just a little respect

I was just reading the blog of a gal who came out of a Quiverfull family and was struck by something she said on the subject of respect. She wrote about the transcript of a television program that documented the lives of 'surrendered wives'. In once scene, a young daughter was told that the reason the house was cleaned and delicious meals prepared - indeed, the reason for anything and everything they did - was to honour the father, to be a blessing to him. Not because of anything he'd done, not because of the wonderful man he was, but purely because of his position as 'king of the house'.

I remember carrying on this charade with my own children. I would go to lengths to work with the kids to prepare nice things to please their Daddy, to do things that he would like. And he was not a nice daddy. I'd make excuses for the fact that he picked and shouted constantly at the kids and was generally miserable, immature, demanding and unreasonable. I'd tell the kids they needed to respect their father and would not allow them to canvass his bad behaviour. I taught them to deny and excuse their father's faults, not as a kind sort of bearing with another human's imperfections, but as a deluded attempt to build him into some sort of worthwhile man just by pretending that he was already there. I realise how insane that sounds now, but it's a much more common strategy than a right-thinking person outside of partriarchal fundamentalism might imagine.

My ex-husband was and, frankly, still is not a particularly worthwhile human being. He is unintelligent, weak, petty, self-centred, dishonest, underhanded, manipulative and mean. I lied to myself about this for years, in part because I was embarrassed to have chosen such a loser to be my partner for life. But eventually, the harm that he was doing to me and my children overwhelmed even my powerful capacity for self-delusion; the cupboard door squeaked open and we all ran out together.

I heard sermons on submission of wives and respect for husbands many, many times. I would leave with renewed hope in my heart that a good, submissive woman could make a half decent marriage even with a man like the one I was lumbered with...but I couldn't sustain my cheer for long.

A few times over the years my then-husband and I made it to a counsellor. I remember one Christian minister - a woman - explaining that respect was positional.  Police officers, she reminded, wear a badge which is the symbol of the State's authority apportioned to them, and so we obey them, regardless of what kind of men they may be in their personal lives. It doesn't matter if I am a better person, or smarter, or know more than the police officer, they are in a position of authority and subsequently my role is to obey without question.

While I agree that we need to respect laws and the authority of the keepers of the same, the analogy falls down in one important regard: Public servants who wield power over citizens also function within systems that are designed to hold them accountable for their actions. Our judicial system has flaws and often fails but theoretically, an officer who abused his power or used it to serve himself instead of the public good would be publicly disciplined and stripped of those powers so he could not abuse them again.

But accountability is completely absent from the fundamentalist submission-cult equation. The men, and in particular married ones, are ordained by God to wield unbridled power, unchecked and unobserved by those outside the family. Indeed, the better he appears to have his wife and children under his thumb, the more kudos he will earn in the church setting. Bullying and domination are valued as expressions of manly, biblical strength. His character is never called into question. Although *plenty* of sermons are preached on the inherent sinfulness of man, no one thinks to ask whether any particular sinner is effectively overcoming his nature and so behaving properly in the relationships most prone to abuse. The husband and father is not trained or equipped to rule, and yet he is given free reign without the need to account to any superior. Even when his subordinates go public with a complaint, the blame is laid at *their* feet. If they were any good at submitting, things wouldn't be in such a mess. I mean, how can a man be expected to lead if the rabble God gave him won't follow?

On our domestic front, the any-failure-is-your-failure belief system meant that I was obliged to respect my husband - not just act right but genuinely generate an attitude of respect - or I'd be sinning and in danger of judgement. I needed to respect him - and obey him - because of the position that God had put him in, that is, in authority over me. I was to do this whether or not he treated me and the kids appropriately, whether he was right about an issue, and whether he was capable of having a single, intelligent idea and carrying it out. The less I questioned, the more I swallowed, the closer to a Biblical ideal I would become. I'd be a Proverbs 31 woman such as our brand of Christianity understood her to be.

As I've mentioned, my ex- is not an easy man to respect. Indeed, once I started to really think about it, I could think of only one thing he did that deserved honour and that was working hard to earn a living. And, don't get me wrong, I don't undervalue the fact that we were well provided for. It's just that it's not enough. You also have to be some kind of decent human being if you want the people you are providing for to genuinely love and respect you.

Towards the end, when I dared to whisper the truth as I was just beginning to see it, I received more of the same kind of bad advice. For 20 years, I never criticised my husband openly. Finally, realising truth might be the one thing that could save my kids mental health as well as my own, I confided in an older Christian woman, respected as a counsellor in the church, telling her what an average evening in our home looked like: how my ex-husband would behave and what a misery he'd make of every moment he was with us. I explained that I wanted to please God but was at a loss as to know how to do that in my situation. I asked her to tell me how our evenings should look if I was getting it right. How should I walk it? Exactly what should I *do*? She told me that, whatever happened, I must not point out that my ex- was was shouting at the kids when it was *he* who had the behaviour problem, but that I must respect him and insist the children to do the same.

That counsellor was so disturbed by some of the things I was telling her about my then-husband that at one point she said, "Whoa! Slow down! It sounds like you are suggesting that marrying your husband was (gulp) *a mistake*." I replied that, in fact, I was not any longer afraid to go even to *that* deep, dark place. She wrung her hands, speechless at my heresy and pale with worry.

I was too polite to that woman. Was marrying that man a mistake? Well, pardon my crudeness but, um, doh! That imposter, pretending to be wise woman and qualified to impart biblical truth, was just another cog in the machine that works to keep that truth at bay and women and children under the miserable control of wicked men.

Even our pastor at the time, a man who I still love and respect more than any Christian leader I ever knew (although, let's face that's not saying much), participated in perpetuating our misery. Right at the end of my marriage, my ex- called the pastor in to straighten out our troubled teenage son. I listened to my ex- lambast our lad for 10 minutes. Then, asking JC to leave the room for a minute, with fear and trembling, I stated that the problem was not with our boy at all but with his father who was a person such as I have described above.

My ex- frankly admitted that there was no untruth in any of my statements, that he was indeed the person that I had described, but that he found it so difficult to lead as he lacked confidence and I was so tricky to manage. The pastor rightly noted that he hadn't really expected to be opening such a messy can of worms that night. Suddenly, his cute little marriage relationship survey form didn't seem so helpful. He left us promising to pray and consider what was to be done next. What was done next - indeed, all that was done - was that the following Sunday, he handed me a yellow envelope containing two articles warning of the destructive nature of wifely bitterness and husband-directed anger. That was the extent of his support. And boy, was I pissed.

I realise that that pastor was probably just well out of his depth as others had been before him. And my marriage and the lies I told myself, my kids and the world about it were not that pastor's doing - our mess was not his fault. But, he remains culpable for failing to shed any real light on our situation when the privileged opportunity to do so arose. Had I taken his advice, we'd still be there, playing a soul-destroying submission game with that horrible, horrible man.

To be fair I need to add that shortly after that encounter with the pastor I had coffee with another, younger woman leader in our church who listened to my very brief explanation of our domestic situation and bluntly said, 'Doesn't sound fixable. You should consider getting out.' I wasn't even able to think in terms of a possible divorce at that point - her words genuinely shocked me. But that extreme good sense, and from a Christian too, eventually seeped into my brain and was one of the factors that empowered me, finally, to act. I feel grateful to her still. I hope she can cope with the knowledge that she was influential in my ending my marriage and leading my children to freedom and a much, much happier life.

***

A lovely friend of mine, who grew up in the daughter of a fundamentalist minister - a very, very sick man and a violent sexual abuser - surprised me some years ago by announcing that she didn't care who she offended, her children were not to call anyone 'Mr' or 'Mrs', or, heaven forbid, 'Pastor'. She said that she wasn't going to assist anyone in gaining her children's respect and that if they wanted it, they could damn well earn it.

Her motivation was to abuse-proof her children. She was determined that no one would ever be able to trick her children into participating in their own abuse by waving some certificate of authority under their noses and demanding respect on that account.

I just wonder how many children could have been spared the horrors of abuse at the hand of the wicked men - and sometimes women - in their lives if we all taught our kids to practice similar small but sensible acts of psychological self-protection.

manipulation by any other name

As I've admitted before, I never did do very well in the submission stakes. This is not surprising considering who I am and to whom I was married. Submitting - which in QF circles means to willingly place yourself under the God-given authority your husband in every way - more or less necessitates there being something of a reasonable height to look up to and get under. My former husband, C, although he has some good qualities, was and is a particularly weak and and vacillating man. Trying to submit to C was like trying to squeeze my entire body into a dollshouse and call it comfy.

But call it comfy I did. At least in public. And while I admit I didn't manage to pull submission off very well at all, considering how low I had to crawl to properly locate myself 'under' him, my efforts to submit to my husband were pretty heroic at times. Still I came in for a fair bit of criticism for not looking or not sounding as submissive as I ought.

This brings me to a particularly distressing and frankly, in my view, nauseating aspect of the QF doctrine of submission. While some of the men I knew in QF families were domineering bullies, a good number of them were weak-kneed ninnies like my husband. Except they were the only ones who didn't seem to know it. This was because their clever and seemingly super-submissive wives concealed that inconvenient truth from them. These women managed to run the show while contriving to trick their men into believing that they were in fact in charge.

Consider the following interaction between one sweet wife and her lazy whimp of a husband. J had all the submission boxes ticked: floral frocks, long hair, heaps of kids, homeschooling, husband 'working' from home.... While I suppose she may have considered us friends, she often made her disappointment in my failure at Christian wifely submission plain with disapproving looks and sometimes helpful suggestions for my improvement. 

At the time this particular incident occurred we were enjoying our post-home church afternoon tea on the verandah of J's country acreage (tick, tick). As usual, the men were sitting at one table and the women at another. This was the usual arrangement but I don't recall it was done by explicit rule but rather a general consensus. The women talked about homeschooling and kids, the men about doctrine and work. 

J's children were making themselves unpleasant a short distance away from where we adults were sitting. I could see J was uncomfortable with her kids' behaviour but didn't want to 'usurp' her husband's authority by doing anything about it. At least, she wanted to take the opportunity of making both herself and hubby look good in front of us all. Several times she cast a slightly irritated glance in the direction of her children and then more pointedly at her husband before she hit on the perfect solution. Summoning a sickly tone reminiscent of 50s sit-com housewives, here what she said:

"R, would you mind using your big, strong man's voice and correcting our children? I think they need their Daddy to do that right now."

I almost gagged on my brownie.

This is how submission is done in many QF households. It isn't OK to say, 'Honey, how's about you get off your lazy duff and man up for a change?' but it's fine to 'motivate' your man to do whatever you want by using clever brain-circumventing, ego-massaging manipulation strategies. And if you have a good bucketful of QF cred because of the box-ticking mentioned above, nobody minds a smidge. If she wears a floral frock and talks so sweet she couldn't secretly be (gasp) a manipulative, underhanded bitch, could she?

I have had conversations with QF women about their in-good-conscience use of these techniques many times. I would point out that I was working hard to find ways to respect my husband - and that wasn't easy. Treating him as though he were an idiot would not have been a good strategy for me - even if he liked it a lot. 

And as a young woman, my eyes opening to the power of my own sexuality, I made a decision that I would never, never use tricks of that sort to manipulate a man I cared about - or ones I didn't either. I don't know anyone I despise so greatly that my conscience wouldn't prick me if I patronised them in this way. Manipulation and integrity don't live on the same planet and I don't any longer want to live where we pretend they do. Integrity is too important to trade it off for domestic peace and fundamentalist kudos.

But nonsense like J's is widespread in the QF and patriarchal Christian communities - at least it is in the ones with which I have been associated. In her book "Created to be his Helpmeet", Debi Pearl described several instances when she not only tolerated her husbands infantile tantrums but 'learned how to win', that is, got back into his good books by tempting him with goodies like sex. (I hope I'm remembering this right. I'd go check my copy of Mrs Pearl's book but the kids and I had a Pearl-shredding party a while back. Felt gooood.)

Val Stares, one of the long-time leaders of conservative women's magazine Above Rubies in Australia once told a story at a women's group I attended. Val's husband does not identify himself as a Christian - at least, he didn't then. Val said that once, as she was looking out her kitchen window while he mowed the lawn, she watched as her husband ran over and destroyed a seedling tree that was precious to her. An uncharacteristically unsubmissive ejaculation along the lines of 'Oh, no! Not the ornamental cherry...' escaped Val's lips. Hearing this, her husband pitched a fit stomping and kicking angrily. Poor old him.

While Val is a gorgeous and intelligent woman and while I think the moral of this story was intended to be 'Let him be. Don't criticise' I still don't get it. How could anybody think that anyone benefits from encouraging the man of the house to behave like an three-year-old? That just leads to nowhere good: the women have to put up with and justify a whole heap of moronic behaviours and the kids nearly go mad trying to learn how to be healthy adults while buying in to far-fetched excuses for their father's immaturity. The man himself probably gets the rawest deal - he just stops growing. And what is a life without growth?

Worst of all, bang goes everybody's integrity. The whole family is forced to perform all manner of intellectual and emotional contortions in order to accommodate their own hypocrisy and self-deceit. Trying to live with a growing disparity between your inner and outer identities is a dangerous route. Aye, thar be madness, mateys.

QF patriarchal Christianity such as I have seen it practiced does not value truth and it does not value women. It harms children...and it harms men. It trades integrity for a floral-frocked lie and then tut-tuts at those who don't toe the line as though it has a monopoly on moral high ground. It disgusts me.

My heart breaks for all those women who still believe QF's sales pitch as I once did but I'm saddest for the children growing up inside QF who are unable to develop a healthy, honest sense of self while simultaneously being forced to deny the bleeding obvious and perpetually pretend it is not so. I'm devoting my energies to helping my own darlings walk away from the lie and towards freedom and wholeness. 

out fundying the fundies

 

pilfered with thanks from stufffundieslike.com

***

Warning: this post may contain traces of nuts

***

Coming out of a cult-like mindset is a journey of a thousand steps. As I've said before, for me it was discovering an increasing number of things I didn't share with the QF/Christian patriarchal/Fundamentalist camp that formed a large slice of my escapee education pie. 'Leigh' (not her real  name) unwittingly taught me one of my most memorable lessons.

I first heard of Leigh when a mutual, and very lovely, fundy friend asked if we could put Leigh and her son up for the night at short notice. My friend regularly had them to stay but unexpected circumstances prevented her offering a room this time. I said I'd be happy to find them some space.

Leigh and her 23 year old son James (also not his real name) needed to fly to across the continent two or three times each year. James was studying a Bachelor of Music through a university in a city near us and was periodically required to attend in person to sit his exams. Apparently this was the only uni in Australia that offered the course James wanted to study but allowed students to complete it from home. Home university - within limited approved course choices - is pretty popular in QF circles.

Leigh arrived in a particularly dull and dowdy home-made floral frock, her uncut hair wound up tight in a bun and wrapped in a crochetted 'covering'. This bun cover was not intended to be decorative but was worn as a religious garment, a symbol of her submission to her husband. Leigh wore no make up or jewellery, her calves were swathed in a pair of peculiar fuzzy socks and I'd seen more stylish footwear on psych ward night nurses.

It quickly became apparent that Leigh liked to hold court from a position squarely in the centre of things. She fended off all direct contact with James. Whenever we could get the lad to answer a question for himself Leigh would either finish his sentences for him or chip in and correct the details with a brusque, 'No, no, James. It wasn't like that!' It seemed James was used to being harried by his mother but, despite his charming manners and respectful fascade, there were unmistakable signs he was embarrassed and annoyed at her constant chiding. I managed to get Leigh's to loosen her grip once or twice and allow James to play table tennis with my boys in another room. The boys said James was transformed from a nervous, twitching mummy's boy into a regular, jovial bloke at these times.

Leigh, not unexpectedly, turned out to be one of those fundies who likes to let loose every hobby horse in her not-inconsiderable stable right up front without regard to the possible opinions of her beleaguered audience. Indeed, she didn't allow for alternate positions at all but treated us to an unabated tub thumping from the moment she arrived until she finally was forced to sleep that night. I've met a lot of these sorts of fundies and suspect they persist in such thick-skinned, anti-social, brow-beating monologues in part because of a short-sighted assumption that if one has 'Christian homeschooler' tattooed across one's forehead one must also be in happy receipt of the whole box and dice. In addition, I suspect they think it good policy on the off chance they have struck some poor fellow not fully right-minded quite yet. Then, as their victim is lucky enough to be in attendance while the fundy pursues their favourite subjects ad nauseum and without drawing breath, there is a fair possibility the wayward one may be brought round. I'm ashamed to say I have indulged in this sort of arrogance myself on many occasions.

So...Leigh began by holding forth on the 'right' kind of homeschooling. ACE, of course. I gathered as she continued that in general the only 'suitable' material for the consumption of children was overtly Christian both in authorship and message. She assumed we were in agreement about the evil practice of reading literature containing animals or inanimate objects that talk. The kids smiles froze and they shot panicked glances my way. I crossed my fingers and hoped Leigh wouldn't look too closely at any of my many bookcases containing as they did contraband favourites such as The Hobbit and D'Aulaires Book of Greek Myths. Still hoping she wasn't a Pantry Checker (I've known a few), I made a metal note to remove my wine to a safer location under my bed just in case.

Leigh went on to treat us to sermons on modesty and feminine submission. My girls and I were past wearing skirts by this time but, suspecting our houseguest may tend to the conservative side, I had dug one out for myself so as not to cause offense. I had stopped short of imposing that on my girls.

At that precise moment twelve-year-old K unwittingly entered the room dressed modestly enough in jeans and a blouse. It was now that Leigh revealed she had rebellion-spotting super powers. These enabled her to detect the tell-tale whiff of a rebellious seed '...even as young as 12...' She narrowed her eyes to suspicious slits and cast a despising glance K's way. Leigh had, apparently, the only 'saved' kids left in town. She said they started homeschooling with 40 other children each and every one of whom she assured us had 'gone off the rails'. She said that she was well-known for being the only parent of their acquainance who had been able to raise 'godly' children. Subsequently, Leigh volunteered a deal of her time to support less successful mothers in their grief. Occasionally she took one or two wayward souls into her home for a time, fixed them and then sent them back home for their hapless mothers to ruin again.

At one point I asked Leigh why she accompanied James each time he flew to Queensland. I thought she must have friends or relatives nearby that she wanted to visit. With a disappointed look, Leigh, sat up a little straighter and explained that obviously it wasn't safe for James to catch a plane and then a bus on his own so she came along every time to make sure that he'd be safe. What made Leigh think she'd be able to keep a grown man safer than he could keep himself was not specified.

As it happened, I'd managed to kick the hobby horse closest to Leigh's heart. She took the opportunity to explain that she lived on a farm (brownie points there for sure) and shopped in the small, quiet country town nearby. But, she said, she would never let her two girls - aged 18 and 21 - walk from one end of town to the other, a distance of some 500 metres, unchaperoned even when she was shopping nearby. She was worried that men might try and....I'm not exactly sure what men might try and do but it was something and it was bad. Consequently, her girls had attained adulthood with virtually no opportunity for unsupervised conversation with a non-family member. 

Leigh had chosen careers for all her children that would keep them safely with mama for the long haul. She and her husband had built a music studio in their home so that James could try and earn a living teaching piano and still be able to eat all his meals with his ma. Leigh had helped her daughters establish a business making and selling modest clothing to other fundy women. The business name was based on 1 Timothy 4:12 and revealed the object was not just to keep certain body bits under wraps but to be - and be seen to be - better than everyone else because of your exemplary dress standards. Anyway, those young adults were kept safely under Mother's gimlet eye 24/7 and were apparently not due for parole any time soon.

It eventually became plain that the rest of James' life was pretty well stitched up for him. He had managed to select a prospective life partner from a mother-approved shortlist. This gal was from a similarly-minded fundy family who lived in another state. (It is common for QF families to start making connections like these as their children reach their teens - marriage partners not being thick on the ground in your average homeschool kitchen. In Australia ACE families seem to do this best.) James had met his chosen at a fundy-only 21st birthday party and after much prayer and character-sussing on both sides a betrothal contract agreeable to both families was negotiated.

All that remained was for the lass to come and enjoy an extended visit where she would be subject to a final bout of scrutiny from her mother-in-law-to-be. In due time James' beloved arrived, endured 10 days with Leigh, then rushed home to her own mother refusing to speak to James or any of his family ever again. This hard-heartedness despite Leigh's offer to section off a bit of unsaleable land on which James could erect a house for himself and his bride, and a promise that, faithful matriarch, Leigh would be on hand every single day to mentor the poor ignorant thing and help her properly raise the hoped-for tribe of grandchildren. Ungrateful wench! Leigh could not find it in her heart to forgive the girl or her family and would not brook my gentle suggestion that it was perhaps better after all to call it off now than after the wedding.

Don't ask my K about bedtime that night unless you want an earful. At 8.30, after phoning her husband and tersely delivering a full menu of instructions and reminders, Leigh announced that it was well past James' bedtime and insisted he head off at once. James offered a sheepish goodnight to my pre-teen children who were still up and about and headed obediently for his nigh-nighs. And he almost escaped without further humiliation. At the last moment though Leigh called him back, offered her cheek and insisted on a 'kiss for Mummy'. Honestly, we were all starting to feel a little ill.

The following morning Leigh was up and floral-frocked nice and early. She wandered the halls for over an hour (I kid you not) until everyone had seen her with her Bible (in hand-made quilted cover) and so knew she'd been at her 'devotions' while we were all still dribbling on our pillows. It was the day of James' big exam so I asked him what he'd like to eat. He cast a worried glance at his mother whose glare left us in no doubt that I was sadly mistaken if I thought James was the honoured guest at this little party. Nevertheless I made James coffee, bacon and eggs and porridge and told him to help himself and have as much as he liked and not feel it was too much trouble. Leigh was pissed at all the attention James was receiving and also because, the service being a little slower than usual that morning, she had to shout from the dining room and hurry me along with her cutlery. All this without a word of a lie. And there was so, much, more more besides.

Leigh is not exactly typical of the women I met in QF fundamentalism. Certainly, she was uncharacteristically rude. But her meanness and self-absorption aside she is really only slightly more extreme in her views than many - both women and men - I knew personally. Still I was staggered at her self-rightousness and the depth of her self-deception and appalled at the abusive and inappropriate control she inflicted on her children

Truthfully, Leigh scared the shite out of me. I realised that Delusion was a near and dangerous enemy and wondered if I was looking at a portrait of me in twenty years time. I determined then to ask others to hold me accountable as I searched my heart and pleaded with God to show me whether I might be on the same path. I told every friend who would lend me an ear about Leigh and reminded them that if they saw characteristics like that in me and didn't tell me, they couldn't rightly say they loved me. I decided I didn't want to build myself into the kind of woman whose kids don't visit her once they are given the choice. It was a good plan.

Sadly, although Leigh is a shocker she is not unique. Neither was she relegated to the outer corners of QF Fundidom. Leigh had real cred and was an honoured stateswoman in the QF pool in which she swam. I don't doubt she had moulded many, many young women in her image over the years. I met her when I was already on the way to asking some difficult questions about the belief igloo I'd built around myself and my family. Consequently, Leigh repelled rather than attracted me. I wonder how I'd have responded if I'd still been in the throws of fullest QF zeal. I know this for sure, if she came to stay today I wouldn't fail to challenge her nonsense. What a coward I was then.

James was a nice young guy though and I suspect he'll make a decentish sort of man if he can ever get out from under his mother's thumb. Perhaps he has. I sure hope so.

I'd also like to say that I hope this post serves to more clearly define the parameters of fundamentalism such as I will use the term on this blog. When I say fundy, I mean legalistic, self-righteous, delusional folk like Leigh. Sometimes I'll be referring to homeschooling, homebirthing, home churching, home businessing, frock-wearing, KJV 1611 sorts. Other times I'll include independant conservative and charistmatic/pentecostal believers.  I do not mean to cast my net around Christians who simply believe the Bible is true and seek to live as though Christ is real - whatever I happen to believe myself. I fully intend to criticise a bunch of church practices that may be common across the board but I want it known that I love and respect many of the mainstream Christians I know who identify positively with the term Fundamentalism as they understand it.

And, I should note too that I have a lot of love and respect for QFers who are sincere believers and seekers after the truth - whether they are still in or have found their way out. But I'm not wasting any warm fuzzies on Leigh or her sort.

are patriarchal fundamentalist churches aspie magnets?

Although my ex-husband has a diagnosis that states otherwise, it is my view that he is probably 'on the spectrum', that is, he has a relatively mild form of Autism called Asperger's Syndrome.

Some of the give-away clues that fuel my conviction are

• his complete lack of normal human empathy - he seems untouched by the suffering of others
• his obsession with his 'special interest' which happens, somewhat fortunately for us, to be work
• his many peculiar habits and rituals
• his increasingly odd gait and facial expression
• his incapacity to read non-verbal language such as facial expressions, body language or tone of voice
• his 'mind blindness' - he cannot imagine that there is anything happening in anyone's head that isn't happening in his own
• his permanent state of high anxiety
• his emotional immaturity and volatility

Being married for 20 years to a man who cannot give or receive love in a normal way was like having my soul scraped out with a rusty spoon. In addition to his coldness he was, as my father had warned me, not the sharpest knife in the drawer. Those years of marriage felt like drowning in a vat of treacle while someone slipped a plastic bag over my head and tied it tight. I was being destroyed.

After the kids and I fled, Mr X sent me an email demanding my immediate return. He made what he though was a strong argument by reminding me:

• that I had signed a binding contract before God to stay married to him forever
• that it would be difficult for the children at Christmastime having their parents living apart
• that if I thought I was busy now, just imagine how busy I'd be without him
• that I'd need to get a job

Despite those tempting inducements, I decided to proceed to divorce as have many women married to Aspie men before me. We even have a name: we are Cassandras, named for Cassandra Syndrome which is shrink-speak for what becomes of highly empathetic women (called 'extreme neuro-typicals') when their most intimate relationship is with a brick wall.

I first heard of AS when a Christian woman I hardly knew for some reason told me all about her man. I listened in silence for over an hour before admitting that her husband could be my husband's twin brother. Since that time I have met at least 10 Christian women who have what are very likely Aspie husbands. I encountered several other Christian wives at the Asperger Partner Support Group I visited once or twice.

Suspecting that AS men seem to be significantly over-represented in Christian circles, I asked an international expert at an AS conference if she thought it likely to be so. She replied that that was definitely her view. And it's not surprising. In churches, particularly in fundamentalist ones, AS men find a veritable smorgasbord of women who tick all their boxes. Women who:

• believe in staying with their man no matter what kind of a jerk he turns out to be
• believe in rules such as laid out in the Book, including ones about submitting and obeying...no matter what kind of jerk their man turns out to be
• believe in having children and staying home to look after them
• believe that their body is not their own and will make themselves available for sex on demand
• will allow themselves to be dragged off to the pastor for counselling in submission if they get out of line

Aspies are looking for women who are kindly nurturers, like their mothers, with strong social skills who will care for them and help them manage life in a big scary world full of people they struggle to understand. Churches are full of these gentle, unsuspecting souls and Aspies are expert at tracking them down. An Aspie will go to tremendous lengths to appear normal during the courtship process only to revert to type without ceremony after his target signs the contract.

Christianity may not be responsible for the miserable marriages that ensue but fundamentalist dogma allows an Aspie man to be emotionally uninvolved with his family ('he's a great provider, don't be so ungrateful') so long as he fulfills his duties as leader of family devotions. The fact that there is not the faintest sniff of Christ about the man and each Bible time begins with 'Sit down, shut up and get out your Bibles. You are such disobedient, disrespectful children,' might be a problem if it were generally known but of course it will not be. To complain about your husband is verboten.

Patriarchal fundamentalism also tends always to blame the woman for everything. If he's a useless, she's expecting too much and should lower her standards. If she complains that he never does anything he promises to and is mean to the kids she should go home, shut up and submit more. The 'a good woman can make a great marriage out of a bad one - even if her man does not make one smidge of effort' line damages the hearts of many more women than I'd like to guess at. I was sent away with identical advice each of the 5 or so times I managed to drag my ex to counselling or went alone myself. I'm still mad.

So, yes, I believe patriarchal fundamentalist churches do attract Aspies. And they fail to support and protect AS men's families by letting him get away with being a shit while demanding his wife and children extend his shit-making privileges. Those churches have to accept some responsibility for that.

One of the first steps toward freedom for me was when I told my ex- that from that day on, I would never lie, cover up or excuse his poor behaviour again. If he behaved like a jerk, say, at the table, we were all going to be frank about that. He could own his own immaturity. It was a teensy step in the direction of Integrity for me. And a vital leap forward for my poor children's sanity.

I should add that I'm not down on AS people and am not usually in the habit of throwing people away because they don't suit me. But there are some people, AS and otherwise, who are just not cut out to be husbands or fathers. My former husband is one of those people. And the church supported those characteristics of his that harmed me and my kids. So I'm just saying.