Growing up in my childhood faith, I was taught to avoid participating in society—or “the world,” as they called it. In school, I drew attention to myself by refusing to stand for the Pledge of Allegiance and leaving the classroom during holiday events or birthday parties. I went to the school office until the event was over. I once stayed home from school because a classmate was going to have a birthday party in class. My family lived in a neighborhood without other kids. Our neighbors were elderly, and most other buildings were businesses and municipal buildings – a post office, bank, fire department, deli, hardware store, and a large car dealership sat across the street. Eventually, one neighbor moved out, and a new family moved in with two girls—one older than me and the other closer to my sister’s age. Since my brother and I were boys, we didn’t spend time with the older one, but the younger girl often played with my sisters.
We didn’t socialize with other families in the faith, and looking back, I suspect that was partially because of my mother, who wasn’t involved. I think my family may have been marked—perhaps people were avoiding her or distancing themselves from us. She attended meetings when I was very young, but later in life, I remember her saying that the women there were snide or snooty. There was one family in our religion that we visited a couple of times, but I barely remember them. I think the visits were mostly so my dad could help cut wood, and occasionally, we went out in field service with the father.
However, we were close to another family from a different denomination. My parents and theirs had attended college together, and we spent a lot of time with them, especially in the summers when school was out. They had a daughter my age and two younger children. We also went to summer playgrounds together. Outside of that, I didn’t realize just how isolated I was. Since I wasn’t baptized and was still a child, no one was pulling me aside to warn me about anything. Well… I was baptized when I was an infant with Catholics, but that doesn’t really amount to anything.
I recall visiting one of my grandmothers when I was young. She had made wooden cars, each about a foot tall, but she told me she couldn’t give them to me because my parents didn’t celebrate holidays. For years I often saw the cars when I visited her, sitting against the wall behind a lamp, untouched. She had also knitted block letters spelling my full name, about the size of eight-inch cubes, for my birthday when I was very little. However, I could never play with them since they were considered a birthday gift, and none of my siblings had their own sets, so they were always kept in the closet. My other grandmother still gave us gifts, but we always had to visit a week or two after Christmas to receive them. I have a boxed set of porcelain dominoes she gave me for Christmas one year. Other than photos and memories, it’s the only tangible thing I have today to remind me of her. She would also take me shopping, allowing me to choose a toy within a certain price range—but never on my birthday. Looking back, it’s somewhat ironic that our family still gathered for Thanksgiving dinner every year, which seems completely out of character for the faith.
By high school, I decided to stop attending meetings, although I didn’t fully grasp the impact of that decision at the time. My brother had already stopped going. The main issue for me was the long drive from Fort Ashby to Romney twice a week for meetings, which I often had trouble staying awake through. I wonder if there had been a location closer to home, I might have stayed in the faith. I didn’t know anyone there, and there were no kids my age—just like in White Marsh. I had no social life within the faith.
My father didn’t shun me, and at the time, I wasn’t even aware of the practice. I hadn’t been baptized in the faith. Still, I carried an intense fear of God into every aspect of my life. Looking back, it felt less like leaving a faith and more like stepping away from a group of people who were never particularly welcoming. The adults didn’t engage with me during meetings, and I mostly just sat there waiting for it to be over.
It took years before I started learning about others’ experiences with being marked and shunned. In my apartment building that caught fire, I had a neighbor above me that was also previously in the religion. People who had been devout and didn’t want to leave the faith were often cast out against their will. The rise of the Internet, along with videos on social media sites exposing court cases and personal stories, opened my eyes further. The Elder manuals even outline the process, though many have spoken about how procedures were skipped, and people were directly shunned without proper steps.
One of the most troubling aspects is the “two-witness rule,” which requires two people to have witnessed an event—such as rape or child abuse—before an accusation can be considered valid. Even more disturbing, the accuser is often required to confront the accused, who is frequently an elder. In many cases, the witnessing elder is be conveniently unavailable or in hiding. This system makes it nearly impossible for victims to be believed. Even devout pioneers, who are committed, giving talks regularly, could fall victim to this process. While there is an appeals process and a potential path to reinstatement, these are often just formalities. Many victims had to wait for their abuser to eventually be exposed and disfellowshipped before anyone would believe they had been telling the truth—sometimes this took decades.
Shunning is claimed to be an act of love, meant to guide people back to the faith. But the reality is that those who leave are already cut off from society and conditioned to avoid interacting with the world. They lose their entire support system. If they had family outside the faith, chances are they had already burned those bridges by shunning them first. They don’t know how to function in “the world” and judge themselves for every interaction, as it goes against everything they were taught. With no elders or magazines to turn to for guidance, many people, newly freed but completely unprepared for the outside world, fall into dangerous situations to cope with the pain—drinking, drugs, unhealthy behaviors, and even suicide. These are then used by the faith as cautionary tales of what happens when you stray from God.
You can be labeled an apostate for a variety of reasons, including accusing an elder of child or sexual abuse, forming friendships or romantic relationships with someone outside the faith, accepting a blood transfusion, reciting the Pledge of Allegiance, voting, growing a beard, or working in politics, the military, or government. Even partaking in the wine and bread during Passover—which the Elders themselves refrain from—can result in disfellowshipping. Visiting another church, talking to an apostate, or attending a holiday gathering can also bring consequences. Participation in community efforts like helping the homeless, raising funds for a non-profit, or caring for the sick is frowned upon. If others become aware of these actions, they may threaten to report you to the elders unless you confess. The fear-driven culture promotes tattling, and soon enough, the congregation will hear the final announcement that you are no longer one of them. There is no opportunity for appeal. On paper – yes, in reality, no.
I believe this is probably my father’s biggest concern with me, as I vote every year, recite the pledge, donate blood, feed the homeless, serve on nonprofit boards, attend a different church, participate in communion, once held public office, speak at government meetings, and train to help those in need of medical assistance. I even walked into an army recruitment office and had a chat when I was in college, but determined that I couldn’t survive the necessary training. I’m also a member of an organization that takes great pride in the military during the American Revolution. I see these actions as positive ways to build character, but within his faith, he believes I am heavily influenced by Satan.
Most individuals who leave the faith tend to become agnostic or atheist, largely because of its strict “all or nothing” mentality. If the one true religion they believed in is proven false, it leads them to believe that all other religions must be false as well. Exploring other Christian denominations often reveals some similarities, but these beliefs still feel distant from what they once held. The realization that teachings have evolved or contain contradictions often leads to a deep sense of betrayal. For instance, they once celebrated Christmas and birthdays, but these practices were eventually abandoned. The faith has also repeatedly revised its predictions about the end of the world and the identity of those who would be part of the 144,000 in heaven, justifying these changes as “new light.” Anyone who openly discusses these changes before they are officially announced is considered an apostate, opposing the governing body, and remains an apostate even after the “new light” is made public.
Having experienced the painful reality of ostracization, many people develop a deep distrust of organized religion. Once they leave the faith, they gain the freedom to study the Bible on their own, as well as topics like science, history, and philosophy—often leading them to reject faith altogether. Religious trauma also plays a significant role, as years of fear-driven theology, constant warnings about Armageddon, and strict moral codes can leave individuals emotionally drained. When you’ve been taught your entire life that every other religion is corrupt, it becomes almost impossible to view any faith as genuine. In some cases, people feel anger towards the religion’s practices and the realization of how deeply it has affected them. Stepping into the world for the first time, they often feel like an infant, unsure of how to interact or navigate social norms.
I went through many phases in my beliefs—agnosticism, atheism, and exploring other faiths. One of my partners came from a family involved in Druidism, and while I understood the religious aspects, they never really resonated with me. Another partner had a Jewish upbringing, which felt more familiar. But I always found myself coming back to Christianity—it’s what I grew up with, and it’s what I know and believe. Eventually, I started attending a local church. Even now, I remain cautious, often comparing my experiences and half-expecting to be asked not to return. It was a surprise when, after a few months of not attending, the pastor recognized me one day and expressed his hope to see me back. I don’t have deep personal relationships with anyone there, except for the pastor’s parents, who were my neighbors before I ever stepped foot in the church.
During this time, you often reconnect with those you were once estranged from or meet others who have also left the faith. Many share similar experiences, though some remain silent, finding their past too painful to revisit. When I spoke to my aunt about it, she mentioned that my father had turned his back on his family, which was heartbreaking for those on the outside, watching their loved ones fall under the influence of such a controlling religion. I was surprised to hear this from her, considering she and my father had both grown up Catholic, a faith known for its strict rules, and she saw my childhood religion as even more restrictive.
Returning to my childhood faith would be a difficult process, especially considering the experiences of others. Once you’ve left, it’s something everyone knows, and you’re marked because of it. While you may receive polite greetings, you’re often kept at arm’s length by the congregation, expected to sit in the back. Full acceptance can take years, requiring consistent attendance and proof of repentance before you’re fully reintegrated. During this time, you distance yourself from the rest of the world—friends, family, and acquaintances. Essentially, your entire support network slowly erodes until the only people you have left are those within the faith.
Most people outside the faith tend to feel pity for those still within it. From the outside, it’s clear how controlling the religion is, yet any attempt to reveal the truth only causes members to withdraw further, seeing outsiders as being influenced by Satan. You come to realize that you can’t change their minds—they have to uncover the truth on their own. The situation is heartbreaking, with some breaking down in tears as they witness families being torn apart. Those still in the faith often have no idea how deeply their actions wound their loved ones.
An unusual aspect of my life is my relationship with my siblings. Trying to connect with them feels like it takes a lot of effort, while I imagine for most families, it’s second nature. I often say that our family isn’t close, but I think it’s largely due to our childhood religion, which taught us not to reach out to others except to spread the good word. I see a similar pattern with friends today—getting together to hang out or grab a bite feels challenging. It’s a bit of an “out of sight, out of mind” situation, but I wonder how much my upbringing has shaped this tendency toward self-isolation.
These days, I occasionally see legal cases involving the faith across various countries, particularly those related to sexual abuse, child abuse, and elders failing to report crimes to authorities. The issue of shunning continues to emerge, with the religion making subtle adjustments to its official policies to appear compliant, while still practicing it in reality, leading to the loss of its special status in some areas. I believe most members of the faith are unaware of the developments over the past decade in the courts of Spain, Australia, Pennsylvania, Canada, the UK, and more recently, Norway. The testimonies from witnesses have revealed a lot. Members only hear that they are being “persecuted” and don’t understand the legal reasons or context behind it—they’re simply told it’s because of their beliefs. They either can’t or won’t look up the information for themselves, as they’re taught that everything critical of their faith is influenced by Satan. As for abuse scandals, they acknowledge similar issues in other religions but remain convinced that their organization is morally superior, often adopting a self-righteous attitude and predicting the downfall of other faiths.
