A Mind Set Free: Part 1

Photo: Sharon receiving her GED diploma from Treasure Coast Technical College in Vero Beach, FL

As promised on Thursday, today I bring you Sharon Beachy, our new ADSF board member. Her story speaks for itself, but Sharon brings to the board new, innovative ideas, energy that only a young person can offer, and yet she has insights normally possessed by those who are older. I have always believed that wisdom and insight are borne out of adversity, and perhaps that is why Sharon is endowed with these qualities. She has already endured enough adversities to last her a lifetime. However, I will allow Sharon to tell her own story. Here she is.

A Mind Set Free: Part 1

By Sharon Beachy

How does one hold on to one’s truest desire when prohibited from voicing or acting upon it? Only two choices remain: submit to the restrictions and forever question ‘what if,’ or risk losing everything to unashamedly pursue the life built within one’s mind.

Eleven years ago, my seventh-grade teacher assigned each student an essay answering one question: “What do you want your life to be like in fifteen years?” My mind instantly darted to all the unspoken dreams and visions I kept hidden deep within. However, the life I desired in fifteen years could never be written on the paper in front of me; instead, I forced myself to fabricate a future molded to the unquestionable expectations placed upon me by the Amish culture. After writing the essay, my parents reviewed it and informed me that I needed to eliminate the statement regarding my dream of working in healthcare one day. Although I knew the outcome when writing that part, I included it anyway—out of resentment for being forced to compose an essay full of lies to appease my Amish community.

For the first fifteen years of my life, I lived with my parents and eight siblings in the countryside of west-central Michigan. Throughout my childhood and early teenage years, I often questioned the life laid out for me. I would ask my mother, “Must I get married in the Amish faith, have babies, and perform other common duties of an Amish wife, never to pursue the life I truly desire?” Her usual reply, “You could remain an ‘old maid’ and work in the Amish community, but choosing a single life is selfish.” Possessing an innate drive for more, I knew I would never choose either option.

Attempting to maintain a shred of autonomy, I committed what my community considered the ultimate sin: I bought a smartphone. Keeping it hidden, however, required an astonishing level of creative problem-solving. I made multiple midnight bike treks to buy a phone at the closest Walmart, twelve miles away. I would bike two miles to a neighbor’s property and crawl through an open field just to reach their phone shack and contact a friend for help setting up my phone. When I got caught, I used a sledgehammer to smash an old calculator so I could hand over the shards as my decoy. Dozens of times, I jumped out of my bedroom window to call friends, constantly evading my older brothers tasked with watching me. A quiet rebellion turned into a full-time operation to protect my connection to the outside world.

Shortly before I turned sixteen, life took a sudden turn. In a drastic attempt to eliminate my hunger for a non-Amish lifestyle, my parents moved me to Ohio. Ten months later, they presented me with an ultimatum: move back home or stay in Ohio and support myself entirely. At sixteen years old, I confidently chose financial independence, navigating the legal weight of an adult while still bound to the rules of a child. During my time in Ohio, I was moved between different homes. Just before my eighteenth birthday, they even sent me to Wisconsin for several months to stay at an Amish women’s counseling center—a last-ditch effort to pressure me into embracing the culture.

Not knowing what I would encounter at this center, I solidified escape plans A, B, and C before walking through the door. The life that awaited me was unlike anything experienced before; I now possess an idea of what prison feels like. Alarms on windows and dorm exits, a strict daily schedule accounting for every minute from sunup until sundown, mandatory daily counseling sessions with an older man and his wife who quietly sat by, fifteen-minute bi-weekly monitored phone calls, and being forbidden to take off knee-length socks until after dinner were only a few of the endless guidelines and restrictions placed upon everyone in the center. The mental battle was fierce. I never fought so hard to hold onto my identity and hidden dreams. After turning eighteen, I used one of the three phones smuggled in with me to contact people on the outside for help in rescuing me. I moved back to Ohio and left the Amish culture permanently.

My freedom came at a great cost and presented its own set of challenges. Leaving the culture meant a complete fracture from my Amish family, who viewed the decision as an utter betrayal. During the initial call to my parents, where I informed them of the escape from Wisconsin, they told me of their wish that I had died before leaving the Amish, as burying my body would be less heartbreaking than witnessing the spiritual demise of my soul. They chose to withhold all my legal birth records, attempting to prevent me from obtaining a driver’s license. Refusing to engage in a hostile legal battle with my family, I sent the precious few personal documents in my possession to the Michigan State Vital Records Department, requesting a copy of my birth certificate. Five weeks later, I received it and immediately completed the requirements to obtain my driver’s license. My incredible newly found family in Ohio assisted me with finding a car and transitioning into a new world.

After buying a car, I began the process of figuring out how to receive a GED. Bridging the gap between a limited eighth-grade education and high school, however, proved to be no small feat. I was simultaneously employed full-time as a chiropractic therapy assistant, running my own cleaning service, working as a live-in caregiver, and managing a side project to earn money for my future. This relentless schedule left little time for GED prep. Knowing something needed to give, Itook a strategic leap and signed a new caregiving contract with an elderly lady living in Florida, allowing me to consolidate more focus towards my studies.

At nineteen years old, I once again made the decision to leave everything behind, moving to Florida to pursue my dream of higher education. With a more manageable schedule, I received coaching from GED instructors at the local technical college and obtained my GED just a few months after moving—finishing just in time to walk the stage and celebrate my achievement. Yet, despite my immense joy, anxiety began creeping over me with the realization that the easiest part was now behind me. The next step felt like walking off a cliff’s edge, blindfolded and utterly clueless.

To be continued…

Sharon invites you to leave comments, which she will respond to. 

In Part 2: Sharon discovers that escaping her old life was only the beginning of the fight to claim the future she was told she could never reach.