Kim Kyllo, RJ Testerman, and I.
Dennis and I were still living in Daly City when Sheri showed up at the door unannounced. It had been over a year since we had last been in contact. We received news of RJ and the group (and they of us) through the people who knew us both. After the initial hurt and anger passed, we had just gone on with our lives, and our lives were good. We had weathered 9/11 with the rest of the country, and soon after, Dennis and I decided to get married. We were buying a house together and planned to have some more kids. We eloped and got married in the rotunda at San Francisco City Hall. I imagined that it was the buying of the house that piqued RJ’s interest, and why Sheri was suddenly on my doorstep.
Sheri and I.
I let her in and we talked. At first, Sheri tried to say that RJ was so mean to us because he knew it was the only way I’d ever buy a house. If he pushed me out into the wilderness, then I would prevail. I wasn’t falling for the rhetoric this time, and I pointed out that it was for their benefit that they played the bait and switch on Dennis and me, not ours. I also said that they had created a monster.
Wendy, our daughter, and Dennis ice skating.
It had always been the plan to make access to RJ special, to turn him into a “guru,” and they had done it. I helped, I admitted, but he was becoming an unbearable asshole. Sheri agreed that things had gotten “a bit crazy,” but assured me that she and the other women were discussing what they wanted more. RJ was always good at telling people what they wanted, especially women. He was also good at dividing them, so I knew in the end that the women’s “meeting” was not going to go anywhere.
Sheri said she missed us, that they all missed us both. She said she loved me and was sorry about how it all had gone. She said she hoped we would start to come around again. We both cried and hugged, and eventually we did start coming around. We didn’t go to BenchMarks, but we would still bring the kids to visit and volunteer for Free the Need’s big giveaways. Slowly, we became semi-integrated back into the community.
RJ and I at a party at Joost.
RJ and I would sometimes be close and sometimes not. We’d often have intimate conversations when I was cutting his hair, exchanging haircuts alone in the yellow house. RJ was living in the smaller yellow house on the property, and it soon became his sanctuary. He slept there with Susan, and sometimes with Rachel or another woman in the second bedroom. The office and recording room for making videos are downstairs in the yellow house and are separate. Nobody visited there without an invitation. Even the “students” who lived on the property had better be in good shape to go to the “Yellow House.”
Dennis and I visited the ranch over the holidays and summer break, or when they were having a party. They often invited us when they were having courses. We quickly realized that they just wanted us to be there to show the students that they had normal friends outside of the group. Although I wanted to support my friend’s business, I didn’t want to shill for them anymore. If they were working, we didn’t get much of a chance to hang out, and that’s why we were there. We tried to time our visits when it was just family gatherings.
Rachel, Yvonne, Dennis, and I processing tomatoes.
The people who lived there who weren’t part of the WC were considered “students.” When we visited, they were working around the property and house from sunup to sundown. We would interact with them; I usually cut their hair (RJ only cut hair for his women and me), and I helped with cooking. The students and the women of the WC would play board games after dinner. Most the time RJ was taken back to the Yellow House in the golf cart by Susan and another woman. He was usually drunk. Dennis would help out on projects happening around the house and in the garden, but mostly we would relax. It was a vacation for us, and the WC ensured that their students took care of us and put their best foot forward. We knew there was an agenda on how we were to be treated and what was NOT to be shared with us, but we were glad for it. We didn’t want to get caught up again.
Our reluctance didn’t stop RJ from trying to control what I did. RJ would send people to ask me for a walk, and sometimes I would refuse. I knew by the way they would show up and ask that they’d been directed to get me exercising. RJ didn’t like fat women, but I didn’t care; I wasn’t looking to have sex with him. It also ensured a certain amount of distance. They expected Dennis and me to have DOdates when the house was having dates. We usually did, but sometimes I resisted. Honestly, I enjoyed bucking the system and watching people squirm as they tried to figure out how to get me to do what RJ wanted.
The kids having fun at the creek.
This mild coercion didn’t ruin our time there, and we took the kids to see Mallie and Ginger whenever they visited.. The girls were like cousins, and I loved that our kids had friends when they came to California. Things started to change as the kids got older. It was around middle school age when Mallie and Ginger began to dress up like the other women, putting on short skirts and high heels. I would wear a nice shirt for the cocktail hour and dinner. I again refused to play along, but no one questioned me about it. Both Dennis and I had been around long enough and were close enough to the WC to create a boundary.
Wendy, Shaun, Sheri, me, and Mallie
Mallie and Ginger were sexualized earlier than our kids, and this caused a gulf between them. I know our daughter, particularly, was uncomfortable, but would put on lipstick and dress up once in a while. Most of the time, they were all still kids when they were together, but the differences between them were growing. Mallie was 15 and Ginger was 14 when they began attending the sensuality courses. RJ told me about it proudly. I didn’t say anything; they were my friends’ kids, and nobody appreciates unsolicited advice on parenting.
Dennis and I were at one of the first Observation in Coming courses Mallie and Ginger attended. They were 15 and 16 years old. It was a little strange. RJ wasn’t doing one of their mothers, but their moms were sitting at the front of the room, instructing the class. Another outside friend was there, and she asked me if I thought it was weird. I remember saying, “Yeah, I guess.” But I wasn’t concerned. At the time, I did not doubt that the women of the WC would protect the girls. At the time, I still believed I was special and that there were no other underage girls that RJ had seduced.
Bill Berndt and I at my shower at Joost Ave.
Susan gave birth to Boone Testerman (Wilson) and Francoise to Cole Testerman a few years before I gave birth to my first boy and then my second. We were all happy to have another group of cousins to raise together. It felt right. The entire community on the property had a system in place to care for their children, and everyone enthusiastically added ours when we visited. It was always wonderful to go to the ranch and be taken care of. The beautiful area, nicely appointed room, good home-grown food, and old friends to talk and laugh with were mostly always wonderful. Now, as a mom, it was heaven. I could rest, and the boys ran around and got muddy.
There were still moments of tension, usually after RJ had a few drinks, but 99% of the time it was fun. Their business went on in the background, and we finally had the relationship we wanted. We came together for holidays to celebrate and in tough moments to support each other, like when Kim Kyllo and I cooked RJ a gourmet birthday dinner or when Terri G. got sick. We had our lives in the city, and our friends in the country.
RJ showing my baby the Christmas tree.
I started taking botanical illustration classes, and the group’s excitement and support always made me feel amazing. When we visited, Sheri would make sure I had the space and time to draw. She always loved my drawings, and it felt good to have the space and encouragement. I know I have shared many horrible things about my time with RJ and the Welcomed Consensus, but there was a reason I stayed. I received love and attention from RJ and the women that I had never received anywhere else. I felt their love, and I loved them in return.
Something started happening to me once I had the boys. While I was pregnant, I was scared I would have a girl. I was convinced that I couldn’t mother a girl. The daughter I have with Dennis lived with her birth mom, so it felt like she was ultimately being taken care of by her. I was grateful for my boys, but I was also unprepared for all the emotions that came with parenting them. At first, I was just freaked out that I had these two little guys who were counting on me. I’d never felt this need for me so strongly, and I felt so trapped. I knew I wasn’t going anywhere; my love for the boys kept me tethered, but that scared me even more.
Dennis, I, and all our children visiting the ranch. I was about 6 months pregnant with our youngest.
Now, I can see this was the beginning of the end of any mental stability I had. The fear and anxiety were intense and constant. For example, I planned my escape with my children from the apocalypse before I went to sleep every night. Even as they grew up, I thought this was normal and that every parent feared for their kids’ lives in this way. For the first five years of the boys’ lives, I was worn out like all new parents, but I was also filled with dread. I was unsure I could keep us all alive.
I was starting to involuntarily confront my childhood. I was on high alert. As the boys grew, I began remembering things that’d happened to me at their age, what I had been doing. The flashbacks would come without warning, and I would recoil inside. The feelings of my child self would flood me. Things I’d forgotten and pushed away long ago would surface, and I couldn’t escape. I was traveling back in time but living right now.
Dennis with our boy and RJ with Cole hanging out at the ranch.
My life was good. I had everything I said I wanted. I had great kids, a house in SF, and a large, fun social circle. Dennis is a great dad and was wholly engaged with the kids and supportive of me. So why was I crying in my car on the side of the road on my way to the grocery store? I responded to this by packing my days even fuller. I wasn’t thinking about the miserable feelings inside if I was busy with the kids, working full-time, finishing my BA degree, or throwing parties. Things did not improve as time went on, and I continued to feel like an ungrateful shithead and was ashamed. What a loser.
The menus for RJ’s 60th celebration. Kim and I planned and cooked for three months to throw this party.
We continued to visit the ranch and also got to see everyone when they were in San Francisco. Mallie and Ginger had moved to Joost Avenue to attend City College, so their parents came to visit more often. Our boys hung out and had fun regardless of where they were, and time passed. As with all our friends, there were aspects of their parenting skills that we admired and aspects that we didn’t. And, like good friends, we didn’t try to interfere or offer unsolicited advice. We loved Mallie and Ginger as if they were our own. Mallie went on to S.F. State, where she met Stephen Jobe, and he moved into Joost. Ginger went on to State and then to Cambridge for a semester. They had both grown into intelligent young women, and we were proud of them.
We occasionally invited Mallie and Ginger to our parties, and I took the boys to Free the Need on occasion. We still had the family holidays up North, and we’d split the time with my birth family. Life went on, and we became even more detached from the group. We knew they had an agenda, like always, but we didn’t understand what it had morphed into. Once in a while, someone would move out of the group and stay with us. We provided a neutral space for them to land, and we didn’t try to influence them either way. Sometimes they would return to the group, but most moved on.
Sheri, RJ, Ginger, Francoise, and Susan at RJ’s birthday party.
Only one person from RJ sent to our place became a problem. We’d known this guy as long as he had been in the group, and he helped us around the house, but he was inappropriate with my boys, and our dog hated him. I remember telling Francoise and RJ that he had to go that night. They were visiting from the ranch. RJ tried to convince me that the boys were going to run into weirdos, and wasn’t it better that you knew the weirdo? I think he had been drinking, and Francosie saw it wasn’t going to float, so they had him leave. Mostly, we were just peripheral to the community and didn’t get involved in the dramas.
Sheri called me once and asked if we would attend the BenchMark that Mallie and Sven (Stephen) were running at a friend’s house, a few doors down from our place. Bill Berndt‘s girlfriend had started renting the home of our neighbors, and she was hosting. We went a couple of times to show our support for the girls. I was talking on the phone to Francoise one day, and she asked me if we’d had fun. I was honest and said that I was concerned. The girls were not following the rules, and I thought they should be aware of this. The rules of play at a BenchMark were drilled into both Dennis and me, and the group was less interesting and fun with slack boundaries.
Mallie, Sheri, and I at a Free the Need fundraiser.
Francoise explained that they knew they were not adhering to the rules, but they wanted to ensure that the girls had fun. She said they were hoping the girls would take over the business, so they were easing them into it. That was the first I’d heard of this plan, and honestly, I was judgmental. I’ve always believed that kids need to choose their own path. It wasn’t fair to the kids to lay that expectation at their feet. I was also pissed that I had been trained with a heavy hand to run those groups; there was no easing of anything. But finally, I realized this was their children, so what did I expect?
Sometime later, I was at the ranch and Sheri was giving me a facial. She was telling me about Ginger’s experience abroad and that Ginger was deciding what she wanted to do next. Sheri said she was considering attending law school. I said that was terrific; Ginger had always been quick-witted and a fighter. Sheri disagreed; she said she was hoping the girls would take over the business. I tried to convince her that having a lawyer in the family wouldn’t be a bad idea, but she just laughed. I felt sad for Ginger.
RJ and Ginger at this birthday party.
Our lives were busy and getting busier as the boys grew, but the re-creation of my childhood in my body continued. I started searching for relief and started meditating. I had turned to meditation in desperation in the past, and it had always helped. Now I found a sangha at the Shambahala Center in SF, and I took the boys. With the unbelievable world happening around us, I wanted them to be in a peaceful place. A non-violent, genuine place. There was never any hard sell to get me into a course, which made me suspicious at first, but as I started meditating more and listening to the Dharma, I felt safer and safer. I didn’t talk about this with anyone connected to the community or even my other friends who weren’t Buddhists.
I started taking courses at the Shambhala Center. There are five levels to the basic meditation instruction, which includes two and a half days of Dharma talks, primarily focusing on sitting meditation. This brought me a peace of mind I had never had before, and I started to feel drawn to practice instead of just driven to escape. As I started taking the levels, I started to crack open even further. I did the first four levels in about 8 months. Every weekend that I would go to meditate, I would start crying earlier, and it would last longer. I would find peace, but also all kinds of other things. At first, the teachers told me they called it the “genuine heart of sadness.” Later, they would say that I wasn’t the first to have a breakdown after doing this work.
Rebecca Fancy and I at a Free the Need holiday giveaway.
I also continued to visit the ranch. When I was there during this time, I only spoke to one person about my meditation practice. I knew she had meditated in the past, so I thought that she would understand. I told her I had to work so I could get time to meditate and keep my mind calm. Sex didn’t work anymore. Booze, drugs, work – everything had stopped being enough to numb the pain, but stepping into the monkey mind still helped. I was keeping up appearances, but the facade was becoming increasingly difficult to maintain. The background noise of my distress continued until one day, I found that I kept contemplating how easy it would be to die.
I wasn’t planning how to die or fantasizing about ways to kill myself. I thought I knew what suicidal ideation was, but I didn’t think it applied to me. I was just noticing opportunities, like I could drive off this cliff, or I could walk in front of that bus. It felt like a way to finally let go and get away from the creeping doom inside me. It took me a while to realize I was even doing this. It felt like months with these intrusive thoughts before one of these moments went on long enough for me to consider that I would be abandoning the boys. The beautiful idea of freedom turned to horror when I thought of what that would do to them. I started looking for a therapist that day.
Kim Kyllo, RJ, and I at hs birthday.
I would continue to see a therapist on and off for the next year or so. We moved to Oregon so that Dennis could attend school. We continued to hang out and visit the group. No one knew I was seeing a therapist, but RJ could tell something was going on with me. He never spoke to me directly, and no one did. At one point during cocktail hour, he said loudly, raising his glass to toast, “We did the right thing, didn’t we, Chrissy?” I responded, “What else could we do?” He laughed but shot a look at Yvonne that confirmed my suspicion that they had an inkling that I was fracturing.
Another time, I got a call from each of the WC women over the course of a week. Usually, I was Sheri’s mark, so this was surprising. When I pointed it out, they looked embarrassed. I knew for sure then that I was being discussed and some sort of plan had been put in place. It didn’t matter; I knew they couldn’t help me. I resisted this breakdown with everything I had for the entire time. I was being dragged through a reenactment of all of my worst choices. I just wanted to feel good again and return to the life I thought I had created. It sure didn’t feel safe to speak to RJ or Sheri about what was happening to me.
Mallie and Wendy at RJ’s birthday.
I hadn’t discussed RJ and the group with my therapist. I used false names whenever I referred to any of them to protect them if it came up. I was getting therapy for over a year before I told her anything about RJ. I believed that all the pain was a result of my childhood, and didn’t count my 12-year-old self as a child. But as my oldest boy got closer and closer to 12, my fear and anxiety were vibrating in my body constantly. I needed to be alone for at least a few hours before going to the therapist, and sometimes I would dissociate on my way there and end up somewhere else, not knowing how.
The therapist had already diagnosed me with Complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder when I finally told her the story of meeting RJ. I explained he was someone who loved me and helped me through the pain of my childhood. That I didn’t think I’d be alive still without his support. She just looked at me and waited till I finished. She then said simply, “What would you say if a 12-year-old girl came in here and told you that story. What would you think?”
The “Smith River” house, on the left, was purchased for the Welcomed Consensus from one of the “students” who lived there. He’d received an inheritance; this was RJ’s tithe. They also own the house on the right now. It was distressed, but they fixed it up with free labor from their “students”. We visited them here as well.
For some reason, this resonated with me in a different way. I had been so sure that RJ rescued me. I was convinced of his love and care for me as a person, not just a young, pliable girl. As an adult, I had never thought that older men having sex with underage girls was okay, but for some reason, it didn’t apply to me. When I realized I had been living in denial, the world came crashing down around me. I saw RJ and myself in a new light, and the memories overwhelmed me. What I had called love, I now understood was grooming. What he had named friendship, I now knew, was molestation. Shortly after this therapy session, I was standing in the shower when a particular memory of having sex with RJ when I was thirteen hit me, and I threw up. I shook for about 20 minutes afterwards.
The amount of memories was killing me. I told the therapist that now that I knew what had happened to me and I had a diagnosis, I was going to stop therapy. I believed I could read and meditate myself out of the hole, but it is not possible. It took about 6 months of reliving my early memories with RJ before the rage hit me, and I was back in her office. She said I was right on schedule.
Rachel, RJ, Susan, Francoise, with their boys.
On my Birthday, RJ posted on Facebook a Birthday wish: “Here’s to 40 years of glorious friendship.” I broke again. I realized I couldn’t play along anymore, so I called him and told him not to discuss me or my family and to never get in touch again. He said okay and hung up. I was still doubting myself and my experience, but when he responded in this way, after so many years of what I thought was a “glorious friendship,” I knew I had been wrong. Wrong about him and many, many, many other things. From then on the insights and understanding of my life came at me unbidden for years.
I know that RJ and the group wanted to find something they could point to as the cause of my defection. It was Bill choking yet another woman and expecting to be exalted for his perfect response. Or it was RJ talking to my kids about me being fat. Perhaps I was just blowing up my life because I wasn’t getting off enough. All of those fit into their narrative, but it wasn’t any of those things, or maybe it was all of them, and then some.
I’ve come to understand that it was mostly my child reaching the age when the abuse started that added the ultimate pressure to my psyche. As I was being dragged through my past, I had reached the point of having to face what happened. What I had done, and what my friends had done, were doing. Also, I had reached a level of relative safety in my life where my brain no longer felt compelled to protect me from knowing the truth. It was the uncomplicated love of my children that put the abuse in high relief. It was all of those things and more. It was RJ and the group’s reaction that set me on this path. If you’re unsure of what happened next, you can start from the beginning of this blog. We’ve come full circle.
Thank you for reading.
Christine
