I spent several years working at overcoming the cognitive dissonance I experienced my last few years in the cult; there was no 'event' but rather a series of incidents that helped to open my eyes and free my mind. I left in 1986 for good but I had been mostly disaffected for several years prior.
We went online in '93 and I spent a lot of time learning facts that confirmed my suspicions about this cult. I found Kent and Randall's excellent information sites, and began corresponding with them and with other exes who helped me find reams of accurate information to finish deculting my soul. Randy saved my life, literally, although he's too modest to admit it, by daring me to tell some of the scary stories I had bottled up inside me. I would probably have deleted myself along with my work if not for his challenges. I was on the Philia mail list in its heyday when a hundred mails a day or more was not unusual.
I used to be much more serious and sincere, and active in countercult awareness concerns, but the older and (physically)sicker I get, the less patience I have with the self-delusional and the apologists. I'm a cranky old bitch and I usually don't bother to sugarcoat that fact.
I took down my website, and try to keep a much lower profile than in the past. There are wiser and kinder advocates to act as guides, and I leave it to them to actively reach out to newbies. I never refuse a direct request for help, though, not being entirely heartless; I still get regular emails from people who have read my articles at Free Minds, and I answer them all.
I've spent years in therapy trying to learn to cope with the nastiest effects of my lifelong brainwashing. I still haven't entirely found wholeness, and still suffer painful gridlock if I try to seriously pursue any creative art. That deep-imbedded self-loathing is a WT gift that keeps on giving despite fervent attempts to erase it; I'm currently incapable of putting earnest effort into the slog work of writing, and I never ever sing at all any more. Serious writing is as painful and horrible to me as vomiting ground glass. I've learned to accept that I may never finish that novel or write another word beyond these off-the-cuff conversations at message boards. I've learned to enjoy my canary and the wild birds and the wind, and to let their voices sing for me. I'm still learning to accept that I may always weep when I hear good music. It isn't a wonderful life but it's all mine, and I own it entirely, one minute at a time.
I have a gorgeously wonderful adoring young husband, two grown sons with ADHD who are fine young men, and an amazing ten-year-old son who is the light of our lives and the sweetest reward in my little world.
I've been visiting here and annoying folks since last winter.
Haven't had a Jdub come by my house in at least seven years, drat the luck! I have no idea what might pop out of my bitchy mouth if they ever do...might be fun to find out, eh?