u/JWRESEARCHERROSE

I didn’t start questioning because I wanted to leave. I really didn’t. I was trying to find answers that would let me stay.

I was born into the organization and believed it was the truth for more than 50 years. I was an elder’s daughter, a pioneer, an elder’s wife, and I raised my children in it. It wasn’t just something I believed. It was pretty much my whole life.

When the questions started, I did what I had always been taught to do. I prayed, studied, went through the publications and tried to make it all fit.

It just didn’t anymore.

One question led to another, and when I finally let myself look outside the organization, I was shocked by how much I didn’t know. I had studied for years. I took it seriously. So how had I never learned any of this?

That wasn’t exciting or freeing at first. It was awful.

I couldn’t talk about it with the people I normally would have gone to. I knew what could happen if anyone found out what I was reading or even that I had questions. I started watching what I said and probably even the look on my face during meetings.

I don’t know if there was one moment when I “woke up.” For me, it happened slowly. It felt like losing everything a little at a time.

I lost the certainty that I knew what the future held. I had always believed I would see the people I had lost again. Then I had to face the possibility of losing living people too, simply because I no longer believed exactly what they believed.

I think one of the hardest parts was realizing I didn’t really know who I was outside of the organization.

I was nearly 60 years old asking myself what I actually believed, what I wanted and what mattered to me when someone else wasn’t deciding it for me.

I’m still working that out.

There are still days when I miss how certain I used to feel. But I can’t unknow what I know now, no matter how much easier that might make things.

For those of you who have gone through this, what was the hardest part? Was it losing your beliefs, losing people, or trying to figure out who you were afterward?

I didn’t start questioning because I wanted to leave. I really didn’t. I was trying to find answers that would let me stay.

I was born into the organization and believed it was the truth for more than 50 years. I was an elder’s daughter, a pioneer, an elder’s wife, and I raised my children in it. It wasn’t just something I believed. It was pretty much my whole life.

When the questions started, I did what I had always been taught to do. I prayed, studied, went through the publications and tried to make it all fit.

It just didn’t anymore.

One question led to another, and when I finally let myself look outside the organization, I was shocked by how much I didn’t know. I had studied for years. I took it seriously. So how had I never learned any of this?

That wasn’t exciting or freeing at first. It was awful.

I couldn’t talk about it with the people I normally would have gone to. I knew what could happen if anyone found out what I was reading or even that I had questions. I started watching what I said and probably even the look on my face during meetings.

I don’t know if there was one moment when I “woke up.” For me, it happened slowly. It felt like losing everything a little at a time.

I lost the certainty that I knew what the future held. I had always believed I would see the people I had lost again. Then I had to face the possibility of losing living people too, simply because I no longer believed exactly what they believed.

I think one of the hardest parts was realizing I didn’t really know who I was outside of the organization.

I was nearly 60 years old asking myself what I actually believed, what I wanted and what mattered to me when someone else wasn’t deciding it for me.

I’m still working that out.

There are still days when I miss how certain I used to feel. But I can’t unknow what I know now, no matter how much easier that might make things.

For those of you who have gone through this, what was the hardest part? Was it losing your beliefs, losing people, or trying to figure out who you were afterward?

When I was a child, an elder sexually abused me.  Nothing was done to protect me.  He went on to abuse other children.  For years, I didn't think beyond what had happened to me.  I believed my story was about a man who had made terrible choices.  I also believed something like this couldn't happen inside Jehovah's organization. I believed children would be protected.

For more than 50 years, I believed what happened to me was my story. I thought I had simply been incredibly unlucky.  I thought that if that man had never been in my life, none of it would have happened.  I never questioned that belief.

Then I started looking for answers.  Not because I wanted to leave my religion.

Not because I wanted to attack Jehovah's Witnesses.  I simply wanted to understand how something like this could happen inside the religion I trusted with my whole heart.

I expected to find a few heartbreaking cases.

Instead, I found court records. Government investigations. Newspaper articles. Survivor accounts from different congregations... different countries... spanning decades. The details weren't always identical, but they were familiar enough that I found myself staring at my computer asking one question over and over:

How can so many people I've never met have stories that sound so much like mine?

That realization changed everything. For the first time I began wondering if what happened to me wasn't simply the result of a bad man.  What if there was something much bigger that I had never allowed myself to see?

After reading court records, government investigations, newspaper archives, and decades of legal cases, I came away with questions I never expected to ask.

I'm genuinely interested in hearing what others think.

When you look at the history of child sexual abuse cases involving Jehovah's Witnesses, do you see individual failures—or do you believe the evidence points to a larger systemic problem?

When I was a child, an elder sexually abused me.  Nothing was done to protect me.  He went on to abuse other children.  For years, I didn't think beyond what had happened to me.  I believed my story was about a man who had made terrible choices.  I also believed something like this couldn't happen inside Jehovah's organization. I believed children would be protected.

For more than 50 years, I believed what happened to me was my story. I thought I had simply been incredibly unlucky.  I thought that if that man had never been in my life, none of it would have happened.  I never questioned that belief.

Then I started looking for answers.  Not because I wanted to leave my religion.

Not because I wanted to attack Jehovah's Witnesses.  I simply wanted to understand how something like this could happen inside the religion I trusted with my whole heart.

I expected to find a few heartbreaking cases.

Instead, I found court records. Government investigations. Newspaper articles. Survivor accounts from different congregations... different countries... spanning decades. The details weren't always identical, but they were familiar enough that I found myself staring at my computer asking one question over and over:

How can so many people I've never met have stories that sound so much like mine?

That realization changed everything. For the first time I began wondering if what happened to me wasn't simply the result of a bad man.  What if there was something much bigger that I had never allowed myself to see?

After reading court records, government investigations, newspaper archives, and decades of legal cases, I came away with questions I never expected to ask.

I'm genuinely interested in hearing what others think.

When you look at the history of child sexual abuse cases involving Jehovah's Witnesses, do you see individual failures—or do you believe the evidence points to a larger systemic problem?

I went to my uncle's memorial at the Kingdom Hall this weekend. It was the first time I'd stepped foot in a Kingdom Hall in years, and I wasn't prepared for how hard it was.

The second I walked through those doors, my anxiety hit almost immediately.

I started trembling. Sweating. I felt light-headed. My body just went into overdrive, and I couldn't seem to calm it down. It was horrible.

It honestly surprised me. I knew I was nervous about going back, but I didn't expect such an intense physical reaction just from walking into the building.

Then something else caught me off guard. The memorial itself was different.

After the main talk, someone came up on stage and basically did a Q&A-style eulogy about my uncle. Then, after the closing prayer, they played a slideshow of his life while everyone just stayed seated.

Maybe that's how they do memorials now, but I'd never seen that before.

The strange part was that everything felt so different... yet somehow exactly the same.

The cadence.

The expressions.

The culture.

The feeling in the room.

Then I realized something else I wasn't expecting.

I spent over 50 years as one of Jehovah's Witnesses. I knew the meetings inside and out. But sitting there, I felt like I didn't even speak the language anymore.

I recognized the words, but the way everything was framed, the expressions, the reasoning... it all felt foreign.

That actually made me sad.

How does something that was your entire life become something you no longer understand? Walking out, I realized my body still associates that building with stress, even after all these years away.

Has anyone else experienced this?

Have you gone back for a memorial, funeral, or wedding after being away for years? Did your body react before your mind did? Did it feel both familiar and strangely unfamiliar at the same time?

I'd really like to know if I'm the only one.

I went to my uncle's memorial at the Kingdom Hall this weekend. It was the first time I'd stepped foot in a Kingdom Hall in years, and I wasn't prepared for how hard it was.

The second I walked through those doors, my anxiety hit almost immediately.

I started trembling. Sweating. I felt light-headed. My body just went into overdrive, and I couldn't seem to calm it down. It was horrible.

It honestly surprised me. I knew I was nervous about going back, but I didn't expect such an intense physical reaction just from walking into the building.

Then something else caught me off guard. The memorial itself was different.

After the main talk, someone came up on stage and basically did a Q&A-style eulogy about my uncle. Then, after the closing prayer, they played a slideshow of his life while everyone just stayed seated.

Maybe that's how they do memorials now, but I'd never seen that before.

The strange part was that everything felt so different... yet somehow exactly the same.

The cadence.

The expressions.

The culture.

The feeling in the room.

Then I realized something else I wasn't expecting.

I spent over 50 years as one of Jehovah's Witnesses. I knew the meetings inside and out. But sitting there, I felt like I didn't even speak the language anymore.

I recognized the words, but the way everything was framed, the expressions, the reasoning... it all felt foreign.

That actually made me sad.

How does something that was your entire life become something you no longer understand? Walking out, I realized my body still associates that building with stress, even after all these years away.

Has anyone else experienced this?

Have you gone back for a memorial, funeral, or wedding after being away for years? Did your body react before your mind did? Did it feel both familiar and strangely unfamiliar at the same time?

I'd really like to know if I'm the only one.

I went to my uncle's memorial at the Kingdom Hall this weekend. It was the first time I'd stepped foot in a Kingdom Hall in years, and I wasn't prepared for how hard it was.

The second I walked through those doors, my anxiety hit almost immediately.

I started trembling. Sweating. I felt light-headed. My body just went into overdrive, and I couldn't seem to calm it down. It was horrible.

It honestly surprised me. I knew I was nervous about going back, but I didn't expect such an intense physical reaction just from walking into the building.

Then something else caught me off guard. The memorial itself was different.

After the main talk, someone came up on stage and basically did a Q&A-style eulogy about my uncle. Then, after the closing prayer, they played a slideshow of his life while everyone just stayed seated.

Maybe that's how they do memorials now, but I'd never seen that before.

The strange part was that everything felt so different... yet somehow exactly the same.

The cadence.

The expressions.

The culture.

The feeling in the room.

Then I realized something else I wasn't expecting.

I spent over 50 years as one of Jehovah's Witnesses. I knew the meetings inside and out. But sitting there, I felt like I didn't even speak the language anymore.

I recognized the words, but the way everything was framed, the expressions, the reasoning... it all felt foreign.

That actually made me sad.

How does something that was your entire life become something you no longer understand? Walking out, I realized my body still associates that building with stress, even after all these years away.

Has anyone else experienced this?

Have you gone back for a memorial, funeral, or wedding after being away for years? Did your body react before your mind did? Did it feel both familiar and strangely unfamiliar at the same time?

I'd really like to know if I'm the only one.

For years, I believed I was making my own decisions.

I chose not to celebrate holidays.
I chose not to accept blood.
I chose not to question certain teachings.

Looking back, I'm not sure those ever felt like choices. The "right" answer was already decided before I even considered the question. At the time, that just felt normal.

Did anyone else have that realization after leaving?

For years, I believed I was making my own decisions.

I chose not to celebrate holidays.
I chose not to accept blood.
I chose not to question certain teachings.

Looking back, I'm not sure those ever felt like choices. The "right" answer was already decided before I even considered the question. At the time, that just felt normal.

Did anyone else have that realization after leaving?

For years, I believed I was making my own decisions.

I chose not to celebrate holidays.
I chose not to accept blood.
I chose not to question certain teachings.

Looking back, I'm not sure those ever felt like choices. The "right" answer was already decided before I even considered the question. At the time, that just felt normal.

Did anyone else have that realization after leaving?

I've been thinking about this today.

I was one of Jehovah's Witnesses for a very long time. And honestly... I don't remember ever asking myself why the Governing Body had authority. I just accepted that they did. It wasn't because I had researched it. It wasn't because I had examined the evidence.

I simply accepted it as fact.

Looking back now, that really surprises me. I questioned myself all the time. Was I doing enough? Was I studying enough? Was I praying enough?

But I don't remember ever asking... Why do these men have authority over my life? It honestly never crossed my mind. Now I'm wondering...

Was I the only one?

Did you ever question the Governing Body while you were still one of Jehovah's Witnesses? Or did those questions only come after you started waking up?

I'm really curious what your experience was.

I've been thinking about this today.

I was one of Jehovah's Witnesses for a very long time. And honestly... I don't remember ever asking myself why the Governing Body had authority. I just accepted that they did. It wasn't because I had researched it. It wasn't because I had examined the evidence.

I simply accepted it as fact.

Looking back now, that really surprises me. I questioned myself all the time. Was I doing enough? Was I studying enough? Was I praying enough?

But I don't remember ever asking... Why do these men have authority over my life? It honestly never crossed my mind. Now I'm wondering...

Was I the only one?

Did you ever question the Governing Body while you were still one of Jehovah's Witnesses? Or did those questions only come after you started waking up?

I'm really curious what your experience was.

I've been thinking about this today.

I was one of Jehovah's Witnesses for a very long time. And honestly... I don't remember ever asking myself why the Governing Body had authority. I just accepted that they did. It wasn't because I had researched it. It wasn't because I had examined the evidence.

I simply accepted it as fact.

Looking back now, that really surprises me. I questioned myself all the time. Was I doing enough? Was I studying enough? Was I praying enough?

But I don't remember ever asking... Why do these men have authority over my life? It honestly never crossed my mind. Now I'm wondering...

Was I the only one?

Did you ever question the Governing Body while you were still one of Jehovah's Witnesses? Or did those questions only come after you started waking up?

I'm really curious what your experience was.

I was thinking about this today.

For me, it was the first time I saw a witnessing cart after I left. I wasn't expecting the reaction I had.

For just a split second, it felt so familiar. Then I realized I wasn't walking toward it anymore. I was just another person walking by. It wasn't a big dramatic moment. In fact, the people at the cart probably never even noticed me.

But for some reason it stuck with me.

It also really made me wonder...

Has anyone else had one of those moments that probably wouldn't mean much to anyone else, but another former Witness would completely understand?

What was yours?

When my kids were growing up, I truly believed I was protecting them. I limited certain friendships, activities, entertainment, and even things like grooming because I thought that's what loving parents did.

The hard part is... many of those were the very things I had wanted as a child.

I knew what it felt like to be the kid who couldn't join in, couldn't celebrate, couldn't participate, or always had to be different. Yet because I sincerely believed it was God's will, I ended up giving my children many of those same limitations.

It wasn't until years later that I stopped and asked myself, Was I protecting my children... or was I protecting the beliefs I'd inherited?

That question changed the way I look at both my own childhood and the childhood I gave my children.

Sometimes I wonder how many of us repeated the only childhood we had ever known, simply because we believed it was the right one.

Has anyone else had that realization? If you had children, when did it hit you?

And if you didn't have children, did leaving change the way you look back on your own childhood?

Today my husband and I received a text from our group overseer asking if we'd be available for a shepherding call sometime in July.

My immediate reaction? I panicked. That surprised me. I know I don't have to meet with anyone. I know the elders don't have authority over my life anymore.

So why did I panic?

Maybe because after nearly 60 years as one of Jehovah's Witnesses, some reactions run deeper than what we know intellectually.

I'm curious...has anyone else experienced this? Has a text, a phone call, seeing an elder in public, or even hearing certain JW phrases brought back feelings you thought you'd moved past?

I was sexually abused by an elder for three years.

For most of my life, I thought what happened to me was my story. A terrible story, but my story.

I started learning about the CSA cases involving Jehovah's Witnesses around the world.

I learned about the Australian Royal Commission. I learned about court cases in the United States, Canada, the United Kingdom, New Zealand, and elsewhere. I listened to survivor after survivor tell stories that sounded painfully familiar. Different names. Different congregations. Different countries. Yet so many of the same patterns.

What struck me wasn't simply the number of cases. It was realizing that what happened to me wasn't unique.

Sometimes I worry that people forget. New organizational changes happen. New announcements are made. New controversies take center stage.

Meanwhile, survivors are still living with what happened.

Children who were abused have grown into adults carrying those experiences. Some lost their families. Some lost their faith. Some lost years of their lives trying to make sense of what happened to them.

And the issue is not just history. Legal cases, investigations, and survivor stories continue to emerge around the world.

This post about remembering.

Remembering the children behind the court documents.

Remembering the survivors behind the headlines.

Remembering that for many of us, these weren't stories we read about. They were our lives.

I survived it.

Many others did too.

I hope we never stop talking about it.

When I opened the JW Library app today, I was surprised to see a legal agreement saying users may not reproduce publications or videos on websites or social media.

That raised an honest question for me:

If this is ‘good news’ meant to be shared with all people, why place legal restrictions around sharing the material itself?

What do you think?