“At times, stepping back is the sole method to cease abandoning yourself.” ~Unknown
I was in a break between sessions. The TV hummed in the background—something titled The Secret Lives of Mormon Wives on Hulu—as I prepared lunch.
The program showcased Mormon wives who gained TikTok fame through “soft swing.” One young woman debated with her mother, who imposed strict standards on her daughter’s conduct. The daughter, steering clear of the church and the threat of excommunication, seeks freedom while attempting to preserve her family ties.
While watching, I lost track of my lunch because something struck a chord with me.
She finds herself torn between her authentic self and her desire for acceptance. Isn’t that a common challenge?
We long for connection, wired for it, regardless of the price. To belong, we adhere to rules and conceal facets of ourselves—sometimes trivial, sometimes profound—without exchanging currency.
The silent pact: secure your spot, remain compliant, and the group will retain you. It resembles a token economy—a quiet loyalty contract signed before we grasp its implications.
I Was Part of a Cult for Forty-Three Years
This cult wasn’t religious—no robes, no secluded haven, no charismatic figure seeking funds. It was more insidious and omnipresent.
It was the cult of humanity, the one most of us are born into.
It’s the incessant clamor of others’ needs, beliefs, and expectations.
It’s the quest for external approval, the dependency on being liked, needed, included.
It’s structuring your inner world around what others can accept.
It’s reducing yourself to preserve harmony and keep people close.
I unwittingly belonged for forty-three years. That’s how cults function.
Seven Years of Unraveling
Almost seven years ago, I started to depart—not purposefully at the outset. It stemmed from uncontrollable events: the pandemic, rearing a child with special needs primarily alone, and the slow, unremarkable therapy journey. I finally recognized how much reaching, earning, and contorting I had done throughout my life. How much of myself I had concealed to remain connected to those who required me to be manageable.
I didn’t want to earn anymore, yet I feared who I would turn into if I stopped.
So I uncovered.
Seven years filled with tears, endless solitude, anxiety episodes during ordinary days, heartbreak, and unforeseen losses. Observing my social circle diminish and worrying it was my fault. Occasionally feeling as though I was in hell.
It’s not beautiful, but it’s something. And it hasn’t been in vain.
What Unraveling Actually Entails
In actual cults, deprogramming necessitates separation. Distancing from the group that caused self-betrayal—physically, emotionally, possibly on a permanent basis—before you can perceive the reality. The same is true here.
When you separate yourself from the cult of humanity, numerous things unfold.
Firstly, it may seem like there’s something wrong with you. You grow quieter, cease performing, decline obligatory gatherings, and your social network reduces. Those remaining within the cult may not grasp it and might take it personally. In the cult, withdrawing feels threatening; it relies on your involvement to thrive.
But something else occurs as well. Rejected by those unable to accept your honesty, abandonment loses its grip. You stop deceiving to maintain connections. You acknowledge the implicit agreements you’ve upheld your entire life, how you exchanged fragments of yourself for belonging and labeled it love.
You attain clarity. And clarity is both the gift and sorrow of this journey.
The Both/And of It
Here’s the unspoken reality about exiting the cult of humanity: it doesn’t initially resemble freedom. It feels like loss, isolation, a grave error.
At the same time, something different emerges—a quieter, steadier self that isn’t performing. A reliable inner voice. An internal compass untouched by others.
This is the truth of healing—not either/or, not broken or whole, not lost or found. Both. Breaking down and breaking through concurrently. Sad yet yearning while realizing you deserve more. Making the right choices while witnessing things disintegrate. Hearing internal critiques yet showing compassion to your younger self.
That’s not fragility—it’s the essence of becoming more truthful.
The Path to Freedom
I’m not completely deprogrammed. I’m unsure if that’s even the aim. I still experience loneliness and feel the temptation to regain access to costly spaces. I still grieve connections that couldn’t withstand the emergence of my true self.
Yet I’m more at ease with sadness. It no longer terrifies me as it once did. I’ve learned to coexist with myself despite the discomfort.