I remember the feeling of getting ground under my feet when I exited the cult.  Oh yes, it felt good.  I could sense there was still a bog 'over there' but it was such a relief to be on solid ground, I took my time getting over there.  First I needed to regroup.  I mean that's how dire it was - I had been going up the creek without a paddle for 27 years.  Now, thanks to the expremies I had a paddle and I made good use of it.  

Looking back, exiting the cult is the year where I got my life back, it did take another 13 years to complete the deal but it was a hell of a struggle.

I was 19 when I met my ex.  At 57 years old, floored with the same level of shock as when I realised Maharaji was fake, it felt like I had woken up in the burns ward of life.   

For the next couple of years it was solid improvement, and oh fantastic feeling on a subterranean level while at ground level I was being taken to the point of exhaustion getting the separation underway.  No wonder I had such a good sleep!

It was more than that though - the low level anxiety I had felt in the pit of my stomach all through my married life was gone.  It was shocking.  Just like there was a good aftershock from everything you learn on exiting the cult, it was the same thing again. 

It's not the 90% of lies that flow to the right and left of you, it's the 10% of lies you ingest that do you in. 

Stopping that fake marriage has done wonders for my peace of mind and brought comfort to my soul.

Somehow I will need to muster the confidence to make my pots, meanwhile I have made blueberry and banana ice cream with 6 egg yolks in it and going to neighbourhood NYE drinks where I discover the latest in conspiracy theory - Putin is a very nice man, loved by 85% of Russians and he is rescuing all the Russians (80% of population) who live under the fascist tyranny of the Ukrainian govt.  Meanwhile the Israelis have been committing genocide, killing Palestinian children for hundreds of years, hang on hasn't Israel only existed since WW2?, oh, not the point.

So I told my Christmas Eve story of the hens singing like carollers on the back door step, only this time I added little Christmas hats.