Creative Trauma: College

I studied Fine Art in college. And while I have a lot of really great memories and friendships from my years at Southern Adventist University. There are bits and pieces of creative trauma that have stuck with me over the years. 

I spent a lot of my time at Southern figuring out where I fit in. I was more of a follower, than a leader. I didn't learn to stand up for myself until I was 25. A full year after I graduated from college. That's a big chunk of your life not knowing how to actually have a voice and set healthy boundaries for yourself. 

I had learned at an early age that to survive in the school setting, you made yourself small and didn't disagree with your teachers on anything. Super unhealthy. I had been taught by the Adventist Church that women were to stay small. We were to become mothers and stay home to raise our children. We were to accept that our husbands were the head of the household and spiritual leader. If he ever treated us badly, it was because of something we had done. And we needed to try harder to please him. If we did seek out a career, it was to be either education or nursing. Because those two careers would fit well in the mission field. By the time I started my senior year in high school, I knew that I would become a teacher and then become a missionary in Africa. Where I would teach children to read and love Jesus. It was all planned out. 

But then, I visited the art department at Southern Adventist University. And I changed my mind. I was going to be an artist. 

Now being a creative person within the Adventist Church is really hard. The doctrines within the church are not geared for free spirited individuals who feel closest to God when they are creating art or music. No, it is created for people who will dutifully follow the rules and regulations that have been put into place to control every aspect of your life. And for some people, that doesn't hinder them at all. It doesn't bother them and they thrive in that sort of rigid environment. 

I do not. But more on that later. 

When Southern was first established, it went by the name Southern Missionary College. It didn’t take long for people to start calling it Southern “Matrimony” College. I think you get the idea, if you went to Southern, it was expected that you would be either engaged or married by the time you left.

The theology majors took this VERY seriously. Especially the ones that were planning on becoming pastors. At that time, churches didn’t like hiring single pastors. I don’t know if that has changed at all in the last 20 years, but it put a lot of pressure on these guys. Not only did they need to learn greek and Hebrew. But they also needed to find their future wife. Talk about pressure. 

For many of these soon to be pastors, the cafeteria was their preferred hunting ground. It worked well for guys who were socially awkward. You would see them going around to different tables asking the girls there what their majors were. The ones that they wanted were usually those that were perusing majors in nursing, music, education, social work or pre-med. They never wanted art majors. We were dangerous. 

Most of my friends were either art, nursing, education, music, pre-med or social work majors. We usually all sat together at dinner, since most of us had classes during lunch. This made things pretty interesting when the theology majors came around looking for the right girl (extra bonus if she could play a musical instrument or sing.) 

These guys would go down the line and ask each of us what our majors were. I’d half listen, knowing well that by the time they got to me, they would be expecting a certain answer. 

On this particular occasion, the guy was very persistent and incredibly clueless. I was sitting at the end of the table. My massive drawing pad (that acted like a sail on windy days) was leaning up against the table next to me. My hands were stained with charcoal and pastels. But hey, I could still be a nursing major—right?

“Hi, what’s your name?”

    “Emily”

“Hi Emily, what are you studying?”

    “I’m a...”

“Are you a nursing major?”

    “No”

“Education?”

    “No”

“Pre-med?”

    “No”

“Social work?”

    “No”

“Well, what are you studying!” The guy asked in exasperation. 

    “I’m an art major!”

“OH!”

With that he fled. They always fled. Always.

If you met their criteria, you were then asked on a vespers date. I hated vespers. Way too many wanna-be couples stuffed into the church. And walking back to the dorms was just as bad. Now all those couples were being much too cozy in front of the girls dorm. Gross. 

The sad thing is, a lot of theology majors missed out on some really awesome girls who were within the art department. We weren't anything to be afraid of. 

***

I learned early on in my art career that artists didn’t really have a place in Adventism. We were wanted for our creative ability, but then wished away once the job was done. It wasn't quite as noticeable on campus, but it was prevalent in other places within our church. A lot of it was ignorance, but their condemnation still hurt. 

One evening, after class, when I had stopped at the cafeteria to grab a sandwich. I was informed by a theology major, that I knew from prayer group, that I was going to go to hell because I was taking an anatomy drawing class. He found it scandalous that I was drawing the human body from a live model. Even though they were partially clothed, it was inappropriate and the same as sexual sin. I mean did they want us to join the pre-med students and draw from a cadaver? Because that wouldn’t have been disturbing at all. Ewww, I can't even. I mean, I know from studying art history that artists have studied the human body that way. But gross.  

I remember leaving with my sandwich and feeling hurt. The guy was usually nice. His fiancé was the sweetest. I liked both of them, a lot. But after that day, I avoided the prayer group that met along the promenade. I took a different route to class. I no longer wanted to be anywhere near them. I didn’t understand it then, but it was one of my first experiences of spiritual abuse. 

The thing is, all he had to have done was ask a question, instead of projecting his own personal views on someone else. He could have said, "Hey, I'm really confused about this. Why do you need to draw from a model in your anatomy drawing class? Doesn't it distract you that they are wearing hardly any clothing?"

And I would have told him, "That is a great question. We have to know how the body is put together. We can't do that from photographs or with models wearing baggy clothes. All your favorite Christian artists would have attended public universities and drawn from the nude. Drawing from a model is different than going to a strip club." 

It's a good thing that guy didn't know about the sculpture class. Your project for the year was to sculpt a naked man using mathematic equations. I had zero interest in that class and dropped it after a week. 

***

It was the middle of my sophomore year. I was sitting on the couch in campus safety. I wanted a restraining order. I had a stalker. 

"Well, we really feel like you brought this on yourself. You must have done something to make him think that you wanted his attention."

I was floored. "How is this my fault? I shouldn't have to fear for my safety anywhere on this campus. I have asked him repeatedly to leave me alone. And he will not listen." 

That was probably the first time that I had tried to put up a real boundary with anyone. I was mad. But I got their message loud and clear. 

This is your fault. You did this. 

In the end, they did bring the guy in and told him flat out that he was no longer allowed to be within 20 feet of me. But the damage was done, I never fully trusted Campus Safety ever again. And I learned that if I was ever attacked on campus one night while walking to my car or back to the dorm. It was my fault. Why hello emotional abuse, it is good to see that you are alive and well here on campus. 

A few years later, a mutual friend reached out to me. He told me that ____ had reached out to him and talked about the incident. He had realized that he had treated me horribly. And that he was sorry and wanted to know if I could forgive him. 

I was surprised to say the least. I told our mutual friend that I had forgiven ____ years before. It wasn’t a burden I carried anymore. We were apart of a broken system. I had been taught toxic things. _____ had been encouraged to believe toxic things about relationships from adults that he trusted. If he had finally learned that his actions had hurt those that he had once cared about. That was what mattered. 

***

And a lot of you may be wondering why I am talking about the trauma that I experienced as a young Christian artist. First, I already dealt with the trauma. I dealt with it years ago. But that doesn't mean that the scaring is gone. It is still there and it has shaped me as a person. I am writing about it, because people need to know that they are not alone. Second, you will never fully understand why I left my home church a year ago, if you don't first understand the framework behind my decision to leave. Was I hurt by those within my former church? Yes. Was that why I left? No. 

And so I am going to write. I will continue to send my family to church and stay where I know that I am both spiritually and emotionally safe. I am going to take care of me, for once. And I am going to paint.