Daniel Balderas: Escaping the Small Box—My Life with Jehovah's Witnesses

My name is Daniel B. Finally, there's a forum to tell my history. I'm six decades old now. This JW cult has brought death, destruction, and ostracism to my family and me.

It all started when my mom and father came to the USA looking for a better life in 1964. They soon were captured by the JW. One day, when my whole family was in a car, we had a head-on collision with another car, and both my father and my grandfather died at the scene. After the incident, my mother went back to Mexico and remarried another JW and built a Kingdom Hall on the house property. I was like one year old or two.

Growing up, I never liked the JW teachings and doctrines. I always felt: too old, too young, too tall, too short, too fat, too thin, too smart, not smart enough—their teachings never applied to me. I felt like I was inside of a very small box when we could be in a bigger box.

Around 15 years old, I told my surviving mother that I didn't like to be in that particular religion, and she replied to me that when I grew up I could get out of the religion. At 18 years old, my older brother, who is one year older than me, was kicked out of the house by my stepdad simply for turning 18 years old and because his social security check had run out. He came to the USA, had no other choice, and joined the army, triggering automatic expulsion from the cult and ostracism by all.

The next year was my turn to turn 18, and as expected, I was kicked out of my house by my stepfather because my social security check had ended. I came back to the USA—I had no other choice since my mother had had me here in the USA. I lived for three years with my JW uncles, in a living hell. Going to meetings five days a week and publishing door-to-door on the weekends, rain, snow, or shine. I developed a fear of speaking in public because English is not my first language. I was 21 years old at the time. I wrote a letter to the elders explaining my situation and asking for help. At the next meeting, they announced publicly from the platform that I was no longer a JW. Instead of feeling sad, I felt happy.

The news spread like wildfire, and they informed my mother even before I had a chance to tell her myself. She wrote me a letter—the internet wasn't a thing yet; all communication was by mail. She said that I was no longer her son and that I was never to go back to Mexico for a visit; there was no room for me. That happened in 1987.

I still don't believe in the teachings and doctrines of the Watchtower. Despite everything, I talk with my mother on the phone every week or two, just to say hi. None of my brothers and half-brothers speak to me to socialize—only to say hi every once in a while. None of my uncles speak to me because mostly I don't know them; they're Catholic, and we never had a family relationship, do you understand? I have cousins that I've never met, and I don't even know if they exist.

Thank you for letting me get my history off my chest. This is my story. There may be a lot more details about it, but these are the main points.