Patriarchy Malarkey (A Poem)

The patriarchal movement was (is) a chilling expression of Spiritual Abuse which has cultish attributes. I would describe it as a movement releasing men to reign as head of their own family cult, shaping their wives and children to carry out their vision to build a kingdom in their own image.

There is nothing wholesome about this movement, but the way it’s shrouded in biblical language and protected by the twisting of scripture is gut-wrenchingly insidious.

While this is certainly an extreme version of Spiritual Abuse, it is helpful to discuss as this thinking has made its way into many fundamentalist church communities. The main way is through the view and treatment of women.

The following poem depicts the experience of a woman who grew up in the patriarchal movement.

Patriarchy Malarkey
by Megan Benninger

Life was grand

With my band of

Likeminded sisters.

We homemade and mothered

And remained under cover

Of headship.

An umbrella they’d tell us,

For our safety and joy,

God’s design for your kind,

You’re a girl, not a boy.

Of course you are equal,

Still only a sequel

Of what God had in mind

In His garden.

Built to help,

Not to lead.

First to fall,

Be deceived.

Know your place

And you’ll stay under grace.


Invisible chains,

Can they break?

Links of beliefs

Strong and deep,

Ingrained,

Joined together,

A tether

Keeping me bound,

Down,

Oppressed, less,

Under the masculine umbrella

Where I’m sure to be blessed.


Never learned to object,

Or even detect

My subjection.

I resigned to be blind,

Maligned,

Quiet, kind,

To grow where I’m planted,

Yet withered.


Till one day,

A light shined

On my mind.

The rose-colored narrative shattered.

I could see through the cracks

Shades of black,

Facts.

It was real.

It was truth.

They had lied,

Compromised.

The cover was false,

The umbrella a fiction

Of diction.


Next I thought

Surely not.

These men were naive,

Deceived,

Unintentional,

Accidental.

But no!

They’d twisted the Bible,

A sheer act of libel.

Women are actually free!


I wrestled and pulled at the chain

In my brain

Pulled again, and again, and again,

And then

I looked down,

And I found

The chains were not there,

Never were.

Those dastardly elders,

Those false story-tellers,

Created those chains of thin air.

Figments,

Illusions,

Utter confusions

That tricked and imprisoned us all.


So I simply,

Guilelessly,

Boldly

Unshackled.

Read more on churchtrauma.org


Photo by John Salvino on Unsplash

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