Life After A Restrictive Religious Upbringing: Millennial Women Discuss Finding Their Own Truth
Growing up as a Jehovah's Witness, I'm no stranger to the struggle of breaking free from a religion I had no choice in being apart of or not. It's a very traumatic experience to give up all you have ever known and risk your whole circle of family and friends to discover a connection to truth that resonates with your soul. The journey to personal freedom is filled with fear, guilt, and self-doubt, still, I would not trade my freedom, sanity, and independence that came from walking away from the only life I knew for 20 years.
This piece will reveal the stories of two other millennial women who had the courage, and strength to walk away from their own oppressive upbringings.
Reagan, @reagan_barclay
Reagan is a new mom of a 7-month-old baby, navigating life in the "outside world."
Her Upbringing:
I was raised as a Jehovah's Witnesses. I remember no holidays, no birthdays, and I could only hang out with Jehovah's Witnesses. I couldn't stand for the flag, and we were not allowed to go to the military. No smoking. You could date and marry outside of the religion, but they frowned on it.
I remember being little, around five or six, sitting in the Kingdom Hall thinking "something's not right." I would Google Jehovah's Witnesses, and I would see words like "cult" and "sex abuse." I would ask my Granddad, "What's a cult?" and he would say, "Get off that. Turn that off." I remember being young, sitting on his lap one time to ask him, "Granddad, will you always love me?" And he replied, "Long as you love Jehovah."
I loved my family, but I dreaded being a Witness. I hated the hall. I hated service, I hated conventions, I hated family worship, I hated it ALL - but I didn't have a choice. I was a child, and my father was absent. Even if he was around, they sure as hell weren't going to let me go live with him. I remember my mom getting disfellowshipped. She would cry to me about how my family would treat her, and I remember crying to my cousin about how poorly they treated her, and talked bad on her every time the family was together... and the family was always together!
I remember getting abused at a young age, not by anyone in the congregation, but the way my situation was handled. I knew something was wrong. It was very hush mouth yet, I thought they were there to comfort me, however, I had to self-cope with that. I never stopped thinking about how I didn't want to be a Jehovah's Witness, but seeing how my mom and family members were treated, I thought if I get baptised, "I'll never get disfellowshipped because I'm too scared to lose my family."
Her Transition:
I was reproved multiple times (which means being privately reprimanded by Jehovah's Witness Elders and being warned of disfellowshipment) and I remember being talked down on afterwards. I remember falling into depression and wanting to kill myself, and I would get told I just wanted attention. "You're not really going to kill yourself," they would say.
They were partially right. I wanted both. I remember going to a mental institution, and no one from the hall came to see me, and none of my friends came to see me. The only people who showed up were my mom and grandparents.
I went home eventually, and started drinking, having sex, popping pills, etc. I didn't give a f-ck!
As time went by, I told myself I had to get it together, because if I kept messing up, I wouldn't be able to have my family. So I got it together and I got my privileges back (which means to be an active member of the congregation), and I remember going to live back with my mom. She wasn't very active at the time, and I don't even think she was going to the kingdom hall.
I was making an effort my own, then somewhere down the line she got back in the congregation, and I honestly think it was because of me. I was putting on a good show. I was being a good hypocrite. Eventually, I think my mom kind of gave up on me because I actually did what I wanted.
I went back to sex, weed, and pills.
I partied continuously as I worked and went to high school. I already had a graduation party, and I accepted a full ride to a university. I knew I wasn't going to stay there forever, but it was a way out. I went off to school and I talked to them maybe twice. I talked to my mom off and on, but she was still trying to convince me to go to the hall and telling me how to live my life. I decided to cut her off because I knew there was a chance of me going back if I continued a relationship with her.
Going to college gave me a place to stay for a few months before I quit after the first semester. I knew I couldn't go home so I asked my friend if I could stay with her, which lasted for six months. That was two years ago, and here I am now.
The After Effects:
The consequences of leaving the organization is obviously the fact that I don't have my family, and I have been completely on my own. After leaving, I felt like I was finally free, but I was so used to living as a Jehovah's Witnesses, and had lived their way of life for so many years, that I had a lot of fear surrounding what living is like in the "outside world."
But I survived without them.
Seven months ago, I had my son, and I'm currently battling with the fact of whether or not I should let my son be a part of their lives. I fear my son being around them because I know their love is not real. The only reason I do let him go around them at all is because it feels like the right thing to do, and I'm learning to forgive those who have hurt me, and do the right thing regardless.
The Outcome:
Since I've left the organization, I've learned what REAL love is. Love is unconditional, and its silly to shun your own family member over a religious belief. On the upside, I feel great! I have a family, and I have friends who love me genuinely for me. Not because of my religion. I'm still finding myself. I'm still in the process of healing, and I have a long way to go, but for the first time in my life I'm truly happy! I might not have much in the other people's eyes, but to me, I have everything to be grateful for, including my past.
I feel like being raised a JW, had a negative impact on my life but I don't hate them. However, I do keep them at a distance. I was honestly even scared to write a testimony for this article because of the fear of what my family would think of me, but I've learned that the truth isn't always pretty."
Hana, @weirdnesss
Hana is of mixed ethnicity, and grew up living a double life religiously and culturally in a tumultuous upbringing. Read more about her dynamic experience in her written blog for "Embracing Ugly."
Her Upbringing:
I was born in Miami but raised in Kuwait. My father is a Muslim from Kuwait, with a large religious family still arranging marriages and insisting on the Hijab at puberty. My family members do not cover their faces but to the rest of the world they may seem semi-National Geographic-ish.
My mother is a Catholic from Colombia. She went to Catholic school and came from a family where the men were breadwinners and women were traditional homemakers with very strong opinions. My siblings and I were raised with Islam and Catholicism. I had to learn how to live a double life very early on. I wasn't allowed to play with boys once I hit adolescence.
I wasn't allowed to wear certain clothes, laugh without reason, or question religion.
I will never forget the day my dad told me I couldn't play soccer with him anymore. I was getting older and there were no other girls on the field. As an 8-year-old, I didn't understand why my brothers could join in and I couldn't, even though I knew being a girl had a different set of rules.
Her Transition:
My family and I survived the Gulf War in 1990. We were able to escape through the desert and make it to Miami where my mom's family was, only to be hit by Hurricane Andrew.
After so much destruction, we went back to Kuwait where I grew up until I was 15. There was so much trauma and dysfunction that was spread throughout the generations. At the time, I didn't understand that, and as I grew older, I was able to understand everyone was just as lost as the children were. I started really questioning the idea of God around middle school. I couldn't understand how both my parents' perception of God, though strong and convicting, wasn't enough to protect my family throughout the catastrophes we had experienced.
In Kuwait, I was in religion class because it's mandatory, and I remember asking reasonable questions and being kicked out of class. In my mind, as a rebellious mixed angry child, I couldn't understand why no one had straight answers for me, if God had been so perfect. The inability to answer my questions was a familiar response on both sides.
I had experienced some troubling times and I remember being so young, lost, and desperate to find divinity, that I figured going back to what I knew would help. I went to a Catholic retreat and was honest about not being fully onboard with Jesus being God, and I asked for a prayer and the priest said he couldn't bless me.
At that point, I knew that path wasn't for me.
The After Effects:
I think one of the hardest parts about this whole process has been having to ask my parents to respect my beliefs, even if they don't agree with them. There has actually been a lot of freedom and growth in my relationships with my parents since I've gotten passed the fears of being transparent with them.
I've battled mental health issues since childhood. I know that my life is contingent upon my spiritual condition.
My life depended on me exploring spirituality beyond the limits set in my childhood. The more I heal, the more I've also been able to appreciate the religion both of my parents gave me. I've spent many years volunteering in different avenues, and the one thing I try to show people is how to find God for themselves. It irks my nerves that divinity has been hijacked by fundamentalists of ALL backgrounds.
It's such a shame to see so many young people lost and without guidance, or even the willingness to explore, because of the fear behind the idea of God that we've been conditioned to believe exists.
Since having told my parents I needed my own space to explore God, I have tried mediums, pilgrimages, past life regressions, card readers, acupuncture, retreats, praying, crystals, nature, animals…so many things! When I've traveled, I've gone to hindu temples, mosques, and churches, I would give anything to share that energy with the world around me, to show people it's all the same!
It was beautiful to have tangible proof that God is universal, all loving, and all powerful.
I've been faced with a lot of ignorance throughout my journey to God and I've learned to respect people where they are at. It's not my job or anyone else's to convert or convince anyone. My very existence, and the miracle that is my very existence, is proof in itself. I live a life that is righteous to my moral compass according to the God that I have come to know along the way- and I have to be about it, not talk about it.
The Outcome:
Today, I am a woman who is well-rounded and respecting of so many walks of life because I understand that our relationship with God (as we understand him/her/it) is so deeply personal and beautiful.
What I have with God today is because I had so many women along the way guide me and challenge me to explore beyond my childhood ideas and my parents' ideologies, and I am forever humbled by the gracious gift these women gave me.
I would tell someone going through the same experience to question everything. Read, pray, talk to people, go to workshops of new faiths, there are online groups too if you're unable to explore in person.
Figure out where your heart feels at home.
Do these words you're reciting resonate with your soul? Does this ceremony feel like your soul is being hugged super tight? There is no right or wrong in this process, except honoring your truth along the way. It's ok if there are changes, like all relationships and growth, changes happen. You can deal, so long as you put your truth first.
I hope you find yourself and all the glory that is you exactly as you are along the way. Life is so much more manageable when you are able to embrace your ancestors, your guardian angels, and God along the way.
Featured image by Shutterstock
Fontaine Felisha Foxworth is a writer and creative entrepreneur from Brooklyn New York. She is currently on the West Coast working on creating a TV Pilot called "Finding Fontaine", that details the nomadic journey of her life so far. Keep up with her shenanigans @famoustaine on IG.
The Mecca Of Fashion: The Top Street Style Moments At Howard Homecoming
Outfits were planned, bags were packed, and cameras were ready to capture Howard University's collegiate spirit during its centennial Homecoming celebration. Not only does it hold the number one ranking as the most elite Historically Black College and University or its top performing academics, diversity of students and alumni, but the HBCU also leaves a legacy of style and grace.
The essence of effortless poise and refinement shines bright through the iconic university colors of indigo blue, red, and white. Every October, Howard University students, alumni, staff, and friends gather on the prestigious campus in Washington, D.C. to take part in time-honored traditions and events, which is Homecoming. This year's theme, “The Meccaverse,” was a week-long celebration of Howard University’s heritage, including the Homecoming football game and Bison Pep Rally, the Fashion Show, Greek Life Step Show, Homecoming Day of Service, Lavender Reception, and the iconic Yard Fest Concert.
As 2024 marked the 100th anniversary of the Howard Bison trek back to The Mecca and after two years of virtual events due to the COVID-19 pandemic, this was to be a celebration of a lifetime. We enlisted HU alumnus Sharmaine Harris, a luxury retail buyer, as she revisited her alma mater as eyes on the yard for fashion-forward outfits mixed with personal style and campus pride for the weeklong celebration.
Before we get to the looks, discover how attending Howard University impacted her career in fashion and her day-to-day style:
Credit: Sharmaine and Friends
xoNecole: Describe your personal style. Did attending Howard have any impact on developing it?
Sharmaine: Howard taught me that there’s no such thing as being TOO dressed. There’s always a reason to “put it on” and look presentable, even if it’s just for a day of classes. Standing out was celebrated and encouraged with my peers embracing the opportunity, giving me the confidence to try new styles and trends.
xoNecole: How did Howard shape your career as a luxury buyer?
Sharmaine: I studied Fashion Merchandising, through which I was fortunate to have professors who were very connected to the industry and able to give first-hand accounts of opportunities and what to expect post-college. I was also able to build a network through my peers and other Howard Alum, which has opened doors to endless possibilities both within fashion as well as daily life.
The same confidence instilled in me through my style has also been rooted deeply within me as I step into any role or project I’m faced with throughout my career.
xoNecole: This year marked Howard’s 100th-anniversary Homecoming celebration. Can you describe what the weekend looked and felt like?
Sharmaine: I’ve gone to many Howard Homecomings since graduating, but this year’s 100th anniversary felt like a huge family reunion filled with nothing but love. It was beautiful to see so many Bison return home looking great and radiating joy. It was beautiful!
xoNecole: What makes Howard fashion different from other HBCUs?
Sharmaine: Being that Howard is The Mecca, we have such a diverse population with each individual having their own spin on fashion. Getting dressed is second nature for us, but the layered confidence is our secret ingredient to make any look come together. Through that comfortability to push barriers, we have a legacy of setting trends, as indicated by the many alumni we have in the fashion and entertainment industry.
Keep scrolling for the top street style moments from The Mecca's Homecoming weekend:
Credit: Lacey Gallagher
Credit: Alan Henderson
Credit: JaLynn Davis
Credit: Dylan Davis
Credit: Caleb Smith
Credit: Kendall W.
Credit: Jordyn Finney
Credit: Vanessa Nneoma
Credit: Dr. Mariah Sankey-Thomas
Credit: Caleb MacBruce
Credit: Tiffany Battle
Credit: Teniola
Credit: Ilahi Creary
Credit: Nicolas Ryan Grant
Credit: Dylan Davis
Join us in celebrating HBCU excellence! Check out our Best In Class hub for inspiring stories, empowering resources, and everything you need to embrace the HBCU experience.
Featured image courtesy of Sharmaine Harris
We Had A Strong Connection IRL But My Instagram Scared Him Away
If you scroll past anydating guru’s free advice, such as dating coach Anwar’s, they often promote a long-curated list of dos and don’ts, advising women on how to attract the ideal relationship.
“When men are looking at your pictures on social media or on dating apps, they’re making two assessments: one–affordability, and two–seriousness.” Dating coach Anwar said. He recommends women curate their pictures well by minimizing skin and avoiding posting too many traveling pictures which don’t represent your full life because men are trying to envision themselves in your life.
I certainly don’t believe in shrinking the essence of who I am just to bag a man –whether in-person or online– including for the one thing that brings me pure joy: my worldwide adventures. By now, it’s common knowledge that social media is only a shiny highlight reel that doesn’t take into account all aspects of real life.
I’m fortunate that the men I date in my late 30s are mature enough to understand that notion, but in the past, I’ve learned the hard way that many men are, in fact, judging women’s social media accounts to determine if they are a perfect match.
While trying to stay afloat in grad school, I managed a week-long promotional gig for a festival concert. I stumbled across a breathtakingly handsome guy engrossed in curating melodic sound production as an audio engineer.
Fine enough to giveBridgerton’s Regé-Jean Page a run for his money, this tall cutie had glistening caramel skin, big brown eyes, and a gorgeous smile that radiated across the conference center.
My heart practically stopped each time I glanced at him. I caught him conspicuously glancing my way throughout the day, too. Our energy was magnetic. I couldn’t let him get away without making it very apparent I was feeling him. Ten hours passed before we found ourselves drawing near one another. Dating co-workers is against my rules, however, dating someone I’ve met after completing a temporary gig was an exception I’d happily make.
Serotonin oozed throughout my body when he approached me. We engaged in meaningless talk, while I anticipated he’d ask for my number. Instead, he asked, “What’s your IG name?”
I’m old school; I want to get acquainted chatting on the phone until twilight–or on a well-executed romantic date. I accepted his request and followed him back. Baby steps.
Each time his adorable face popped into my mind, a rush of happiness flooded me. I’d already conducted a pre-check for a potential relationship, and based on absolutely nothing but chemistry, he had already passed. Scrolling through his page, I could see he had three, incredibly young children, from ages two to five. That’s okay, I can play step-mommy. Or so I thought.
The next morning, I swapped out my motivational morning gospel music for my vibey, R&B music. I floored the gas pedal, speeding to work in hopes of getting to the fine audio engineer as quickly as possible.
I sashayed through the conference doors with an extra sway in my hips–smitten and glowing as my bright eyes landed on him, standing by for sound check. He took one blistering look at me, and as time stood still, his scathing disapproval made me feel as though we were arch-enemies with unfinished business.
What happened in the less than twelve hours we met and were apart? I was flabbergasted by his bait-and-switch of emotions. The only culprit, I surmised: freaking Instagram.
A few hours of him ducking and diving to avoid me passed. I put my grown woman panties on and marched over to him. He pretended he couldn’t see me through the corner of his eye, but judging from the nervous stiffening of his erect posture and locked jaw–even through his discomfort, he would have to face me.
“Hey, how’s it going? You’re different today,” I said casually, yet resolute, peering deep into his wide eyes.
“Well, you know, it’s cause you’re big time. I’m just a regular guy.” He quipped. Completely confused, I stared blankly at him, waiting for an explanation.
“Your Instagram...” He confirmed like I had full knowledge of his insecurities.
“If I had seen your page before I met you, I would’ve never tried to talk to you. I’m not good enough for you.”
I melted into a puddle of vexation. I wasn’t a celebrity or social media star. Hell, I didn’t even have more than 5,000 followers! I’m a regular girl who’s had a career in entertainment which has afforded me many opportunities to attend swanky events; I love upscale travel and dining at Yelp’s highest-rated star restaurants–and yes, I relish capturing those delicious moments. But at that time, I was a broke girl in grad school, making a few coins on the same gig I’m certain he was earning a pretty penny for.
He’d already taken over my thoughts, feelings, and body’s desires in a short twenty-four hours. Though he was far from aware of all the ways he had swept me off my feet without stepping foot on an actual date, the energy between us was undeniable. I literally couldn’t stop thinking about him and grinning since the moment I saw him, and I know for sure he felt the same. And now he’s thinking he isn’t good enough for me?
He was fine, humble, funny, had a sexy physique, and a lucrative career, yet for some ridiculous reason he’d convinced himself he could never be with a woman like me? I was floored. Typically, I’m not forward with men in the initial stages of dating. It’s important I feel highly desired and sought after before I explode candidly. But the world was going to absolutely know that day: “I like you. You’re someone I’d like to get to know. And you’re absolutely perfect for me.”
He sighed and relaxed his shoulders. I felt empowered, quelling his feelings of inadequacy. (Or temporarily, I shall say). I’d soon learn that if a guy was harboring major insecurities, the idyllic lines to boost his ego are merely fleeting.
Pumped up on an extra dose of courage, later that day, he asked for my number. And I delightfully obliged.
We spent a good amount of time expressing our mutual feelings towards each other and perused through calendar dates to see when our schedules would match up. He lived in Las Vegas, but working as an audio engineer for major events necessitated him to spend most of his year traveling across the country and internationally. Still, I was determined to make it work.
And yet, it didn’t work. Despite my insanely busy grad schedule, I was ready to trek to Vegas or whichever country he visited, except his insecurities overflowed like putrefying lava. I probed to see how involved he was with his baby mama. Ya know, normal stuff. Somehow, he took that as a jab.
“You don’t want to date me because I have three kids, huh?” Again, he left me confused and exhausted because I was absolutely ready to become a bonus mommy to the right one.
Despite the endless times I cleared up what he thought was a problem, boom! another insecurity flared up. Coddling a mid-thirties man, who had thee lowest self-esteem I’d ever encountered was dooming.
A few months passed and winter had descended upon the Sundance Film Festival in Park City, Utah. I’d just left a snazzy art gallery Chiwetel Ejiofor hosted for his independent movie premiere. Park City is a magical and frosty cold, picturesque town in January. Most of the festival events are situated on densely packed Main Street. I stepped my leather boots outside onto the icy, uphill sidewalk, with a platonic male friend in tow. My phone rang–it was audio engineer bae. I noticed his name and pushed decline.
“You ignoring me now when you could’ve easily picked up the phone?”
What in the hell?! I peered around on both sides of my street, cautiously nervous.
I hopped into the black SUV. The festival traffic moves slower than molasses. You could gingerly walk down the street and still beat a moving car. As the driver slowly peeled away, I glanced to the opposite side of the art gallery street; there I saw old bae, forlornly staring at me, saddened with puppy eyes in his hooded Parka. I was busted. In my defense, however, I hadn’t heard from him in months, and us dating was certainly a never-ever-going-to-happen-closed case.
How was I supposed to know he’d been watching me from 150 feet away? No human in their right mind would expect an immediate answer, but he did.
“Hey, sorry, but it’s really hectic; I gotta hurry to this next event.” I apologized despite not owing him one. If he’d crossed my mind at any point up until now, it’d be futile. His recurring insecurities ate at him and thus, swallowed any attraction or potential traction for us.
By the time my plane landed in sunny Los Angeles, he unfriended me on IG. Exhausted from the nonsensical mental gymnastics, I unfollowed him, too.
Finally, we agreed: the feeling is mutual, boo.
Let’s make things inbox official! Sign up for the xoNecole newsletter for love, wellness, career, and exclusive content delivered straight to your inbox.
Featured image by Charles Olu-Alabi/Getty Images