Nia’s Story

by Noelle Wells

Why tell stories that are messy, painful, and show how deep the corruption in the church can be? Is it not easier to bury our dead and erase their names? As the blood of Abel cried out from the ground, so do wounded souls cry out for justice. If Jesus builds his church shouldn’t the lights be turned on in every room and every disease be offered a cure? If Jesus builds his church, then no act of man can tear it down.

We tell these stories as a stand against sin and corruption in the church and as a witness to faithfulness of God in preserving his children who were mocked, shamed, and abused by the very men ordained to offer them the comforts of the Gospel.

The Presbyterian Advocacy Coalition is a new organization, born out of ancient pain—the pain of those who have sought the succor and safety of Christ and his church, only to have the church became the place of greater trauma rather than safety and healing.  It ought not to be this way.  We all know that.

If we believe the Gospel means anything, we know it is enough for even this.

And so I would like to share Nia’s story. Nia has given permission for this article to be written and has reviewed it for accuracy.

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Nia’s Story:

I was born in Troy, New York, in September 1950. I was the fifth of ten children and the first girl after four boys. My father, charming but unreliable, left the family when I was seven years old, leaving my mother to provide for the family alone. My father would come by periodically throughout my life, but he couldn’t be counted on. Even so, my mother remained charmed by him until the day she died. You can imagine with such a big family and a single parent that we were poor! We survived on welfare, which in those days was something you couldn’t hide. In those times, welfare recipients were judged and found wanting. Not because of poverty, but as a result of this stigma, I felt deep embarrassment and shame for many years.

My oldest brother began molesting me when I was still in a crib. My mother caught him a few years later and gave me ‘the talk’ and told me not to let my brother do that to me. Sadly, this went on for years without her effectively stopping him. When I reached puberty, I was finally able to stop his abuse myself. At that point, he shifted to calling me vulgar names. At age sixteen, I finally snapped! I grabbed a sharp can opener and attempted to attack him. My siblings held me back. That seemed to genuinely frighten him, and he left me alone after that. Although my brother was no longer abusing me, much damage was done. In addition to PTSD, I was consumed with horrific shame which impacted all my thinking and emotions.  I started my life carrying a burden I would not ever fully shed.

I coped with my tumultuous life by escaping into books. We moved often, and I felt quite isolated and without many friends. Thus, reading became my safe place. I would read several books a week and even irritated my mom for being so absent when she needed me.  

At age thirteen, I met Peter, the man I would eventually marry. He was Catholic, but he participated in our church youth group with his friend because there were girls there. Ultimately, I became friends with Peter’s sister, and Peter befriended my brothers. They spent an enormous amount of time at our house. 

When I was sixteen, I started dating other boys.  Peter became jealous and decided I was to be his girlfriend. He pursued me tirelessly. Today they would call it ‘love-bombing’. Eventually I gave in and we started dating. Soon after, I got pregnant. My mother wouldn’t let me marry him because Peter wasn’t a Christian. He left and joined the Marines. He accepted the Lord during that time and my mother agreed to let us marry. We remained married for 35 years before our divorce.

I had known before marrying him that sometimes Peter could be difficult, but I thought that was just his quirky personality. I did think he was responsible and conscientious.  Due to my dysfunctional family history, I didn’t understand that from the very beginning Peter was addicted to pornography and alcohol, and he was already sinking into the deep selfishness that is part of addiction.

After our third child was born, we went to Bible college. Unfortunately, Peter, for no apparent reason, quit shortly before graduating. After uprooting our family to move for school, we now returned home and to his old job.  Theology was now his new hobby, along with chess, and watching wrestling. He liked teaching Bible, and to outsiders, he seemed to do well with it. 

The contrast between the ‘church’ Peter and the ‘home’ Peter grew very confusing to me and to our children. At church he appeared wise, kind, and patient.  At home he ridiculed and mocked.  He was angry and selfish and mean spirited to all of us. He undermined me constantly as I taught the children the gospel, the grace of God and the fruit of the spirit. Although he taught the Bible at church, he never did he teach it at home.

Peter controlled me with finances and faith.  When it came to everything else though—utter neglect. He complained that having to mow the lawn was me being ‘controlling’. He did no home maintenance, and when our septic system failed, he refused to get it fixed. We lived with raw sewage in our yard for years. When our stove broke, he wouldn’t pay to replace it. Eventually, my adult son became aware and purchased one for me. Peter would go to work, come home, eat, drink beer and sit at his computer till bedtime. My kids used to joke that they could do whatever they wanted as long as they didn’t block his view of the TV or computer. 

Meanwhile, I held it together for the family—homeschooling, working as a nurse, and caring for the needs of the children. Several times over the years, I would fall under the weight of it and go for pastoral counseling.  The counsel I received was always the same: ‘ask for forgiveness, be nicer, better meals, better sex’.  Unlike Christian in Pilgrim’s Progress, my burden was multiplied, not lifted.   There was no counsel for Peter because I was ‘the crazy one’.

Around 2001 we started attending Calvary Orthodox Presbyterian Church in Schenectady, New York. I was somewhat familiar with the Reformed faith and knew a couple of people at the church when we started attending. Initially, I liked Pastor Tom. He wasn’t the official pastor at that point, just filling the pulpit, but I was very supportive of him being called to the church. I even went to Presbytery to offer support when there were controversies around his ordination.  I was pleased when Tom Trouwborst became our pastor officially.

I had been struggling with severe depression and suicidal thoughts due to the state of my marriage since around 1988. I now knew that our marriage wasn’t going to change because Peter had no intention of changing.  Peter honestly thought he had no faults. Every day I wept and prayed, asking God how was I to live this life with this man who never stopped being abusive with his cruel words and behaviors. There never seemed to be an answer.  Around 2003 I completely broke down. I could not eat or sleep.  I lost 70 pounds in six weeks. I was very unwell.  Peter didn’t want me in the bedroom disturbing him, so I ended up on the living room floor in the fetal position, rocking and crying. I don’t know how long my husband let me lay there while he sat at his computer, but years later, my girls (who were then age 11 and 16), recounted to me how horrible it was for them to walk around me while their father just ignored the situation. They were deeply impacted by it.

I must have been making sounds during the night that irritated Peter because he stormed out of the bedroom yelling that I belonged in a nuthouse, I was so frightened that I begged him to take me to the hospital. He drove me there and told me to get out at the ER entrance.  I was too weak to move. The hospital staff had to get me on a stretcher. I stayed for two days. It was then I realized I couldn’t go home, so I begged a friend to come and get me. At that point, all I wanted was time away to recover. I hadn’t even thought of getting divorced.  

I was still extremely ill, but due to Peter’s financial control, I had no access to any money. With no other options, I reluctantly turned to the church. I had never asked for anything, and especially after my welfare upbringing, I felt deep shame asking for help.  Still, I went to a deacon at Calvary and was given $500. The deacon told me to come back when I was again in need. However, when I met with the deacon a second time, he appeared upset and told me that he was instructed to withhold all financial help unless I counseled with Pastor Tom Trouwborst. I was reluctant, as by this time, I had already witnessed some troubling things about the pastor.  But I was desperate financially and uncertain what to do.  My youngest was still with me (most of my children were grown by this point), and I needed to provide for her. I was doing some cleaning jobs to keep body and soul together somewhat. I really needed space to rest and heal. 

A friend in the church offered me a basement apartment. At first this seemed to be a good arrangement.   Unfortunately, Pastor Tom was so determined that I counsel with him and move back in and reconcile with Peter that he pressured my friend.  My friend and her husband then began harassing me to return to Peter. The trauma and PTSD that I suffered caused serious anxiety and blood pressure problems. But I got a job to pay rent. 

Meanwhile, I gave in and had my first counseling session with Tom. I shared with him what was going on in our marriage, particularly the porn addiction.  He merely asserted I needed to go back to Peter and work on our marriage, and that the cure to my depression would be to keep busy. He ignored that I had already worked myself nearly to death for thirty-five years. No one who knew me considered me someone who needed to do more!  Pastor Tom told me that he wanted me to cook twenty meals for another family in the church as a treatment for my depression.  I nearly collapsed at this counsel. I asked if I could speak to the Session. He told me I couldn’t. 

The second and final counseling visit with Pastor Tom, he told me that he spoke to Peter and that Peter denied all my allegations. Tom wanted to know why he should believe me. I told him my children would verify my assertions. They, in fact, did tell the pastor that I was telling the truth, but he was not interested in what they witnessed and lived through. He had made up his mind. 

At the beginning of my breakdown, I had counseled with a Reformed pastor who had had a bout with depression in the past and had compassion. But now I was told that I was not allowed to counsel with him. 

Eventually I realized that I wasn’t going to have any support to separate from Peter. But even worse—I had to file for divorce almost immediately.  In a separation, a husband can legally cut off his off wife financially, and my husband was doing exactly that. The only way I would be free of Peter’s debts (which were rapidly increasing) and have any access to our assets was through filing divorce and getting a court order to split the assets. Filing for divorce was an act of survival. The Session, however, remained firmly on the side of Peter. They asserted that I was a bitter wife who needed to go back to her husband and reconcile. They dismissed my health issues as irrelevant as I was working a lot to be able to support my daughter, so they assumed I must be doing fine. 

Around 2004, Peter withdrew his membership from Calvary OPC to avoid any possible accountability. I decided to do the same.  They had accepted Peter’s withdrawal but refused mine. Pastor Tom told me that if I withdrew my membership, I would be self-excommunicating. He frightened me, and I withdrew my resignation. I felt completely isolated and without hope. Rather than offering love and care, the Session brought charges against me for continuing with the divorce, refusing to meet with them, and failing to bring about my husband’s repentance. This devastated me. I felt trapped and hopeless. I was a Christian woman and never wanted to cause trouble for anyone. 

Even though I suffered with severe anxiety and PTSD, I did try to participate in the Session’s process for determining whether I was guilty.  I attended the first meeting of my trial in 2004. I was a quivering mess the whole time. My daughter did most of the talking. The Session wanted to schedule the next meeting of the trial, but that was difficult for me. I wanted to continue to defend myself, but I was working per diem as a nurse and had an unpredictable schedule.  The Session scheduled the trial anyway. When I had to work on the scheduled date, they conducted the trial in my absence. Despite my children and I submitting so much evidence of Peter’s abuse and porn addiction (even a confession from my husband to my son), the Session was so convinced of their narrative that the trial ended in them excommunicating me while I was at work and unable to attend.

The Session was required by the Book of Church Order to have someone represent me in the trial as my defense counsel, and they appointed Rev. Tim Gregson. But that was just for show.  The Session sent out the letter announcing my defense counsel’s name only four days before my trial.  Since they sent it by mail, I received the letter only one day before my trial. Immediately, I attempted to contact Tim Gregson, begging him to look at my evidence, and anxious that there wouldn’t be enough time to show it to him. I didn’t hear from him until after the trial was over.

In his post-trial correspondence to me, my ‘defense counsel’ stated that I had lost the trial, but that he had represented me to ‘the best of his ability’. He unironically stated this, despite the fact that he never once spoke to me prior to the trial or showed any interest in any of my evidence. Although there was much evidence from myself and my children of my husband’s rampant porn addiction throughout our entire marriage, the Session apparently deemed him innocent of the charge of adultery! 

I felt like my life was over. I loved the church! My faith had always meant so much to me. I felt condemned to hell, as if the foundations of my life were ripped out from under me. I have never fully recovered, and I carry the weight of it to this day.

Some years later, I moved to Raleigh, NC, and started attending Pilgrim OPC. I had been unable to find anyone who was willing to engage in the task of my restoration to the church.

 I had been barred from communion, the means of grace, for years at that point. The session of that church, under the leadership of Rev. Doug Withington. wanted to help restore me, but while they recognized my excommunication was unjust, they ultimately encouraged me to repent of sins I hadn’t committed to the Session at Calvary to appease them. Thus, I had to write a letter of repentance to my ex-husband, to members of my family, and to anyone else they could think of. I also had to write a letter of repentance to the Calvary OPC congregation to be read from the pulpit. I was forced by pastors and elders to lie in order to receive the means of grace, ie, the Lord’s Supper.

It is my desire to have my ex-communication reversed. It is a wound that has never healed.

In spite of all of this, I do have faith, faith that God freely gave me. His grace carried me when I could not take another step.  Though the Session at Calvary in Schenectady thought they could erase my name from the Lamb’s book and cast me out, though I was distraught in believing their calumny, I know now my heart is safe with God.

It is my hope that my story and the stories of others can help real and meaningful change begin to happen.

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