from people close to me
indifference
childhood trauma, international moving trauma
fundamentalist ghosts and church don’ts
and the ever-present brakes I put on my passion and enthusiasm.

Now, I’m sure Lin deals with his own hardships. It’s impossible to walk through life smoothly, and there are always obstacles on the creative road. (Though I’m quite sure Lin hasn’t dealt with evangelical purity culture or fundamentalism.)

But seeing someone who makes things freely, and (to my point of view) just has to deal with the regular junk that comes with creating, instead of a mountain of other stuff in addition to normal creative obstacles, well, it shows me how not-free I am. And that hurts.

III.
It just eats me to see people doing the things I desperately want to do, but am not doing. (Acting. Creating. Writing screenplays. Running a sewing business. Living in their own cute apartment.) I’m jealous, envious and frustrated.

I can feel the flood of condemnation and “encouragement” coming in now.

Turn the hardships into creative energy! Now you have amazing experiences you can turn into art! Stop complaining and just work harder! The difference between you and Lin is that you just dream and Lin actually works. You shouldn’t be jealous of other people; it’s your own fault for not doing the things. Do everything without complaining or arguing, so that you may become blameless and pure. . . How DARE you be jealous. The jealousy is your fault and it’s sin and you need to squash it IMMEDIATELY or else you will be a terrible human being.

IV.
Yes, this a woe-is-me post. But since when did lament get downgraded to complaining and stuffed into the “do not touch” box? We need lament to move forward. I need lament to move forward.

See, every time I would feeling longing and sadness which I also called envy, it would come with that ton of guilt and shame as well. That only shut me down further and made me even more frustrated. If I push away the envy, I also push away the desire and the energy to do the things I want to do. So I will sit with the envy and frustration

I am sad about not doing what I want to do. I am grieving the things that I’ve not done because of all the hard things I have to walk through. I will talk about how I hate the things blocking me.

It’s time to untangle lament from shame and silencing, grief from guilt, and longing from fear.

It’s ok to want things, and it’s ok to be frustrated that I’m not getting those things.

 

We moved from Australia to Canada on July 13, 2006, when I was thirteen years old. The anniversary brings up all sorts of feelings. The following are a couple short pieces I wrote on our 14th anniversary of the move.

I.
The 13th of July, 2006, is the day my life changed forever. Though really it’s strange to pin it to a certain day when there were months before of packing and saying goodbyes. Wouldn’t the day where I found out we were moving to Canada be the actual day my life changed? But that wasn’t an actual day, it was rumours and maybes and airy ideas that slowly became more solid with time, until there was no turning back. We were moving to Canada.

And then the day itself, there’s no real actual turning point, and it’s all turning point. Loading the suitcases into the car. Monty driving us to the airport and telling us how to differentiate between pine, fir and spruce needles. (I still don’t know the difference between fir and spruce.) Sitting, our bags gone, just before security, with Grandma and Aunts. Grandma handing out Tim-Tams, eating mine and knowing as I ate it that it would be my last for a very long time. Hugs. Adults crying. Walking to the gate, taking one last look back. The security guard trying to pronounce Dara’s first name, and actually doing a decent job of it.

And then taking off and looking back, one last look at Sydney, at the East Coast, at Australia. MY HOME.

Then — turbulence and fear and crying but not from sadness.

And after that interminable boredom. Numbness I wouldn’t shake for over a decade.

Landing in Vancouver with a blur of grey and green (pine? fir? spruce?) and black runway. Thrill. Excitement! We’ve landed in Canada.
And exhaustion.

Another flight, and then beautiful green and yellow patchwork over the province I’m going to live in. Home? That word will never mean what it used to.

 

II.
I messaged a friend, and she asked me what I love most about Australia. 
I can’t tell you what I love most, but I can say some things I do love.

I love the wild parrots. I love the jacaranda trees and the big fat cicadas and the way we say cicAHda (instead of the North American cicayda). I love the casuarina trees and the beaches and hot Christmases. I love Tim Tams and Shapes crackers and the Berry doughnut van. I love the flat creeping grass, and the salt air and the national parks and the way that Australians care for the environment in ways that Canadians are just starting to think about. I love that people work to live instead of living to work. I love my Grandma, and walking barefoot to the beach, and picking pig face fruit from beside the road. I love looking for shells and the flags that the surf livesavers put up to keep swimmers safe even though I’m honestly probably going to be building sandcastles. I love freesias and tree ferns and fairy wrens. I love books by Jackie French and words like “spanner”. I love the streets designed to be walkable. I love the escarpment and the river full of jellyfish, and gumnuts, and creeks stained brown with tea tree bushes. And I love how the clouds hang low, so different from the high-up Alberta clouds (which I also love).

And I love Christmas beetles. And ripe mangoes.

 

Some important background before I begin my story:

• I love it when people make a big deal out of my birthday
• I love having people pray for me or “get a word from God” for me
• I HATE not being seen or heard

It was November of 2013. We were at our small country church for a usual Sunday service, and this time it was exciting because a family with ties to YWAM was visiting. They were friends of the pastor (who shall hereafter be called Mr. P because he doesn’t deserve the name pastor). Thus, we had solid professional music, and fiery preaching with great stories from one of the YWAMers.

As was our usual tradition, we had testimony time near the beginning of the service. I shared my testimony of the gifts God had given me for my birthday earlier that week. My family had surprised me at college with a party, and God had healed my cold.

At the end of the testimony time, Mr. P mentioned that it was J’s birthday that day. J was the adult daughter of the visiting family, and the sister of the guy who preached. He asked everyone to take some time to listen to God for words for J, and then they would take time to encourage her and pray for her.

There was no mention of my birthday. Which I had OBVIOUSLY talked about ten minutes earlier.

It felt like a slap in the face.

I spent the time feeling sad and angry and betrayed, and asking God not to let me become bitter. (Nowadays I would have said something, but I was young and entrenched in submissive femininity that doesn’t allow you to speak up.)

Everyone prayed beautiful things for J, and I felt my face burn and tried desperately not to be jealous.

And then an older gentleman, also a visitor to our church that Sunday, spoke up. He pointed out that it was my birthday earlier that week, and that the church should pray for me too. I was flooded with gratitude toward the older gentleman.

So the church did pray for me and encourage me.

But.

Even now, six years later, I’m still pretty darn angry that it took an outsider to see me, still angry that this church I had been part of for about five years at that point completely ignored me. It felt like a deliberate snub then, and it feels like a deliberate snub now as I think about it, even with time and distance and perspective.

Such love. Such encouragement. Such attentive care for each member of the congregation. This is why I love church.

(In case you didn’t catch it, that last paragraph was sarcasm.)

And thus ends one of the sad stories featuring my former church.

 

I’m really really mad at the church tonight.

By church I mean the conservative(ish) North American Evangelical church. And all fundamentalist streams thereof.

I’m mad at churches that preach theology that hurts human beings, like complementarianism and “faith over fear” and other forms of Christian self-flagellation.

I’m so DONE with all of it.

500% done. FIVE MILLION PERCENT DONE.

 

So I like to play angry breakup music and dedicate it to different aspects of Christian religiosity.

For Those Books, Purity Culture and Fundamentalism in general:
Since U Been Gone by Kelly Clarkson

 

For the North American church preaching self-flagellation and other messages:
You Give Love A Bad Name by Bon Jovi

 

For religiosity and harmful theology:
We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together by Taylor Swift

 

I feel better now. Marginally.