Between Fear and Love: Growing Up with a Cult Member Father

Experts like Carl Gustav Jung and Sigmund Freud have explored the complex dynamics between fathers and daughters. Their teachings highlight how a father figure can significantly influence a girl’s life, shaping her self-identity and relationships. This is a story of a young woman’s journey, navigating the extremes of fear and love with her father, a cult member. It’s a tale of faith, loss, love, and haunting memories.

Growing Up in a Unique Family

I never considered my family different. In fact, I still see it as exemplary. My mother, kind and devoted, dedicated her life to our family. My father, however, has changed significantly from my childhood memories. Despite tough times and poverty, my parents always strived to provide the best for my brother and me. We never questioned our modest lifestyle, happily accepting our circumstances without realizing the struggles behind them.

The Turn to Faith

My father’s journey into faith began with intense prayer and belief. It gave him strength and energy for new attempts in life. I remember him telling us the story of Christ, which moved us to tears. We started attending Sunday services, although my mother never joined us. Due to religious disagreements, we eventually switched to Saturday services at a different place of worship.

The Struggle with Religious Pressure

Years have passed, and my father still attends almost all church gatherings. The constant pressure to join him has become a significant issue. Every Friday, we are solemnly invited to the Saturday service, which none of us want to attend for various reasons. I love my father, and refusing him is incredibly difficult. It feels like my soul is torn apart when I say ‘no’ to him. He seems to understand this and uses my sensitivity to his advantage.

The Conflict Over Clothing

The constant reproaches about my clothing drive me crazy. I can’t wear jeans, trousers, or anything resembling pants. ‘These are not women’s things!’ While I don’t insist on wearing pants, sometimes they are more convenient, especially in certain outdoor conditions. The constant need to hide from my father, running out of the house before he arrives, oppresses and upsets me. But I dare not say anything against it. That’s how I was raised.

The Fear of Hurting Him

Hurting my father feels like a deep wound in the heart. When my friends visit, they watch the prayers before and after meals with interest. It looks intriguing from the outside, but their reactions sometimes turn into misunderstanding or hidden smiles, which I find offensive. I will never let anyone laugh at my father. I am very afraid that someone will hurt him. He is a kind person, becoming more sensitive and softer with age, often crying. His past in law enforcement, where he faced terrible people and events, has left a heavy burden on him, driving him further into faith.

Living in Fear and Love

In life, I am sociable and cheerful, trying to be an optimist. But my father is my stop signal. I remember an episode from my childhood when my father, in a bad mood, scolded me and pierced my month-old phone with scissors. After that, I was afraid to come home from school and would wait around the corner until his car was out of sight. This fear lived inside me for a very long time.

The Pressure of the Church Community

Next to my father, I feel like I lose my ability to express my thoughts clearly. I mainly keep silent around him, fearing that anything I say can and will be used against me. My husband initially didn’t understand our ‘escapes’ from the table immediately after meals and our reluctance to stay in the same room with my father. It’s not that we don’t love him; we are escaping the constant pressure from him.

The Complexity of Family Dynamics

My father has the greatest impression on me. I reluctantly avoid trips to the service, feeling a lot of pressure from the parishioners. They are kind and always smiling, but something oppressive weighs on me. Each of them invites me to the next service, and I force a smile, saying, ‘We’ll see, maybe.’ Too much attention is bad, too little attention is worse. No one offends me there; they are too good. Maybe I don’t measure up to them.