The Hardest Part of Leaving Jehovah’s Witnesses Was Facing My Kids

Some days the guilt is quiet.

And other days it comes back so strong it feels like it could swallow me whole.

Being one of Jehovah’s Witnesses for 27 years, I don’t know if the guilt will ever completely leave me. It feels like it’s woven into the fabric of my life. Most days it’s quiet, barely noticeable. And then other days it hits so hard the pain feels almost unbearable.

The hardest part of leaving wasn’t just realizing I had been in a high-control religion.

It was realizing that I raised my children in it.

Because the truth is, being a mother was the one thing I wanted most in life.

Since I was a little girl, I played with my Cabbage Patch Dolls. My favorite one had headgear just like me! I probably played with them far longer than most kids did. I dreamed of being a mom. I imagined what it would be like to hold my baby, to love someone that deeply.

When I became pregnant the first time, I was already studying with Jehovah’s Witnesses and attending the Kingdom Hall. I miscarried that baby. I remember there being this strange sense of relief around me because I wasn’t married yet. I was only 18.

But inside I was devastated.

That baby was already loved.

After two miscarriages, the day my firstborn son was born felt like a miracle. I remember holding him and feeling something I had never experienced before. A peace. A love so deep it almost overwhelmed me.

I remember thinking, I didn’t know it was possible to love something this much.

Later, I had a daughter.

I was always scared to have a daughter. My experience of the mother daughter relationship was challenging and so I told myself I will be good if I only have boys.

Then the moment they placed that little girl in my arms, she was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. And I knew instantly I was never letting go.

My children became my whole world.

So coming to terms with the fact that I raised them in a cult has been one of the most painful things I’ve ever faced.

There is a particular kind of pain that comes with that realization. It’s the moment you understand that some of the very things you taught your children, the things you believed with your whole heart, are things you now know aren’t true. I remember the weight of that hitting me. Realizing I had passed along beliefs, fears, and rules that didn’t come from love or freedom, but from control. As a parent, there is nothing heavier than wondering if you unknowingly handed something harmful to the people you love the most. That realization felt crushing.

And what I’ve come to understand is this: my children didn’t just inherit the beliefs I once held. They also inherited my courage to question them.

The guilt still shows up sometimes.

The shame too.

The questions can spiral if I let them.

Did I harm them?

Did I take something from them?

Did I fail them as a mother?

Those thoughts can pull me into a place that feels impossibly heavy.

But I refuse to live my life sitting in that place.

Because the rest of the story matters too.

My children do not hold resentment toward me or their father. They love us. They support us. They saw the courage it took to leave.

One of the things I didn’t expect after leaving was the way my children continued to choose me. I had spent so much time fearing the damage I might have caused that I almost couldn’t see what was right in front of me. They didn’t pull away. They didn’t punish me for the past. Instead, they met me with grace. With understanding. With love. And in many ways, they walked beside me while I found my way out. That kind of love from your children is something I will never take for granted.

My daughter-in-law loved me enough to patiently help guide me out. My husband stood beside me and supported whatever choice I needed to make. My children gave me grace I didn’t even know how to give myself.

And now I have a grandson who will only ever know this version of me.

The version that is free.

When I step back and look at my life honestly, I see something else too.

Even inside a belief system that controlled so much of our lives, I still gave my kids the best childhood I knew how to give. They were loved deeply. They knew they mattered. They knew they were my whole world.

And today they have something even more important.

They have their voices.

They have autonomy.

They have freedom to live their lives in integrity with who they truly are.

I wouldn’t go back and erase everything.

Because if I did, they might not be the exact people they are today.

And I love my children exactly as they are.

And my grandson will grow up in a family where love is not conditional, where questions are allowed, and where people are free to become who they truly are.

For a long time, I thought about the mother I wanted to be.

The one who would always get it right.

The one who would protect her children from everything.

The one who would never look back with regret.

But life doesn’t unfold that way.

So instead of writing to the mother I thought I should have been…

I decided to write to the mother who was doing the best she could all along.

A Letter to the Mother I Wanted to Be

Dear Mom,

I know you.

I know how much you loved those babies before they were even born. I know the dreams you had while holding your dolls as a little girl, imagining the day you would finally become a mother.

You didn’t wake up one day and decide to hurt your children.

You believed you were protecting them.

You believed you were giving them the best life possible. After all, you were promised a Paradise Earth in the future awaiting you with “No more death nor tears nor pain nor outcry would be anymore. The former things have passed away.” Who wouldn’t want that for their children?!

You were doing the best you could with the information you had at the time.

And the truth is, your children know that.

They never doubted your love.

Not for one moment.

Yes, there are things you wish had been different. There are things you would do differently if you knew what you know now.

But your story didn’t end there.

You were brave enough to question.

You were strong enough to leave.

You were humble enough to face the truth.

And because of that, your children now have something many families never experience.

Honesty.

Freedom.

Authenticity.

You are still the mother you dreamed of being.

Maybe not in the way you imagined as a little girl.

But in a way that required even more courage.

Your children love you.

Your family is still here.

And your story is not one of failure.

It is one of love, growth, and redemption.

With compassion,

The woman you became

And maybe being a good mother isn’t about never getting it wrong.

Maybe it’s about loving your children enough to change when you learn the truth.