Triumph: Life After the Cult--A Survivor's Lessons

  As the weeks went on, our conversations in the van moved from the abusive nature of our personal relationships (especially with our husbands) to what we felt was abusive about the FLDS in general. One day I brought up my fear that my family might be forced to move. “Warren is talking about taking the worthy to the center place,” I said. “Because of Merril’s position, I’m sure we will be one of the first to be taken.”

  “You should feel honored if you get to go,” said Lucy. “I would.”

  “I will not go, no matter what,” I told her. “I will find a way to never go.”

  Lucy jumped in again. “My husband might get called and if he does then my ass is getting hauled off to the center place.”

  “I hope you enjoy living in the jungle and being eaten by an anaconda,” I said, “because the center place we are hearing about in church is not going to be a good place to go. Warren will take everyone to some isolated place where even if they tried to escape they’d never make it out.”

  “Jungle? Anaconda? Where did you get that from?” Lucy said in disbelief. “That’s totally crazy. I will follow my husband if he chooses to follow the prophet.”

  “If he doesn’t, you will be taken from him and given to another man who will,” I said, “and you can say goodbye to love!”

  “I am not talking about this kind of apostasy any longer. It’s too crazy!” Lucy said, and with that, she closed off the conversation.

  Speaking so openly about things I’d been afraid ever to mention before was a jolt of pure freedom, and it made me hungry for more. Most of all I wanted to be free from fear.

  I had started exercising because it sounded like fun. I’d never worked out to music or on machines before. And before long I lived for the days when I could sneak out to go to Curves. Exercise was a healthy way to rebel; it gave me a physical outlet for my feelings. Before Curves I’d thought that nothing good could happen if I left my comfort zone. Now I saw that things might, in fact, get better. I felt stronger not only physically but also mentally. My view of the world was expanding, and so was my confidence. Unbelievably, a mere half hour of exercise, three times a week, was transforming my mood and boosting my energy. Eight babies in fifteen years had ravaged me. The idea of feeling powerful in my body was something I didn’t know existed.

  As I lost a little weight, I liked the way I looked and began to care more about what I ate. Starting to feel in control of my body made me think I could be more assertive in other areas. The more in control I felt, the less I was willing to let myself be controlled. No wonder the men in the FLDS didn’t want their wives working out! I was breaking free in small steps. I no longer even cared if I was caught going to Curves. Much of my life continued to march along on the same path, day by endless day, but at least now I turned my eyes to the sky more often. I also began to see how I’d collaborated in digging my own rut. My reluctance to venture out of my comfort zone and experience something new had kept me firmly in my place.

  Getting out of a rut can take a long time, but the beginning is simple: Do something you wouldn’t typically do. Take a risk. Expand your world in some small way. The FLDS put limits on every aspect of my life, but after I escaped I realized that I had been limiting myself with my need to stay safe, to avoid risks. Unless I challenged myself to do things that made me feel uncomfortable (at least initially), I’d never fit into my new, unfamiliar world. I needed to change.

  It’s been said that the only difference between a rut and a grave is a few feet. After I escaped, I saw how many people get trapped in the same patterns, which become so familiar that change becomes harder and harder. We run from information, get angry when challenged by different opinions, and shut down in the face of things that make us uncomfortable. Our energy never breaks free to create new life.

  When I first fled, I was afraid of everyone outside the FLDS. It took me weeks to feel confident even about the homeless coordinator who was working with us. One of the first big risks I took was allowing someone into my world who didn’t understand where we were coming from but wanted to help us.

  I also had to learn to look people in the eyes when I talked to them. In the FLDS, that was considered disrespectful. The first attorney who worked with me after I escaped still talks about how odd it was when we met because I wouldn’t look her in the eyes, even though I was thirty-five years old. Something so natural to most people was really strange to me. But learning this simple skill changed my life. Not only did I appear more confident, I felt more confident.

  Six weeks after I escaped from the FLDS, I started to go to Curves again, a different one this time. I trained myself to walk away from my house even when it was in complete chaos, because I needed to stay strong in my body and mind. I went several times a week. It took me fifteen minutes each way and then a half hour to work out. An hour a day all to myself! It was my way of saying, “I’m worth it.”

  Letting Love In

  I have a hard time asking for help. I’m better at it now, but in the immediate aftermath of my escape, it was especially difficult because I’d been conditioned to believe that any form of need was a sign of weakness that could be used against me. In a matter of life and death I could reach out; otherwise I felt too self-conscious.

  In August 2003, nearly four months after we escaped, the nine of us moved into one room in a homeless shelter for five weeks. The South Valley Sanctuary was noisy and chaotic. After being in a home with fifty-four siblings, my children didn’t mind the confusion. But for Harrison, my handicapped son, it was life-threatening. I could see his condition worsening every day. The ATCH hormone drug that he desperately needed to protect his nervous system would also suppress his immune system; in a shelter, with germs everywhere, this would put him at great risk. Harrison’s physician wouldn’t even think of putting him on the medication until we had a stable living situation.

  Meanwhile, Merril refused to pay any child support. He claimed that he was retired, with Social Security as his only income. I knew that was a lie. Before I fled, I had watched him move all of his assets out of his name to avoid paying a huge hospital bill he owed. But I could not prove in court that he’d fraudulently transferred his money unless I hired a private investigator and an attorney, which was out of the question.

  Because I was receiving some Social Security for my children—Harrison got disability payments—the state of Utah did not see my case as an emergency. Even though I was homeless and destitute, state workers told me my case was not a priority and would have to be processed through “normal channels,” which took three months.

  After two weeks in the shelter, I went before a judge and filed for bankruptcy. Merril not only refused to pay any child support but also stopped making payments on a debt he had financed in my name to buy machinery and equipment. We also had some credit card debt we’d incurred as a couple. Because I had a restraining order against him, Merril wasn’t allowed to call me, but he freely gave out my cell phone number to the creditors who were pursuing us. If I had called Merril to try to work out the debt situation between us, he could have gone back into court and argued that my contacting him was proof I wasn’t afraid of him and that he therefore posed no risk to me. I also knew that Merril would agree to anything but then rarely follow through. Promises from him were meaningless.

  Merril was trying to pressure me into returning by making it impossible for me to start a new life. He thought there was no way I could survive financially. By having creditors harass me, he was making the point that if I returned to the FLDS, he’d resume making payments on our debts. But I was never going back, even if it meant complete financial ruin.

  The money we owed was a relatively small amount: $15,000. If Merril had paid even modest child support, I could have kept making payments and avoided bankruptcy. I wanted to pay what we owed, and it upset me that I couldn’t. But when the judge stamped my bankruptcy agreement, I knew I was truly free. Bankruptcy was abhorrent to me, but afterward I realized Merril had lost the most powerfu
l weapon he held over me. He was convinced that I needed his financial protection. But I walked away from that along with everything else.

  Three weeks later I managed to find a landlady who would rent me a double-wide and a single-wide trailer that had been pushed together into one. It was shabby, with leaks here and there, but it was ours. The landlady was unbelievably kind to rent to someone with eight kids and barely any money. I told her I’d fled from a polygamous cult, but that didn’t faze her at all.

  I did not say a word about the move to the children until the afternoon I picked them up from my sister’s, where they’d gone for a court-approved visit with their father. Because of the restraining order, my brother-in-law had to be the go-between each time they went from Merril to me. The kids piled into the van, thinking we were going back to the shelter. It wasn’t until we got to the trailer that I said we had a new home.

  Betty came unglued and immediately called her father on the cell phone he’d given her. Merril had been telling the kids that Dan Fischer wouldn’t help me forever and that once he stopped, I’d have to come back to the FLDS and repent. Merril knew we couldn’t stay in the shelter indefinitely, and he was sure our next move would be back to him. When he heard we’d moved into our own place, he was furious and encouraged the children to be more disruptive.

  LuAnne started griping right away. “The shelter was a lot better than this place.”

  “LuAnne, I have worked very hard to get us moved in here, and people all over the city have donated furniture for us,” I said. “I know you’re disappointed, but there are far worse things than living in a trailer.”

  Betty went to the back of the second trailer and fell onto her bed crying. When LuAnne came into the bedroom they’d be sharing, she said, “Oh this is nice.” She fell in love with the sky-blue bedspreads. I had been lucky to get box springs and mattresses donated from a local furniture store, but I didn’t have a bed frame, so the two beds were sitting on the floor.

  “My bed is too short, and I hate these bedspreads!” Betty screeched. “Patrick and Andrew are not going to share a bathroom with us. This place stinks, and I am not going to stay here. Father is not going to approve of this. It’s not right that we’re living like this.”

  Betty killed LuAnne’s mood, of course, and she began complaining, too. But I knew she was relieved to finally be out of the shelter, even though she also felt lost because she was cut off from the friends she’d made there.

  “Oh, wow, my own bedroom!” Pat said when he saw the room he’d be sharing with Andrew. “Andrew, we have our own bunk beds! And a nightstand! I’ve always wanted one of those.”

  There were basketball bedspreads and pillow shams on the bunk beds and a white lamp on the nightstand. Leenie, Dan Fischer’s wife, had purchased all the bedding for us and decorated each room individually. This bedroom was a novelty for Patrick and Andrew—as was the Nintendo that had been donated to us by another family. Pat kept saying, “This is so cool!”

  The only thing Andrew remembers saying is “Wow!” He couldn’t believe our good fortune.

  Arthur, my oldest, just went into his room and shut the door. It was a full week before he checked out Betty and LuAnne’s room. He told Betty to stop complaining because she had the nicest bedroom in the house. Arthur was the only one with his own bedroom and bathroom. He’d never had anything so nice in his life, and he realized it. I think it helped that the younger kids were excited about the trailer, which didn’t look bad at all in the end.

  The previous tenants had told me that my closest neighbor was a woman who was nearly eighty. A few days after we moved in, she came over and introduced herself. Venus had permed red hair and looked like someone who’d experienced a lot of life and could tackle almost anything. Her spirit was warm, generous, and compassionate, and the chaos of kids and moving boxes everywhere didn’t bother her at all. I was relieved that she wasn’t worried about the noise.

  “I wanted to come over and welcome you to the neighborhood,” Venus said that first day. “You’ll like it here. We have a neighborhood watch, so this is a very safe place to live. About the only crime we have had here in years was when one family had something stolen out of their yard, but it was some kids who did it.” Venus went on to explain that she was the oldest sister of a very large Mormon family, but that she’d left Mormonism years ago.

  “I have some background with the Mormons,” I said carefully. “I recently left a fundamentalist group that separated from the Mormon Church around a hundred years ago.”

  “Well, you certainly have your hands full here, and you look so young,” Venus said, once again taking in my situation. “If you need any help, I’ll do whatever I can.”

  I smiled at her in gratitude. “I’m not that young, but yes, I do have my hands full.”

  “I know what it’s like to be out on your own,” she said. “I’ve been married more than once, and in my second marriage I ended up raising some of my children as a single mother. So do let me know if there’s anything I can do to help you with your kids.”

  I didn’t understand how to talk to Venus at that point because I wasn’t used to having women friends or trusting anyone who was non-FLDS. I didn’t tell Venus the complete truth about our lives—just a minimal amount to explain how we landed in the neighborhood. I didn’t enjoy talking about why I was in such a bad place; nor did I want anyone to know how desperate my situation was. Six of my children were in counseling, and so was I. Harrison had three appointments every week, and I had children in five different schools. It was a logistical nightmare. I had so much to do every day that I didn’t see how I could find room for anything else in my life, least of all a friend.

  Venus offered comfort and kindness whenever I saw her. Her attitude was always upbeat and positive, despite the tragedies she’d dealt with in her life. Yet I still resisted responding to her with openness. I was terrified of becoming dependent; I didn’t want to rely on anyone else’s strength. If I was going to survive, it had to be on my own. I believed that my need for approval in relationships had trapped me in a life of degradation. I didn’t want to burden Venus with my pain or the staggering challenges in my immediate future. The easiest route was to shut down, isolate myself from the rest of the world, and focus my strength on getting through each day.

  But at times I’d get stuck in traffic on the way home with the children and have to call Venus to ask her to meet Harrison’s school bus. She’d sit with him until we arrived, which was a godsend. Venus continually offered to help with Harrison. I was astonished. None of my so-called sister wives had ever voluntarily lifted a finger when it came to caring for my sick son.

  Her kindness touched us in other ways. Venus noticed that Patrick, who was then ten, loved to walk to the convenience store and buy a drink. So she’d ask him to do small jobs around her yard. She knew Pat would use the little bit of money she paid him to buy treats that I could never afford.

  Once when Venus saw Betty sulking in the yard, she asked her what the problem was. Betty explained that she wanted to return to her father’s family. Venus was sympathetic and told Betty that even at eighty she wished a lot of things in her life were different from what they were. Venus kept reaching out to Betty and encouraging her to stay strong and understand that disappointment is part of life.

  Venus offered all of us a hand, but my hand was closed. I was so afraid of being needy that I missed the strength she had to give me. I was hung up on my vision of how things had to be and determined to stay in control. Now I realize that the dishes and laundry could have waited. I was robbing myself of something I really needed: human connection and love. My world was impoverished, and I contributed to that impoverishment by not appreciating the deep and abundant love that was right next door. Venus’s wisdom could have given me ballast. I remained disconnected from the life support she offered.

  Eventually we got to know each other a little better. Sometimes we’d sit down for a cup of coffee after I got Harrison on the bus
in the morning. Four and a half years later, after she’d finished reading Escape, Venus called me in tears. “I wish I had known what your life was really like,” she said. “I would have tried to do so much more for you!”

  That’s when it hit me: I’d cheated both of us by not reaching out to Venus with more honesty. My stubbornness and need for control had robbed her of the chance to help me and find greater meaning in her life. I’d thought being strong meant doing everything myself.

  It would have meant so much to be able to talk to Venus when I was having a bad day. When you have no obvious answers and the way ahead is unclear, it’s especially important to have someone in your life who genuinely cares about you and is willing to listen. Having a safe place to feel terrible is like having another oar in the boat.

  Now I work on being realistic about what I can control and what I can’t. I also remind myself that help may be closer than I think if I get out of my own way and just knock.

  The Gift of Independence

  The two women who raised my father were strong, independent, and devoted to their families. They also knew how to stand up for themselves and were very protective of each other. Grandma Gwen and Grandma Florence were full sisters who married the same man, Harold Blackmore. As far as I know, none of them were born into polygamy; they all chose to become Mormon fundamentalists at a young age and practice plural marriage. But it was a match made of love, and even after they eventually quit believing in polygamy, the three of them stayed together.

  I realize now how much of my life has been shaped by these two remarkable women. Each taught me in her own way to focus on what I have and then do whatever it takes to make it work.

  Gwen and Florence were completely enmeshed their entire lives. They were close in age, and their personalities complemented each other well. Gwen was short and stocky, upbeat and nurturing, with a wild sense of humor. She loved to laugh. Florence was taller and lean with a no-nonsense, let’s-get-the-job-done attitude. She would always tell you exactly how she felt. What appealed to them about polygamy, initially, was that they would never have to be apart from each other if they lived in the same family. Since one of them couldn’t have children (and to this day I don’t know which of them that was), when the other had a baby, a second infant was adopted for the sister who couldn’t conceive. My father was one of the adopted children. The two moms and a dad eventually had fifteen kids and were a genuinely happy family.