Hi, I'm Steph.

    I was born into the Jehovah's Witnesses organization in 1995. My parents were both active members, recently baptized and fully involved in the beliefs.

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    My mother had immigrated to the U.S. from Bolivia and was a practicing Catholic prior to converting. My father was born in the States and had dabbled in many belief systems, even Buddhism. Most recently before converting to Jehovah’s Witnesses, he was a practicing Mormon. He told me that one day he realized the Mormon Church was a cult… and then he found what he thought was a better option in the Watchtower Organization.

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    It’s kind of a wild concept to look back on now, but it really shows how people can fall into high-control groups more than once when it’s been normalized in their lives.

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    All of my childhood was exactly what you would expect for a kid inside the organization. Group Bible study on Tuesday nights, meetings on Thursday nights, field service on Saturday mornings, and weekend meetings on Sunday afternoons. Not to mention the meeting prep and study time that filled most evenings in between.

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    School felt like a minefield. I had to constantly watch for anything that might displease Jehovah. No birthdays, no holidays, no extracurriculars or sports. My “school friends” were just that—school friends. People I had to keep at a distance. Anyone outside of the organization was considered “bad association,” and the only real reason to talk to them was to preach and invite them to Bible study.

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    I didn’t really question the beliefs when I was younger, but I do remember feeling… off. A kind of weirdness I couldn’t shake. I dealt with anxiety from childhood into adulthood, and for years I couldn’t figure out why. I assumed it had to be something genetic or chemical. I didn’t realize at the time how much my environment was affecting me.

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    I got baptized young, around 14. If I’m being honest, I didn’t feel ready. But when you reach an age that ends in “teen” and you’re still not baptized, people start talking. I would hear adults gossip about other kids my age and say things like, “Yeah… and she’s not even baptized yet.” The pressure to be seen as a good kid and meet expectations made me anxious to go through with it. I even answered some major doctrine questions incorrectly during my baptism questioning, but for whatever reason, the elders still approved me.

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    In my teen years, I started noticing things that didn’t quite add up. “New light” teachings and older beliefs clashed in ways that felt confusing, but when I looked around, everyone older and “wiser” just brushed it off. We were constantly told that Satan could be hiding everywhere: research, college, other religions, certain movies, music, “worldly” people, even our own thoughts.

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    It was drilled into me that any uneasy feeling I had wasn’t something to explore, it was something to fight. Because it must be the devil trying to trip me up.

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    Like a lot of Jehovah’s Witness teens, I got married as soon as I turned 18. If I’m being honest, I didn’t really want to be a wife. I wanted freedom, to move out, to date, to spend time with someone without a chaperone. Dating in the organization is extremely strict, and it makes it hard to actually get to know someone.

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    Being a teenage wife was surreal. Suddenly, adults in the congregation saw me differently and expected more. I was supposed to help my husband “move up” in the congregation. The way I dressed, how much I participated in meetings, my field service hours, even my friendships, all of it affected his standing. I was under a microscope constantly, and teenagers aren’t exactly known for being perfect.

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    Everything shifted when I turned 20. I realized the person I married wasn’t meant to be my life partner. (And honestly, I’m sure he feels the same way.) Neither of us were mature enough to commit to forever. Around that same time, I started seeing real holes in the doctrine I had been raised to believe as absolute truth.

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    I remember when the convention released a book called God’s Kingdom Rules! There was a chapter about “overlapping generations” that really threw me off.

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    For context, Jehovah’s Witnesses teach that the “last days” began in 1914, based on Matthew 24:34, “this generation will not pass away.” The understanding had always been that the generation alive in 1914 would still be alive when Armageddon came.

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    But that didn’t happen. That generation had already passed by the time this book came out… and there was no Armageddon.

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    So the explanation changed. Now it meant that my generation overlapped with the generation from 1914. I noticed something that stuck with me: there were no scriptures referenced in that section. That was unusual, because their material is usually packed with them.

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    I went to an elder I trusted, someone who had known me since I was a kid and asked what he thought. I expected clarity, but instead, he told me to stop thinking about it and focus on my faith.

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    That was the moment everything started to unravel. It felt like pulling a loose thread and watching the whole sweater come apart fast.

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    I didn’t know what to do. I felt stuck and honestly, I was angry. My entire life had been built on something that suddenly didn’t feel solid, but at the same time, I didn’t trust my own judgment.

    What if I was wrong?
    What if Satan had gotten to me?

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I prayed one last time. Not to Jehovah, just to God.

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I said, “I don’t know what to think or believe. I want to do what’s right, but I need help. If you’re there, give me a sign. Show me if I’m safe here or if I need to get out.”

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    That week, I made the most rebellious choice I had ever made for myself: I got my nose pierced.

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    Showing up to the meeting with a tiny stud caused a ripple. No one said anything directly, but there were stares, whispers, etc.. I could feel it.

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    The next day, I went to help an elder’s wife clean their home after her knee surgery. I was on my hands and knees scrubbing their kitchen floors when he came in, made small talk, thanked me, and said he’d see me at the meeting later. He said nothing about the piercing.

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    That night at the Kingdom Hall, there was a “special needs” talk, which is something meant to address issues within the congregation. That same elder got up on stage and said we needed to talk about piercings.

 

    He told a story about a loyal coyote that a rancher trusted. When other “evil” coyotes came onto the property, the rancher would shoot them. But one day, the loyal coyote got dirty playing with them, came back looking the same… and the rancher shot him too, because he couldn’t tell the difference. Then he looked directly at me and said that when Armageddon comes, Jehovah will destroy those who look like “the world.”

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    People turned around. Whispered. Stared. And I was humiliated.

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    I grabbed my things and walked out. No one stopped me. Later that night, someone I thought was my friend even posted jokes about it.

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    I could physically feel my heart breaking.

 

   All of that… over a tiny nose stud. They used public humiliation to try to get me to conform, even insinuating that Jehovah was going to kill me if my nose didn't look like the rest of the congregations.

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    But in that moment, something clicked: That was my sign.

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    I never went back. I filed for divorce, made a plan, moved, and cut ties as quickly as I could.

But they weren’t done with me. The elders wanted everything “handled properly.” Since I was divorcing, they needed to prove I was a fornicator in order to “free” my ex-husband to remarry.

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    I was followed for months. Elders and ministerial servants tracked me, found my new address, sent certified mail, and even went to my new boyfriend’s grandmother’s house to get information about me. I finally answered one of their calls and begged them to leave me alone. I told them exactly what they wanted to hear, that I was a fornicator and an apostate, and that they could disfellowship me. The elder thanked me and hung up.

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    That moment brought relief, and then silence.

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    My friends and family cut me off completely. I had no one. No community. Nothing. I was terrified, and I was heartbroken. But I knew one thing for sure:  I was not going back.

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    I applied for three jobs and got all of them. I worked constantly day and night because I was determined to be financially independent and never have to return. Through those jobs, I started meeting new people and slowly building a new life. For the first time, I gave myself permission to explore - hobbies, beliefs, relationships, ideas. The world felt huge. Full of possibilities.

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    It was exciting… and overwhelming. I made mistakes. I jumped into another relationship I shouldn’t have. It felt easier to hold onto someone than to stand up for myself. I had been raised to be a people-pleaser, and that’s not something you unlearn overnight. I went through phases of heavy drinking and partying. It didn’t bring peace, but it did force me to face the pain I had been carrying. In a strange way, that helped me start letting go.

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    I went through years of therapy with a counselor who specialized in religious trauma. I did the work. I stopped drinking the way I had been. I worked through the anger and the grief, and eventually… the anger faded. It served a purpose when I needed it, but it’s not something I carry anymore.

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    There are some darker, more personal parts to this story that I choose to keep private. However, working through the religious part of my trauma did help me work through the physical, mental and emotional parts of my experiences too.

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    I’ve made peace with what I went through, and I’ve made peace with the mistakes I made along the way. I’ve grown in ways I never thought possible and I still have so much more to learn. Life doesn’t feel heavy anymore. It feels free.

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    The happiness I have now is worth every painful part of my story. I know what it feels like to be loved unconditionally without rules, without doctrine, without strings attached. I know who I am. And I know who I’m becoming.

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    I waited to share this until I wasn’t angry anymore, because I don’t want this space to be driven by emotion or bitterness. I want it to be clear, honest, and genuinely helpful.

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    This year, 2026, marks 10 years since I left the Jehovah's Witnesses.

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    Today, I own a photography business and studio, and I co-own a tattoo and piercing shop with my fiancé. I am the most grounded, stable, and authentic version of myself I’ve ever been. I've traveled to many new places in and outside of the country and was able to fully immerse in different cultures. I've made new friendships with people who love me for ME, not just because we have doctrine in common. There truly aren’t enough words to describe how much joy my life holds now.

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    If any part of my story sounds like yours, I want you to know that you’re not alone. There are more of us out here than you think.

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    And if you’re taking even the smallest step toward figuring out who you are, I’m proud of you.

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    You’ve got this.

    And if I could do it, so can you.