Why I Left IBLP, Part 2

Read Part 1 here.

I’m a drama-girlie. I was homeschooled so I didn’t have a chance to do theater, but I did do a lot of interpretive speeches in high school, which was as close as I could get to being a theater kid. The little skits that the Pre-Excel leaders and sometimes some of us group leaders got to participate in were one of my favorite parts of Pre-Excel. They were usually short and you would just adlib the script; I liked how whimsical the props and costumes were. I had let Sara know on the first day of Pre-Excel that I was familiar with the usual skits–having gone through four years of Pre-Excel as a girl–and that I would love to be involved. So far I hadn’t been asked to participate, but on the morning of the last day of the conference, when Sara, Rachel and the other leader, Emily, asked me to come speak with them in the back of the room, I got excited. As they led me behind the curtained-up stage, I asked Sara, unable to contain my excitement, “Are you going to put me in one of your skits?”

“No…” Sara said.

“Oh,” I tried to think of some other reason why they’d need to talk to me. I’d completely forgotten last night’s interaction. “Am I in trouble?” I joked, expecting a chuckle and an “of course not!”

“Well…sort of,” Rachel answered, causing my stomach to drop.

“Oh…” It must be a mistake though; all of my girls absolutely loved me, and I didn’t remember breaking any rules. I certainly never intended to.

We sat down behind the stage curtains in a circle of four and Emily started, “Okay, Leona, we are just trying to clear something up so we’d like to ask you a series of questions.”

I fidgeted uncomfortably, aware that I hardly had a choice in the matter. “Um, alright.”

“So, we’ve noticed that you’re on a special diet, and you won’t eat the food that the conference offers,” Rachel began.

“Yeah,” I nodded, “I’m having some health issues with my digestion and I can only really eat fruits and vegetables right now. My mom and I have been trying to figure out what’s going on.”

“Yes, you mentioned that,” Rachel continued, “but with my experience with an eating disorder, I know that wanting to diet and control the foods in our bodies sometimes manifest themselves in unique ways. Have you ever considered that you might have an eating disorder?”

This suggestion seemed crazy to me. Wouldn’t I know if I had an eating disorder? “What?” I almost laughed. “Um, no, I definitely don’t,” I said firmly, feeling as though I were caught in a huge misunderstanding. “I usually eat a lot, it’s just that with my health issues—”

“You know, sometimes people have eating disorders without us believing that we do. It’s a way that Satan attacks us by tricking us into treating our bodies badly, and it can be dangerous. I’m concerned that maybe you have an eating disorder and are in denial that you do.” Rachel nodded with certainty, encouraging me to succumb to her diagnosis.

I sat there in shock, suddenly wondering, Oh my gosh, do I have an eating disorder? I didn’t know if I could trust myself.

“Um, I really don’t think so…” I stared at my fidgeting hands, unsure of what else to do or say. It seemed like they weren’t going to believe anything I said if I disagreed with them.

“Okay, let’s move on,” Sara cut in. “Leona, can you tell us about what kind of music you typically listen to?”

Oh no, I thought, immediately remembering the misunderstanding from the night before. Is that what this is about? “Um, I mean…I listen to like, I don’t know, conventional music?” I wasn’t going to lie, that wasn’t me, but I really didn’t want to say, “I secretly listen to rock music in the privacy of my bedroom against my parents’ wishes” because that would be my ticket to hell, as far as these women seemed to be concerned.

“Like…radio music?” Sara offered, and, relieved that she wasn’t going to force me to admit that I listened to rock music, I agreed, “Yeah, like radio music.”

“Okay,” Sara gave me a quick nod, then looked to Rachel and Emily, as if I had confirmed all their suspicions.

“So last night when I interacted with you, I told you we were only allowed to play hymns here, and then I left, and when I came back with Rachel and asked what you were playing, you and that girl both laughed. It seemed like you hadn’t listened to me and were still playing other music.”

“Oh no, that’s not what happened,” I tried to reassure Sara. “I had been playing my guitar and Maggie was playing Amazing Grace on the piano and our chords didn’t match up so when you came back we laughed because—”

Sara put her hand up to stop me. “I see. That wasn’t what Rachel and I felt happened.”

I blinked. What they felt happened?

“–We prayed about it with Emily,” Sara plunged on, “and we feel that you have a rebellious spirit, and that you need serious help.”

I stared blankly. It wasn’t sinking in what they were trying to tell me.

They didn’t seem to mind my silence. They just kept talking at me. “Because of the spiritual state that we sense you are in, and because of the type of music you listen to, we feel that you are not fit to teach the girls in Pre-Excel. We prayed about it last night, and God told us that you need to attend the Student Sessions for the rest of the conference instead. We talked about it with our authorities and they agree.”

Tears sprang to my eyes as I listened to them talk about me. I felt powerless to contradict anything they told me because they seemed like they’d already made up their minds. And God had told them to do this? It was one thing if He really had; but if He hadn’t, well…there was no way to verify that. And who was I to question their claim? Would they then accuse me of questioning God and tell me that maybe–even if I didn’t know it–I wasn’t really a Christian?

When I didn’t say anything, Rachel asked, “…Do you have any questions?”

“No,” was all I could get out.

“Has anything we’ve told you this morning offended you?” Emily pressed.

What a question! “Yes,” I sniffed, holding back my feelings. I didn’t want to cry in front of these horrible women.

“Oh…” Emily seemed stumped as to why that could be. “Well…do you want to talk about it?”

Did I want to talk about how they had just gutted me? Insulted me? Doubted my word and made me question my judgement of reality? Absolutely not.

“No,” I croaked.

My one-word answers seemed confusing to them. “…No, we didn’t hurt your feelings, or no, you don’t want to talk about it?” Sara asked.

I did my best to steel my expression. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay, well, before we wrap up, can we pray for you?” It was phrased as a question, but Sara made it a statement.

“Sure,” I whispered, feeling trapped. So, they prayed. They prayed for my rebellious spirit and for the eating disorder that I was in denial of. They prayed for the conflict and hurt feelings I felt that I didn’t want to talk about. They thanked God for speaking His words of wisdom to us. They prayed it would be a life-changing day of learning for me. “Amen,” they said, and “amen” I cry-whispered, and then they stood up and indicated that I should leave.

What I had to do next was clear. I stood up, I willed the tears to stay behind my eyes a few minutes longer, and walked dutifully back to my Pre-Excel booth, where Mary was setting things up and greeting the girls as they arrived. My favorite girl, the one who first started calling me Leo, jumped up at the sight of me and exclaimed, “Hello Leo!”

“Hello, Anna!” She gave me a huge hug and clung to my leg even as I sat down to whisper to Mary, “Hey, I can’t be here today, I will have to explain later. I’m sorry. I need to go.”

Mary was surprised but un-phased. We both knew it would be manageable for her to handle the girls on her own; I sensed her knowing of my sadness even though I was smiling at the girls.

“Hi girls, Miss Mary is going to be leading you by herself today. I have to go.”

“But why?!” Anna whined, still clinging to me while I gathered my purse.

“Because God needs me to be elsewhere,” I lied to her, knowing in my heart that I belonged here with all of them.

“Okay,” Anna resigned. The girls were sad, but accepting. After all, Pre-Excel was all about doing what God told us to do.

“Goodbye!” I stood up and waved cheerfully.

“Bye Leo!” they said, and “Bye Leona,” Mary called supportively.

I felt Sara’s eyes on me as I calmly and stoically walked out of the room.

As soon as the door closed behind me, though, I broke into almost a run as I headed toward the nearest bathroom. I needed to cry, and it needed to be as soon as possible. My heart couldn’t take this, my calm façade was breaking down.

I burst into the first empty bathroom stall, hung my purse in a hurry, sat down on the toilet and dropped my face into my hands. I cried out loud and didn’t care if anybody heard me. I was there for so long that if anybody had at first heard me and cared enough to wait outside, I outwaited them. Eventually I found myself in the bathroom alone.

I was angry. I hadn’t done anything wrong! This was all a big mix-up, but no one would listen to or believe me. I felt powerless to make it right. Of the many instances in my life where I had been in the wrong, this just wasn’t one of them.

A rebellious spirit, I thought. Mom will eat that up! She probably already thought that about me! To have it confirmed by the Pre-Excel leaders will validate all of her other suspicions.

I wished my dad was at the conference this year too, but he couldn’t get the time off work. My older brother Liam wasn’t there because he had graduated high school and chose not to get the time off work either. No one had discussed it, but we all knew that he didn’t associate with ATI anymore. There in the bathroom stall, as I began to recover my composure and do my best to toughen up, I felt a spark of empathy for his choice to walk away.

I washed my puffy face, told myself to toughen up for the day I was about to have, and marched myself upstairs toward the Student Sessions where less than twenty-four hours before I had been standing at the podium sharing my award-winning speech.

As I walked down the hallway toward the session, I became aware that I was the only person wearing navy-blue. Everyone knew the class schedules, so anyone who looked at me and cared to wonder knew instantly that I ought to be leading a group in Pre-Excel. Everyone attending the Student Sessions wore white shirts. I felt out of place and like anyone I walked past or sat next to knew that I had been kicked out, deemed unfit to teach little girls with my rebellious spirit and supposed eating disorder.

I sat down in the back of the session that was already 30-minutes underway, the only navy-blue polo in a sea of white. I tried to listen, but I mostly silently cried, wondering, how could I have an eating disorder and not know it? God, do I have an eating disorder? God, is this what you actually wanted to happen to me at this conference?

There was a 10-minute break in the middle of the session, the content from which I truly didn’t have the emotional capacity to absorb. I went out into the hallway and welcomed the sight of my friend Kat, who I’d met the previous year in Commit.

I hurried over to her and my story just spilled out of me. She put out her arms and I clung to her and immediately began to weep. I can’t recall a day in my life where I’ve cried more than on that one, even now.

She knew that neither of us could change the situation ourselves, but she invited me to join the Commit group she was leading until there was an intermission for the parent sessions so I could talk to my mom. Gratefully, I joined her Commit group, feeling unjudged by her and her girls. I was especially thankful for having friends that morning, since apparently, not everyone at ATI was on my side.

At 10AM the parent session began its intermission, so I joined the masses filling the hallway to find my mom. Stereotypically for her, I found her in line at the Starbucks located inside the conference building.

“Hi honey!” She waved at me as I walked toward her. Realizing that I was still supposed to be with my girls, her smile faded into concern and she asked, “What are you doing out here?”

“They kicked me out, mom,” I exclaimed with the same incredulousness that soon came over my mom’s face. “What!” She whispered with her hand over her mouth as my story tumbled out of me.

When I mentioned the eating disorder issue, she scoffed and interrupted, “People think I have an eating disorder too! Yesterday Mrs. Jones walked up to me, picked up a piece of my cardigan, and remarked, ‘Is this a child’s cardigan, Janine?’ as if I was so thin, I could only wear child’s clothes!” She pinched the cardigan she was wearing between her fingers for proof and declared, “This is an ADULT cardigan!” talking to me as if I needed to be convinced. “…What do you want from Starbucks?” She interrupted herself. We’d made it to the front of the line.

I tsktsk’d at her story and ordered a latte, then went on with mine. At the end of my story and as the barista handed us our coffees, my mom said, “Take me to the Pre-Excel room. We’re going to fix this.”

My mom was on my side? That was a first! To be on the same side as my mom as she took my hand and let me lead the way made me feel powerful. Together, what couldn’t we do? I was usually the one cowering in fear when my mom was angry, but not today. Today, we would show them.

Read Part 3 here.

Header Photo Credit: James Staddon