My children and I must have looked a little odd living in Lutherville, Maryland.
We dressed modestly, like a prairie family you might see on television.
My five pregnancies were in a row and I gave birth at home.
My husband Allan and I homeschooled our children when it was still unusual to do so.
But our neighbors couldn’t have guessed my shameful secret: I was trapped in a Christian fundamentalist sect.
I was banned from going to the library, holding a job, voting in elections, or even taking my children to the doctor.
I called my husband “my lord,” was only allowed to wear dresses, and was ritually spanked if I “stepped out of line.”
Going into marriage, I knew my husband’s beliefs, but I had no way of knowing where it would all lead.
We got married in 1994, and from the beginning things were never particularly easy for us.
Going into marriage, I knew my husband’s beliefs, but I had no way of knowing where it would lead. (Above) Author Tia Levings on her wedding day
He had a fierce temper and would sometimes sit on my head or slam me into a wall.
But he always assured me that there was another pastor or congregation or Christian self-help book that promised a solution to his anger.
And even though I tiptoed around our house, between fights, I believed that we were truly happy.
Then, in 2003, after 10 years together, something changed.
I had just arrived home from running some errands and as I unloaded the car, I hung my shopping bags over my arms. By doing it all at once, it looked like I had bought less.
He was sitting at the computer, his back to the door, and he jumped when I walked in.
My eyes fixed on his screen.
There was a picture of a woman hanging, tied up like a chicken, with her mouth gagged, her eyes blindfolded and completely exposed.
“It’s not what you think,” he said.
I left the bags on the floor.
I felt a void in my body. “He doesn’t watch porn,” I thought. “What was going on?”
“It’s art, don’t worry,” he said.
Hoping this was true, I blinked and waited for an explanation.
He pushed back the wheeled chair from the desk and began, “I have something to discuss about our new book.”
I was talking about the work of Doug Wilson, an influential author, pastor, and editor in Idaho.
I had five pregnancies in a row and gave birth at home. My husband Allan and I homeschooled our children when it was still unusual to do so.
Even though I tiptoed around our house, between fights, I thought we were truly happy. Then, in 2003, after 10 years together, something changed.
We had purchased her books on marriage at our annual homeschool convention.
Wilson preached that men were responsible for everything related to the home, including their wives’ spending habits, entertainment, weight, rebelliousness, housework, and receptivity to sex.
And the head of the family would answer to God for the behavior of all those under his dominion.
Almost everyone we knew in our Presbyterian and Reformed Baptist circles owned these self-published books.
But what did they have to do with bondage porn?
In truth, none of these books preached violence against wives, but husbands exchanged sick ideas in the same way that we wives exchange recipes.
“Come on,” my husband said as he casually unpacked his suitcases. “Correcting wives for bad behavior isn’t a new concept. Think about it.”
I didn’t know what my husband was up to, but I knew I couldn’t say no to him.
“A man cannot take his wife to the elders every time she rebels,” he said. “It is impractical. The solution is Christian discipline.”
I kept my gaze down, following his rule of not challenging him. I picked up the broom and swept the squares of golden sunlight across the wooden floor.
My eyes darted to the door as I tried to silence the noise in my head.
He told me that there was no limit to his dominance or my submission. This was a Church-sanctioned BDSM practice, with no safe words.
Over the next few weeks, I sat at the computer and obeyed his command to learn more about how to be “taken in hand.” He directed me to membership forums and even a manual on the subject.
My children and I must have looked a little odd living in Lutherville, Maryland. We dressed modestly, like a prairie family you might see on TV.
According to these teachings, a man like my husband needed to control his anger, and Christian Domestic Discipline promised to end random violence by sanctifying fetishism with Christian theology.
Hitting me became sacred.
Twisted thoughts clouded my mind: What if it was wise to make “dates” for cases of violence? What if that would improve our marriage?
But still, I wondered how much more humiliation I could endure.
“I need you to draw up the contract today,” he said a few days later, referring to an alleged agreement the wives were to sign.
Steve from Blue’s Clues was playing on the TV and he entertained the kids as he talked. I listened without slowing down my mop.
“There is a script on the online forum,” he said.
“Can’t you print it?” I asked. Sometimes I abandoned ideas when they required extra effort.
—No, it has to be your handwriting, so it looks like this came from you.
So I sat down at my desk and wrote an unkept promise on ivory notepaper in black ink that smelled like plastic: “I will not accuse my husband of domestic violence because of Christian discipline.”
Allan warned me that we would do it soon, “for something small, to get used to it.”
A week later, I found myself in the kitchen, sliding a metal spatula under fresh cookies to frost them with the kids.
“You spent too much,” he said, examining the grocery receipt.
“Just a dollar and eighteen,” I moaned.
“Go to our room,” he replied.
The kids were outside playing and he gestured for me to get on all fours on the bed and then he began to pray.
His leather belt whistled as he removed it.
I buried my face in the pillow as he hit me and I screamed silently into the feathers.
As a Christian, I believed that I would be rescued from my suffering.
Years later I realized that no savior would come.
It was up to me to save myself.
In October 2007, Tia and her children finally escaped from Alan in the middle of the night. She now works to expose slavery, rape, child abandonment and other abuses that occur behind closed doors in fundamentalist Christian patriarchies.
The above was adapted from an excerpt from: A Well-Trained Wife: My Escape from Christian Patriarchy by Tia Levings and published by St Martin’s Press
