The longer I was in Scientology, the easier it became to disassociate from those who weren't. As time went on, I found I preferred the company of those who shared my beliefs and spoke the same jargon as I did.
Friends I'd had for a lifetime fell by the wayside. We had nothing in common any more. And although they were still kind and friendly, they clearly thought I'd made a mistake by getting involved in Scientology. So it was best to just avoid them and stick with those who understood what I understood.
My bosses were Scientologists. My husband was a Scientologist and worked mainly for and with Scientologists. We only spent time with Scientologists. And I was determined my kids would grow up to be Scientologists.
Don't let anyone tell you that the policy on disconnection was cancelled or fell out of favour with the Org. It remained - and no doubt still remains - a most compelling threat to anyone even thinking of leaving.
I was "handled" any number of times on my parents. My mother was particularly anti-Scientology, and I did the SP/PTS Course because of my connection with her. Towards the end, I was also being "handled" on what seemed a daily basis to disconnect from my husband who had clearly become disaffected and was less and less supportive of my being on staff.
Leaving behind my job and friends and colleagues was unfortunate, but nothing more. I wasn't lost to my family, and was able to reunite with old friends who were delighted to have me back.
But there have been others who had much more to lose: parents, spouses, siblings, children, friends, business associates - everyone. The most notable for me in Toronto was David Stokes. (You can read his story here.) This required insight and commitment far beyond anything that was required of me. And I tip my hat to every one of them.
Why I left Scientology
Wednesday, January 20, 2016
Tuesday, January 19, 2016
My faith is shaken
They broke the news to us at muster first thing Monday morning.
"Scott and Jackie Carmichael died in a car accident on the weekend."
There was silence. Then all hell broke loose. What?! NO!!! Impossible! They were here in the Org on Friday!
Then whisperings, murmurings, pondering the enormity of it - the grief, the loss, the confusion - and the doubt.
Jackie and Scott were OT VII - at least Scott was.
And OTs are CAUSE OVER LIFE.
OTs do NOT die in car crashes.
Did anyone ever say that? I'm not sure. It would have been futile anyway. They would have been glared at disapprovingly and told they had hidden standards on what "cause over life" really meant.
Hidden standard - An unrealistic standard by which one measures the effectiveness of Scientology auditing. (I'm paraphrasing here.) According to xenu.net:
Bullshit. I didn't buy it. Not for a second. I knew it wasn't fine. How did I know that? Because they had a young son, travelling in another car, who survived. That's how I knew.
Maybe they were PTS or out ethics - because OTs do not die in car crashes.
So being $250,000 in debt (or so rumour had it) in 1989 to pay for training and auditing - would that qualify?
In any event, Scott and Jackie were dead. And my faith was irreparably shaken.
"Scott and Jackie Carmichael died in a car accident on the weekend."
There was silence. Then all hell broke loose. What?! NO!!! Impossible! They were here in the Org on Friday!
Then whisperings, murmurings, pondering the enormity of it - the grief, the loss, the confusion - and the doubt.
Jackie and Scott were OT VII - at least Scott was.
And OTs are CAUSE OVER LIFE.
OTs do NOT die in car crashes.
Did anyone ever say that? I'm not sure. It would have been futile anyway. They would have been glared at disapprovingly and told they had hidden standards on what "cause over life" really meant.
Hidden standard - An unrealistic standard by which one measures the effectiveness of Scientology auditing. (I'm paraphrasing here.) According to xenu.net:
The notion of a "Hidden Standard" is Scientology's escape clause, sleight of hand, the place where the excuses are made for Scientology not working.Someone - I don't remember who - spoke calmly, soothingly, reassuringly. It was all fine. Other OTs had been in touch with them telepathically after the accident, and all was well.
Bullshit. I didn't buy it. Not for a second. I knew it wasn't fine. How did I know that? Because they had a young son, travelling in another car, who survived. That's how I knew.
Maybe they were PTS or out ethics - because OTs do not die in car crashes.
So being $250,000 in debt (or so rumour had it) in 1989 to pay for training and auditing - would that qualify?
In any event, Scott and Jackie were dead. And my faith was irreparably shaken.
Monday, January 18, 2016
I finally figure out what's wrong with me
"Don't just stand there like a robot! Are you stupid?! Answer me! Why don't you answer me?!"
My senior was apoplectic, fists clenched, stamping her feet, red in the face.
And I was paralysed. My brain had shut down, and I was incapable of coherent thought. And so I just stood there, mute. I don't remember what I'd done to send her into such a rage, but clearly I'd bungled something.
To my relief, she finally released me to go scrub floors.
The thing is, I liked her. When she had convinced me to come back on staff after my unfortunate run-in with a Sea Org recruiter, I was pregnant, and she had taken very good care of me. Every day after lunch, she would hand me the keys to her apartment and say, "Go rest for an hour. You're pregnant. You have to look after yourself." She'd fussed over me like a mother hen, making sure I ate well, got enough sleep, and didn't stay past the end of my day.
And she and her husband had gone to bat for me once when I got in trouble with the executive director for not following an order she gave me. But she had no business issuing that order in the first place, and my senior was quick to point that out. When it looked like the executive director was going to be intractable, my senior's husband threatened to go on strike until she gave it up. He carried a lot of clout, and that was the end of it. I was grateful to both of them.
And so, because she'd been good to me, and because I liked her, and because I wanted to do my job well and help clear the planet, it always saddened me when I disappointed her - again
I was a perpetual disappointment to my seniors for as long as I can remember. They seemed to think I was bright and capable, so they promoted me. But I never lived up to their expectations, so they demoted me. I suspect it only happened a few times, but it seemed like an endless cycle.
Truth be told, I just never "got it". I felt out of place, a misfit. It seemed everyone else - well, almost everyone else - understood something I didn't. And I had no idea what it was. It was like walking into a old boys' club and not getting the in jokes. I was perpetually puzzled, bewildered, and confused, which made it damned difficult to muster a "fixed, dedicated glare."
The problem was that I was "reasonable" and "open minded."And in Scientology, there's nothing worse. Those are highly pejorative terms. It means you're not serious, and you're just making excuses. But no matter how many times I looked them up in the dictionary and cleared every definition, I remained reasonable and open-minded.
And then, many years out, I discovered a term that explained what was wrong with me:
And so as much as I wanted to embrace Scientology in its totality, there was a part of me that just couldn't do it. I was miserable if I did and miserable if I didn't. Of course, all of this was going on in the background, uninspected by me. Hence - stress. Lots of stress.
I've seen pictures of myself shortly after I left: black circles under my eyes, gaunt, pale, unhealthy. It was so bad that, 15 years later, I looked younger than I had in those earlier pictures.
And yet, at the time I left, I'd only been on staff full-time for 2 years.
And as dazed and confused as I was on staff, it set me up perfectly for my eventual exit.
My senior was apoplectic, fists clenched, stamping her feet, red in the face.
And I was paralysed. My brain had shut down, and I was incapable of coherent thought. And so I just stood there, mute. I don't remember what I'd done to send her into such a rage, but clearly I'd bungled something.
To my relief, she finally released me to go scrub floors.
The thing is, I liked her. When she had convinced me to come back on staff after my unfortunate run-in with a Sea Org recruiter, I was pregnant, and she had taken very good care of me. Every day after lunch, she would hand me the keys to her apartment and say, "Go rest for an hour. You're pregnant. You have to look after yourself." She'd fussed over me like a mother hen, making sure I ate well, got enough sleep, and didn't stay past the end of my day.
And she and her husband had gone to bat for me once when I got in trouble with the executive director for not following an order she gave me. But she had no business issuing that order in the first place, and my senior was quick to point that out. When it looked like the executive director was going to be intractable, my senior's husband threatened to go on strike until she gave it up. He carried a lot of clout, and that was the end of it. I was grateful to both of them.
And so, because she'd been good to me, and because I liked her, and because I wanted to do my job well and help clear the planet, it always saddened me when I disappointed her - again
I was a perpetual disappointment to my seniors for as long as I can remember. They seemed to think I was bright and capable, so they promoted me. But I never lived up to their expectations, so they demoted me. I suspect it only happened a few times, but it seemed like an endless cycle.
Truth be told, I just never "got it". I felt out of place, a misfit. It seemed everyone else - well, almost everyone else - understood something I didn't. And I had no idea what it was. It was like walking into a old boys' club and not getting the in jokes. I was perpetually puzzled, bewildered, and confused, which made it damned difficult to muster a "fixed, dedicated glare."
The problem was that I was "reasonable" and "open minded."And in Scientology, there's nothing worse. Those are highly pejorative terms. It means you're not serious, and you're just making excuses. But no matter how many times I looked them up in the dictionary and cleared every definition, I remained reasonable and open-minded.
And then, many years out, I discovered a term that explained what was wrong with me:
Cognitive dissonance - the mental stress or discomfort experienced by an individual who holds two or more contradictory beliefs, ideas, or values at the same time, performs an action that is contradictory to one or more beliefs, ideas or values, or is confronted by new information that conflicts with existing beliefs, ideas, or values.
And so as much as I wanted to embrace Scientology in its totality, there was a part of me that just couldn't do it. I was miserable if I did and miserable if I didn't. Of course, all of this was going on in the background, uninspected by me. Hence - stress. Lots of stress.
I've seen pictures of myself shortly after I left: black circles under my eyes, gaunt, pale, unhealthy. It was so bad that, 15 years later, I looked younger than I had in those earlier pictures.
And yet, at the time I left, I'd only been on staff full-time for 2 years.
And as dazed and confused as I was on staff, it set me up perfectly for my eventual exit.
Sunday, January 17, 2016
What's good for the Org isn't always good for the public
"If I knew for a certainty that a man was coming to my house
with the conscious design of doing me good,
I should run for my life."
- Henry David Thoreau
If Maria's sister had known this quote, it might have saved her marriage and prevented what may have been her financial ruin.
When I was still on staff at Narconon, Maria's became an FSM (field staff member). It was her job to bring "raw meat" into Narconon or the Org. And if they signed up for services, she received a commission.
Some years later, when I had left Narconon and was staff at the Toronto Org, Maria set her sights on her sister. I don't know much about her, but she was older than Maria, married with kids. Somehow Maria convinced her to become involved in Scientology. The sister's husband wanted her to have nothing to do with it - hence, suppressive.
With her usual aplomb, Maria pushed, and apparently finally persuaded her to leave her suppressive husband. It took time, but eventually she did leave her husband. And when the matrimonial property was divided, she invested in Scientology training and auditing - quite a lot of training and auditing.
(I was never a party to these discussions. I just heard snippets of conversations about it over several months.)
There was a catch, though: her sister was Italian and, unlike Maria, spoke almost no English. Delivering any services to her would be next to impossible.
I felt sick, furious, impotent - and complicit.
There were rumours of a refund, but I don't know if she followed through, and I don't know what became of her.
Like my fellow staff members, I believed that what benefited Scientology benefited all of mankind. And so I never looked too deeply for fear of what I might find.
Shame on me for not having the courage to speak up.
Thursday at 2 - the stat push
If a Scientologist calls you Wednesday night or Thursday morning, DON'T PICK UP THE PHONE!
Week end is Thursday at 2, and in Toronto Org at least it tended to be bedlam. This was the last chance for staff to "get their stats up" before the 2:00 deadline. Students were pushed through courses - sometimes late into the night on Wednesday. Public were bullied and harassed and harangued to sign up for (i.e., pay for) their next service. Other public were "persuaded" to join staff.
So what are stats? I really don't want to go into this too deeply because, like everything else in Scientology, it's complicated and tied in with a bunch of other stuff that's complicated, like ethics conditions. (Lots of other stuff online if you want to check into that.)
In a nutshell: the measurable products that you're responsible for - whether that be gross income, student completions, new staff members, bodies in the shop (yes, that's a real thing), whatever - are expected to be higher than they were the week before. In some Orgs, staff pay (a euphemism for "pittance" in Toronto) was tied to whether your stats increased from the previous week, and by how much. So there was a lot at stake.
The only book LRH approved of that wasn't written by him was Big League Sales by Les Dane.
I was never involved in regging - getting people to part with their hard-earned money for training or auditing. (Reg = registrar - someone who registers people for services.) But similar techniques were used to "encourage" public to join staff. And I was involved in that.
Hubbard claimed that since man is basically good, and since Scientology is the only thing around that can lift mankind "out of the mud it thinks conceived it," something else is getting in the way of their turning over the money and their lives to Scientology.
In other words, the person's objections aren't really the person's objections. These objections are coming from something other than the person's innate goodness - perhaps from someone who's antagonistic to their progress, perhaps from the next thing that they as a spiritual being need to have handled. And it was our job as staff members to steamroll over those objections and GET THEM MOVING!
Like the Borg, resistance is futile - because persistent resistance is viewed as anti-Scientology. And no good can come of that!
And so if you decide to wander into an Org just to check it out or do a personality test, do not do it on a Thursday before 2!
Week end is Thursday at 2, and in Toronto Org at least it tended to be bedlam. This was the last chance for staff to "get their stats up" before the 2:00 deadline. Students were pushed through courses - sometimes late into the night on Wednesday. Public were bullied and harassed and harangued to sign up for (i.e., pay for) their next service. Other public were "persuaded" to join staff.
So what are stats? I really don't want to go into this too deeply because, like everything else in Scientology, it's complicated and tied in with a bunch of other stuff that's complicated, like ethics conditions. (Lots of other stuff online if you want to check into that.)
In a nutshell: the measurable products that you're responsible for - whether that be gross income, student completions, new staff members, bodies in the shop (yes, that's a real thing), whatever - are expected to be higher than they were the week before. In some Orgs, staff pay (a euphemism for "pittance" in Toronto) was tied to whether your stats increased from the previous week, and by how much. So there was a lot at stake.
The only book LRH approved of that wasn't written by him was Big League Sales by Les Dane.
I was never involved in regging - getting people to part with their hard-earned money for training or auditing. (Reg = registrar - someone who registers people for services.) But similar techniques were used to "encourage" public to join staff. And I was involved in that.
Hubbard claimed that since man is basically good, and since Scientology is the only thing around that can lift mankind "out of the mud it thinks conceived it," something else is getting in the way of their turning over the money and their lives to Scientology.
In other words, the person's objections aren't really the person's objections. These objections are coming from something other than the person's innate goodness - perhaps from someone who's antagonistic to their progress, perhaps from the next thing that they as a spiritual being need to have handled. And it was our job as staff members to steamroll over those objections and GET THEM MOVING!
Like the Borg, resistance is futile - because persistent resistance is viewed as anti-Scientology. And no good can come of that!
And so if you decide to wander into an Org just to check it out or do a personality test, do not do it on a Thursday before 2!
Saturday, January 16, 2016
Almost Sea Org
The Sea Org recruiter looked at me sympathetically from across the desk.
"It's too bad about your daughter. Fortunately, your husband and parents are around to look after her when she gets out of the hospital. The ticket's booked, and you need to be on that flight."
I stared back at her is disbelief. Something was terribly wrong. She couldn't possibly mean it.
It was Monday morning, and I'd had a sleepless night.
On Thursday, I'd signed a Sea Org contract, and my 5-year-old daughter and I were scheduled to leave for LA on Tuesday. I was being trained in PR, and when that was finished, after however many months, I'd be returning to Toronto. My husband knew; my parents didn't.
Friday night, my daughter started throwing up and running a fever. Nothing to be concerned about. Probably flu. She'd be fine by Monday. But I learned she was blaming herself for this.
"This is my fault. You told me we were going away and not to tell anybody. I told one of my friends at school - and now I'm sick."
The fever persisted, as did the vomiting, and she had diarrhea. She pointed to a glass of water and said, "Pass me the alligator." Hallucinating a bit from the fever. Flu symptoms. Perfectly normal. We've all be there, right?
At 3 AM Monday, she woke us up crying with stomach cramps. We caught a cab to the nearest hospital and sat in emerg while they did a spinal tap. They wheeled her back and said they were just waiting for the results. The diagnosis: meningococcal meningitis. Beyond knowing it was serious, I wasn't sure what we were dealing with.
The doctor said they would put her on IV antibiotics at once, and he gave us a prescription as well. Then he said, "Go home and get some sleep."
We got home shortly after 7 AM, and the call came at 10 AM that the emergency doctor was sending her by ambulance to Sick Children's Hospital. She'd stopped breathing, and he was afraid, if they kept her there, they'd lose her.
I'd stopped at the Org on my way back from the hospital to let the Sea Org recruiter know I couldn't leave. And now this. Her intention never wavered. There was no doubt in her mind how this would play out, no question that I had to "make it go right." It wasn't a suggestion or an invitation. It was an unequivocal order.
I was exhausted, distraught - and wondering which of was insane. Everything seemed unreal, so I was pretty sure it was me.
But I was even more certain I wasn't going.
There was clearly no point in arguing. I thought, "Fuck you," stood up and said flatly, "I'm not going," and walked out. It was a while before I stepped foot inside the Org again. And it was the last time I considered joining the Sea Org.
It all turned out well in the end. My daughter was in the hospital for a month, and had two surgeries to drain fluid from around her heart. But she recovered fully, and is now a happy, successful business owner and mother of two teenage boys - and a staunch and devout non-Scientologist.
"It's too bad about your daughter. Fortunately, your husband and parents are around to look after her when she gets out of the hospital. The ticket's booked, and you need to be on that flight."
I stared back at her is disbelief. Something was terribly wrong. She couldn't possibly mean it.
It was Monday morning, and I'd had a sleepless night.
On Thursday, I'd signed a Sea Org contract, and my 5-year-old daughter and I were scheduled to leave for LA on Tuesday. I was being trained in PR, and when that was finished, after however many months, I'd be returning to Toronto. My husband knew; my parents didn't.
Friday night, my daughter started throwing up and running a fever. Nothing to be concerned about. Probably flu. She'd be fine by Monday. But I learned she was blaming herself for this.
"This is my fault. You told me we were going away and not to tell anybody. I told one of my friends at school - and now I'm sick."
The fever persisted, as did the vomiting, and she had diarrhea. She pointed to a glass of water and said, "Pass me the alligator." Hallucinating a bit from the fever. Flu symptoms. Perfectly normal. We've all be there, right?
At 3 AM Monday, she woke us up crying with stomach cramps. We caught a cab to the nearest hospital and sat in emerg while they did a spinal tap. They wheeled her back and said they were just waiting for the results. The diagnosis: meningococcal meningitis. Beyond knowing it was serious, I wasn't sure what we were dealing with.
The doctor said they would put her on IV antibiotics at once, and he gave us a prescription as well. Then he said, "Go home and get some sleep."
We got home shortly after 7 AM, and the call came at 10 AM that the emergency doctor was sending her by ambulance to Sick Children's Hospital. She'd stopped breathing, and he was afraid, if they kept her there, they'd lose her.
I'd stopped at the Org on my way back from the hospital to let the Sea Org recruiter know I couldn't leave. And now this. Her intention never wavered. There was no doubt in her mind how this would play out, no question that I had to "make it go right." It wasn't a suggestion or an invitation. It was an unequivocal order.
I was exhausted, distraught - and wondering which of was insane. Everything seemed unreal, so I was pretty sure it was me.
But I was even more certain I wasn't going.
There was clearly no point in arguing. I thought, "Fuck you," stood up and said flatly, "I'm not going," and walked out. It was a while before I stepped foot inside the Org again. And it was the last time I considered joining the Sea Org.
It all turned out well in the end. My daughter was in the hospital for a month, and had two surgeries to drain fluid from around her heart. But she recovered fully, and is now a happy, successful business owner and mother of two teenage boys - and a staunch and devout non-Scientologist.
Friday, January 15, 2016
My declare
After my resignation, there were a couple of half-hearted attempts to recover me. No doubt Toronto staff had bigger fish to fry. I would have been pretty low on their list of priorities.
I did receive a call from a former Toronto colleague who'd gone on to Flag or LA asking what had happened. "Come on, Sue, I know you. You're not suppressive! Surely you can go back into the Org and work this out. I suspect you were just mishandled." I assured him I hadn't been, and that everything had been done according to policy. The irony was lost on him.
When he persisted, I finally said, "Rick, the fact is that I have some basic disgreements that just aren't going to get sorted out."
"Like what?"
"Like KSW."
He couldn't get off the phone fast enough.
My declare arrived in the mail a month or so later. The first thing I noticed was my name. It was misspelled - both my first name and my last name. No surprise there: Scientologists are notorious for not being able to get these things right. Still, it was disappointing.
Then I read the allegations. It's been 27 years, so I don't remember the details, but some were fabricated, some were true but done by others, and the balance were things I was frankly proud of and didn't regret for an instant.
I raged briefly at the inaccuracies and injustice of it, and went outside to walk it off.
And as I walked, a thought occurred to me: Scientologists in good standing can't associate with suppressives because it can cause them to become PTS and lose any gains they'd made in Scientology. (Don't know if I got that right, but that was my understanding at the time. And if I got it wrong, don't tell me and spoil my joy!) That meant that even OTs, cause over life, couldn't risk talking to me, a mere Clear, for fear of what I might do to them. Now, that's power!
Since then, I've never thought of my declare without smiling. I was done with them - and they were done with me!
I did receive a call from a former Toronto colleague who'd gone on to Flag or LA asking what had happened. "Come on, Sue, I know you. You're not suppressive! Surely you can go back into the Org and work this out. I suspect you were just mishandled." I assured him I hadn't been, and that everything had been done according to policy. The irony was lost on him.
When he persisted, I finally said, "Rick, the fact is that I have some basic disgreements that just aren't going to get sorted out."
"Like what?"
"Like KSW."
He couldn't get off the phone fast enough.
My declare arrived in the mail a month or so later. The first thing I noticed was my name. It was misspelled - both my first name and my last name. No surprise there: Scientologists are notorious for not being able to get these things right. Still, it was disappointing.
Then I read the allegations. It's been 27 years, so I don't remember the details, but some were fabricated, some were true but done by others, and the balance were things I was frankly proud of and didn't regret for an instant.
I raged briefly at the inaccuracies and injustice of it, and went outside to walk it off.
And as I walked, a thought occurred to me: Scientologists in good standing can't associate with suppressives because it can cause them to become PTS and lose any gains they'd made in Scientology. (Don't know if I got that right, but that was my understanding at the time. And if I got it wrong, don't tell me and spoil my joy!) That meant that even OTs, cause over life, couldn't risk talking to me, a mere Clear, for fear of what I might do to them. Now, that's power!
Since then, I've never thought of my declare without smiling. I was done with them - and they were done with me!
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