My friends urged me to be a teenager. They told me that I’d never allowed myself to behave like a regular kid and have some fun. They were right, and this was my chance to make up for lost time.
On most days, I slept in, spent afternoons at the beach and came home whenever I felt like it, which didn’t please my mother. She was constantly complaining about me hanging out with my “Wog” friends (a pejorative church term for non-Scientologists). It drove her crazy when I didn’t make my bed, or came home late, or when she found cigarette ashes in her car. According to her, these were bad habits I was picking up from the Wog world. I didn’t care what my mother thought. I loved my newfound freedom.
One weekend, my friends and I packed up my car and drove eighty miles south to Newport Beach. We’d rented a place on the beach, which, as it turned out, was next to a house full of boys around our age. One of them approached me as I was sunning myself on the first day. He was small, thin and clean-cut—a good-looking guy in a feminine kind of way who came across as painfully shy even though he had made the move to talk to me first. He said his name was Sean. He was four years older than I was, attending school and working at a sporting goods store while pursuing an acting career. Small world—he lived in Valencia too. We talked for a long time that day and the next.
I wasn’t attracted to Sean—not in that heart-thumping way my girlfriends described when they liked a boy—but he was nice and nonthreatening. While everyone else spent their time playing beer pong and drinking way too much, I was happy to have someone else who wasn’t into clubbing and the party scene. Sean seemed perfectly content to sit with me on the swings and talk about our families. I developed a sense of security with him. By the end of the weekend, I felt as if we’d become good friends.
Sean called a few days later and invited me to come for lunch with his family. They lived in a large Tudor-style house that looked like a mansion to me. His parents were welcoming and made me feel right at home. He had the kind of family I had always dreamed of, with parents who were happily married and made their children the center of their universe. Meanwhile, my mother was more dedicated to the church than she was to me. She was always there. With no one at home and no job to go to, I began spending a lot of time at Sean’s. He quickly fell in love with me and I loved his parents. I told myself that, in time, I would grow to love Sean too. His family became my family.
That fall, I got up one day and found a note from my mother on my bed. “If you don’t get your life in order, you can move out,” it read. Accompanying the note was a flyer from an insurance marketing company that was hiring—a company affiliated with the church, of course. At that point, I didn’t know what I wanted to do with my life, but being a carefree teenager was getting old and I was bored. I’d worked since I was fourteen and I missed being productive and challenged and making my own money. I decided she was right: I needed to get my life back on track and find a job.
I applied to the company that Mom had recommended and was hired on the spot. The company required that I stay on top of my “overts” (sins) and “withholds” (secrets). At around the same time, my mother got me back into session with Larry, my former Scientology counselor, to get me away from my Wog friends and on course with the church. Back into the church for auditing and coursework I went.
In auditing, the theme of my sexuality sometimes still popped up. Every new auditor who read my file asked me about it. How many times did I have to repeat that I understood any sexual act other than intercourse between a man and a woman for the purpose of procreating was considered deviant social behavior? I wanted to pursue a “normal life” and have a successful career, a happy marriage and children. And now I had a boyfriend! Problem solved.
I was back on track in the church and dedicated to being the best I could be at everything in my life: the best Scientologist, the best salesperson in my company, the best girlfriend to Sean. Time passed quickly. I was on my way to attaining the level of Clear, and I’d come to crave my auditing sessions again. Every time I unburdened myself, I came away feeling high. Mesmerized, really. I felt like I could conquer the world. Sometimes I spent entire weekends at the church, being audited and taking courses. The more I did, the more I wanted. And it was working! My career took off and a larger insurance company recruited me as a sales manager for more money. I was happy enough with Sean and shut off my occasional, fleeting thoughts about women. Sean and I got engaged. At the urging of my mother, I got him to join the church.
* * *
In June 1994, exactly two years after we’d met in Newport Beach, Sean and I were married in a traditional Scientology ceremony with bridesmaids and groomsmen and vows written by L. Ron Hubbard. Photographs from the wedding show a beautiful young couple, faces flushed with the joy of the moment and the promise of the future. That picture was only partly true. There was a side of Sean I’d begun to see that gave me pause—times when, out of the blue, he erupted in anger and was verbally abusive. One of the worst occasions was the night before our wedding.
I was sharing a room at the Mandalay Beach Resort in Ventura with my mother, my half sister, Jessica, who’d flown in from Colorado, and my friend Shannon. My mother was in the Sea Org by then and living on a “berthing” floor at the LA church. She’d received special permission for a two-day leave to attend the wedding. The four of us enjoyed a relaxing day, getting in facials and beach time before the big day. After dinner, we gathered in my suite, drinking wine and chattering happily, when Sean called from our house. As soon as I answered the phone, I knew something was wrong. Sean began shouting at me. “This fucking dog! This is your fault!”
“What are you talking about?” I asked. “Calm down, Sean.”
Over the phone I heard a commotion and Sean yelling at our new American Eskimo puppy, a little white fur ball named Chloe. Then I heard a thud, like something hitting the wall, and yelping.
“Sean, stop it!” I cried. “You have to calm down. Sit down. Talk to me. What is happening?”
“I just came in the house from having drinks with the guys,” he said. “It’s late. There is no way that I will have enough sleep for tomorrow. I’m going to spend my fucking night cleaning up this mess!”
At that point, he sounded like a mental patient. He was breathing hard and making no sense.
“Tell me what happened,” I said, trying to stay calm, but frantic about what was happening to my sweet new puppy.
“Well, knowing you, you must have left a pen somewhere that Chloe could get it and she chewed it up,” Sean said, spitting his words into the phone. “We have black ink all over our white carpet and she walked in it and it’s everywhere. I will be up all night cleaning this up. We just need to cancel the wedding!”
I should have agreed with Sean and canceled the wedding, but I didn’t. I chose to ignore major red flags—namely, my lack of interest in him sexually and his increasingly volatile temper. My Scientology training had taught me that any situation could be “handled.” Besides, all of my family had come to town and they were expecting the fairy-tale wedding I’d been planning for months. So instead of running, I took a deep breath and said, “Sean, this is not worth it. Leave the mess. Chloe is probably scared to death. She is a puppy. Just go to bed and get some sleep. I’ll take care of it when we get home from our honeymoon.”
Sean was quiet for a moment. I thought I had convinced him to go to bed. Naive me.
“You know, that’s exactly why you are the mess you are,” he said, his words dripping with contempt. “You never handle anything. No, Michelle, you just enjoy your time at the hotel. I’ll see if I decide to show up tomorrow or not.” He slammed down the phone.
My mother, my sister and my friend, witnesses to this row, all stayed quiet when I hung up the phone. They knew not to give their opinions or advice. I was too headstrong to listen and too staunch a Scientologist to be deterred from my mission by a petty argument. As we so often said in Scientology
, “There are no such things as problems, just situations and solutions.” I repeated the mantra over and over that night.
Sean showed up the next day. Neither of us mentioned the phone call. We got married and acted as if nothing had happened, until after the last of our two hundred guests left the reception and we went to our hotel room. That’s when Sean picked up his rant from the night before, as if no time at all had passed. “Fucking dog! Why did we get the fucking dog, anyway? Why did you leave a pen around? What the hell is wrong with you?” We went to bed angry, without consummating our marriage.
The next morning I put a big smile on my face for my friends and family. This good little Scientologist couldn’t let anyone know how bad I was feeling on the inside. I especially did not want my mom to know. She was headed back to her cloistered quarters and didn’t know when she’d be free to see me again, and anyway, I knew what she would say—what every Scientologist would say: “There are no such things as problems, just situations and solutions.” Finding solutions always meant casting a critical eye on your own actions.
What are you withholding from Sean, Michelle?
What have you done to cause this?
What have you done to him?
I knew my answer. I didn’t want to be married and I didn’t want to be married to him, but I was stuck.
* * *
I started another new job when we returned from our honeymoon in Hawaii. I had been thinking for a while that the company I’d been working for was limiting and stringent. I was confident I could make more money someplace else. A week before the wedding, I landed a position with a bigger, more prosperous insurance company. The commute was shorter, the money was better and I was my own boss. For the first time in my career, my employer had no ties to Scientology. I was working for and with Wogs. Of course, I couldn’t have taken the job without the church’s blessing, which Larry gave gladly, pointing out that Wogs were potential recruits and an opportunity for me to bring in “raw meat.”
I dove headfirst into my new job. Sean worked part-time doing fieldwork for his father’s geology company. He groused about it constantly. I encouraged him to go back to school to train for something he loved. I was the main breadwinner, and I could cover him for a while until he determined what he wanted to do.
Sean decided he’d like to pursue acting once again. We paid for acting classes at the Beverly Hills Playhouse, but he went once and lost interest. When acting didn’t pan out, he decided to pursue work as a personal trainer like his best friend, John. If it meant he’d like a job enough to stick with it, I was all for it.
He spent his days training with John at the gym and I put in long hours at my company. Our busy schedules meant less time for church activities, auditing and coursework, and we started to stray. Sean introduced me to his new group of friends from the gym. They were the typical Valencia “beautiful people,” most of them self-indulgent twenty- and thirtysomethings with perfectly toned bodies and permanent tans. I could see why he was attracted to them, with their good looks and their lavish lifestyles.
In the beginning, we spent most evenings partying with them at posh clubs, but the routine got old quickly for me. Sean often ended up staying out later than I did and getting a ride home. The arrangement worked for a couple of months before he became resentful and started picking fights. Why couldn’t I stay out late like everyone else? Why was my job so important that I had to tuck in early every night? Why did my fucking career always come before him? I told Sean the partying had become too frequent for my taste. I wasn’t a big drinker and the late nights made it hard for me to be my best when I was working. I wanted to say that I wasn’t fortunate enough to have parents who employed me, and bought my cars, and paid my car insurance, and gave me a company credit card, but I didn’t want to stir up trouble. I just wanted to get along.
Sean was becoming increasingly aggressive and confrontational with me. His moods often ranged from sullen to belligerent and I was never sure what to expect from him. Our arguments were mostly about money and sex. When he started a fight, I usually walked into another room, or grabbed a blanket and went to sleep on the couch. That he couldn’t get me to respond infuriated him even more. He called me vile names: Fucking liar! Suppressive. Bitch. Cunt. He threw things at me—pillows, keys, suitcases, whatever was within reach. I told myself that everyone had problems. I knew how to handle ours. Every time his anger flared, my Scientology training kicked in. Let it go. Don’t react. Emotions are for Wogs. Be in control. But his withering attacks left me humiliated and afraid, and wondering what could happen next.
Then it did. On a Friday night I arrived home from work and found Sean dressed and ready to go out on the town. He said he’d made plans for us to meet John and his new girlfriend, Lisa.
I’d had a long day. All I wanted was to put on my pajamas and collapse. “You go out,” I said, tossing my briefcase and purse on the couch. “I’m exhausted.”
I had barely gotten the words out when Sean erupted. “That would suit you just fine, wouldn’t it?” he shouted, clenching his fists at his sides. “For me to go out and you to stay here. Why can’t you be normal like everyone else?”
I was genuinely puzzled by his reaction. “Why are you yelling at me?” I asked.
Sean got up in my face. “You give me every excuse about why you can’t go out and that leads to excuses about why you don’t want to have sex!” he said, seething. “Well, guess what. We are going out and then we are having sex like every normal couple should!”
“Really?” I said, raising an eyebrow. “I’m sorry if I’m working hard and bringing in the majority of the income, but I’m not going to be told when I am going to have sex with you!”
Sean had fire in his eyes. I sensed we were headed in a direction I didn’t want to go and I quickly shifted gears. I told Sean he was right. We needed to go out and have fun with our friends.
I quickly changed clothes, and we met John and Lisa at a Mexican restaurant nearby. Sean began nitpicking everything I said. This was something new. He’d never been critical of me in front of his friends before. Yielding to his wishes obviously hadn’t been enough. He was holding a grudge.
I managed to stay cool and smile my way through his insults and criticisms. Toward the end of the meal, he finally got to what was bugging him. “So Michelle thinks she’s all that now with her big job,” he said. “She almost didn’t come out.”
I saw John and Lisa glance at each other uncomfortably. “Dude, leave your wife alone,” John said. “We can’t stay out late anyway. I have an early-morning client and Lisa has had a long week too. We were planning on calling it an early night.”
Sean didn’t respond. We all drank down what was left of our margaritas, split the check and said our good-byes.
The drive home was tense. I tried making small talk to bring Sean out of his funk, but my efforts were futile.
“It was good to see John and Lisa tonight,” I said. “She seems happy in her new job.”
“Yep.”
“So what are your plans tomorrow? Should we ask your parents to dinner?”
“I don’t know.”
We arrived home and I took Chloe out for a short walk. When I returned, I found Sean lying naked on the bed, clearly aroused.
I took a deep breath. “Sean, can we plan this for another night?” I asked. “I’m really tired and I don’t feel like we’re in a good place right now.”
Sean grabbed my arm and yanked me down on the bed. When he tried to kiss me, I turned away. “I don’t know what you are doing, but this is not working for me tonight,” I said, my heart starting to race. “You’re acting strangely and I don’t like it. It certainly isn’t a turn-on.”
When he let go of my arm, I breathed a quiet sigh of relief. I told myself he’d had too much to drink and needed to sleep it off. Everything would be back to normal in the morning.
I walke
d into the bathroom to get ready for bed, certain that by the time I was finished Sean would be dead to the world. But when I came out, he was stroking himself.
Grabbing my pillow and a blanket, I turned to leave the room.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
“Have at it,” I said. “I’ll sleep in the living room.”
I made up the couch, turned out the light and curled up with my back to the bedroom. No sooner had I closed my eyes than Sean padded past me into the kitchen. I heard the freezer open and ice tinkle into a glass, then the sound of the faucet running. I was relieved he was drinking water. Hopefully it would help sober him up and he’d go to sleep.
Thinking the worst was over, I began settling in again when—whoosh! Freezing water rained over me. Gasping, I opened my eyes and saw him standing over me. “That’s what you get for being such a bitch!” he said. “Did that wake you up? Are you ready to have sex now?”
I was looking into the face of evil and I was petrified. I didn’t move for fear of what he would do next. I had never felt so demeaned or so vulnerable. Sean was trying to provoke me, but I knew not to fight back. Not at that moment. I closed my eyes and lay there, motionless, until I heard him stomp back to the bedroom.
As soon as it felt safe to move, I got up and tiptoed to the kitchen. It was dark, and I slipped as I felt around for my car keys. I didn’t know where I was going to go, but I had to get out of the house. With ice water still dripping off me, I finally found my keys and rushed toward the garage door. As I did, I saw Sean coming toward me.
“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice as cold as the water he’d thrown on me.
I started to cry. “I can’t believe that you threw ice water on me! I’m going for a drive. I think we both need to cool off.”
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