Staff Survivor Story
I joined the group when I was 16. For the first couple of years, it seemed like my salvation. It felt like after years of trauma and abuse I had finally come home. For the first time, I felt like I belonged and I fell head over heels for that feeling. I had spent almost every day of the last 5 years not wanting to wake up the next morning and now it felt like my world had filled with color again. I did whatever I wanted and had hundreds of friends who all loved me, just so long as I complied with the rules and expectations imposed on me. Sometimes there were things that struck me as odd or even concerning, but it was all easily explained away by the people I trusted the most. I absolutely adored the group and knew I wanted to be a counselor by my first week in Step 2.
In 2018, I watched 8 of my friends die. I was told that this was the price of addiction. This was the dark truth of why we all have to be here; this is what happens when we stray. While I ultimately believed them, it broke some piece of me. How could people tell me that God writes straight with crooked lines after I’d watched my friends' parents bury their children? Do we really get taken care of or are we just dropped on our asses in the end?
Getting my packet a month later seemed like an answer to all of these questions which had intrusively scrolled through my head.
After watching my friend’s father weep over her ashes, I resolved to do everything I could to make sure this wouldn’t happen to any other families, no matter what the cost was.
So when I was finally tapped on the shoulder, I shelled out $5800 to the program and was soon sent off to Georgia. I remember all of my friends surrounding me at the airport. They told me I was going to do God’s work, that this is what I was made for. I thoroughly believed it. I thought this would be the beginning of the best parts of my life. A new happiness and freedom I had yet to know.
Pretty quickly, things took a strange turn. We were told what we should believe and I started asking questions; questions like, “why won’t you tell us how much we’re getting paid?” I also mentioned that having to watch hours of recorded Bob Meehan videos seemed concerning and akin to hero worship. This doesn’t even cover the many, many other concerning things we were told such as: the right way to do things is to be a stay at home mom, give an at home birth, and home school our children. We also had days in training where we talked about how anything bad that happened to you you spiritually attracted (rape, illness, abuse) and being apart of the LGBTQ community is just attention seeking or the result of watching porn. Honestly, the list of inappropriate bizarre things that each staff member is taught is so extensive it’s almost laughable. The response I got from the staff was that I was a paranoid abrasive bitch and that this is why no one wants to be my friend.
On the last day of training, you find out where you’re going. I didn’t handle it well. I started crying to Clint and told him all the reasons I didn’t think I’d be good at doing administration in North Carolina. I was only 19 years old. I was terrified to pack up my life and start over again in a new state. I couldn’t understand why they had pushed me to tell them where I didn’t want to go and then put me there. After about 5 minutes, Clint finally stood up and yelled, “All right, I’ve been really fucking nice up until this point. Get the fuck out of my office and let me even think about whether or not you’re going to get a job.” At that moment, I felt lower than dirt. I wonder if I inadvertently painted a target on my back. But maybe because of the color of my skin, I was always going to be seen as someone looking to be a victim.
Everyone knew about what had happened when I got to North Carolina and I was ashamed. It was frequently used against me and when I started to ask questions like “where is all the money going” (there was a huge gap since many staff members only make $2-$4/hr, overhead expenses are low, but “treatment” is $9500-$18000 per person out of pocket), the director I worked for called Pathway and dug up my deepest fears and secrets. This included the things I had shared in confidence during outpatient, along with moments I was deeply ashamed of or traumatized by. The staff proceeded to use these things against me in front of anywhere from 3 to 50 people. I felt humiliated but when I talked to other staff members about it, I was told it was my fault, I was taking myself too seriously. For some reason or another, I wasn’t good enough.
This went on for another year and a half. I watched many illegal and unethical things occur. Too many to discuss them all in this account. I began to question my reality, but the joy of watching someone in the group I loved find their way in recovery made everything seem worth it. The staff made sure I knew that they broke me down because they loved me enough to tell me the truth about myself. According to them, I was an abrasive, nosy bitch with a slimy car salesman personality. They also indicated that my sexual past and assaults had permanently stained my brain and made me creepy, that I only struggled with starving myself and self-harm for attention, that I was a try-hard poser who Steve would have bullied in high school, that I was just some slut who they referred to as a one trick pony. They claimed to have said these things, because they loved me and that being on staff was a way of life that demanded us to be held to a higher standard above the spiritually sick angry feminist, liberal world. How could I trust myself when everyone I love is telling me otherwise?
Now, I’ll be the first one to admit, I’m sure I was difficult to be around at times. I was an insecure 19 year old with little sense of self who had lots of unresolved trauma, just like many other people who join the group. But does that justify the things the staff said about others? I’ll let you decide for yourself: saying a 15 year old girl in the group is just going to end up being one of those freak sluts who fucks basketball players and snorts coke off of black dick, mocking kids for having disabilities or mental illnesses, saying a girl who was raped is just the stereotypical fat slut who gets ran through by everybody, openly mocking intimate details of parents’ marriages such as infidelity, race, weight, or financial issues. If you have been in the group, I can almost guarantee the staff have said some pretty nasty things about you behind closed doors. According to them, however, they’re just being honest.
I began to crumble. I felt like I was being pushed out of the nest, but everyone told me I was just being selfish and crazy. They knew how disgusting I felt after being inappropriately touched as a kid and later sexually assaulted. They knew I thought that I’d never be clean again. So, when I struggled with thinking someone in the group was attractive, they capitalized on it. I was asked why I couldn’t just be better, what was wrong with me? I was told I’m creepy and voyeuristic for feeling this way. I felt absolutely broken at this point and Steve agreed. He said I’d never been able to keep my head above water and sent me off to Atlanta to figure things out. Luckily, I happened to run into a woman who had left the program 20 years ago. Though I still was deeply loyal to the program, she convinced me that perhaps God was directing me elsewhere. She ultimately gave me hope that maybe, in the end, things could be okay.
It was so hard saying goodbye, as I not only loved the group so much but only had a couple days to fit what I could into my car and leave. I was shocked at how cold some of the staff was when I told them I was leaving.
It took me a long time afterwards to start opening up. I felt like everything that had happened was my fault and constantly defended the program. Healing and asking for help was hard, as I didn’t want to be one of those resentful sick bailed people that they drag through the dirt in training. I didn’t want the people I loved to hate me. But, I am so grateful that I took a chance. I am so grateful I went to therapy, that I’ve started telling the whole truth even if I’ve received backlash. Today, I live a whole human experience! I make mistakes and am messy sometimes, but I am freer than I’ve ever been. The world has become so much bigger and my heart has softened. I feel safe and comfortable in my own skin and learned to give myself grace. I know how to have boundaries, how to make my own decisions and I have been able to rebuild my world from the ground up since I left. I am so grateful for the community of people who have helped me find my way and showed me kindness at one of the darkest points in my life. Thank you for believing me.
The Pathway Program Survivor & The Insight Program Staff Survivor: 2015 - 2019
