Counting the Cost

by Jill Duggar

By preventing us from discussing anything controversial or sensitive with each other, the instruction not to “stir up contention among the brethren” became a tool for silence, for control, for guilt.

Psalm 34:19: “Many are the afflictions of the righteous: but the Lord delivereth him out of them all.”

It was a clear way of keeping full-grown, adult offspring locked into the role of dependent children. Back then, seen through the eyes of my younger self, it seemed like a great plan.

When he said he was giving me to Derick at the wedding altar, it was an empty gesture. IBLP teaching was clear that his authority over me would never diminish. If I disobeyed him or didn’t honor his wishes and stepped out from under the umbrella of protection, I would be exposing myself to potential harm.

The nightmares started that night. It had been over a decade since the initial abuse, and until that point I’d never dreamed about what had happened. But as soon as In Touch published the story, the trauma started to replay itself in my dreams.

And I hold In Touch, Bauer, Kathy O’Kelley, Ernest Cate, the city of Springdale, the Washington County Sheriff’s Office and Rick Hoyt responsible for illegally releasing and publishing the report—for inflicting on me and my sisters the trauma of a second victimization, a trauma that was made so much worse than the first by the fact that it was so public. I am clear about the mistakes that my parents have made over the years with our upbringing, especially Pops, but the way my parents handled or didn’t handle things with Josh does not influence or justify the release of juvenile records and further re-traumatization and exploitation of innocent victims.

“Josh,” she barked. “It’s not your fault that this was released, but you need to know that you were behind all this. Don’t be so arrogant.”

It had been less than two weeks since Jessa and I had sat down with Megyn Kelly. On that day we had taken our seats beneath the bright lights at the Big House and did what we could to stand up for our parents. Answering all Megyn’s questions, with Josh watching from a couch just out of shot, was like having a bandage ripped off a deep and open wound. It was agony, so painful that I didn’t really pause to ask why Josh was allowed to be there in the first place.

My nightmares were getting worse and there was nothing I could do to block any of it out. All I was doing was surviving from one breath to the next.

back when we’d sat in that cabin discussing the show, what I’d really wanted was for Pops to say, “No, we’re not going to put you on Fox News. I’m going to do everything I can to keep you girls out of this. We are not concerned about the future of our show anymore.” I wanted my daddy to stand up for me in that way. Had he known that? Would he have done something different if I’d spoken up? I had no idea. I’d spent much of my life listening to IBLP teaching on the “umbrella of protection.” When I’d needed it most, it had failed me. It felt as though I, as a woman, was expected do all I could to protect Pops and Josh. Nobody appeared to see it differently.

normal families don’t have family meetings where execs from a TV network roll up and pitch the idea of starting a new show.

It turns out that living with fearful thoughts is a lot like living with hornets and garter snakes. Once they find a way in, you can block as many holes as you like, but the struggle to keep them out will require constant vigilance. And when they do get in—which they will—the memory of all those previous attacks will make whatever you’re facing so much worse.

What if trusting God doesn’t only mean trusting him with more kids than I feel I’m able to handle? What if it means being content with only two kids?

At the time when I needed friendships the most, I realized that I didn’t know how to talk to people. Sweet Jilly Muffin had been a gold star kid in the Big House, but out in the world without any Duggars around, she was just a hollow, lonely, scared girl.

“You want to know why I’m crying?” My voice was cracked, my eyes burning. “It’s that you think I’m some kind of horrible person just because I wear pants and have a nose ring, and yet you see that girl outside and praise her. That’s why I’m crying, Daddy. I’m evolving and changing, just like that girl out there, but you can’t see it. You treat me like I’m a prodigal who’s turned her back on you. You treat me worse than you treat my pedophile brother.”

IBLP had put a lot more energy into teaching me to fear the world beyond its doors than it had put into teaching me to trust God and discern for myself how to reach a good and wise decision on any given issue.

Muscle memory told me I was sinning, but common sense, long and deep conversations with Derick, as well as my own Bible study, prayer life, and conversations with other Christians told me that I was actually okay.

These Bible verses from Micah 6:6–8 were a comforting reminder of what God expected of me. “With what shall I come before the LORD, and bow myself before God on high? Shall I come before him with burnt offerings, with calves a year old? Will the LORD be pleased with thousands of rams, with ten thousands of rivers of oil? Shall I give my firstborn for my transgression, the fruit of my body for the sin of my soul?” He has told you, O mortal, what is good; and what does the LORD require of you but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God?

“I’m Muscogee Creek,” he said, midway through our first session, “so I’m going to talk about arrows.” “Um, okay,” we said, not really knowing what else to say. “You’ve been in a battle for a long time. You’ve taken a lot of arrows, and there are more coming. Occasionally, back in the day, when someone would get shot with an arrow, the arrowhead might get lost inside them, and anytime that area got bumped it would be extremely painful. You’ve got a lot of different wounds on you. Some are old, some are new. And I don’t think many of those wounds have healed right.” The room stopped. My breath grew shallow. Cry or run, I didn’t know what I wanted to do. So I just sat and listened. “That’s why it hurts so bad so much of the time, Jill. Even when people do the slightest thing—maybe Derick says or does something dumb—but it bumps one of those arrowheads and triggers all that old pain. So, no, you don’t need a mediation meeting with your parents right now. You don’t need to go back into battle. You need to heal. Really heal.”

I in particular had to learn how to trust people. Decades of fear and paranoia didn’t unravel overnight.

“Sometimes you have to be okay with other people not being okay with you. And you have to be okay with you not being okay too.”