Part 22: A Journey of Faith and Discovery

There was no turning back this time. Today was the day—Mo. Agnes would be arriving. The last 48 hours felt like an eternity, but in that time, I had the chance to plan and escape mentally, imagining life outside these walls.

As I sat in quiet contemplation, memories flooded my mind. I began to reminisce about my family—the laughter of my siblings, the warmth of my parents, and the camaraderie of my friends. Each moment replayed like a cherished film, taking me back to my youth, to sunny days spent on the softball field, and the comforting presence of my grandparents.

I found myself daydreaming about my friends, wondering where life had taken them. Did they follow their dreams? Had they become attorneys or doctors? Did they graduate college, find love, and build families of their own? It was a journey through wonder and awe, a glimpse into a world that felt both familiar and distant.

But then a thought crept in, challenging my reverie. Did they think about me? Would they ever imagine that this is where my life had led? In those earlier days, I had my own dreams and aspirations, ambitions that felt as vibrant as the sun. Yet, somewhere along the way, those dreams faded into the background, swallowed by the chaos and nightmares of the past five years.

I had walked away from my goals, watching as they slipped through my fingers like sand. The blur of time had left me feeling as though I had lost everything, even parts of myself I once held dear. As I sat there, caught between the past and the present, I realized that while I may have lost my way, the journey was far from over.

Today marked a new beginning. With Mo. Agnes's arrival, I felt a flicker of hope igniting within me. Perhaps it was time to reclaim those dreams, to reconnect with the person I once was, and to rediscover the strength within me. The walls around me may have confined me, but my mind was free, and in that freedom, I found the courage to dream once more.

She finally arrived, but the moment felt like a cold front sweeping through the room. Mo. Agnes stood before me, her stern face and rigid posture betraying the anger simmering just beneath the surface. I had to hold strong, reminding myself that I wouldn't let her emotions dictate my own.

Mo. Agnes had a unique way of expressing what she called motherly love. Her actions often portrayed care and discernment, yet today I found myself questioning the authenticity of it all. Beneath that facade, I sensed manipulation and control—a realization that felt like a heavy weight on my chest.

This was the battle I faced, one that many of us grappled with: the duality of her nature. On one side, there was the nurturing figure who offered warmth and comfort. On the other, there was the harsh reality of tough love, delivered with a cold shoulder that could pierce through even the thickest armor.

Behind closed doors, I often caught a glimpse of her human side, a side that made me feel it was okay to let my guard down. But outside those walls, in front of the community and the others, I became an example—a cautionary tale of sorts. It felt as though my every misstep was laid bare for all to see, a public display of her disapproval.

Until this day, Mo. Ethel the novitiate superior had been my greatest torturer. I found myself wondering if Mo. Agnes truly understood the physical and mental toll her actions had taken on me. It felt extreme, as if Mo. Ethel harbored a deep-seated hatred that she directed solely at me. The sisters noticed the tension; they saw the way I was treated, but there was little they could do about it.

I often felt trapped in a cycle of emotional turmoil, torn between the desire for her approval and the need to protect myself from the pain she inflicted. As I navigated this complex relationship, I realized that understanding her behavior was crucial for my own escape and freedom. It was a journey fraught with challenges, but deep down, I knew I had to reclaim my voice and my sense of self amidst the chaos.

The time had come—my moment of manifestation with Mo. Agnes was finally here, and I was ready for it. A fierce determination burned in my heart, a fight I refused to give up on, no matter the circumstances. When she asked me who I had called and what I had said on the phone, I felt a surge of adrenaline.

In that moment, I knew the call hadn't gone through; I hadn't spoken to anyone. I quickly whispered a silent apology to the Lord, recognizing that I had to lie to secure my escape. I told her I had spoken to my mom, the same mom whose relationship they had manipulated against me when I was just 17. They had insisted that I had to fight for her, suffer for her salvation, and sacrifice my own desires for the sake of my family’s soul.

“What did you say to her?” she pressed, her eyes narrowing.

I replied, “I gave her my location and told her I needed to come home.” I made it clear that if they didn’t hear back from me in two weeks, they should go to the bishop of the Sioux City diocese for assistance and provide them with my address. The mention of the bishop sent a flash of panic across her face, a crack in her control.

“You need to call your family back immediately,” she insisted.

“I will,” I said, “but only if a flight is booked for me to go home and I want my personal documents back.” I was no longer willing to play by their rules; I needed leverage to ensure my escape was real.

To my surprise, she agreed, frustratingly, clearly shocked that she had lost control over me. But she quickly launched into a counterattack, using fear and confusion to sway me. “What are you doing? By wanting to leave your vocation, you’re subjecting yourself to the devil. Those who walk away from this path end up lost, wandering in a world they’re not meant for.”

Her words were heavy with conviction. “Your calling is greater than you realize. I had plans for you to return to the Mission House in the U.S. You’re ready for the mission—to travel the world for the salvation of souls. You are a healer, destined to touch thousands of lives.”

She continued, her voice rising with urgency. “Walking away would be the greatest damnation! You have been given gifts; don’t take them for granted. These last five years have been purification and preparation for a bigger purpose. Leaving now would be spiritual suicide. Do you want to be a misfit? What about your sisters in this community?”

Overwhelmed with emotions, I fought to stay focused. The fear of being a misfit and the punishment for leaving my vocation weighed heavily on my mind. “Don’t give up; you’re not a quitter,” she urged, trying to reel me back in.

“I’ll allow you to go home for two weeks,” she finally offered, “but I’ll send a sister back with you.”

“No sister!” I exclaimed. “I want to go home on my own.”

“Fine,” she conceded, “but they will stay at the LIHM house. You will keep in contact with me and the sister while you are back. Tell your family you were sent back for some health checks. And when the two weeks are over, I will bring you back to the Dover Mission House.”

I agreed to her terms, knowing that I just needed to board that flight and see my family again. I was ready to finish the fight from there.

She booked my flight for the following week. I had four days left in this hellhole, and during that time, I was treated to full meals and even enjoyed a rare treat of halo halo. It was surreal—their kindness felt like a facade, a way to keep me compliant.

Deep down, I understood the game they were playing, and I was willing to play along. Despite the conflicting emotions swirling within me, I felt a surge of triumph. I had done it—I was getting out. I played Mo. Agnes's game, agreeing to whatever she needed me to say, knowing it meant nothing in the grand scheme. Freedom was within reach, and I was determined to seize it.