I was born into Scientology. I’ve organized my story into blocks of time that represent different aspects of my experience. It feels impossible to write my entire story down – so I will limit it to my strongest memories.

1-5 Years Old

My mother found Scientology in her early 20s. She came from an extremely dysfunctional family and the Church promised to make her a better person and fulfilled her desire to help other people. They became her family. Unfortunately for me and my brother (and my future siblings), that meant all of her resources – all of her time and what little money she had – went to the Church instead of to caring for us.

One of my first memories was being picked up by the police as I was walking to the Church nursery by myself in a city that was known as the murder capital of the United States. I must have been about 4 years old. I was waiting for a light to turn green when a man took hold of my arm and flagged down a police car. He couldn’t believe I was by myself and wanted to make sure I was okay. The police drove me to the nursery (following my directions) and made sure I arrived safely.

My mother was a staff member, both day and foundation (day and night) at an Org. During these years we rarely saw her. My brother and I spent most of our time at the Church nursery, falling asleep on cots at night, waiting for my mom to pick us up at 10,11, or 12 at night. My brother used to sneak out of the nursery in the evenings and make his way to the Church to see her, hiding behind cars to avoid being caught by police.

I remember my father calling me when he was four and telling me he would not be able to see me again. He and my mother had split soon after I was born and he was getting re-married and starting a new family. He and his fiancé were afraid of the Church and afraid any support he might give to my mom would go to it instead of to my care. I didn’t see or hear from him again until I was 21 years old.

6-10 Years Old

My mother decided to transfer into working at the Church nursery. I remember doing something wrong – I can’t remember what – and being assigned to my mother’s version of the RPF. To get out of doing mestwork (in my case cleaning), I would sometimes pretend I had homework from school or pretend to fall asleep.

During these years, I was always in charge of watching several children. I remember being solely responsible for several infants at a time. I remember caring for babies who were teething and trying to soothe them by putting ice on their gums. I remember pushing two strollers as my stepfather (who also became staff at the nursery), took groups of 10 or more kids on impossibly long walks. I remember not being supervised very well and “experimenting” with other nursery kids – playing boyfriend/girlfriend, husband/wife.

One day when I was seven and was walking to the local public school by myself, a man took me by the hand, took me into an alley and molested me. I remember wondering where he was taking me – I was frightened but he was an adult and no one had ever told me what to do in a situation like this. I remember wondering (hopefully) if he was taking me to see his wife who would give me cookies. Not so.

My brother and I were the only two white kids in an all black school. I was beat up a few times because I was different and made fun of because of my thrift store, mismatched clothes. As time went by I made friends and I began to enjoy learning. For a time we attended this local public school, then a private Scientology school, and then we were homeschooled.

I remember my mother doing hours and hours of CCH’s on me. And drills – she was always trying to drill me on something. I took the usual basic courses. Did the usual hours upon hours of TR’s. But mostly I remember the relentless CCH’s and looking out of the window wishing I could play.

Most of all, I remember working my entire childhood. I watched other kids and cleaned. From time to time I would babysit for a public Scientologist. Babysitting for me was a vacation – seeing how other people lived showed me that there was another way. There was no TV in my house, no telephone, and never anything a kid thinks is yummy to eat. I didn’t get to keep the money I made babysitting, but it was still the highlight of my life.

11-15 Years Old

Sea Org recruiters came to our Org. I was not getting along well with my mother. My brother had joined the Sea Org two years earlier and he was considered a hero in our family. The recruiter said she and her husband would personally be my guardians. And I might one day be approved to go uplines and be a messenger for LRH himself. With my mom’s wholehearted encouragement, I packed my little suitcase and headed to New York to be a Commodore’s Messenger. As it turned out my guardian was only a guardian on paper.

A few days in I had my first dose of reality. I was on the EPF with another young girl. We were supposed to get the CO’s son dressed and ready for her to pick him up – I believe they were going to a Broadway show. Her son was not cooperative. We were on the 7th floor and she was on the 1st floor. I heard her screaming at us from the 1st floor. I don’t remember what she said but I remember being shocked at her yelling and cursing. The next day I called my mother crying and told her I wanted to come home. She told me to stay and stick it out. That wasn’t the first time I tried to leave, but it was the most damaging because I felt like I had nowhere to go. I never forgave her for that. Years later we talked about it and she said she was afraid of being embarrassed if I came home. From time to time I would tell my seniors I wanted to route out, but would soon be intimidated into staying by the usual tactics – yelling, screaming, being told I wouldn’t make it in the wog world, etc.

I was on the EPF for quite some time. And somehow I always got myself into trouble. I took up smoking (in a very amateurish way – not inhaling but enjoying the whole experience nonetheless.) I would get caught. I would confide in a friend and the friend would write up a Knowledge Report on me. This was the beginning of my not trusting people. During my entire time in the Seaorg, virtually anytime I confided in anyone, it backfired.

I remember all of us being sec-checked frequently. Anytime something went missing, the EPF’ers were blamed. I remember feeling guilty holding the cans as I was being sec-checked – even though I hadn’t done anything. That feeling remained with me for years (and still does). Feeling guilty for some nameless reason. They must have known something about me that I didn’t know myself. Why else would I be sec-checked in such a harsh manner?

For a short time I attended a private Scientology school. But very soon after arriving to New York I was sent to the local public school. I loved it. I loved everything about school. Except that I had to wear the same clothes every day and had no winter coat. But I had friends and I was at the top of my class and I felt normal. Well as normal as I could considering no parent came with me on parent day. And as normal as I could, considering the fact that immediately after school I went to work at the church until it was time to go to sleep. I literally had 2 pairs of pants. Sometimes I would “borrow” pants from a girl who was smaller than me (borrow is in quotes because she didn’t know) – I couldn’t zip them up so I would wear a large sweatshirt to cover up.

My EPF days consisted of studying, scrubbing the collars on white uniform shirts with toothbrushes, ironing, cleaning, and serving food to the CMO staff during mealtimes. The CMO staff lived on the top floor of the building in relatively comfortable rooms. One night, my roommate and I decided to rearrange our room. We got tired about half way through and fell asleep. That was a big mistake. We awoke to screaming and were ordered to move to the 3rd floor berthing immediately. We were told we were pigs and no longer deserved to live on the 7th floor. That was my first experience sleeping in what was essentially a warehouse on a bunkbed 3 beds high.

For some reason, I just did not gel with the CMO staff in New York. I like to think it was a quiet rebellion of their authority. I’m not sure what the breaking point was, but they finally decided to transfer me to Flag. At Flag, I did the DPF and then was assigned to be the Supercargo’s assistant in the FSO. She was the first truly kind person I met in the Seaorg and she remained that way. The rest of my experience was more of the same. I remember once trying to get leave to go to my stepfather’s grandmother’s funeral . He was visiting and she passed away while he was there. He was screamed at, I was screamed at. I didn’t go to the funeral.

Schooling was almost non-existent during my time at Flag. They had their own “school,” where we “studied” for a couple of hours a day and then went to work. I consider 7th grade to be the last formal schooling I received as a minor. Something snapped when I turned 15. I was done. I wanted out and this time being yelled out wasn’t going to keep me in. I was put on galley duty but I didn’t break. My fitness board went uplines and lots of time went by but I didn’t change my mind. They finally gave up and I went home.

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