Avanah Sophia grew up in a high control environment under the teachings of Hobart Freeman, an active promoter of faith healing allegedly responsible for the preventable deaths of more than 90 of his followers. Freeman died of pneumonia and heart failure in 1984, two weeks before he was set to appear in court; his legacy continued to guide members of the Faith Assembly church including Avanah Sophia’s family. Today, she is a music teacher, recording artist and proud mother.
I’m actually excited. I’ve been wanting to talk about this for a long time. I have been on my own for 11 years now, and I feel like opportunities are finally clicking into place.
The term I heard a lot growing up was "divine healing." It's a whole belief system that your quality of life, including your body, is dependent on your relationship with God. So, if you are sick or if you are hurt, you need to believe that God will heal you. And if he doesn't heal you, that's because your faith isn't strong enough. You need to confess whatever sins you're guilty of and eliminate distractions from your life to focus on your relationship with God. It's basically like God's giving you a little wake-up call when you are sick or injured. Do you know what I mean? And he's like, "You need to figure out what's wrong in your life and then I'll heal you." That's the teaching I grew up on. I did not see a doctor for my entire childhood. It was kind of crazy because I have a peanut allergy.
I do. My sister and I are really close. I don't really have much of a relationship with any of my brothers or my dad. Last I knew, all of my brothers were still a part of the church. With my mom, it's very spotty. She can't see me the way that I see myself, so it's difficult. As a mom myself, it's even more heartbreaking because I literally cannot imagine a life without my son.
I experienced physical abuse. I experienced sexual abuse. I experienced emotional abuse. At the time, it seemed normal, but then you look back and you're like, "Oh, that's not OK." I wouldn't say emotional abuse is worse, but it's so different because you can't see a bruise on your arm and confirm, "Wow, look, I'm being hurt." It's in you. It's inside of you. You don't notice it right away. The biggest issue was the whole concept that quality of life was dependent on how "good" I was. I mean, I literally remember going to sleep every night and making a checklist in my head of all the "good" things I had done and all the "bad" things and the bad thoughts. As a kid, I would think, "If I die in my sleep, will I end up going to heaven tonight?" I was trained to judge myself and judge others constantly. It’s something I still struggle with.
The lack of medical attention on a number of levels was probably more dangerous than I realized growing up. I had neighbors who were literal angels. I was homeschooled. I wasn’t allowed to be friends with anyone who held different beliefs than the church. I didn't get the best education, which is a little bit frustrating sometimes because you can't really go back and redo that part of your life. I remember fantasizing about having friends. I remember being like, "I just want to know what it’s like to be a cool girl." I was a 14- or 15-year-old girl, craving community and friendship. Sleepovers. I never got to do that. Sometimes I still think about that. One of my friend's moms from our homeschool group was a nurse and I remember her telling me she thought I might be anemic. She went out of her way to offer me iron pills even though she knew I wasn’t allowed to see a doctor. People don't know sometimes that the simplest act of kindness is heroic in someone else's eyes.
I have to backtrack to when I was 7. Growing up in that environment, you are constantly reminded that you have to come to the decision to be born again. As kids, we would just call it, “becoming a Christian.” At 7, I hadn't gotten there yet. I remember getting in trouble and confessing because in my head I thought, "I'm going to tell my dad I want to become a Christian so I don’t get a spanking." Sure enough, I “become” a Christian and I don't get my spank. I knew in my head I was faking it. I faked speaking in tongues for years at prayer meetings. As I got into my teenage years, I was living a double life. Like if we went to homeschool, co-op, I'd have a cute shirt on underneath my modest shirt. I would go babysit and I'd be on the phone with somebody. My dad kept saying to me, “I feel like you're faking it. I don't think you actually are saved in your heart. I don't think you're actually a follower of Jesus.” I came to the point where I was like, "You know what? My dad's right." I told my dad and he made me confess to the church. Public shame was his favorite tool. I remember feeling like such a terrible person for abusing what God meant. I wanted to die. When I admitted to my dad that I had faked it when I was 7, I had to get a spank at 17 for what I should have gotten a spank for at the age of 7. I tried for a while, but then I began questioning him more. I remember him calling everyone to come downstairs. All five kids were there. He told me to leave even though I said I wanted to stay on good terms. He was like, “If you want to get out, you have to get out right now.” And it just turned into him, literally yelling, “Get out of my house!” I remember saying, “Can I get my stuff? Can I put my shoes on?” He said, “No, get out of the house.” He opened the door and pushed me out in my bare feet.
It’s incredible that you’ve been able to translate your trauma into such soulful music.
I really hope that my songs can be healing for other people as well. I love when I sing to someone and they say, "I feel like this was written about me." How beautiful is that? We all just want someone to love us unconditionally.
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