In 2021, we published “Clarke’s” account of being groomed by their high school English teacher, Christopher Lapeyre, then an ACNA lay leader. In June 2024, Clarke released an online memoir that chronicles the aftermath of the grooming, including subsequent abuse at the hands of ACNA lay catechist and now-convicted sex offender Mark Rivera.

This memoir is Clarke’s independent project, not written in association with ACNAtoo, but we wanted to ensure our readers discovered it. It is a critical firsthand exploration of grooming, sexual and spiritual abuse, and how trauma compounds when a survivor doesn’t have support — or even someone in their life to tell them that the abuse they suffered was not their fault.

If you’re unfamiliar with Clarke’s original story, please read that before the 2024 memoir.

The paragraphs below are excerpted from the memoir’s postscript, reprinted here with permission from the author.

At the time of writing this, I am 27 years old, which feels huge on paper but miniscule in the grand scheme of the universe. It’s been 10 years since Chris asked me to be his student aide. I feel like I’ve experienced 20 different lifetimes since then.

I’ve wanted to write this story for a while, but I could never get it just right. I started and gave up many times. I didn’t know how to explain the evolution of my spiritual beliefs or how they were intertwined with Mark and Chris. I didn’t know who to blame for what. Where did I get my ideas of idolatry? Where did the eating disorder truly come from? What exactly happened to make me suicidal multiple times?

I recognize now that what I felt wasn’t my fault. But why did I keep going back to Mark’s house, knowing what would happen if I was alone with him?

…

To my knowledge, Mark never encouraged my idolatry theory. He never told me that what had happened with Chris was my fault. In fact, he said the opposite, multiple times — that what had happened with Chris was Christopher’s fault. Of course, he failed to mention why it was Christopher’s fault. He conveniently left out the fact that Ursa existed and that the high school administration had found out about her — information that would have sent me running from Big Rock at full speed. He helped defend Chris to the Department of Children and Family Services (DCFS), asserting that Chris was not a danger to his students. He made it seem like the situation with me was just Christopher being stupid and silly and unaware of how his interactions came off. (Unfortunately, I wasn’t in the position to realize 41-year-old men are not naive.) He also painted a picture of the Lapeyres’ home life in which I was the problem, the sore spot in Christopher’s marriage, which discouraged me from reaching out to Chris directly. By the time I learned none of that was true, it was too late.

…

What was I to Chris? Did he and Mark actually talk about me? How much of what Mark told me — about his victims, his emotional state, his interactions with Chris — was true? What exactly did Chris and Mark know or not know about each other?

Why couldn’t I recognize Joanna’s rape for what it was? Why couldn’t I see that Mark’s “relationship” with the other victim was abusive? Why could I so easily apply #ChurchToo concepts to everyone else except the men I knew? And why didn’t either of my counselors, who should have been trained in recognizing abuse, call out Chris and Mark for what they were?

I will likely never get answers to these questions. I can only focus on what I know: what I felt and experienced, what the facets of sexual and spiritual abuse are, and where I currently stand.

As bad as it sounds, I still miss Mark. Knowing everything I know, including the crimes he’s in prison for, I still miss him. I miss the second in Joanna’s apartment when he petted Hannah and looked up at me and smiled. It disarmed me, as if maybe I’d been overreacting and there was nothing to be afraid of after all. During our conversation that day, Hannah kept jumping on the kitchen table to beg for attention, and he would let out a huff of fake annoyance before laughing and petting her. I miss those moments — moments when he seemed like a normal person, even gentle.

My therapist tells me abuse and the relationship we have to it are complicated. We often stay in an abusive situation after we’ve recognized it’s unhealthy, and even if we leave, we’ll likely return to our abusers. I oscillate between my disgust and that longing to return — to sit down at a bonfire in Mark’s driveway, surrounded by people I loved who loved me too, basking in the warmth of the flames and the Holy Spirit. To go back to a time when the dark skies of Big Rock signified a night spent laughing with church members after COLA, not the numbness and confusion following another Mark encounter or another evening where I drove around aimlessly, unsure what I was looking for but sure I would find it in the streets beyond Mark’s house…

Read the full memoir here. (Read Clarke’s Story first, if you haven’t.)

Clarke’s Testament

Amy’s Story