5. Confusions, Questions, Self Blame

Bill found a group of cult specialists with talk with me ... not for free, of course. They had just returned from the annual international ISCA conference in Louisville, KY. The ISCA acronym stands for International Cultic Studies Association, and their presence is vast. There is a global cult epidemic that they, among many other noteworthy organizations, bring awareness and education about. I was eager to speak with them.

In that first blur of early days, we morphed into a sort of manic state, as if we, ourselves, were private investigators, and we worked, studied, researched, and picked apart what little we had. We were sifting through ashes for months.

In the first online Zoom meeting I asked the three experts if they had any personal experience with cults. They referred to them as “groups”, which struck me as odd, as if they were purposefully downplaying the danger and manipulation typical of cults, whitewashing the dark reality with a softer, more palatable term. The two older men described being former group members - one for six years, from age seventeen to age twenty-three, the other from age twenty-one to age twenty-nine. This made me so nauseous I almost needed to excuse myself. I turned to Ashley, a young woman in her mid-twenties who infiltrates cults to extract inductees, even negotiating with cult leaders from the inside. I was astounded by this delicate, bird-like young woman who possesses the kind of brazen courage required to do this. I was astonished and impressed beyond belief, as I asked her what her experience had been with "groups”.

“Oh, I was born in a group,” she chirped, smiling wide.

“Is your daughter an only child?” One of the two gentlemen asked about Abby.

He proceded to tell me that his usually happens to only children. Like there was a 50/50 chance this would happen. As I couldn’t be bothered to give Abby a sibling. I now feel that I should have given Bill (Abby's Step dad from 2 years old onward, and the man she calls 'dad') a child when I had the chance. But who knew a second child could not only be precious addition to our family, but also a Cult protection for Abby? Boy, did I not plan for this future.

Mornings were the most difficult.

As I had recently been laid off from my job, I was alone five days out of the week for the majority of the time. Bill had to go to work. There was no resentment about it, he took care of us. We needed to have a home for Abby to return to. But my head was never in the right space each day until close to noon.

When Abby had lived at home, I would wait until she got out of bed, on the weekends, looking forward to trying to get her to eat something, knowing she wouldn’t eat until she’d been up for a few hours. When she was in school, she would be long gone, even when I was working. She liked to get to school before the crowds. She would wait until she knew I was yawning in the home office and then the texting would start. We all sent each other our Wordle stats. Bill first, as he would be watching the news downstairs before work. Abby second, as she would wait until she and her friends were settled in homeroom. Then non-morning-person me. That was the sign that I was awake and caffeinated. Then the texting would really ramp up…

But here I am now …crying into my coffee, trying to formulate a plan...

how can I be helpful to her,

how can I find her,

is she in danger.

Is she being trafficked?

Bill would call to see how I was, and I would start to straighten up a bit.. enough to make a plan for my day, so that I wouldn’t slump back down.

We had to find her.

I felt as if I was on an episode of Dateline.

How was this happening in real life?

...In my life?

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