Epilogue to My Life Less Ordinary, or How I Stopped Worrying and Left a Cult

My experience with the Jehovah’s Witnesses was a very strange time. For six years, I made a genuine effort to find acceptance within the group. Instead, I learned how to become a sycophant for a high-control, high-demand authoritarian religion. I created a false persona to mask my real personality. Eventually, I resigned from the Watchtower Society and disassociated from the Jehovah’s Witnesses. My family was advised by the group’s leadership that they should avoid unnecessary contact with me. Nonetheless, I moved on with my life to obtain a sense of closure. I was twenty years old.

In April 2000, six months later, I was hired to work at a local chain of video rental stores. Soon, my love of the cinema was reborn. I rediscovered the creative content of directors like James Cameron, John Carpenter, David Lynch, Sam Raimi, George A. Romero, Kevin Smith, and Quentin Tarantino.

Soon, I was going down a path “less traveled by,” and “that [was making] all the difference.”¹ I enrolled in the local community college. I was accepted into the Honors Program for gifted students. These prestigious students successfully maintained a high “grade point average.” I discovered creative writing was a wonderful outlet for self-expression and therapeutic healing. I wanted to preserve my life experience while recording new memories.

Eventually, I started socializing with women. Sometimes those women were unaware of my feelings. Other times they consciously rejected me. Yet, some of those friendships were fortuitous and unexpected surprises.

In December 2002, I was hanging out with a girl-friend. As snowflakes fell down around us, I made a bold statement. “I love you,” I said.

She kissed my cheek, then grabbed my right arm. She squeezed lightly as she offered a platonic statement of deep friendship.

After a brief pause, we went inside her family’s house to decorate a Christmas tree. We adorned the large tree with ornaments of all shapes and sizes. She asked me which decoration I liked the most. Without saying a word, I pointed to a glass snowflake ornament. She placed it next to her angel ornament.

She smiled. “Your ornament will always be placed next to mine.”

We watched Moulin Rouge! in the living room. As the film began, she cuddled up right next to me. I smelled the fruity shampoo on her hair. I placed my arm around her, and I felt quite content for the moment.

Sadly, in the end, I experienced unrequited love, and we parted ways.

In January 2004, my parents finalized their divorce. The entire family was estranged from each other because of our dysfunctional history.

In the Autumn of 2004, a new employee started at the video store. She was a young Red-Haired Woman from out-of-town. She was attending the local university. Right away, the Red-Haired Woman addressed me as “Boss,” “Dear,” or “Fearless Leader.” When I made eye contact with the Red-Haired Woman, she looked away. When I made a humorous comment, she laughed.

One day, I commented how my hands were cold from standing too close to the drafty doors. She offered her purple cotton gloves. Another time, when my car was being repaired, the Red-Haired Woman offered a ride. But another female coworker promised to take me home. She seemed very disappointed. Regardless, when I mentioned getting a drink together when she turned 21 on her birthday, the Red-Haired Woman was noncommittal.

I wanted to avoid the pain of unrequited feelings from another person. Hence, I did not pursue anything further with the Red-Haired Woman.

In January 2005, I was taking a lunch break when the Red-Haired Woman called my cell phone. I assumed she was calling to let me know she was not going to work her shift. I let the call go to voicemail. But the Red-Haired Woman left a “nervously cool” message about wanting to hang out sometime. Later, when she came into work, I asked her out.

On January 25, 2005, I went to the Red-Haired Woman’s college dormitory. She was sitting on a bench outside. She was wearing a green coat, Jurassic Park III t-shirt, and blue jeans. We went to dinner, and we never had a break in our conversation. Afterwards, we went back to her apartment to watch Punch Drunk Love.

It was a Tuesday night.

Soon, the Red-Headed Woman’s presence enriched my life with laughter, warmth, and companionship. In fact, she became my confidante and my best friend. I proposed marriage to her in 2008, and we exchanged wedding vows in 2009. We created two wonderful children in 2011 and 2017, respectively.

At the same time, in the professional world, I prevailed over the competition. I noticed that most coworkers wanted immediate praise and gratification. Many of them were too arrogant and impatient to grow into their careers. Slowly, I developed my skills and won through attrition.

On April 13, 2012, the call center closed. I was conflicted between pursuing another job focusing on teaching. Alternatively, I considered starting a new career. I applied with a company in a nearby city. But I did not want to deal with the challenges of a daily commute. I had a newborn baby at home. Hence, I declined to meet with the hiring manager for a job interview.

During the Summer of 2012, I was offered an opportunity to return to my former employer. The role was a traveling trainer for a temporary project out of state. Because I was unemployed due to a layoff, I offered to return as a freelance consultant. But the company wanted to simply reinstate me as a temporary worker. They intended to convert my old salary into hourly pay. This conversion would not take into account the benefits that I had lost. These benefits included health insurance, retirement plan contributions, stock options, and vacation hours. The negotiations were short; the company declined my counteroffer.

On September 1, 2012, we moved to the Gem City, “a place where the beer flows like wine.”

In December 2012, I was eating lunch at a pizza parlor and considering various employment options. Across the room, I saw individuals with developmental disabilities eating and interacting with their caregivers.

Based on observing the positive interactions, I decided to enter the health care field. I found a local company which operated several Community Integrated Living Arrangement facilities in the area. I applied for a job.

On January 8, 2013, I became a Direct Support Professional.

In August 2013, my mother suffered a major stroke. The trauma confined her to a nursing home. The medical condition caused her to forget many life events and people. This included the identities of my wife and daughter.

Her volatile disposition made it too easy to avoid having significant contact. Also, the ongoing dysfunction in the family contributed to this decision.

In December 2018, I visited my mother in the nursing home, and it was a heartbreaking experience. I sat there and listened while she repeatedly insisted that she was unhappy relying on a wheelchair. She wanted to die.

I couldn’t offer any comforting words to her. I couldn’t reassure her to keep a positive outlook. I couldn’t help her to hope for the best.

All the while, my relationship with my father was quality over quantity.

In February 2020, my father was admitted to the hospital for chest pains. I visited my father in the Intensive Care Unit. One of the nurses performed a cognitive test. She pointed a finger towards me and asked who I was.

He replied in a cheerful voice, “That’s Andrew! I’d never forget my son.”

For years, my father tricked his way out of death with medical procedures, but the doctors were out of options. As I walked out of the hospital room, I faced reality. It was only a matter of time before my father would be dead.

On March 28, 2020, three weeks later, my father passed away. I was named the Executor of the Estate. I had to deal with drama about my father’s possessions and financial accounts.

On December 31, 2022, my mother passed away. My younger sister was named the Executor of the Estate. Thankfully, I did not have to deal with family drama about possessions and financial accounts.

But my older sister was upset that her name was misspelled in the obituary. She sent a message to our sister and asked for a correction. For whatever reasons, my younger sister was unable or unwilling to respond to the message. I advised my older sister to let it go. She made a comment about the misspelling in front of my younger sister at the funeral service.

Later, my older sister asked if she should tell our sister about her grievances. I advised her to let it be. Instead, she ignored my advice and sent another message. I wanted to believe we would share new traditions without the shadow of our family’s toxic relationships looming over us.

Now, I wanted to promise that I will always be there for my sisters. But I can’t help anyone to carry their own burdens. I can’t fight their own battles. Sadly, my parents didn’t manage to raise their children in a healthy and loving way. But I wish to avoid further emotional damage inflicted by family members.

Truly, I do not want to spend my remaining time revisiting the trauma of my childhood religion. My life is ordinary. Everything is perfect the way it is.

1. Frost, Robert. The Road Not Taken. 1915. ↩︎