Tilly

Tilly

Having been brought up by domineering evangelists, who believed that their word was the only word, my freedom from the flock came at a cost. Extricating oneself from any manner of perceived cult is never an easy feat, and that much more difficult when the leaders are bound to you by sinew, blood and bone. Tammy and Jack had managed to misrepresent, misconstrue and miscommunicate for my entire 16 years which had left such an imprint that I felt it impermeable and unlikely to ever truly come out in the wash. Of course, my world view was not only tinted and warped beyond the concrete but also the conceptual and before the reprogramming could commence, I had to undergo some very intense counselling. It was a confusing time with one manacle loosening enough to be replaced by, what I thought, was a distractingly shiny and new one. Whilst this was a modicum less manipulative, we had only just met and time would provide the necessary confirmation.

I was informed by a woman with large hips and thick framed spectacles that my neurons were misfiring and it was no wonder that I held the views that I did. She peered over the rim of those eyeglasses, as if tiptoeing in stilettos and skewering her bulk on a neighbours wall, and that look seemed to hold not only my judgement but her pronouncement of me. This felt an awful lot like the final moments I had spent with my parents before they were hauled away by FBI jacket wearing men with guns. Judgement and accusation... in spades. At least my parents had some emotional investment in me and saw me less as a specimen; a jar of sorts worth shaking, labelling and poking every now and again. The woman tsked repeatedly and seemed to derive some perverse pleasure each time I faltered in my recounting of events. 16 years is a lot to condense into an interview of 60 minutes and I didn’t fully understand what was relevant, what was a product of my teenage ‘rebellion’ and what had been skilfully embedded through our doctrine laws. I had been away from my home for less than half a day and I was already expected to disavow everything I knew and had been a part of. This had been my life.

After a week of meeting yet more people with an interest in my father’s finances and sexual preferences, I was finally introduced to Davina. She was easily as tall as my mother, had kind eyes that willed me to engage with her and spoke with an accent that was just as calming as her words. She confused me at first as her agenda was less obvious and I couldn’t make out how our encounters were benefitting her at all. As I settled into the creases of her sofa and absorbed the loudly colourful interior, she gave me space to just breathe and talk about my life. Our journey had no specific destination, and the stops were clearly not pre-set. It was a relief in many ways as Davina neither pushed or pulled me and there was no requirement to conform. I was unused to such personal freedoms and broke down on so many occasions. It is difficult to explain to someone who has not lived within the confines of their father’s iron-clad doctrine what choice actually means.

We met every afternoon for several months in an office twice the size of our prayer barn. On the table, next to an impressive display of reading material, sat an impressive display of honeybees. Their amber wings were blurry, suggesting a moment of being in-flight and currently untouchable. My fingers longed to reach out and stroke the abdomen of the closest bee and reconcile the collapse of its colony with my own. I had to rein in the impulse to lash out and kick them flying in every direction. Why should I be the only one in pain here?!

Our time together became a relaxed haven where we would savour the decadence of an uninterrupted confession, accompanied by a slice of her husband’s chocolate cake and the knowledge that each layer we consumed opened up the possibility of more layers revealing themselves. Her husband was a phenomenal cook and his contributions were instrumental in oiling the counselling machine. I shared stories of community gatherings and new births and expulsions and she guided me through all of my emotions and all of the new feelings that different perspectives unearthed. Anger, and a deep fury at my parents and our elders, grew from me questioning their responsibilities to and for our wider family. I had not had a basic grounding in many of the skills and attributes that blindly following rules, and the rule of law, had neglected to nurture. In many respects I could equate my emotional maturity to that of an infant, a child having everything done for them. Having everything done to them.

My life in between Davina’s sessions was still strange and managed by my so-called ‘in loco parentis’, the aforementioned jar poker who felt the need to quiz me daily on my biblical understandings. She was out of her depth and found my authority on all things ‘good news’ to be quite perplexing. I could not understand her methodology in unravelling the damage inflicted by my parents and she was not taking kindly to my increased confidence and sense of self that Davina was encouraging me to develop.

Six months after the FBI had raided our homestead I was sat in Davina’s office waiting for our latest session. She had replaced the honeybees with an unusual puzzle, that I was refusing to succumb to, so much so that I hadn’t heard her come into the room. She stood directly behind my chair and simply stood there, not wanting to interrupt my challenging mind. That was one of the comments she regularly made – ‘you have a challenging mind Tilly and you need to use it as often as possible. The world has been a sorrier place for its absence. You have a debt to pay’.

“If you don’t hurry up and solve that puzzle Tilly, my hands are going to go into cramp and I’ll drop this work of art all over the carpet”.

I turned around, quite startled, to see Davina with a balloon tied around her wrist and a whole chocolate cake with candles flaming away.

“I know that it was yesterday but I couldn’t help myself. Dan was up all night baking this calorific monstrosity and I have had to promise to recount the look on your face to him when I get home tonight”.

A small tear freed itself and rolled onto my cheek. This was the first time anyone had done something so wonderful that was solely for me. We had celebrated birthdays at home, but they had been general gatherings to highlight the miracle of those joining us in that month. The cake wafted richness and brought me out of my reverie. It was quite overwhelming to have so much attention and I didn’t have the words to express my appreciation. I was deeply moved by her generosity.

Placing the cake next to the puzzle, Davina reached over and wiped my face. “And to think that we would have missed this had you not been brave and called the FBI”.

I took her hand in mine and smiled. She was right. I was brave.