April Fraedrich: From Despair to Healing–My Journey Out of the Jehovah’s Witnesses

My mother started studying with Jehovah’s Witnesses when I was just seven years old. From that moment, my entire world changed. I was taught that I had to be separate from “worldly” people—no friends outside the faith, no birthdays, no holidays, no extracurricular activities. I was so deep in it that when my own brother was disfellowshipped, I refused to speak to him for years.
 
I became a regular pioneer, dedicating at least 90 hours a month to preaching. I was determined to be the perfect Jehovah’s Witness—worthy of a “fine Christian husband.” But inside, I was struggling. I didn't yet know that I had bipolar disorder, and my first terrifying manic episode came as a result of the spiritual high I was riding. I became delusional, convinced I could read minds. I even wore a head covering and no shoes while in the hospital to prove my submission to God. I truly believed I was a prophetess, speaking in scriptures and attempting to communicate telepathically with the nurses.
 
I lost myself completely. At one point, I forced open the hospital’s secure doors, and just as security was about to restrain me, I saw my mother arriving. She motioned for me to go back inside, and without hesitation, I obeyed. She was the one person I still trusted in that moment. That hospitalization lasted six weeks. Even now, 20 years later, I am still cautious about spirituality, afraid of triggering another psychotic episode. Only at the end of last year did I finally begin exploring my own, more authentic spiritual path.
 
I did everything I could to remain in Jehovah’s favor, but at 23 years old, I fell in love with someone outside the faith and lost my virginity. I confessed to the elders, and they told me I had to end the relationship immediately. I obeyed. But after that, I struggled. I was put on public reproof, but I kept trying because I knew what was at stake.
 
Then came the night I was disfellowshipped. I lost everything—my family, my friends, my entire support system. I felt like my life was over. That night, I went straight from the Kingdom Hall to an inpatient mental hospital because I was actively suicidal.
 
The only reason I am alive today is because my mother chose me over the cult. She defied their strict no-contact rule and continued speaking to me. When I asked her why, she simply said, “Because I knew that if I obeyed their rules, you would have killed yourself.” Not everyone is as lucky as I was. It breaks my heart to think of those who didn’t have someone willing to disobey the cult’s rules to save them.
 
To anyone who feels like they have nothing left, I want you to know this: There IS life after the cult. You may not believe it now, but one day, you will wake up and realize that happiness, love, and freedom are possible. You just have to hold on. One day at a time, one minute at a time, one breath at a time.
 
You are not worthless.
You are not unlovable.
You are not broken.
 
You are kintsugi—a beautiful form of art where broken pottery is repaired with gold, making it even more valuable than before. You are priceless. You are beautiful. You are kintsugi.
 
If my story resonates with you, know that you are not alone. There is life, love, and healing beyond the walls of the Watchtower.