For anyone unfamiliar, the True Jesus Church is a very strict, high‑control Christian environment where conformity is expected and individuality is often discouraged.

-----

I used the names of biblical books as section titles because they were the language of my childhood, the framework through which I first learned to interpret the world. These titles aren’t meant as commentary on scripture itself, but as a way to reflect the emotional themes of chapters of my family’s story: departure, grief, action, reflection, and clarity. It felt right to tell this story in the vocabulary I was raised in, even as I look back on it with new understanding.

-----

There are moments in a family's history that only makes sense years later. As a child, you feel the impact but not the meaning. You witness the rupture, but you don’t yet understand the story underneath it. This post is about those moments for me.

-----

Exodus (departure)

I was still a child when my first sibling left the church. At the time, I didn’t understand what was happening. I didn’t know why they left, what it meant, or how much weight it placed on the rest of the family. I only saw the surface: the tears, the tension between my parents and my sibling, the confusion, and the conversations behind closed doors. In hindsight, I can see how profound those moments must have been for everyone involved.

For my sibling, it was probably the first time they stepped outside the script our family had lived in. We always had to pray and read the Bible. We always had to recite the ten basic beliefs before we got our pocket money. We always had to attend Saturday services.

For my parents, it must have felt like losing something they didn’t know how to name, the system didn’t give them a language to interpret this process. For the rest of us, it was a shift we didn’t have the vocabulary to understand because we were still so young.

-----

Lamentations (grief)

A few years later, another sibling left. Again, I didn’t know the reasons. I didn’t know what they had wrestled with, or what they had endured, or how long they had been carrying questions alone. I do remember that they struggled with suicidal ideation, which still makes me so sad for them.

There was one time a church member came to our house to check up on my sibling. They were in the living room while I was doing homework. After an hour, their chat finished and just as the church member was leaving, I asked them if my sibling was alright. They responded that my sibling didn't say anything and had only cried.

I only knew that something in our family changed each time someone stepped away.

-----

Acts (my own steps)

Many years later, it was my turn to leave the True Jesus Church. Despite what I had gone through with my family and my own personal life at that time, I didn't envisage leaving.

Now, as an adult, I can finally see the emotional landscape that was invisible to me then. I can see how isolating it must have been to be the first to leave. I can see how heavy it must have felt for my parents, who were trying to hold the family together while also holding their own beliefs.

-----

Ecclesiastes (reflection)

I find myself feeling something I never felt as a child: a quiet sorrow for what everyone in my family went through. For the ones who left and the ones who remain. We all had our own painful journeys.

I’m sad the church didn’t give my family a safe way to voice their doubts. I’m sad my siblings had to carry their questions and pain alone. I’m sad my parents were left without tools to understand what their children were experiencing. I’m sad the church environment made leaving feel like a rupture instead of a conversation. I'm sad at how the church treated us. Most of all, I’m sad that none of us had the language back then to talk about what was really happening.

-----

Revelations (clarity)

Looking back now, I realise that leaving isn’t just an individual act. It’s something that ripples through a family, especially in a community where faith and identity are so tightly packed together. Those ripples remain today, though not as sharply as before.

I didn’t understand any of this when I was young, but I see it now. Seeing it doesn’t change the past, but it does change the way I hold it.

For anyone unfamiliar, the True Jesus Church is a very strict, high‑control Christian environment where conformity is expected and individuality is often discouraged.

-----

I used the names of biblical books as section titles because they were the language of my childhood, the framework through which I first learned to interpret the world. These titles aren’t meant as commentary on scripture itself, but as a way to reflect the emotional themes of chapters of my family’s story: departure, grief, action, reflection, and clarity. It felt right to tell this story in the vocabulary I was raised in, even as I look back on it with new understanding.

-----

There are moments in a family's history that only makes sense years later. As a child, you feel the impact but not the meaning. You witness the rupture, but you don’t yet understand the story underneath it. This post is about those moments for me.

-----

Exodus (departure)

I was still a child when my first sibling left the church. At the time, I didn’t understand what was happening. I didn’t know why they left, what it meant, or how much weight it placed on the rest of the family. I only saw the surface: the tears, the tension between my parents and my sibling, the confusion, and the conversations behind closed doors. In hindsight, I can see how profound those moments must have been for everyone involved.

For my sibling, it was probably the first time they stepped outside the script our family had lived in. We always had to pray and read the Bible. We always had to recite the ten basic beliefs before we got our pocket money. We always had to attend Saturday services.

For my parents, it must have felt like losing something they didn’t know how to name, the system didn’t give them a language to interpret this process. For the rest of us, it was a shift we didn’t have the vocabulary to understand because we were still so young.

-----

Lamentations (grief)

A few years later, another sibling left. Again, I didn’t know the reasons. I didn’t know what they had wrestled with, or what they had endured, or how long they had been carrying questions alone. I do remember that they struggled with suicidal ideation, which still makes me so sad for them.

There was one time a church member came to our house to check up on my sibling. They were in the living room while I was doing homework. After an hour, their chat finished and just as the church member was leaving, I asked them if my sibling was alright. They responded that my sibling didn't say anything and had only cried.

I only knew that something in our family changed each time someone stepped away.

-----

Acts (my own steps)

Many years later, it was my turn to leave the True Jesus Church. Despite what I had gone through with my family and my own personal life at that time, I didn't envisage leaving.

Now, as an adult, I can finally see the emotional landscape that was invisible to me then. I can see how isolating it must have been to be the first to leave. I can see how heavy it must have felt for my parents, who were trying to hold the family together while also holding their own beliefs.

-----

Ecclesiastes (reflection)

I find myself feeling something I never felt as a child: a quiet sorrow for what everyone in my family went through. For the ones who left and the ones who remain. We all had our own painful journeys.

I’m sad the church didn’t give my family a safe way to voice their doubts. I’m sad my siblings had to carry their questions and pain alone. I’m sad my parents were left without tools to understand what their children were experiencing. I’m sad the church environment made leaving feel like a rupture instead of a conversation. I'm sad at how the church treated us. Most of all, I’m sad that none of us had the language back then to talk about what was really happening.

-----

Revelations (clarity)

Looking back now, I realise that leaving isn’t just an individual act. It’s something that ripples through a family, especially in a community where faith and identity are so tightly packed together. Those ripples remain today, though not as sharply as before.

I didn’t understand any of this when I was young, but I see it now. Seeing it doesn’t change the past, but it does change the way I hold it.

_____

Read my other posts about my True Jesus Church experiences

• Escaping the walls of the True Jesus Church
• Reflecting on cult‑like dynamics inside the True Jesus Church (TJC/真耶穌教會)
• The grief of watching my siblings stay in church (True Jesus Church/真耶穌教會)
• Reclaiming my identity after leaving the True Jesus Church

For anyone unfamiliar, the True Jesus Church is a very strict, high‑control Christian environment where conformity is expected and individuality is often discouraged.

-----

I used the names of biblical books as section titles because they were the language of my childhood, the framework through which I first learned to interpret the world. These titles aren’t meant as commentary on scripture itself, but as a way to reflect the emotional themes of chapters of my family’s story: departure, grief, action, reflection, and clarity. It felt right to tell this story in the vocabulary I was raised in, even as I look back on it with new understanding.

-----

There are moments in a family's history that only makes sense years later. As a child, you feel the impact but not the meaning. You witness the rupture, but you don’t yet understand the story underneath it. This post is about those moments for me.

-----

Exodus (departure)

I was still a child when my first sibling left the church. At the time, I didn’t understand what was happening. I didn’t know why they left, what it meant, or how much weight it placed on the rest of the family. I only saw the surface: the tears, the tension between my parents and my sibling, the confusion, and the conversations behind closed doors. In hindsight, I can see how profound those moments must have been for everyone involved.

For my sibling, it was probably the first time they stepped outside the script our family had lived in. We always had to pray and read the Bible. We always had to recite the ten basic beliefs before we got our pocket money. We always had to attend Saturday services.

For my parents, it must have felt like losing something they didn’t know how to name, the system didn’t give them a language to interpret this process. For the rest of us, it was a shift we didn’t have the vocabulary to understand because we were still so young.

-----

Lamentations (grief)

A few years later, another sibling left. Again, I didn’t know the reasons. I didn’t know what they had wrestled with, or what they had endured, or how long they had been carrying questions alone. I do remember that they struggled with suicidal ideation, which still makes me so sad for them.

There was one time a church member came to our house to check up on my sibling. They were in the living room while I was doing homework. After an hour, their chat finished and just as the church member was leaving, I asked them if my sibling was alright. They responded that my sibling didn't say anything and had only cried.

I only knew that something in our family changed each time someone stepped away.

-----

Acts (my own steps)

Many years later, it was my turn to leave the True Jesus Church. Despite what I had gone through with my family and my own personal life at that time, I didn't envisage leaving.

Now, as an adult, I can finally see the emotional landscape that was invisible to me then. I can see how isolating it must have been to be the first to leave. I can see how heavy it must have felt for my parents, who were trying to hold the family together while also holding their own beliefs.

-----

Ecclesiastes (reflection)

I find myself feeling something I never felt as a child: a quiet sorrow for what everyone in my family went through. For the ones who left and the ones who remain. We all had our own painful journeys.

I’m sad the church didn’t give my family a safe way to voice their doubts. I’m sad my siblings had to carry their questions and pain alone. I’m sad my parents were left without tools to understand what their children were experiencing. I’m sad the church environment made leaving feel like a rupture instead of a conversation. I'm sad at how the church treated us. Most of all, I’m sad that none of us had the language back then to talk about what was really happening.

-----

Revelations (clarity)

Looking back now, I realise that leaving isn’t just an individual act. It’s something that ripples through a family, especially in a community where faith and identity are so tightly packed together. Those ripples remain today, though not as sharply as before.

I didn’t understand any of this when I was young, but I see it now. Seeing it doesn’t change the past, but it does change the way I hold it.

_____

Read my other posts about my True Jesus Church experiences

• Escaping the walls of the True Jesus Church
• Reflecting on cult‑like dynamics inside the True Jesus Church (TJC/真耶穌教會)
• The grief of watching my siblings stay in church (True Jesus Church/真耶穌教會)
• Reclaiming my identity after leaving the True Jesus Church

I used the names of biblical books as section titles because they were the language of my childhood, the framework through which I first learned to interpret the world. These titles aren’t meant as commentary on scripture itself, but as a way to reflect the emotional themes of chapters of my family’s story: departure, grief, action, reflection, and clarity. It felt right to tell this story in the vocabulary I was raised in, even as I look back on it with new understanding.

-----

There are moments in a family's history that only makes sense years later. As a child, you feel the impact but not the meaning. You witness the rupture, but you don’t yet understand the story underneath it. This post is about those moments for me.

-----

Exodus (departure)

I was still a child when my first sibling left the church. At the time, I didn’t understand what was happening. I didn’t know why they left, what it meant, or how much weight it placed on the rest of the family. I only saw the surface: the tears, the tension between my parents and my sibling, the confusion, and the conversations behind closed doors. In hindsight, I can see how profound those moments must have been for everyone involved.

For my sibling, it was probably the first time they stepped outside the script our family had lived in. We always had to pray and read the Bible. We always had to recite the ten basic beliefs before we got our pocket money. We always had to attend Saturday services.

For my parents, it must have felt like losing something they didn’t know how to name, the system didn’t give them a language to interpret this process. For the rest of us, it was a shift we didn’t have the vocabulary to understand because we were still so young.

-----

Lamentations (grief)

A few years later, another sibling left. Again, I didn’t know the reasons. I didn’t know what they had wrestled with, or what they had endured, or how long they had been carrying questions alone. I do remember that they struggled with suicidal ideation, which still makes me so sad for them.

There was one time a church member came to our house to check up on my sibling. They were in the living room while I was doing homework. After an hour, their chat finished and just as the church member was leaving, I asked them if my sibling was alright. They responded that my sibling didn't say anything and had only cried.

I only knew that something in our family changed each time someone stepped away.

-----

Acts (my own steps)

Many years later, it was my turn to leave the True Jesus Church. Despite what I had gone through with my family and my own personal life at that time, I didn't envisage leaving.

Now, as an adult, I can finally see the emotional landscape that was invisible to me then. I can see how isolating it must have been to be the first to leave. I can see how heavy it must have felt for my parents, who were trying to hold the family together while also holding their own beliefs.

-----

Ecclesiastes (reflection)

I find myself feeling something I never felt as a child: a quiet sorrow for what everyone in my family went through. For the ones who left and the ones who remain. We all had our own painful journeys.

I’m sad the church didn’t give my family a safe way to voice their doubts. I’m sad my siblings had to carry their questions and pain alone. I’m sad my parents were left without tools to understand what their children were experiencing. I’m sad the church environment made leaving feel like a rupture instead of a conversation. I'm sad at how the church treated us. Most of all, I’m sad that none of us had the language back then to talk about what was really happening.

-----

Revelations (clarity)

Looking back now, I realise that leaving isn’t just an individual act. It’s something that ripples through a family, especially in a community where faith and identity are so tightly packed together. Those ripples remain today, though not as sharply as before.

I didn’t understand any of this when I was young, but I see it now. Seeing it doesn’t change the past, but it does change the way I hold it.

TLDR: I grew up in the True Jesus Church (TJC/真耶稣教會), a high‑control “one true church” environment built on fear, exclusivity, and constant spiritual pressure. The church shaped my home life, my friendships, my sense of self, and even how I understood normal emotions. I was encouraged to preach to friends and probably lost many because of it. Inside the church, there was a strong us against them mentality, a spiritual hierarchy, and no real space for mental health. After leaving, the emotional fallout was real. I’m still unlearning the fear and rebuilding my identity.

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My background

Previously, I shared my story about leaving TJC. That post focused mostly on the emotional side like the fear, guilt, and internal pressure that shaped my life. Since then, I’ve been thinking more about why the environment felt so heavy and why it took years to even begin untangling the emotional knots it created. When I look at it now through the lens of high‑control religious dynamics, a lot of the emotional culture I described starts to make sense in a way it never did when I was living inside it.

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Exclusivity

One of the biggest forces shaping everything was exclusivity. I mean, just look at the name of the church. TJC teaches that **only** its members are saved, and growing up, that wasn’t presented as a theological nuance. It was presented as absolute fact. When you’re raised with that kind of certainty, it becomes the foundation of your entire worldview. It shaped how I saw myself and other people, as well as how I understood the world. It made questioning feel dangerous and leaving the church feel unthinkable.

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Isolation

Church never said that we can’t have friends outside but the culture made it clear that dating non-members was highly discouraged, close friendships with non‑members were spiritually risky, and the church community was your *real family*.

One thing I’ve been thinking about a lot is how we were encouraged to preach to our friends. It was framed as our responsibility and almost a moral obligation to “save” the people around us. I remember feeling embarrassed every time I tried to bring up church or salvation with classmates, but I pushed myself to do it because I thought it was my duty. Looking back, I’m sure I lost lots of friendships because of it. I didn’t understand at the time how strange or intrusive it must have felt to people who weren’t religious. I was just a kid trying to do what I’d been taught was the right thing, not realizing how much the church was shaping my social world and isolating me even further.

Underneath all of this was a strong us against them mentality. The outside world was spiritually dangerous, morally inferior, and constantly framed as a threat to your salvation. For me, that mindset made it almost impossible to form normal friendships with people outside the church, because you were taught to see them through a lens of suspicion or pity rather than genuine connection. It created a worldview where everyone who wasn’t “one of us” was automatically othered.

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Fear seeping into my home life

I’ve also been reflecting on how deeply the church’s emotional culture shaped the way I was raised. The fear I felt growing up didn’t just come from sermons but also from the atmosphere inside my home (which was heavily influenced by the church’s teachings). The theology didn’t stay on the pulpit but also permeated into how the primary caregivers in my life understood love, discipline, as well as authority.

In TJC, everything is framed in terms of spiritual danger. Missing Sabbath (on Saturday in TJC), questioning doctrine, or even showing signs of “worldliness” were treated as threats to your salvation. The adults around me absorbed that worldview completely. They genuinely believed they were protecting me and my siblings' souls but home became a.... home where fear became the main tool for keeping us “on the right path.”

Obedience wasn’t just about respecting your parents, it was tied to your eternal fate. Doubt wasn’t just a normal part of growing up and it was hugely perceived by church that it was a sign that Satan was "deceiving you".

That kind of pressure shaped the way discipline was handled. Physical punishment on me was part of it, and looking back, I can see how much of that came from the fear the adults carried. Fear that if they didn’t control us tightly enough, we’d drift away and be lost forever to the world. It’s unsettling to realize that the harshness in our home wasn’t really about us as children. It was about the weight of being responsible for someone else’s salvation. It was about the anxiety that if you didn’t enforce the rules hard enough, God would hold you accountable.

There was also a clear spiritual hierarchy inside the church. Certain members and especially those with dramatic testimonies or leadership roles were treated as more “spiritually mature.” Their opinions carried more weight and their authority was assumed to be divinely backed. From young, you learn quickly who you’re supposed to admire (deemed the holiest) and who you’re never supposed to challenge. It created a social structure where power flowed in one direction, and questioning it felt like questioning God Himself.

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What faith looked like in TJC

Salvation anxiety was woven into everyday life. When obedience is tied to eternal consequences, it stops being a choice. It becomes fear‑based compliance, even if no one intends it that way.

TJC also places huge emphasis on miracles, healings, visions, and dramatic spiritual experiences. As a kid, I thought this was inspiring but I now see how it created a narrow script for what “real faith” was supposed to look like. If you didn’t have those experiences, you felt like you were bad in some way. If you doubted them, you felt guilty. It shaped how you were supposed to feel, not just what you were supposed to believe. It taught you to distrust your own emotions unless they matched the approved narrative.

When it came to mental health, there was no real language for it. Anxiety, sadness, or emotional struggles were spiritualized and treated as signs of weak faith, lack of prayer, or the world having a chokehold on you. Therapy wasn’t encouraged and prayer was the only acceptable coping mechanism. Looking back, I can see how much harm that caused, because it meant you couldn’t name your pain without feeling like you were confessing a spiritual failure.

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Leaving and unlearning

Leaving was painful. Friendships faded, family relationships shifted (initially with lots of anger and tears from my close ones who are still in church), and I was quietly viewed as spiritually lost/deceived. The guilt lingered long after I walked out the door.

My original post focused on how the environment felt. This one is more about the structure behind those feelings. The fear, guilt, and pressure I described weren’t random. They were the natural outcome of exclusivity, social isolation, doctrinal absolutism, emotional pressure, and hierarchical authority. These shaped not just the church environment, but my home life as well.

I’m still unlearning the fear and still rebuilding my identity, trying to separate my own thoughts from the conditioning I grew up with. Naming these cult-like dynamics really helps. It gives shape to things I used to only feel, understand that the fear wasn’t my fault, the guilt wasn’t my fault, and the pressure wasn’t something I created. They were things I inherited from a system that shaped every part of my world.

If anyone else grew up in a “one true church” environment, I think you’ll recognize a lot of this. TJC was an incredibly controlling place to be in and I'm so glad to be out of it.

_____

Read my other posts about my True Jesus Church experiences

• Escaping the walls of the True Jesus Church
• The grief of watching my siblings stay in church (True Jesus Church/真耶穌教會)
• Reclaiming my identity after leaving the True Jesus Church
• What leaving the True Jesus Church looked like through a child’s eyes

**TLDR**: I grew up in the True Jesus Church, a high‑control Christian environment that shaped my life through fear, surveillance, judgment, and emotional suppression. I internalized the belief that everything was my fault because the church lacks introspection. Leaving the church cost me so much: relationships, identity, and years of development, but it also gave me clarity. I’m grieving the time I lost but finally learning who I am outside of fear, control, and spiritual pressure.

-----

Background

I was born into and grew up in the True Jesus Church (TJC/真耶穌教會/Zhen Yesu Jiaohui) in the West. I left many years ago, but the hurt and damage remain. The church’s origins lie in China in 1917, and its culture reflects a blend of traditional Chinese values and Christianity. Most members were of Chinese heritage, and that cultural mix shaped a lot of things about the environment.

I have other siblings, and several of them left the church, too. With me, the pressure became intense. Looking back, I can see how my parent was being judged by other members as one child after another walked away. They grew increasingly distressed and guilt‑tripped me with warnings about hell and spiritual danger, insisting I return. Because I’m not fluent in my heritage language, it was incredibly difficult to explain what I was feeling to my parent. Even if I had been able to express myself perfectly, I don’t think it would have mattered. They were so deeply shaped and blinded by the church’s teachings that anything outside that framework simply couldn’t be understood.

One of the things that breaks my heart now is how much they suffered under that judgment. I remember seeing them sitting alone in the chapel, looking down at the ground, looking sad in a way I didn’t have words for as a child. I would ask if they were okay, but they wouldn’t respond. I remember a preacher criticizing them to me for “not praying enough”, implying that their supposed lack of devotion was the reason their children were leaving. It was cruel and completely ignored the reality that they were doing their best in a system that offered no support and no understanding.

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I thought there was something wrong with me

When I was a child at church, I was physically hurt by boys there for years. It was ongoing and visible. I can remember them laughing and pointing at me as I walked past them, and I still to this day have no idea why a group of 5–6 teenage boys continually targeted me. Adults saw it and nobody intervened, not even my own family. Nobody has ever apologized. I remember crying in my prayers asking why I was being mocked and God of course didn’t respond. There was no safeguarding nor accountability, with no sense that children’s well‑being mattered. It taught me early on that the church cared more about maintaining order and appearances than about the safety of the people inside it.

Another horrible moment I recall is a youth group meeting where we had to write “good points” and supposedly bad points about ourselves, and others added their own. Almost every negative comment about me focused on how shy, quiet, or withdrawn I was. Nobody asked why. Instead of wondering what the church could do to support young people, they treated my silence as a flaw to be corrected.

For a long time, I genuinely believed I was somehow defective and spiritually lacking. I didn’t understand that I was reacting normally to an environment that didn’t feel safe. I internalized the idea that my problems were personal failures rather than signs of an unhealthy church environment.

-----

Lack of introspection

Just as we were constantly told from the pulpit to “examine ourselves,” the church itself never examined its own teachings, culture, or impact. It never asked whether its practices were actually helping people or harming them.

I've worked in companies where we had retrospectives i.e. what went well, what didn't, and any improvements to make for the future. This type of thing always helps to know what we can do better next time to lessen risks etc. In church, even though it's not a company, it looked to me there wasn't any of this kind of reflection.

There was a deep double standard: members were expected to scrutinize every thought and action for “filth” while the institution itself was beyond question. Leadership acted as though the church was already perfect by default , “the holy bride of Christ.” There’s even a song a member wrote simply called “True Jesus Church” that celebrates the institution itself. It’s beautifully composed, but it also reflects how the church sees its own identity as something sacred and unchangeable.

I doubt TJC would ever allow an outside consultant to review its practices, assess its culture, or suggest improvements. Anything like that would immediately be dismissed as secular influence or a threat. That refusal to self‑reflect keeps the church stagnant.

-----

High‑control surveillance

The church encourages policing each other. At youth programs, we are told that if we saw someone “breaking rules,” we had to report them, even if it was our friend. Even years later, if someone “spoke heresies,” we were expected to report that too. Loyalty to the institution mattered more than loyalty to people.

There were even situations outside of church where older teens would quietly monitor us without saying anything. I remember hanging out with other teens outside of church and only realizing much later that older members were sitting at a distance, watching us the whole time. They didn’t join us or let us know they were there, merely observing. I only noticed them when I turned around. It was unsettling and made it clear that even outside formal church settings, we were being judged.

One other time, my sibling went to a school party, and I remember a pastor and some older teens driving us to where the party was with the intention of spying on them to see what they would get up to. Young me was told it was “out of concern”, but many years later I realized it was surveillance. And downright creepy AF.

-----

Cultural insecurity

There were moments that revealed the church’s deeper insecurity. I remember a Taiwanese member expressing disappointment that no white members were present at a fellowship. It wasn’t malicious on their part but more of an anxious hope that the church would finally “break through” in my country. However, it showed how disconnected the church was from the actual religious landscape here.

The church insisted on keeping the Chinese characters on the name plate outside. Leadership treated it as non‑negotiable, as if removing them would betray the church’s identity but it didn’t help. Non‑members called us “the Chinese church,” and there was an unspoken assumption from outsiders that only Chinese people were welcome. Leadership never considered that the characters were a barrier. Even the English name was an obstacle (and a huge red flag), because it implied all other churches were false as well as being grammatically incorrect.

The church wants to grow in my country, but it never questioned how its own presentation and messaging pushed people away. Most people here aren’t looking to join a rigid and insular church with long sermons and an emotionally flat environment. Instead of asking why the environment wasn’t connecting with people, it doubled down on things like youth training courses and fellowships.

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Cognitive dissonance

There was a constant gap between what the church said and what it did. The “one true church” rhetoric certainly didn’t match the politics, the gossip, and the fear. These contradictions slowly eroded my trust and made me question whether the “True” Jesus Church lived up to its name and its supposed loving nature.

I remember a moment when a sister speaking on the pulpit broke down in tears because members were gossiping about her child getting married in a Prayer House instead of the main church. People assumed the couple had done *something "bad" together*, and the shame and judgment pushed her to the point of crying publicly. I felt so awful for her and just wanted to give her a hug. It was another example of how the church’s behavior contradicted its teachings about compassion and love.

So much of the theology I grew up with was fear‑based like the fear of hell, fear of disappointing God, fear of spiritual attack etc. Fear was absolutely woven into everything, from RE classes to even a casual conversation at times. It kept people compliant and scared.

-----

Judgment cast onto those who leave

I was considered a “heathen” for leaving. Anyone who left was labeled weak in faith, misled, or someone who had done something really, really bad. Their departure was moralized, treated as a personal failure rather than a sign that something in the environment might be unhealthy. There was no attempt to understand their reasons. It was always framed as their fault.

Leaving wasn’t just seen as a physical act, it was being cast as spiritually defective. I remember a youth fellowship where the leader (a pastor) openly blamed those who left. He spoke as if their departure proved their lack of sincerity or devotion. That was so many years ago, yet even now I remember how strange and unsettling it sounded. Instead of compassion or curiosity, there was only condemnation. It reinforced the message that the church could never be at fault but only the individual could.

If you ever leave, expect to be harassed with messages from "concerned" members. I was harassed by a couple of pastors who bombarded me with Bible verses. That was not fun at all, especially when I no longer held a belief in God or the Bible.

-----

Frozen development

Growing up in that environment froze parts of my development. When you’re taught to suppress your thoughts and individuality, you don’t get the chance to grow into yourself.

Members only ever knew small parts of me, and some even infantilized me, treating me like a child long after I wasn’t one. It was embarrassing, and nobody wanted to get to know me beyond the surface, even though I tried to be friendly where I could.

Leaving the church felt like starting life from scratch: learning how to think, feel, and exist without fear. It remains a painful process, but one where I am discovering more about myself.

-----

Burnout and over‑responsibility

There was endless pressure to serve e.g. to attend every service and fellowship, volunteer for sermonising, be available for leading hymnal sessions. Saying no was guilt‑inducing.

I was put into the RE system from young, and after years of being taught this and that, I was expected to eventually become an RE teacher. It didn’t matter if I didn’t feel comfortable doing it. I still had to do it. If you refused, you were viewed with suspicion and interrogated about whether you had done *something wrong*. They doubled down with lines about “repaying God’s grace” or “serving with gratitude,” as if guilt could be disguised as devotion. I feel bad for teaching my class what was taught to me, and I hope they can escape the system themselves.

Due to a small church membership, I was also expected to be a choir conductor, which was an excruciating experience. Again, I couldn’t say no, and I was guilted by an older member until I gave in.

-----

Trauma responses

Looking back, so much of what I thought was spiritual struggle was actually trauma:

• hypervigilance

• fear of punishment

• shame (a lot of it)

• emotional suppression

• spiritual gaslighting

My body was reacting to an environment that wasn’t safe. I’m now in therapy for religious trauma and CPTSD, where I’m in a safe place to share my experiences with a highly trained therapist.

-----

Present day

I realized the world isn’t as bad as the church described. Of course, there are extremely awful folks out there, but I’ve met kind and ethical people who had never set foot in or even heard of TJC. I discovered more humanity outside its walls than I ever did inside.

Sometimes I grieve the years I lost in my youth and the freedom I didn’t know was possible. However, leaving gave me my life back, but it also made me realize how much of it had been taken from me. I’m still on a healing journey, but at least now the life I’m living finally feels like mine.

TLDR: I grew up in the True Jesus Church, a high‑control Christian environment that shaped my life through fear, surveillance, judgment, and emotional suppression. I internalized the belief that everything was my fault because the church lacks introspection. Leaving the church cost me so much: relationships, identity, and years of development, but it also gave me clarity. I’m grieving the time I lost but finally learning who I am outside of fear, control, and spiritual pressure.

-----

Background

I was born into and grew up in the True Jesus Church (TJC/真耶穌教會/Zhen Yesu Jiaohui) in the West. I left many years ago, but the hurt and damage remain. The church’s origins lie in China in 1917, and its culture reflects a blend of traditional Chinese values and Christianity. Most members were of Chinese heritage, and that cultural mix shaped a lot of things about the environment.

I have other siblings, and several of them left the church, too. With me, the pressure became intense. Looking back, I can see how my parent was being judged by other members as one child after another walked away. They grew increasingly distressed and guilt‑tripped me with warnings about hell and spiritual danger, insisting I return. Because I’m not fluent in my heritage language, it was incredibly difficult to explain what I was feeling to my parent. Even if I had been able to express myself perfectly, I don’t think it would have mattered. They were so deeply shaped and blinded by the church’s teachings that anything outside that framework simply couldn’t be understood.

One of the things that breaks my heart now is how much they suffered under that judgment. I remember seeing them sitting alone in the chapel, looking down at the ground, looking sad in a way I didn’t have words for as a child. I would ask if they were okay, but they wouldn’t respond. I remember a preacher criticizing them to me for “not praying enough”, implying that their supposed lack of devotion was the reason their children were leaving. It was cruel and completely ignored the reality that they were doing their best in a system that offered no support and no understanding.

-----

I thought there was something wrong with me

When I was a child at church, I was physically hurt by boys there for years. It was ongoing and visible. I can remember them laughing and pointing at me as I walked past them, and I still to this day have no idea why a group of 5–6 teenage boys continually targeted me. Adults saw it and nobody intervened, not even my own family. Nobody has ever apologized. I remember crying in my prayers asking why I was being mocked and God of course didn’t respond. There was no safeguarding nor accountability, with no sense that children’s well‑being mattered. It taught me early on that the church cared more about maintaining order and appearances than about the safety of the people inside it.

Another horrible moment I recall is a youth group meeting where we had to write “good points” and supposedly bad points about ourselves, and others added their own. Almost every negative comment about me focused on how shy, quiet, or withdrawn I was. Nobody asked why. Instead of wondering what the church could do to support young people, they treated my silence as a flaw to be corrected.

For a long time, I genuinely believed I was somehow defective and spiritually lacking. I didn’t understand that I was reacting normally to an environment that didn’t feel safe. I internalized the idea that my problems were personal failures rather than signs of an unhealthy church environment.

-----

Lack of introspection

Just as we were constantly told from the pulpit to “examine ourselves,” the church itself never examined its own teachings, culture, or impact. It never asked whether its practices were actually helping people or harming them.

I've worked in companies where we had retrospectives i.e. what went well, what didn't, and any improvements to make for the future. This type of thing always helps to know what we can do better next time to lessen risks etc. In church, even though it's not a company, it looked to me there wasn't any of this kind of reflection.

There was a deep double standard: members were expected to scrutinize every thought and action for “filth” while the institution itself was beyond question. Leadership acted as though the church was already perfect by default , “the holy bride of Christ.” There’s even a song a member wrote simply called “True Jesus Church” that celebrates the institution itself. It’s beautifully composed, but it also reflects how the church sees its own identity as something sacred and unchangeable.

I doubt TJC would ever allow an outside consultant to review its practices, assess its culture, or suggest improvements. Anything like that would immediately be dismissed as secular influence or a threat. That refusal to self‑reflect keeps the church stagnant.

-----

High‑control surveillance

The church encourages policing each other. At youth programs, we are told that if we saw someone “breaking rules,” we had to report them, even if it was our friend. Even years later, if someone “spoke heresies,” we were expected to report that too. Loyalty to the institution mattered more than loyalty to people.

There were even situations outside of church where older teens would quietly monitor us without saying anything. I remember hanging out with other teens outside of church and only realizing much later that older members were sitting at a distance, watching us the whole time. They didn’t join us or let us know they were there, merely observing. I only noticed them when I turned around. It was unsettling and made it clear that even outside formal church settings, we were being judged.

One other time, my sibling went to a school party, and I remember a pastor and some older teens driving us to where the party was with the intention of spying on them to see what they would get up to. Young me was told it was “out of concern”, but many years later I realized it was surveillance. And downright creepy AF.

-----

Cultural insecurity

There were moments that revealed the church’s deeper insecurity. I remember a Taiwanese member expressing disappointment that no white members were present at a fellowship. It wasn’t malicious on their part but more of an anxious hope that the church would finally “break through” in my country. However, it showed how disconnected the church was from the actual religious landscape here.

The church insisted on keeping the Chinese characters on the name plate outside. Leadership treated it as non‑negotiable, as if removing them would betray the church’s identity but it didn’t help. Non‑members called us “the Chinese church,” and there was an unspoken assumption from outsiders that only Chinese people were welcome. Leadership never considered that the characters were a barrier. Even the English name was an obstacle (and a huge red flag), because it implied all other churches were false as well as being grammatically incorrect.

The church wants to grow in my country, but it never questioned how its own presentation and messaging pushed people away. Most people here aren’t looking to join a rigid and insular church with long sermons and an emotionally flat environment. Instead of asking why the environment wasn’t connecting with people, it doubled down on things like youth training courses and fellowships.

-----

Cognitive dissonance

There was a constant gap between what the church said and what it did. The “one true church” rhetoric certainly didn’t match the politics, the gossip, and the fear. These contradictions slowly eroded my trust and made me question whether the “True” Jesus Church lived up to its name and its supposed loving nature.

I remember a moment when a sister speaking on the pulpit broke down in tears because members were gossiping about her child getting married in a Prayer House instead of the main church. People assumed the couple had done *something "bad" together*, and the shame and judgment pushed her to the point of crying publicly. I felt so awful for her and just wanted to give her a hug. It was another example of how the church’s behavior contradicted its teachings about compassion and love.

So much of the theology I grew up with was fear‑based like the fear of hell, fear of disappointing God, fear of spiritual attack etc. Fear was absolutely woven into everything, from RE classes to even a casual conversation at times. It kept people compliant and scared.

-----

Judgment cast onto those who leave

I was considered a “heathen” for leaving. Anyone who left was labeled weak in faith, misled, or someone who had done something really, really bad. Their departure was moralized, treated as a personal failure rather than a sign that something in the environment might be unhealthy. There was no attempt to understand their reasons. It was always framed as their fault.

Leaving wasn’t just seen as a physical act, it was being cast as spiritually defective. I remember a youth fellowship where the leader (a pastor) openly blamed those who left. He spoke as if their departure proved their lack of sincerity or devotion. That was so many years ago, yet even now I remember how strange and unsettling it sounded. Instead of compassion or curiosity, there was only condemnation. It reinforced the message that the church could never be at fault but only the individual could.

If you ever leave, expect to be harassed with messages from "concerned" members. I was harassed by a couple of pastors who bombarded me with Bible verses. That was not fun at all, especially when I no longer held a belief in God or the Bible.

-----

Frozen development

Growing up in that environment froze parts of my development. When you’re taught to suppress your thoughts and individuality, you don’t get the chance to grow into yourself.

Members only ever knew small parts of me, and some even infantilized me, treating me like a child long after I wasn’t one. It was embarrassing, and nobody wanted to get to know me beyond the surface, even though I tried to be friendly where I could.

Leaving the church felt like starting life from scratch: learning how to think, feel, and exist without fear. It remains a painful process, but one where I am discovering more about myself.

-----

Burnout and over‑responsibility

There was endless pressure to serve e.g. to attend every service and fellowship, volunteer for sermonising, be available for leading hymnal sessions. Saying no was guilt‑inducing.

I was put into the RE system from young, and after years of being taught this and that, I was expected to eventually become an RE teacher. It didn’t matter if I didn’t feel comfortable doing it. I still had to do it. If you refused, you were viewed with suspicion and interrogated about whether you had done *something wrong*. They doubled down with lines about “repaying God’s grace” or “serving with gratitude,” as if guilt could be disguised as devotion. I feel bad for teaching my class what was taught to me, and I hope they can escape the system themselves.

Due to a small church membership, I was also expected to be a choir conductor, which was an excruciating experience. Again, I couldn’t say no, and I was guilted by an older member until I gave in.

-----

Trauma responses

Looking back, so much of what I thought was spiritual struggle was actually trauma:

• hypervigilance

• fear of punishment

• shame (a lot of it)

• emotional suppression

• spiritual gaslighting

My body was reacting to an environment that wasn’t safe. I’m now in therapy for religious trauma and CPTSD, where I’m in a safe place to share my experiences with a highly trained therapist.

-----

Present day

I realized the world isn’t as bad as the church described. Of course, there are extremely awful folks out there, but I’ve met kind and ethical people who had never set foot in or even heard of TJC. I discovered more humanity outside its walls than I ever did inside.

Sometimes I grieve the years I lost in my youth and the freedom I didn’t know was possible. However, leaving gave me my life back, but it also made me realize how much of it had been taken from me. I’m still on a healing journey, but at least now the life I’m living finally feels like mine.

TLDR: I grew up in the True Jesus Church, a high‑control Christian environment that shaped my life through fear, surveillance, judgment, and emotional suppression. I internalized the belief that everything was my fault because the church lacks introspection. Leaving the church cost me so much: relationships, identity, and years of development, but it also gave me clarity. I’m grieving the time I lost but finally learning who I am outside of fear, control, and spiritual pressure.

---

Background

I was born into and grew up in the True Jesus Church (TJC/真耶穌教會/Zhen Yesu Jiaohui) in the West. I left many years ago, but the hurt and damage remain. The church’s origins lie in China in 1917, and its culture reflects a blend of traditional Chinese values and Christianity. Most members were of Chinese heritage, and that cultural mix shaped a lot of things about the environment.

I have other siblings, and several of them left the church, too. With me, the pressure became intense. Looking back, I can see how my parent was being judged by other members as one child after another walked away. They grew increasingly distressed and guilt‑tripped me with warnings about hell and spiritual danger, insisting I return. Because I’m not fluent in my heritage language, it was incredibly difficult to explain what I was feeling to my parent. Even if I had been able to express myself perfectly, I don’t think it would have mattered. They were so deeply shaped and blinded by the church’s teachings that anything outside that framework simply couldn’t be understood.

One of the things that breaks my heart now is how much they suffered under that judgment. I remember seeing them sitting alone in the chapel, looking down at the ground, looking sad in a way I didn’t have words for as a child. I would ask if they were okay, but they wouldn’t respond. I remember a preacher criticizing them to me for “not praying enough”, implying that their supposed lack of devotion was the reason their children were leaving. It was cruel and completely ignored the reality that they were doing their best in a system that offered no support and no understanding.

---

I thought there was something wrong with me

When I was a child at church, I was physically hurt by boys there for years. It was ongoing and visible. I can remember them laughing and pointing at me as I walked past them, and I still to this day have no idea why a group of 5–6 teenage boys continually targeted me. Adults saw it and nobody intervened, not even my own family. Nobody has ever apologized. I remember crying in my prayers asking why I was being mocked and God of course didn’t respond. There was no safeguarding nor accountability, with no sense that children’s well‑being mattered. It taught me early on that the church cared more about maintaining order and appearances than about the safety of the people inside it.

Another horrible moment I recall is a youth group meeting where we had to write “good points” and supposedly bad points about ourselves, and others added their own. Almost every negative comment about me focused on how shy, quiet, or withdrawn I was. Nobody asked why. Instead of wondering what the church could do to support young people, they treated my silence as a flaw to be corrected.

For a long time, I genuinely believed I was somehow defective and spiritually lacking. I didn’t understand that I was reacting normally to an environment that didn’t feel safe. I internalized the idea that my problems were personal failures rather than signs of an unhealthy church environment.

---

Lack of introspection

Just as we were constantly told from the pulpit to “examine ourselves,” the church itself never examined its own teachings, culture, or impact. It never asked whether its practices were actually helping people or harming them.

I've worked in companies where we had retrospectives i.e. what went well, what didn't, and any improvements to make for the future. This type of thing always helps to know what we can do better next time to lessen risks etc. In church, even though it's not a company, it looked to me there wasn't any of this kind of reflection.

There was a deep double standard: members were expected to scrutinize every thought and action for “filth” while the institution itself was beyond question. Leadership acted as though the church was already perfect by default , “the holy bride of Christ.” There’s even a song a member wrote simply called “True Jesus Church” that celebrates the institution itself. It’s beautifully composed, but it also reflects how the church sees its own identity as something sacred and unchangeable.

I doubt TJC would ever allow an outside consultant to review its practices, assess its culture, or suggest improvements. Anything like that would immediately be dismissed as secular influence or a threat. That refusal to self‑reflect keeps the church stagnant.

---

High‑control surveillance

The church encourages policing each other. At youth programs, we are told that if we saw someone “breaking rules,” we had to report them, even if it was our friend. Even years later, if someone “spoke heresies,” we were expected to report that too. Loyalty to the institution mattered more than loyalty to people.

There were even situations outside of church where older teens would quietly monitor us without saying anything. I remember hanging out with other teens outside of church and only realizing much later that older members were sitting at a distance, watching us the whole time. They didn’t join us or let us know they were there, merely observing. I only noticed them when I turned around. It was unsettling and made it clear that even outside formal church settings, we were being judged.

One other time, my sibling went to a school party, and I remember a pastor and some older teens driving us to where the party was with the intention of spying on them to see what they would get up to. Young me was told it was “out of concern”, but many years later I realized it was surveillance. And downright creepy AF.

---

Cultural insecurity

There were moments that revealed the church’s deeper insecurity. I remember a Taiwanese member expressing disappointment that no white members were present at a fellowship. It wasn’t malicious on their part but more of an anxious hope that the church would finally “break through” in my country. However, it showed how disconnected the church was from the actual religious landscape here.

The church insisted on keeping the Chinese characters on the name plate outside. Leadership treated it as non‑negotiable, as if removing them would betray the church’s identity but it didn’t help. Non‑members called us “the Chinese church,” and there was an unspoken assumption from outsiders that only Chinese people were welcome. Leadership never considered that the characters were a barrier. Even the English name was an obstacle (and a huge red flag), because it implied all other churches were false as well as being grammatically incorrect.

The church wants to grow in my country, but it never questioned how its own presentation and messaging pushed people away. Most people here aren’t looking to join a rigid and insular church with long sermons and an emotionally flat environment. Instead of asking why the environment wasn’t connecting with people, it doubled down on things like youth training courses and fellowships.

---

Cognitive dissonance

There was a constant gap between what the church said and what it did. The “one true church” rhetoric certainly didn’t match the politics, the gossip, and the fear. These contradictions slowly eroded my trust and made me question whether the “True” Jesus Church lived up to its name and its supposed loving nature.

I remember a moment when a sister speaking on the pulpit broke down in tears because members were gossiping about her child getting married in a Prayer House instead of the main church. People assumed the couple had done \*something "bad" together\*, and the shame and judgment pushed her to the point of crying publicly. I felt so awful for her and just wanted to give her a hug. It was another example of how the church’s behavior contradicted its teachings about compassion and love.

So much of the theology I grew up with was fear‑based like the fear of hell, fear of disappointing God, fear of spiritual attack etc. Fear was absolutely woven into everything, from RE classes to even a casual conversation at times. It kept people compliant and scared.

---

Judgment cast onto those who leave

I was considered a “heathen” for leaving. Anyone who left was labeled weak in faith, misled, or someone who had done something really, really bad. Their departure was moralized, treated as a personal failure rather than a sign that something in the environment might be unhealthy. There was no attempt to understand their reasons. It was always framed as their fault.

Leaving wasn’t just seen as a physical act, it was being cast as spiritually defective. I remember a youth fellowship where the leader (a pastor) openly blamed those who left. He spoke as if their departure proved their lack of sincerity or devotion. That was so many years ago, yet even now I remember how strange and unsettling it sounded. Instead of compassion or curiosity, there was only condemnation. It reinforced the message that the church could never be at fault but only the individual could.

If you ever leave, expect to be harassed with messages from "concerned" members. I was harassed by a couple of pastors who bombarded me with Bible verses. That was not fun at all, especially when I no longer held a belief in God or the Bible.

---

Frozen development

Growing up in that environment froze parts of my development. When you’re taught to suppress your thoughts and individuality, you don’t get the chance to grow into yourself.

Members only ever knew small parts of me, and some even infantilized me, treating me like a child long after I wasn’t one. It was embarrassing, and nobody wanted to get to know me beyond the surface, even though I tried to be friendly where I could.

Leaving the church felt like starting life from scratch: learning how to think, feel, and exist without fear. It remains a painful process, but one where I am discovering more about myself.

---

Burnout and over‑responsibility

There was endless pressure to serve e.g. to attend every service and fellowship, volunteer for sermonising, be available for leading hymnal sessions. Saying no was guilt‑inducing.

I was put into the RE system from young, and after years of being taught this and that, I was expected to eventually become an RE teacher. It didn’t matter if I didn’t feel comfortable doing it. I still had to do it. If you refused, you were viewed with suspicion and interrogated about whether you had done \*something wrong\*. They doubled down with lines about “repaying God’s grace” or “serving with gratitude,” as if guilt could be disguised as devotion. I feel bad for teaching my class what was taught to me, and I hope they can escape the system themselves.

Due to a small church membership, I was also expected to be a choir conductor, which was an excruciating experience. Again, I couldn’t say no, and I was guilted by an older member until I gave in.

---

Trauma responses

Looking back, so much of what I thought was spiritual struggle was actually trauma:

• hypervigilance

• fear of punishment

• shame (a lot of it)

• emotional suppression

• spiritual gaslighting

My body was reacting to an environment that wasn’t safe. I’m now in therapy for religious trauma and CPTSD, where I’m in a safe place to share my experiences with a highly trained therapist.

---

Present day

I realized the world isn’t as bad as the church described. Of course, there are extremely awful folks out there, but I’ve met kind and ethical people who had never set foot in or even heard of TJC. I discovered more humanity outside its walls than I ever did inside.

Sometimes I grieve the years I lost in my youth and the freedom I didn’t know was possible. However, leaving gave me my life back, but it also made me realize how much of it had been taken from me. I’m still on a healing journey, but at least now the life I’m living finally feels like mine.

>"I had an ex a few years ago who broke into my apartment and stole my Jellycats (cuddly stuffed toys for the uninitiated). You know the olives and the kale? They stole them!"

Aside from the obvious awful crimes (and this is not an ad for the brand!), it was strangely refreshing to chat with my coworker about cute plushies (of all topics) during a lunch walk toward the park. We talked about the different plushies we had, and as we did, I had a thought. These cuddly things became part of something symbolic I was rebuilding after leaving church: my identity.

For anyone unfamiliar, the True Jesus Church is a very strict, high‑control environment where conformity is expected and individuality is often discouraged. That context matters for what comes next.

-----

Cute cartoons

I loved Hello Kitty as a kid. Pochacco, Keroppi, Little Twin Stars, Pompompurin… they were and still are adorable characters. As I got older, my parents told me to give them up (the toys, stationery, fashion etc) because they were childish and that I needed to “grow up.” I really took that erasure to heart and begrudgingly, I gave my toys to charity or handed them to friends who wanted them. It was rubbish.

Just like I was losing this part of myself, being in church shaped me into less of an individual with agency and more of the same mold as everyone else in that environment. There was this unspoken template of the “ideal believer”: obedient, modest, compliant. I learned to contort myself into that shape, even when it didn’t feel right.

If you said anything that could be interpreted as a slight against leadership, you’d get hammered down so hard you’d never dare question anything again. I remember in RE class, the teacher asked us why we all came to church and I just blurted out, “because my parents take me.” She wasn’t impressed and “corrected” me on the spot.

-----

Shrinking

Any time I asked questions or had an opinion that could be seen as controversial (even though, to me, it was usually just suggestions for logistical church practices), it was labeled rebellion. Even liking cute things could be framed as worldly or “an idol.” Anything that brought joy for its own sake was suspicious, because God was supposed to be the ultimate source of praise and attention.

Leaving the church didn’t magically undo that. I didn’t walk out and suddenly know who I was. I walked out and realized I had to rebuild myself from the ground up. Not just my beliefs, but my tastes, my personality, my sense of who I was allowed to be. It was, and still is, tough. I felt ashamed of my hobbies even though there was nothing wrong with them. Therapy helped me understand myself better and reminded me there’s nothing wrong with liking things simply because they make me happy.

That’s where cute stuffed toys came in. They were silly and inanimate. They were everything I’d been taught to dismiss as I grew older. But when I looked at the plushies I still had tucked away in my closet, something in me lit up. It wasn’t about the toys themselves. It was about recognizing a part of myself I had abandoned because I was told it wasn’t “appropriate.” I’m allowed to choose things simply because I like them. I’m allowed to exist outside the version of myself the church tried to mold.

My coworker’s story reminded me how deeply personal these silly little creatures can be. They’re not just stuffed toys, they’re symbols of the selves I’m slowly rebuilding. There’s a reason these toys and others are so popular - they bring comfort, happiness, and a pleasant nostalgia. It helps that other adults enjoy them too, so it doesn’t feel as weird.

-----

Taking up room

I recently painted my room a bold color. This was something I never would’ve chosen back when I was still in church, when everything had to be neutral and “appropriate.” My walls are unapologetically bright and vibrant. I’ve decorated them with colorful prints that actually reflect my personality, not the version of myself I was told to be. I’m finally able to reclaim this part of my life which is the playful side of me.

Every time I look around my room, I feel so happy and reminded of the symbolism behind it all. These choices like the vivid colors, the artwork, and the plushies, are tiny declarations of who I am in this stage of my life. They’re proof that I’m allowed to take up space, to express myself, to enjoy things simply because they make me happy.

I love these things and what they represent. I chose them for me, in a life I’m finally allowed to shape.

TLDR: Leaving the True Jesus Church didn’t just change my beliefs, it fractured my relationships with my siblings in ways I never expected. One stayed silent and the other scolded me for leaving. Our shared childhood and shared faith didn’t lead us to the same life. The grief isn’t loud, but it’s constant. In the end, leaving saved me, but it cost me a version of my family that can’t be rebuilt.

-----

The photo

I saw a photo recently: one of my siblings who remained in the church attending the African Ministry Seminar in the main London branch, smiling at the camera with other members from all over the world. It’s an annual event at the London Central church, kind of a gateway into TJC’s overseas ministry work. I stared at the picture longer than I meant to, feeling a mix of emotions I couldn’t quite sort out.

My sibling looked so devoted and, strangely enough, I felt proud of them. They’ve gone to this seminar for years, so they’re clearly committed to the cause. I didn’t feel anger but a quiet ache of knowing they’re still giving their whole selves to a system that left me so hollow.

-----

Grief

It’s a strange kind of grief, "loving" people who stayed in the place you had to leave to survive. They’re still living by rules I had to unlearn and still holding beliefs I once clung to myself. It's something people outside high‑control churches rarely understand: leaving isn’t just a shift in belief. It's movements in relationships, identity, and the entire emotional landscape of your life.

-----

The silent sibling

The aforementioned sibling and I don’t talk anymore. Even more so now that I’ve left the church. It’s a painful feeling. I don’t know if they hate me, and I don’t know if I’m dead to them. Absence takes on a shape, and you feel it even when no words are exchanged.

-----

The vocal sibling

Then there’s my other sibling: the one who didn’t go silent, but scolded me when I left. They told me I was being reckless and selfish, that I was throwing away everything we were raised to believe. I remember listening and not knowing what to say. It felt like they were speaking to the version of me they needed to exist in order for their world to stay intact. It taught me something I didn’t want to learn: siblings raised in the same environment can end up living completely different emotional realities. How true this is...

We all grew up in the same house, being downright goofy together at times. Now my first sibling and I are like strangers. The last time I reached out to meet up, I didn’t even get a response. As my other sibling has their own traumas, we don’t really talk either. Family trauma and church trauma have a way of intertwining until you can’t tell where one ends and the other begins.

-----

The loss

Maybe that’s the real loss: not the distance itself, but the realization that the story that shaped us also separated us. I can’t do anything but hold the grief, and it just sits there as a constant reminder.

Sometimes I wonder if they ever think about me, if they ever feel the shape of my absence the way I feel theirs. We grew up under the same teachings, and somehow that same story sent us down paths that no longer touch.

Home life was really complicated, and it left deep marks on each of us. It’s a layered situation that isn’t black or white. All I can say from my perspective is that TJC really destroyed my family. Not in one dramatic moment, but in a way that shapes how people relate to each other.

Maybe that’s the quiet devastation of leaving: you save yourself, but you lose people you never thought you’d lose. The irony in this sentence is not lost on me.

I didn’t just leave a church. I walked away from a version of my family that can’t be rebuilt.

TLDR: I grew up in the True Jesus Church (TJC/真耶稣教會), a high‑control “one true church” environment built on fear, exclusivity, and constant spiritual pressure. The church shaped my home life, my friendships, my sense of self, and even how I understood normal emotions. I was encouraged to preach to friends and probably lost many because of it. Inside the church, there was a strong us against them mentality, a spiritual hierarchy, and no real space for mental health. After leaving, the emotional fallout was real. I’m still unlearning the fear and rebuilding my identity.

-----

A couple of days ago, I shared my story about leaving TJC. That post focused mostly on the emotional side like the fear, guilt, and internal pressure that shaped my life. Since then, I’ve been thinking more about why the environment felt so heavy and why it took years to even begin untangling the emotional knots it created. When I look at it now through the lens of high‑control religious dynamics, a lot of the emotional culture I described starts to make sense in a way it never did when I was living inside it.

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Exclusivity

One of the biggest forces shaping everything was exclusivity. I mean, just look at the name of the church. TJC teaches that only its members are saved, and growing up, that wasn’t presented as a theological nuance. It was presented as absolute fact. When you’re raised with that kind of certainty, it becomes the foundation of your entire worldview. It shaped how I saw myself and other people, as well as how I understood the world. It made questioning feel dangerous and leaving the church feel unthinkable.

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Isolation

Church never said that we can’t have friends outside but the culture made it clear that dating non-members was highly discouraged, close friendships with non‑members were spiritually risky, and the church community was your *real family*.

One thing I’ve been thinking about a lot is how we were encouraged to preach to our friends. It was framed as our responsibility and almost a moral obligation to “save” the people around us. I remember feeling embarrassed every time I tried to bring up church or salvation with classmates, but I pushed myself to do it because I thought it was my duty. Looking back, I’m sure I lost lots of friendships because of it. I didn’t understand at the time how strange or intrusive it must have felt to people who weren’t religious. I was just a kid trying to do what I’d been taught was the right thing, not realizing how much the church was shaping my social world and isolating me even further.

Underneath all of this was a strong us against them mentality. The outside world was spiritually dangerous, morally inferior, and constantly framed as a threat to your salvation. For me, that mindset made it almost impossible to form normal friendships with people outside the church, because you were taught to see them through a lens of suspicion or pity rather than genuine connection. It created a worldview where everyone who wasn’t “one of us” was automatically othered.

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Fear seeping into my home life

I’ve also been reflecting on how deeply the church’s emotional culture shaped the way I was raised. The fear I felt growing up didn’t just come from sermons but also from the atmosphere inside my home (which was heavily influenced by the church’s teachings). The theology didn’t stay on the pulpit but also permeated into how the primary caregivers in my life understood love, discipline, as well as authority.

In TJC, everything is framed in terms of spiritual danger. Missing Sabbath (on Saturday in TJC), questioning doctrine, or even showing signs of “worldliness” were treated as threats to your salvation. The adults around me absorbed that worldview completely. They genuinely believed they were protecting me and my siblings' souls but home became a.... home where fear became the main tool for keeping us “on the right path.”

Obedience wasn’t just about respecting your parents, it was tied to your eternal fate. Doubt wasn’t just a normal part of growing up and it was hugely perceived by church that it was a sign that Satan was "deceiving you".

That kind of pressure shaped the way discipline was handled. Physical punishment on me was part of it, and looking back, I can see how much of that came from the fear the adults carried. Fear that if they didn’t control us tightly enough, we’d drift away and be lost forever to the world. It’s unsettling to realize that the harshness in our home wasn’t really about us as children. It was about the weight of being responsible for someone else’s salvation. It was about the anxiety that if you didn’t enforce the rules hard enough, God would hold you accountable.

There was also a clear spiritual hierarchy inside the church. Certain members and especially those with dramatic testimonies or leadership roles were treated as more “spiritually mature.” Their opinions carried more weight and their authority was assumed to be divinely backed. From young, you learn quickly who you’re supposed to admire (deemed the holiest) and who you’re never supposed to challenge. It created a social structure where power flowed in one direction, and questioning it felt like questioning God Himself.

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What faith looked like in TJC

Salvation anxiety was woven into everyday life. When obedience is tied to eternal consequences, it stops being a choice. It becomes fear‑based compliance, even if no one intends it that way.

TJC also places huge emphasis on miracles, healings, visions, and dramatic spiritual experiences. As a kid, I thought this was inspiring but I now see how it created a narrow script for what “real faith” was supposed to look like. If you didn’t have those experiences, you felt like you were bad in some way. If you doubted them, you felt guilty. It shaped how you were supposed to feel, not just what you were supposed to believe. It taught you to distrust your own emotions unless they matched the approved narrative.

When it came to mental health, there was no real language for it. Anxiety, sadness, or emotional struggles were spiritualized and treated as signs of weak faith, lack of prayer, or the world having a chokehold on you. Therapy wasn’t encouraged and prayer was the only acceptable coping mechanism. Looking back, I can see how much harm that caused, because it meant you couldn’t name your pain without feeling like you were confessing a spiritual failure.

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Leaving and unlearning

Leaving was painful. Friendships faded, family relationships shifted (initially with lots of anger and tears from my close ones who are still in church), and I was quietly viewed as spiritually lost/deceived. The guilt lingered long after I walked out the door.

My original post focused on how the environment felt. This one is more about the structure behind those feelings. The fear, guilt, and pressure I described weren’t random. They were the natural outcome of exclusivity, social isolation, doctrinal absolutism, emotional pressure, and hierarchical authority. These shaped not just the church environment, but my home life as well.

I’m still unlearning the fear and still rebuilding my identity, trying to separate my own thoughts from the conditioning I grew up with. Naming these cult-like dynamics really helps. It gives shape to things I used to only feel, understand that the fear wasn’t my fault, the guilt wasn’t my fault, and the pressure wasn’t something I created. They were things I inherited from a system that shaped every part of my world.

If anyone else grew up in a “one true church” environment, I think you’ll recognize a lot of this. TJC was an incredibly controlling place to be in and I'm so glad to be out of it.