Text: Marjolein de Jong | Photo: David Meulenbeld | February 8, 2022

Many young people go on a trip around the world or spend a year working as a nanny. You entered a convent at age 18 and became the youngest nun in the Netherlands. How did you come to that decision?
'Even as a child, I was very philosophical. I’d go into the woods to find peace and reflect. When I’d ask questions in elementary school—about death or life—the teachers would tell me not to be such a know-it-all. It was a small village in Brabant. The prevailing attitude was: just act normal—that’s crazy enough.

No one could answer the questions I was grappling with. The nuns at the convent—whom I got to know through a short internship—did have answers. Because they—just like me—thought about those kinds of topics. From them, I learned about God. The more I learned, the more I fell in love with God and faith. I also loved the rhythm of praying together. And the idea that you could care for everyone in the world with a single prayer. I thought it was fantastic.”

Did the fact that you didn’t have it easy at home play a role in your decision?
'I think so. I found safety in the convent. I was bullied quite a bit. As a child, I was always told I was ‘too much.’ Too fat, too hyper, too loud. I tried to change my behavior. What if I talked a little less, or made my presence felt a little less? But no matter what I did, I was still ‘too much.’ No one realized that something was hiding behind that cheerful, energetic girl.

My first memory of the abuse was when I was six years old. The perpetrator was someone very close to me. I linked the rapes to the belief that I wasn’t a good girl, that I was provoking him, and that he was annoyed and couldn’t help himself. The abuse went on for years, and no one knew about it. Until, when I was thirteen, my neighbor across the street, Christien, committed suicide. Her death was a huge shock. I was close to her; as a child, I felt right at home there. Even though I was young at the time, during her funeral I realized: if I keep the abuse a secret, I’ll end up following her. That’s how, at age fifteen, I ended up in a so-called “room training program” (an independence training program, ed.).’

“When your life is turned upside down in such a drastic way, you might unconsciously start looking for an extreme way of life.”

What did the convent offer you?
'I was very happy there. The foundation of my childhood was so chaotic. In the convent, I suddenly had thirty mothers who taught me the rhythm of life. If I could go back in time and be eighteen again, I’d make the same choice.

I sometimes joke that I could have become a prostitute, or a drug addict. Many of the girls in the residential training program got involved with “lover boys” or turned to drugs. When your life takes such a drastic turn, you might unconsciously start looking for an extreme way of life. It could have been something else, but for me, the Catholic faith came closest.”

Why did you choose to study educational sciences after a few years in the convent?
'I had been sent to Chicago for that purpose and started working there with traumatized children. I had a knack for it; I could really put myself in their shoes. Once I was back in the Netherlands, the Mother Superior decided that, for that reason, I should study educational sciences. So off I went, in my habit, to the university.”

What did the program mean to you?
'Everything. In the safety of the campus, I got a taste of real life. Just imagine: I’d lived a very basic life for nine years, with no luxuries or extras. In the cafeteria, I tried something new every day. I had a friend from school who talked me into taking the tram through the city. Then we’d sneak off to the Burger King on Leidseplein. I started doing more and more things I wasn’t supposed to. For example, I got a tattoo—in memory of Christien. Since we were always singing, it ended up being a treble clef on my leg, just above my sock.’

'Oh well, that poor girl doesn’t know that yoga is the devil’s work, I’d think to myself.'

How did that affect your religious beliefs?
'A whole new world opened up inside me, too. I was taking a minor in philosophy and thought: Wow, there are more people than just Marcus and Augustine who’ve thought about life. Poor philosophers, I thought—they have the wrong answers. But the more I read, the more I struggled with a conflict of conscience. It was like a ping-pong ball bouncing around in my head: could it be true? No, surely not. But how dare I even think this? Is this the devil trying to tempt me? That’s what I thought when I heard that a fellow student was doing yoga. I knew it existed, but it was a bad thing. 'Oh well, that poor girl doesn’t know that yoga is from the devil,' I’d think.

And then, after nine years, you left the order.
'That’s right. It wasn’t my choice. It was decided for me that I didn’t have a calling—that I was too focused on my studies and had become estranged from the other sisters. Even though at that time I was struggling a lot with my past traumas and really needed the sisters. One day I got a call from the mother superior telling me that my vows wouldn’t be renewed. I had two days to pack my things. I was out on the street. Without an income and in debt. That caused me a great deal of sorrow. People even looked down on me. The church is very hierarchical, and if you don’t conform your life to certain ideas, you miss the boat. I was completely on my own.’

"If my past is a cage, I’ve climbed out of it and stood on top of it. I use the cage as a stage."

Was the fact that you’re attracted to women a topic of discussion?
'I did confess it to a nun. She advised me to pray above all else. Then everything would be all right. The most important thing was that it couldn’t get out.' Once I was out of the convent, the nuns were convinced that I wouldn’t act on my sexual orientation. So was I. But once I was out, I thought: it’s easy for you to say that—you have each other. Once I started acting on it, that was the end of it. I no longer have any contact with any of them.’

You host the podcast *Verkrachte vrouwen* (Raped Women). What do you hope to achieve with it?
'I want to make rape a topic people can discuss openly. When people hear the subject, they’re quick to think: ‘Pfff, yeah, that’s pretty intense, isn’t it?’ It is. But rape will remain a taboo as long as we don’t talk about it freely. It’s not a “victim disco” with one-sided, pity-inducing stories. I don’t see the solution in just recounting how hard it is. I think we need to start a conversation with one another. That’s only possible by connecting multiple perspectives. So I’m having conversations with a sex offender, someone who counsels sex offenders, and someone who didn’t think #MeToo was a good idea. I can share my own story in the book I’m currently writing: Non-Active.'

It’s funny when you think about it. As a child, I had to fight to find someone willing to listen to my story. Now I actually get paid for it. I’ll even be taking my show to the theater soon. I used to always tell myself: I don’t want to become a victim. I’ve succeeded at that. Now I can even inspire others with my story. If my past is a cage, I’ve climbed out of it and stood on top of it. I use the cage as a stage.

And that 'too intense' little kid? These days I think: 'Too intense?' Let me just be intense. I’ve recently started taking singing lessons from Karin Bloemen. She’s the only woman around whom I never feel like I’m 'too much.' You know, maybe the world is just still too small for me.'