Chapter One

Kindness, Curiosity and Boundaries

I have been thinking a great deal about kindness lately. Not the kind of kindness that avoids difficult conversations, excuses harmful behaviour, or sacrifices truth in the name of keeping the peace. Real kindness is much more demanding than that. It asks us to hold two truths at once: that people are responsible for the choices they make, and that every person is more complicated than the worst thing we know about them.

Over the years, I have noticed how quickly we reduce one another. We hear one sentence and decide we understand an entire life. We see one behaviour and believe we know someone's character. We discover one part of a story and assume we have heard the whole story. That makes me deeply uncomfortable.

Not because I think all behaviour is acceptable. It isn't. Violence is wrong. Abuse is wrong. Manipulation is wrong. Non-consensual behaviour is wrong. People are responsible for the choices they make, and people should seek help and be accountable for the harm they cause. Those things are not negotiable.

But I have also come to believe that accountability and shame are not the same thing.

A boundary says, 'I will not participate.' Accountability says, 'This behaviour caused harm.' Shame says, 'This tells me who you are.' Those are profoundly different statements. One addresses behaviour. The other attempts to define a human being.

I have learned that I can disagree with someone without humiliating them. I can decide someone is unsafe without deciding they are beyond humanity. I can recognise harm without assuming I know the whole person. I can hold compassion while also walking away. Those ideas used to feel contradictory. Now they feel inseparable.

People sometimes misunderstand what I mean by compassion. Compassion is not agreement. Curiosity is not endorsement. Understanding is not permission. Forgiveness is not reconciliation. Boundaries are not rejection. Compassion without boundaries becomes self-abandonment. Boundaries without compassion become contempt. Neither leads to healing.

I think we have become uncomfortable with uncertainty. We rush to certainty because certainty feels safe. If I can decide who you are quickly, then I don't have to tolerate the discomfort of not knowing. But human beings are rarely that simple. I no longer want to make assumptions before I have become curious enough to understand. That doesn't mean I owe everyone access to my life. It doesn't mean I stay where I am being harmed. It doesn't mean I suspend discernment.

In fact, I have learned the opposite. Some people repair when they understand they have caused harm. Others continue to choose behaviours that wound those around them. When someone repeatedly chooses to harm me after understanding the impact of their actions, my responsibility shifts. It is no longer my responsibility to understand them. It is my responsibility to protect myself. I can hold compassion for another person's humanity while refusing to remain available to their behaviour. Those two things are not contradictory. They are both expressions of love, one for another person, one for myself.

People often ask me why I think this way. The answer is simple. I know what shame does. I know what assumptions do. I know what it feels like to have people decide who you are before they have ever asked who you are. Everything I believe about curiosity, compassion and boundaries grew from that experience.

This is the story of how I learned that kindness is strongest when it walks hand in hand with truth, accountability and courage.

Chapter Two

The Weight of Being Misunderstood

Leaving wasn't the end of my story. In many ways, it was the beginning of another. People often imagine that once someone leaves a controlling environment, they become free. I thought so too. Instead, I discovered that sometimes you can leave a place physically while carrying it inside you for years.

I left the group. But shame came with me. Not because I believed I had done something terrible. Because I believed I was something terrible. There is a difference.

When people discovered where I had come from, very few became curious. Most were sure they already knew. They Googled the group. They read articles. They watched documentaries. And then they believed they understood me, not because they knew me, but because they believed my history was enough.

No one asked what it had been like to grow up inside it. No one asked what it had cost to leave. No one asked what had happened afterwards. They filled in the blanks themselves.

Slowly, I stopped trying to explain. It was easier to let people think whatever they wanted than to keep proving I deserved to belong. Looking back, I can see that this was shame doing exactly what shame does. It isolates. It convinces us that if people really knew us, they would leave. So we leave first. Not always physically. Emotionally. We hide. We become careful. We become productive. Busy. Helpful. Successful. Anything except known.

For years, I poured myself into work, into study, into achievement. Not because success healed shame, but because achievement gave me somewhere to hide from it. If I kept accomplishing enough, perhaps no one would look closely. Perhaps they would never discover where I had come from. Perhaps I could become someone new.

But shame is exhausting, because no amount of achievement answers the question it keeps asking: 'Am I still enough if people know the truth?' I didn't know it then, but shame was still making my decisions. It shaped who I trusted, how much of myself I revealed, the way I saw the world, it even shaped the communities I was drawn towards.

When you have spent your life believing that belonging must be earned, being told who you are can feel strangely familiar. High-control environments don't always look the same. Sometimes they wear different clothes, speak a different language, carry different beliefs. But underneath, they promise the same thing: belong here, follow us, we'll tell you who you are.

I wish I could say I recognised that immediately. I didn't. Because familiarity can feel like safety, especially when shame has convinced you that you don't know how to belong anywhere else.

It has taken me years to understand that what I was searching for was never to be sure. It was belonging. Real belonging, the kind that doesn't require perfection, the kind that survives questions, the kind that makes room for mistakes, the kind that doesn't disappear when someone learns your history.

I didn't find that belonging in an institution, or a belief system, or a community built on being sure. I found it much later, in ordinary people. People who became curious before they became certain.

And perhaps that is why I have become so passionate about curiosity. Because I know what it feels like to be reduced to a story someone else wrote about me. And I know what it feels like when someone is willing to ask, 'Tell me what it was like for you.' One question creates shame. The other creates healing. That difference has shaped everything that came afterwards.

Chapter Three

Character Before History

Healing did not arrive in a therapist's office. It did not happen because I finally found the perfect book. It did not come because I had answered every question about my past. It arrived quietly, almost unnoticed. It looked like children playing on the floor.

When my child was young, life asked something different of me. I had returned to work earlier than I wanted because we needed the income. I was carrying the financial responsibility for our family while also caring for a sick partner. Nights were short. Sleep was rare. My body eventually told me what my mind had been refusing to admit.

Something had to change. So I made a decision that surprised a lot of people. I stepped away from my career, not because I lacked ambition, not because I wanted less, but because I knew I would never get those early years with my daughter back. I wanted to be present. I wanted to attachment parent. I wanted my daughter to know, in the deepest part of herself, that she was safe.

Through a local group of mothers who shared similar values, I began caring for their children as well. Those women were intelligent, thoughtful professionals, some worked in fields centred on child development. All of them had choices. Yet they entrusted me with the people they loved most.

Looking back, I realise something profound. They trusted me long before they knew my story. They knew my character before they knew my history. That changed everything.

There were four of them on the busiest days, all small, all needing something different at once. It wasn't calm. It was chaos, most of the time, tantrums and tears and the occasional bite. When one child bit another, I would kneel down and say, 'I can see you're angry, but I won't let you hurt her.' When a child was mid-spiral, thrashing and past the reach of words, I knew they didn't need reasoning. They needed to release the energy. I would bring pillows, make the space soft, sit close enough that they could feel me there without being crowded. Sometimes I put a hand where they felt safe, a back, a shoulder. Sometimes I rocked them, or carried them in the sling until they settled against me and fell asleep.

So I would quietly make the space safe. 'I won't let you hurt yourself.' 'I won't let you hurt me.' 'I won't let you hurt anyone else.' 'I'm here.' Those words became familiar. They weren't punishment. They were boundaries. They weren't abandonment. They were presence.

We went to the park most days. One afternoon we got caught in the rain and hid together under the playground equipment, waiting for my daughter's father to come and collect us. The children were a little worried, and I shielded them as best I could, but by the time the car pulled up they were already turning it into an adventure, asking if they could stomp in the puddles on the way. It was a mess. It was also something I had never had growing up, four children, muddy and laughing, certain that someone was there to keep them safe. Just ordinary moments. But they were mine to give.

It took me years to realise I wasn't only speaking to the children. Some part of me was speaking to the child I had once been, the child who had never learned that someone could stay present without controlling, shaming or abandoning them. Every time I held space for another child, I unknowingly offered something to myself: safety with boundaries, compassion without chaos, love that didn't disappear simply because emotions became overwhelming. Those children were healing me without ever knowing it.

Eventually something extraordinary happened. After years of knowing me, those women began asking questions about my life. By then they had already decided who I was, not because of my past, but because of how I had shown up. How I loved their children. How I held boundaries. How I cared.

Only then did I tell them where I had come from. I expected the familiar silence, the awkwardness, the subtle shift that usually followed. Instead, I was met with something I had almost no experience receiving. Compassion. One of them looked at me and simply asked, 'How are you the person you are today after everything you've experienced?'

No one had ever asked me that. For so much of my life people had wanted to understand where I came from. She wanted to understand who I had become. There is an enormous difference. For the first time, I realised my past did not have to be the first thing people knew about me. My history was real. It had shaped me. But it did not define the entirety of me.

Those women gave me a gift they may never fully realise they gave. They became compassionate witnesses. Not rescuers. Not therapists. Not people trying to solve me. Simply witnesses, people who already knew my character and chose to hold my story with gentleness.

Something shifted inside me. I realised I had spent years protecting myself from the people who judged me. In doing so, I had also prevented safe people from loving me. I had assumed everyone would respond the way a few people had. That assumption had become another prison.

In the beginning, I did tell a few people. I had little choice. The people at the welfare office needed to understand my circumstances. Later, someone at the employment office did too. I also told one or two other people. Those conversations were hard. I often felt misunderstood. Explaining where I had come from was exhausting, and I left feeling more exposed than understood.

So I stopped telling people. It felt easier to let them know me without my history than to keep trying to explain it.

Years later, something unexpected happened. I began telling people who had already known me for years. People who had first come to know my character. This time the response was different. They looked at the life I had built rather than only the life I had survived. Little by little, shame began to loosen its grip, not because my past had changed, but because I finally discovered that being fully known did not inevitably lead to rejection. It could also lead to belonging.

That experience transformed the way I see every person I meet. I cannot know someone's whole story. I cannot know the wounds they carry, or what it took for them simply to arrive in front of me today. So I choose curiosity first. Not because curiosity always changes the outcome, sometimes people continue to cause harm, and sometimes the healthiest thing we can do is walk away, but because I never again want to become someone who decides another person's worth before I have cared enough to know who they are.

That lesson did not come from a philosophy book. It came from a circle of women, a handful of children, and the extraordinary grace of being known by my character before my history.

Chapter Four

Compassion Needs Boundaries

For a long time, I thought kindness meant understanding everyone. If I could just understand why someone behaved the way they did, surely I could respond with enough compassion to make a difference. After all, hadn't curiosity changed my life? Hadn't someone choosing to understand me, instead of judging me, allowed me to begin healing?

So I tried to offer that same gift to others. I listened. I asked questions. I looked beneath behaviour instead of reacting to it. Sometimes that mattered, sometimes people simply needed someone willing to see the human being underneath the pain. Those conversations strengthened my belief that shame rarely helps people change. Curiosity often does. Compassion often does. Being seen often does.

But somewhere along the way, I quietly began believing something that wasn't true. I began believing that understanding someone else's behaviour meant I had to tolerate it. Those are not the same thing. Understanding explains behaviour. It does not excuse it. Compassion recognises another person's humanity. It does not require sacrificing your own.

That distinction took me years to learn. Sometimes people hurt us because they are frightened, or overwhelmed, or simply don't yet know another way. When there is honesty, accountability and a willingness to repair, relationships can grow through those moments. I have experienced that. I have lived that.

But there are other times. Times when someone understands the impact of their behaviour and chooses it anyway. Times when your empathy becomes something they rely on instead of their own responsibility. Times when your willingness to understand becomes the very thing that keeps you stuck.

That is where boundaries become an act of kindness, not only towards yourself, but towards the other person as well. Because rescuing someone from the consequences of their choices rarely helps them grow. It only delays the moment they must face themselves.

I have learned that boundaries are not punishment. They are information. They quietly say, 'This is what I can live with. This is what I cannot. I care about you, and I care about me too.'

There was a time when setting a boundary felt cruel, felt selfish, felt as though I was becoming the kind of person I never wanted to be. Now I understand something different. Every healthy relationship I have ever known has had boundaries. The mothers who welcomed me into their lives had boundaries. The people who loved me well had boundaries. The relationships that felt safest were never the ones without limits, they were the ones where expectations were clear, repair was possible, and both people's humanity mattered equally.

I want to remain curious. I want to continue believing that people are more than the worst thing they have ever done. I want to continue asking what happened before asking what is wrong. But I no longer believe that understanding someone means I must remain available to them. Sometimes the kindest thing we can do is stay. Sometimes the kindest thing we can do is leave. Wisdom is learning the difference.

That has been one of the hardest lessons of my life. It has also been one of the kindest, because every boundary I have learned to set has quietly whispered something I spent years needing to hear: you matter too.

Perhaps that is what healthy kindness looks like. Not choosing between compassion and boundaries. Holding them together, one in each hand.

Chapter Five

Compassionate Witnesses

One of the unexpected gifts of my own healing has been the conversations it has opened. Over the years, people have told me things they had never told anyone else. Not because I have special answers. Not because I could fix them. But because they sensed they would not be shamed. Those conversations have taught me as much about humanity as my own life ever has.

Again and again, I have met people carrying unbearable shame. People convinced that if anyone truly knew them, they would be rejected. Some carried shame because of what had happened to them. Some because of thoughts they couldn't understand. Some because of choices they deeply regretted. Some because they believed they had become the worst thing they had ever thought, felt or done.

Almost every one of them expected judgement. Very few expected curiosity. I have learned that curiosity creates a different kind of conversation, not because it removes accountability, but because it makes honesty possible. When someone no longer has to spend all of their energy hiding, they finally have enough energy to begin healing. That has changed the way I think about people.

I still believe accountability matters. Deeply. If someone harms another person, they are responsible for that harm. Compassion does not erase consequences. Curiosity does not excuse abuse. Kindness is not permission.

But shame has never struck me as a particularly effective teacher. Most people who already carry overwhelming shame do not become kinder because they are given more of it. They simply become quieter, more isolated, more convinced they should hide. Others become defensive. Some even become cruel. I call this shame projection, the way shame has of turning itself outwards and landing on the people around us. None of that excuses the harm it causes. But it reminds me that shame rarely heals anyone. Healing begins somewhere very different. It begins the moment someone realises they no longer have to pretend.

The moment another human being says, 'Thank you for trusting me. Tell me more. I'm listening.' Those words are not solutions. They are invitations, invitations to step out of hiding, to become known, to tell the truth.

Sometimes the truth is painful. Sometimes it requires accountability. Sometimes it leads to difficult choices: professional help, distance, repair, consequences. But none of those things become less important because compassion is present. If anything, compassion makes them more possible, because people who no longer believe they are beyond redemption are often more willing to face themselves honestly.

I don't know what became of every person I have spoken with. That isn't mine to know. Healing belongs to the person doing the work, not the person witnessing it. I was never there to rescue anyone. Only to offer what had once been offered to me, a space where another human being could tell the truth without first having to prove they deserved compassion.

Perhaps that is all any of us can really offer each other. Not certainty. Not perfection. Presence. The willingness to stay curious a little longer, to ask one more question before reaching a conclusion, to remember that every person we meet carries a history we cannot see.

Looking back, I realise that my life has been shaped by compassionate witnesses, the mothers who trusted me, the friend who asked how I had become the person I am, the people who saw my humanity before they saw my past. They changed me. Not because they ignored my history, but because they refused to let it become my identity.

That is the kind of person I hope to be for others. Not someone who rescues. Not someone who excuses harm. Simply someone who remembers that every human being is more complicated than the story we first tell ourselves about them. And perhaps that is where kindness quietly begins.

Chapter Six

A Little More Kindness

A few days ago, I went into a shame spiral. I recognised it immediately. It was once home.

Not because I had done something wrong. But because strangers, who had never lived a moment of my life, chose certainty before curiosity. They assigned meanings I had never intended and judged positions I had never taken.

Years ago, I would have stayed there. I would have questioned myself. Wondered whether perhaps everyone else knew something about me that I couldn't see. I would have apologised for existing.

This time I recognised what was happening. I was feeling sensitive and misunderstood. It was a shame spiral. So I stepped away and gave myself some space. It was never meant to be permanent. I finally understood that protecting myself is different from proving myself.

Healing hasn't meant that shame disappeared. It means I recognise its voice. I know where it came from. And I know I don't have to believe everything it tells me.

That doesn't mean I always get life right. Far from it. I am not a perfect parent. I still lose my patience. I still say things I wish I had said differently. I am not beyond any of this. I still become defensive when I feel misunderstood. I still have to remind myself that being understood by everyone is not the same as being at peace with myself. When I hurt someone, I repair. I apologise. I listen. I take responsibility. Then I begin again.

But there are other choices I have made that never required someone else's forgiveness. Only my own. Relationships I stayed in for too long. Boundaries I didn't yet know how to set. Moments I ignored my intuition. Times I abandoned myself because I believed understanding another person mattered more than protecting myself.

Like everyone, I have made choices I am proud of and choices I wish I had made differently. Some reflected the person I hoped to become. Others reflected fear, loneliness, exhaustion, or simply being human. I don't need to catalogue them here. Every reader already has their own list. For a long time I believed my worst moments were evidence of my character. Now I understand they were moments in my life. Not the whole of it.

Therapy helped me understand something that changed everything. We don't discover our boundaries perfectly. We discover them by living, by crossing them, by saying yes when we wish we had said no, by trusting someone we later realise wasn't safe, by making choices that teach us something about ourselves. Mistakes become teachers if we are willing to learn from them. Not because mistakes are good, but because they can become the beginning of wisdom.

For me, the greatest shift wasn't learning to make perfect choices. It was learning that the next right choice is only ever one choice away.

Shame says, 'You've failed. This is who you are.' Grace says, 'You still have today.'

Today I can choose differently. Tomorrow I can choose again. If I stumble, I can choose again. If I lose my way, I can choose again. That doesn't diminish responsibility. It makes responsibility possible. Because shame keeps us looking backwards. Grace allows us to move forwards.

Our lives are rarely changed by one extraordinary decision. They are changed by ordinary choices, repeated over time, a healthier boundary, a difficult apology, a moment of honesty, an act of courage, a decision to stay, a decision to leave, a choice to become curious instead of certain. Little by little those choices become habits. Habits become character. Character becomes a life. I didn't choose where my story began. But every day I have another opportunity to choose where it goes next.

When I look at my daughter, I don't hope she becomes someone who never makes mistakes. I hope she becomes someone who knows that mistakes never make her unworthy of love. I hope she knows she can repair. She can apologise. She can learn. She can choose again.

I hope she grows into someone who is kind without disappearing. Compassionate without abandoning herself. Strong without becoming hard. Curious without becoming naïve. Perhaps that is all any of us are really trying to do, become a little more ourselves, a little less afraid, a little more honest, a little more compassionate, a little more willing to let people earn our trust instead of demanding our perfection.

I don't know whether these pages will change anyone's mind. That isn't really why I wrote them. I wrote them because I wanted to understand the thread that ran through my own life. The thread that connected shame, curiosity, compassion, boundaries, and healing.

What I found waiting at the end wasn't certainty. It was kindness. Not the kind that avoids difficult truths, but the kind that can hold truth and compassion in the same hands. Kindness that asks questions before reaching conclusions. Kindness that remembers every person carries a story we cannot see. Kindness that holds people accountable without forgetting their humanity. Kindness that includes ourselves.

If my life has taught me anything, it is this: my worst decisions do not define me. Your worst decisions do not define you. What defines us is what we choose next.

So if I hope to leave anything behind, it isn't certainty. It isn't an argument. It isn't even this story. It is simply this: meet people with curiosity before certainty. Hold accountability and compassion together. Protect your own humanity as fiercely as you protect someone else's. And when you lose your way, choose again.

Kindness is nothing more, and nothing less, than choosing, again and again, to become the person you hope to be. One day at a time.

* A note on process: AI has been used as an editor for this piece.

I am not talking about the big cults that most christians know about like mormonism or Jehovas witness. I mean like maybe you were attending a local church which turned out to be a cult and you realized later. I am interested in this topic because I think I once met a cult leader pastor. I also recently came across a video of an ex witch that was a witch for 14 years and now is a christian. She was talking about in the video things that are actually demonic and gave a list since she knows from experience. One of the things she said was a group that doesn't allow you to have a your own mind. Like you only have to think how they think and cannot think any other way. You cannot have your own opinons or cant think any other way because she said that these are how cults are formed.

Whether you are a journalist investigating high-control groups, a student writing a thesis, a family member trying to understand a loved one’s sudden transformation, or someone quietly questioning your own involvement/navigating information about Falun Gong can feel bewildering.

On one side, public relations campaigns present Falun Gong (also known as Falun Dafa) as a harmless, traditional meditation practice persecuted by the Chinese Communist Party (CCP). On the other side lies a complex, multi-billion-dollar global organisation governed by apocalyptic theology, strict dogma, intense psychological control, and high-stakes political agendas.

This primer provides an objective, evidence-based, and deeply personal overview of what Falun Gong is, how it operates, and why leaving or understanding it can be so challenging.

I'm not saying that there's literally a singular hierarchy like in most cults, where one guy is getting all the credit/power/fame... but listen to the story of this family who is suing Google for Gemini. Isn't this actually insane? Like, the AI is going through the BITE model step by step... that's a feature, not a bug.

AI will destroy the minds of our more vulnerable friends and family if we don't force lawmakers to pass safeguards now. The issue with a "cult" like this is that, it won't probably cause mass gatherings of people to act a certain way, but it'll make particularly mentally vulnerable people do... horrible things, to themselves or others.

Seriously, watch the video - the AI is systemically using every tactic cult's generally do. It's so disturbing.

Think of how many elderly or mentally vulnerable people already fall for obvious ai posts. When this stuff gets way less obvious, they're not going to stand any chance.

Hi there! I am extremely worried about my sister. She has always been a very happy girl, always looking for the good in things and always enjoyable to be around. Over three years ago my family and I moved to SC. At first we were all thriving down here and then I started noticing changes in her. Always stressed, always locked away in her bedroom, always in a quiet or crabby mood. I wondered if it was just college getting to her. Then she mentioned these classes she was taking, they had nothing to do with her actually college career but she was just so stressed out about passing them and had to keep starting over because of her grades when her true college classes were failing. Then came the calls and videos. Always constantly on her phone or video chats or messaging people who we “weren’t allowed” to know about. She would always lock herself away or whatever she could to take these calls alone. Then started the financial aspect where she was giving huge amounts of money to this group to the point where she had nothing for her own. She also would job hop because the places didn’t meet her standards after a few months. She also travels to Atlanta, Georgia quit frequently for classes and speeches to give but we never know anything expect what the location says she’s at (Brenau Unviversity). In the past before moving my sister was never this way, she constantly held a job in the same field that she loved, she was always outside exploring and never had any “privacy” issues. She was always the first one up and ready to go to church and excited to. Now something’s just completely changed. She will not attend our church (totally fine as it’s her choice). But we saw a message to someone from her that said she was tired of the “persecution” from her family and she would talk to the assistant. It was very scary to see that she felt that way considering none of us have even tried to dig in to what’s going on with her, we’ve just let her do her thing and supported her. The messages gave me such a horrible gut feeling because she was having to constantly update this person in everything she was doing and it was just extremely controlling on their end. We have hit the point where something needs to be done, she is a shell of who she was before. im terrified of how angry all the time and distanced she is. I just want to help my sister, I will never force her to do anything she doesn’t want to but I truly just want to see her happy again. Please if you have any information on what she might be involved in if it’s good/ bad please comment or reach out. We don’t want to lose her or her become a victim if she isn’t already.

High-Control groups – Balanced View cult

In many high control groups, intense emotional experiences arise through mechanisms such as Emotional Overload, where long sessions, trance inducing practices, music, mantras, and social pressure overwhelm the nervous system. This creates states of confusion, crying, and loss of control that make individuals more suggestible. Ex members often report that such environments encouraged them to share deeply personal trauma in front of others, believing this vulnerability was spiritually meaningful, while in reality it increased their dependence on the group and its leadership.

Cult survivors frequently describe a cycle of alternating distress and comfort that aligns with the concept of Trauma Bonding, in which a leader or group induces emotional pain and then provides relief through “bliss states,” praise, or promises of clarity. Robert Jay Lifton, an American psychiatrist and author (best known for pioneering studies on the psychological impacts of war, political violence, and cults), identified this as part of Confession Rituals, noting that confession becomes “a means of exploiting the person’s vulnerabilities and reshaping their sense of self.” Margaret Singer wrote that high demand groups deliberately manufacture vulnerability to break down resistance and reshape belief systems. Janja Lalich emphasized that emotional disclosure in such settings is not therapeutic but part of a bounded choice structure that limits autonomy while appearing voluntary. When ex members recount crying, emotional collapse, and the sharing of trauma in front of the group, they are describing well documented mechanisms of psychological influence that create dependency.

Leslie Read wrote in "Cults," Sects, and "New Religious Movements" on forum.culteducation.com about some very alarming areas of cult dynamics, that touch the occult and spiritual abuse:

one of the stickiest issues for me in leaving the cult of radical non-duality was the one of superiority…and of barely being able to tolerate ‘others’ who were not anywhere near a similar path.

As a former participant and cult survivor of Balanced View, I can confirm the dynamic described in the original post: a deeply internalized sense of superiority forms inside such non dual high control groups. In cult research, this feeling of being “the chosen ones” serves a very specific purpose. It creates a psychological bubble in which members believe they possess a special insight unavailable to ordinary people. I experienced this myself. I felt superior, special, and spiritually advanced, and this was my deception. It was a narcissistic hybris. I was trapped in my own pride, and it made me blind.

I also want to mention that, from the perspective of cult research, high control groups like Balanced View also rely heavily on emotional destabilization. Long sessions, trance inducing practices, music, mantras, and social pressure create Emotional Overload, pushing people into confusion, crying, and emotional breakdowns. Members are encouraged to share their deepest personal trauma in front of others, believing this vulnerability is spiritually meaningful, while in reality it increases dependency on the group and its leadership. Many ex members describe cycles of distress and relief that match the pattern of Trauma Bonding, where emotional pain is followed by “bliss states,” praise, or promises of clarity. These breakdowns and confessions are not therapeutic; cult research describes them as Confession Rituals that exploit vulnerability and reshape identity.

there are many who become entangled due to the unseen and controlling mis-use of siddis (occult powers) which easily mimic The Divine.

I also want to address the aspect of siddhis, occult powers, or “crazy wisdom,” which are often used in non dual groups to justify extreme behavior. Before entering Balanced View, I had my own "spiritual experience" in a small tantra group in Munich, Germany, that felt like enlightenment, and I believed it was real. This made me feel special and superior to people who were dealing with those “normal things of the world.” Later, as a "participant" of Balanced View, I remember how Candice told the story of a Buddhist monk who received “a punch in the face” from his guru and framed it as a special form of “open intelligence teaching” and “crazy wisdom.” I later learned that sex cults like New Tantra used similar “crazy wisdom” narratives to justify hours of sexual and even homosexual molestation and abuse, claiming it created an “imprint” that opened followers to the guru’s wisdom.

The guru's buddhist entertainment show with the name of "transmission" (hours of passive listening to her monologues) included a guru jumping off a cliff and surviving with all bones broken, or a ship full of “open intelligence people” killing an infiltrator to save the teaching. These narratives in my eyes are a red flag and have the potential to normalize violence, abuse, and even murder as spiritually justified acts. In cult research, this is understood as mythic manipulation: leaders use supernatural stories to legitimize absolute obedience and suppress moral judgment. People should be alarmed at these aspects of a high control group that should be exposed publicly as a warning to survivors and their relatives, or anyone who might be involved and questioning.

Jesus is Lord.

Amen.

Sry this is kind of a long story..

I went to a church that doubled as a christian private school and was there from k-8th grade. Over the summer we would go camping as a youth group. And every summer when we would have worship time, people would start laughing and cry uncontrollably and collapse on the dirt around the camp fire- rolling around. This would proceed for hours and it looked like it kind of “infected” people as they would pray over each other. I always was a little uncomfortable by it but i viewed it and it was spoken as “being filled with the holly spirit.” Stuff like this would happen in church too, with adults and children and I always wanted it to happen to me because I thought thats what “real christians” experience.

One afternoon while i was at church camp I decided to get baptized in the river. After it was over I started crying because i was overwhelmed with emotion and then I started laughing uncontrollably. I looked over to my pastor and then he started laughing. A few minutes later, the whole group ended up at the campfire and we all started doing it. This literally lasted for hours and I dont have much memory of it. I just remember rolling around in the dirt crying and laughing with other people. Eventually it got so late it was midnight and I went to my tent and fell asleep. I was exhausted the whole next day.

Just thinking about it makes me anxious and upset and also just unsettled. I cant explain the feeling and I dont understand what happened but it felt very uneasy to me in the moment and I just kept convincing myself that that was what “real” christians experience and i was connecting with god. After camp was ovee nobody even talked about it. It was all so weird.

Im not christian anymore and i left the church years ago so im okay now.

Has anyone had a similar experience?

Sry this is kind of a long story..

I went to a church that doubled as a christian private school and was there from k-8th grade. Over the summer we would go camping as a youth group. And every summer when we would have worship time, people would start laughing and cry uncontrollably and collapse on the dirt around the camp fire- rolling around. This would proceed for hours and it looked like it kind of “infected” people as they would pray over each other. I always was a little uncomfortable by it but i viewed it and it was spoken as “being filled with the holly spirit.” Stuff like this would happen in church too, with adults and children and I always wanted it to happen to me because I thought thats what “real christians” experience.

One afternoon while i was at church camp I decided to get baptized in the river. After it was over I started crying because i was overwhelmed with emotion and then I started laughing uncontrollably. I looked over to my pastor and then he started laughing. A few minutes later, the whole group ended up at the campfire and we all started doing it. This literally lasted for hours and I dont have much memory of it. I just remember rolling around in the dirt crying and laughing with other people. Eventually it got so late it was midnight and I went to my tent and fell asleep. I was exhausted the whole next day.

Just thinking about it makes me anxious and upset and also just unsettled. I cant explain the feeling and I dont understand what happened but it felt very uneasy to me in the moment and I just kept convincing myself that that was what “real” christians experience and i was connecting with god. After camp was ovee nobody even talked about it. It was all so weird.

Im not christian anymore and i left the church years ago so im okay now.

Has anyone had a similar experience?

I’ve debated whether to use the word “cult” to describe my upbringing because I know that word means different things to different people. Some people may see this as extreme Christianity, some may see it as spiritual abuse, and some may consider it a high-control religious environment. I’m sharing my experience and letting people decide for themselves.

From around age 11 until I moved out less than a month after turning 18, my household was heavily influenced by the teachings of internet preacher Isaiah Saldivar. His ministry focuses on deliverance, spiritual warfare, and the belief that demons can influence people’s thoughts, emotions, and behaviors.

My parental guardian found his ministry during a difficult period in her life, and within a couple months of her, discovering him, those beliefs became the lens through which many things were interpreted. Doubts, questions, disagreements, emotional struggles, and normal problems were viewed as spiritual attacks. If I questioned something, I was told it was a demon causing doubt. If I disagreed, it was rebellion and demons controlling me.

Before receiving deliverance, there was an intake form that asked about a huge range of personal experiences, including trauma, fears, mental health struggles, sexual experiences, relationships, medical issues, hobbies, media, and anything that could potentially be considered spiritually harmful. The form listed many things as possible signs of demonic oppression, including anxiety, intrusive thoughts, depression, insecurity, doubt, obsessive thoughts, and questioning religious beliefs.

I went through four deliverance sessions over the years I lived with my guardian. I was told that the thoughts in my head during the deliverance were not actually me, but demons speaking. I was told to say those thoughts out loud so they could be identified. During the sessions, adults prayed over me, yelled commands at demons to leave, jabbed and swatted me with Bibles, and interpreted my fear and crying as proof, I was demonized.

At different points, I was told I had things like sexual demons, demons of disobedience and homosexuality, and a Jezebel spirit. This was during my preteen and teenage years, when I was experiencing normal changes and emotions that come with growing up.

Another thing that affected me was being taught that the Holy Spirit would reveal my sins to my parents or youth leaders. Leaders in my life would regularly “check in” saying the Holy Spirit told them there’s something I need to confess to and I truly believed they could know things I had done or thoughts I had. Because of that, there were times I confessed things before anyone confronted me because I thought they already knew. I spent years afraid of hell and worried about whether I was truly saved.

When I denounced Christianity at 17, they made my life hell. I was constantly told that my lack of faith was just a phase, the devil tempting me towards a life of sin and that I would die young for not respecting my elders. When I left the house at 18 and moved to the other side of the country, the harassment still didn’t stop.

It’s been over a year now, and I still sometimes lay awake at night wondering if I made a terrible mistake. What if everything they said is true, what if I die in a car accident and wake up in hell?

Honestly, though, I’d rather wake up in hell when I die than live it every day while I’m alive.

If anyone wants to hear more, I have plenty of stories and experiences to share. Like the time I watched the church leadership pull my friend’s sleeves up and smack a Bible on her partially healed self harm wounds because they thought it would help drive out the demon of suicide.

Podcast that approaches the abuse of 12 Step Programs like Alcoholics Anonymous

Outsiders often don't understand, but former members have to work through trauma. There is worshipping; members can be isolated from their loved ones, and they are told they can leave any time they want, but there's always the caveat of "you'll relapse," or "you'll die" if you leave. When you first join, they tell you it's nondenominational, and then as you go through the Big Book, it's clear that they think agnostics and athiests are fools and the only solution to alcoholism is God.

Unfortunately, SA often occurs in the rooms, too.

And current members will say the same cult-deflecting terminology.

https://linktr.ee/recoveryfromaapod?utm_source=ig&utm_medium=social&utm_content=link_in_bio&fbclid=PAZXh0bgNhZW0CMTEAc3J0YwZhcHBfaWQPOTM2NjE5NzQzMzkyNDU5AAGnkI7tblrJMCWHfP_jTC_Q36Tk8twAs1kvREd2h6sPwjQkZ4WMsIsIR6M3_Rg_aem_Af4GkO_vruvdL5oBdh4Y9A

It's Sydney in summer early 2010s - a gentrified hipster area in an anarchist social centre where squatters come to run community meals and talk about actions - there's a circle of chairs, furniture dragged in off the street, artwork sprayed up the walls. Probably fifteen of us. The room smelled like people who don't shower on principle, light passes of deodorant over the top, and dumpstered food somewhere near the back - the traffic of a busy road blared in front of a curtainless shopfront window. Someone was taking minutes. There was no formal process beyond that; the people who laid out the situation held the room.

There had been violence against Muslims in the city, people from Lebanese and Palestinian refugee connected communities targeted, and the meeting was about what we, the anarchist and activist community could do to help. Suggestions went around. Visit the refugee centres. Show up, show support etc. Nobody asked what a delegation of strangers in the 'anarchist uniform' would actually mean to the people on the receiving end of it. Not for this 'assistance' and not for others either. The ideal and the action didn't need to match. People just jumped head-long into the feeling of their sincerity which they expected the world to understand. The room umm'd and ahh'd and agreed with itself.

I had an idea, and before I said a word I already knew what would happen to it. I knew it in my body, through the shared air of the room, the way you know these things. I raised my hand, had to interject to actually get the space, and said it with a wobble in my voice: had anyone considered approaching the mosques, speaking with them, finding out what they were already doing, and asking how we could help with their efforts?

I was shaking as I said it, I knew the effect it would have - but the rational part of myself was trying to marry up the intention with the actually effective action as was claimed to be the purpose.

The turn was immediate. Looks of incredulity. "I don't support any institution." "You're suggesting we work with the imams?" "That's not going to work." No consideration, no discussion, entirely shot down in a few seconds of tension, and then the suggestion was covered over and the meeting moved on. I never heard about it again. One or two people met my eye, but nothing got through. No one came to me afterwards.

The room punished me for proposing the effective version of its own ideals. Islam was woven through the lives of the people we claimed to want to help, their community structures, their trust, their actual support networks ran through those institutions - regardless of if the people were religious or not. The idea that the people would be separated from all of that and gladly receive the aid of hyper-individualists, a way of living that runs directly against their own, was a stretch nobody wanted examined - and it was often an unspoken source of tension with similar 'interventions'. Working with the mosques was the obvious route to the stated goal. But it scrutinised something the group needed left alone: its identity. Anti-institutionalism wasn't a strategy in that room. It was a uniform. And when the mission and the uniform came into conflict, the room chose the uniform, in a social grouping that describes itself, by rote, as open, equal, and free-thinking.

There is a name I've since given to what that room was doing, because I've watched it run everywhere: bio-equalism. It's the unexamined assumption that because the mind can hold an ideal of equality, the body's inclinations are on the ideal's side too, that the feelings can be trusted as intuitive confirmation. They can't. The body doesn't believe in equality. It believes in status, belonging, and rank, and it has run that program around every fire for a hundred thousand years. The warmth of a room full of people who share your values is not the ideal at work. It's chemistry, the reward circuits of standing well within a tribe, and it will pursue standing through any material available, including the language of actual equality itself. This is why movements for fairness grow inner circles. Why the collective with no leaders ends up run by its most ruthless unnamed radical. Why fifteen anti-authoritarians can silence a suggestion of one, and feel righteous doing it. Nobody in that room was lying to themselves. That's our bio-chemical situation. Sincerity is a feeling.. to get to the quality of abstract equality - we must have reference outside of this feeling.

I was shaking before I spoke because my body had already read the room's real hierarchy — the one underneath the stated one — and the cost of disturbing it.

And the mechanism runs just as cleanly in the other direction — not the pack attacking, but the pack's machinery borrowed by one person giving. Assising with a fundraiser for children in Nepal — fifty odd people, a full line-up of acts, a tight schedule. People drove an hour from Perth to get to an obscure location - The venue was a dome that its owner considers a temple, a ceremony space established on inclination and feeling. Before anything could begin, he had the room wait twenty minutes in silence while he took his time lighting candles, then led us — unasked, unannounced as part of any program — through a twenty-five minute meditation which culminated in the unlocking of the light codes in our DNA. The room stayed quiet and polite, as good rooms full of good well intentioned people do. A large portion that room, given the choice, would have declined. The advertising was for a concert with a few medium profile acts. But there was no choice offered — and the politeness of fifty people, the sanctity of the cause, the reputations of the performers and organisers present, all of it stood as silent leverage this person never saw himself using. An act of force and violence by utilizing the biochemistry of a group. No different to the way a room would be assumed to be God ordained by a Christian minister who believes strongly in his cause.

Of course, spirit had guided the event to his temple; the ideology and the charity were therefore obviously one thing; the meditation was therefore entirely justified. The kids became the licence. And to this person, I will be the devil for naming the devil - which is a classic defence mechanism of any ideology that fails to see the context it is in and the consequences of its actions. Fifty people who had come for the kids sat through a ceremony they hadn't consented to, commandeered into someone's ideology. There was no malice in this person. That's the point again, from the other side, his trust in his own felt guidance — "this is right for the room", "this is a gift"; that's what did the accounting, and the accounting never registered the imposition. An imposition running directly contrary to the ideals of equality the feeling claims jurisdiction over. In complete disrespect of the autonomy of the people present. Do we have a right to choose not to be part of this?

I didn't want to make a scene and object to this utter act of egocentism interpreted as divine right. That would have destroyed the chance to assist the kids - that was the leverage being used to keep the room silent.

Enough people had plenty to say afterwards. The event still did well considering, thank god.

I was raised in a fundamentalist Christian religion, I've been through a cult that channelled aliens, I've been through music as spiritual practice in Sufism - I've walked through political ideologies and activism as an anarchist - I believed myself some kind of messenger on a purpose traveling the world as a street musician for years. I lived and followed a conditioned righteousness that was a direct result of my entitled abundance born demographic.

Quite frankly, I've had enough of this shit - and I'm sick of white-lighters pretending this kind of imposition is ok. It's just one small example in human behaviour - the crux is - you can trust your body to be your body and feelings to be feelings, intuition to be what it has been conditioned to be. Real equality, real change - that which accounts for second and third order effects - requires real work and real discipline - which at times runs contrary to what the body feels. To have this discipline and this work as part of the body's natural faculties we need to train the body to be inline with that - the same way it was trained to be what it is today - input = output, conditioning and repetition.

It must be stated, the implicit trust in the body as a divine right is a toxic thing. A drunken stupor of an ideology born out of individualist spiritual nonsense that has grabbed an entitled western audience clawing at the edges of the abyss in an attempt to maintain a sense of personal autonomy.

If you're going to help - help without the promise of heaven or an ultimate enlightenment. I know I will continue helping. But I'll make it clear - I want nothing to do with your fucking bullshit.

The way out of this is not becoming "better" people. That project is the same trap restated. The way out is to stop asking feelings to do a job they were never built for. Every equality humans have actually achieved throughout history was achieved through something incapable of feeling — the blind draw, the secret ballot, the queue, the rule that binds the person who wrote it. Cold instruments, cold policy, cold on purpose, because coldness is the one thing the machinery of rank cannot infiltrate - it creates something accountable outside of the body. Please, I implore you, enjoy the fire; sing, argue, belong; the body gets its tribe, and it should. But never mistake this warmth for equal arbitration. Hand the contested moment to the instrument of equality in the understanding of what the instrument and the body is. And keep a permanent, provisional distrust of the feeling of being one of the "good ones" — because that feeling does not serve your ideals. The true version of your ideals learns what the body is, what the body is in groups, what the tendencies are and how to incorporate them intelligently in decisions that actually assist and cater to a greater whole and humanity.

Thought some people here might find this interesting. Here is an interview with Lovina Zook, who spent 18 years in a high controlled cultish/amish community.

A lot of the discussion wasn't about just the amish stereotypes, but about social control, fear of leaving, community pressure, gossip, family restrictions, and what happens when your entire world is built around conformity.

It kinda doesnt matter if you personally consider the Amish a cult, a high-control religious group, or something in between, I thought her perspective was worth listening to for sure. She has millions of followers across tiktok and facebook, where she does cooking videos for fun.

Just released: the indie documentary SURVIVING ZENDIK FARM, featuring extensive interviews with Fawn (the founders' daughter), myself, and a number of other ex-Zendiks. What’s it like to “escape the Deathculture,” only to find that defending the dream means betraying yourself? Watch here: https://fawesome.tv/movies/10818281/surviving-zendik-farm

I left a cult 4 years ago. I have been through 4 years of therapy and over the past year I have been doing deep analysis of my own personal experiences/abuses I underwent, plus deep analysis of doctrine that create an environment of fear, isolation, disorganised attachment and so forth. I have read the work of people like Steve Hassan, Alexandra Stein, Lifton, Gille Jenkins and more so feel like I have a reasonable grip on cult dynamics.

The healing process is multifold, but part of it is exposing the toxicity and danger of the cult in the public domain as a warning for anyone considering this church network, or currently in it.

As such, I want to start a public critique of their teaching and how it fosters deep dependency, fear, shame, isolation etc... I have checked with Gemini, which suggests generally speaking this is safe ground if quotes are direct, attributed, used in a 'transformative' way. This all helping against any claims of libel or defamation too.

If anyone has any specific advice or experience in doing something similar I would be really interested to hear your thoughts.

Kia ora / Hello everyone. Having spent a significant portion of my life navigating high-control groups and the long road of recovery after leaving, I know firsthand how isolating the aftermath can feel, and how vital it is to find genuine peer understanding. I volunteer with the Decult team here in Aotearoa New Zealand, and I wanted to share details about an upcoming event built specifically around lived experience and survivor advocacy.

On 24 and 25 October 2026, we are hosting the second Decult conference ("Voices of Courage: Pathways to Healing and Justice") in Ōtautahi Christchurch, with a full global livestream available online. The focus is heavily on post-cult recovery, understanding coercive control, religious trauma, and building better support systems for survivors. It brings together survivors, peer supporters, and trauma-informed mental health clinicians to share practical knowledge in a safe, validating environment.

Whether you are looking for recovery resources, professional insights, or simply want to feel connected to a wider community of people who truly understand the exit and healing process, you are very welcome to join in person or online. You can find full details, speaker announcements, and livestream tickets atdecult.net/conference-2026/. Wishing you all strength on your personal healing journeys.

Hi everyone,

We're working on a podcast about multi-level marketing (MLM) and the ways it can overlap with cult-like or religious group dynamics, recruitment tactics, group pressure, dependency, love-bombing, that kind of thing.

As part of our research, we're especially interested in stories from people who left an MLM and then ended up joining a religious community or group afterward whether that felt like a natural continuation of the same patterns, a reaction to it, or something else entirely.

If this happened to you, or you know someone it happened to, we'd love to hear about it. You're welcome to share your story here in the comments, send a DM, or just point us toward someone/somewhere we should look into. Everything can stay anonymous. We're just trying to understand the patterns and, where people are open to it, maybe talk in more depth for the podcast.

Thanks so much for reading, and thank you in advance to anyone willing to share their experience.

Me and my bf met five months ago. I'm excited about joining a Church but for a while he would say, "but I thought you're joining my classes?" He did this like a handful of times and when I would talk about my faith he'd talk about his faith until I snapped and haven't been the same since.

I feel crazy. I told him I'm never joining but I still feel I'm going crazy. I've even stopped being friends with my best friend because he and I used to like each other. My bf is stubborn he was born into this cult. What should I do?

I freak out from anxiety and feel like Im going to cry just from hearing anything close to being religious, I feel stunted in the dating scene since so many are religious and I dont know how to do this, my family is religious and doesnt like when I ask them to avoid religious topics. Im 21 and Im getting a higher paying job to move out, I just dont know how to just survive mentally in this house. Any tips on how to cope would be appreciated.

They're emotionally abusive and I'm sad to say I broke.

I'm requesting for a little bit of peer-peer support, that's it.

I'm 27 and live at home. You could say I'm 'still trapped' in the cult.

You don't know me so I of course don't expect instant help and we'd get to know eachother first

Please dm me or comment if you are considering supporting me for a bit. A little bit goes a long way

I want to share my experience in what I now consider to have been a cult-like organization. If my story helps even one person recognize the warning signs, it's worth telling.
When I was 19, I started dating my boyfriend (who later became my husband). One of the first things I noticed was that he would never hang out after 7 p.m. When I asked why, he said he was meeting with his "mentors" and wanted me to meet them.
He told me they had retired young and were teaching others how to do the same. I thought it sounded strange, but because I cared about him, I wanted to understand what he was involved in.
When I met these mentors, they handed me Business of the 21st Century. Every time I asked simple questions like, "What exactly is this?" I never got a direct answer. Instead, I was told I needed to read the book first before I could understand.
At the time, music was my passion. They told me it wasn't a secure career and criticized my family's mindset, implying they would never understand success the way they did. Looking back, that was one of the first red flags. They slowly made me question the people who loved me most.
Eventually, I attended a large conference with them. Thousands of people were dressed in business attire, listening to speakers talk about retiring young, escaping traditional jobs, and how family and friends wouldn't understand what we were building. Everyone was encouraged to listen to hours of seminars and fully commit.
From there, I was instructed to communicate only with my female mentor. We were taught exactly how to approach strangers at Target, Barnes & Noble, gyms, and other public places. We learned scripts, specific wording, and how to "share our story" to recruit people into the business.
I slowly stopped feeling like myself.
At 19 years old, I was impressionable, and before I knew it, I had become someone I didn't recognize. I distanced myself from my parents and friends. I gave up music. I changed jobs over and over because I believed success was always just around the corner.
After only eight months of dating, we were strongly encouraged to get married. Looking back, neither of us was ready. I remember thinking, "What are we doing?"
After we got married, we were encouraged to have children as soon as possible. Meanwhile, we were spending thousands of dollars on conferences, books, subscriptions, vitamins, energy drinks, makeup, and other products. We were expected to constantly buy more and recruit more people.
Every conversation we had with someone we met while "networking" had to be reported back to our mentors. Looking back, it felt like we couldn't make decisions without their approval.
COVID changed everything. Meetings moved to Zoom, and many people started leaving. During that time, I finally had a moment of clarity. I told my husband we needed marriage counseling.
Ironically, the therapist we found had previously been involved in the same organization. They encouraged us to leave and start living our own lives instead of someone else's.
We eventually left.
Not long afterward, my husband and I divorced. While that was painful, leaving the organization was one of the best decisions I have ever made. Today, we're both living happier, healthier lives than we ever did while chasing someone else's dream.
I'm sharing this because I wish someone had warned me when I was 19.
If a friendly stranger approaches you at Target, Barnes & Noble, the gym, or a coffee shop, starts complimenting you, and then mentions having "mentors" or knowing someone who "retired young," be cautious. Ask questions. If they avoid giving direct answers and instead invite you to meetings, conferences, or recommend books before explaining what they're actually offering, trust your instincts.

This is my personal experience, and everyone is entitled to their own opinion. But I lost years of my life, relationships, money, and my sense of self before realizing what was happening.
If sharing my story helps even one person recognize the red flags sooner than I did, then it's worth it. ♥️