A Web of Faith Woven into Everyday Life — The Religious World That Surrounded My Partner
In the early days of our marriage, my partner and my parents-in-law introduced me to many different people.
They included relatives, friends, colleagues from work, neighbours, insurance agents, staff at clinics, and even owners of small shops on the local high street — stationery shops, florists, and other family-run businesses. Every one of them, without exception, belonged to the same new religious movement.
This came as a genuine revelation to me. I had never imagined that so many believers could exist so close to everyday life.
My partner was not especially close to these people. If anything, they seemed instinctively uncomfortable with such a tightly knit community and tended to keep their distance.
When I later looked things up online and in books, I was surprised by the sheer number of adherents relative to Japan’s total population. In hindsight, I now understand that if members of one’s own family belong to such a group, encounters with other believers within that social sphere are almost inevitable.
Before long, an official newspaper began arriving regularly in our letterbox. My parents-in-law had arranged the subscription.
I never once opened it, but the distinctive language of its headlines — slogans and statements of belief — inevitably caught my eye.
I never saw my partner read it either. I once suggested cancelling the delivery, but that did not seem straightforward. To me, increasing subscriptions appeared to be regarded as a visible expression of devotion.
That said, it would be wrong to say my partner had no connection to the faith at all. From time to time, I noticed signs that ritual objects had been used, or that their placement had changed. I assume that some form of practice took place while I was out.
Each time I noticed this, I found myself trying to imagine what was going on inside my partner’s mind.
Wanting to understand the teachings, history, and influence of this religious movement, I read many related books. I wanted to know how my partner perceived this world.
On one occasion, I even attended one of the group’s gatherings.
Several hundred people were seated in a large hall. Standing at the front was a well-known public figure, someone I recognised from television.
I no longer remember the details of the speech, but I remember its core message clearly. The speaker spoke passionately about how perseverance in prayer during times of suffering had eventually opened a path forward.
I am glad I attended. It confirmed something important for me: the message being delivered did not align with my partner’s nature.
As I understood them, my partner was essentially rational — someone who preferred logical thinking and, when making judgments, tried to strip away emotional elements as much as possible.
I could not believe this belief system had been chosen freely and consciously. To me, it felt deeply imprinted by environment and upbringing. That was precisely why it seemed so deeply rooted.
I accepted that this would take time. Considering how many years my partner had lived within a faith given to them by others, I felt that breaking free would likely require just as long.
Whose Life Is It? — Choosing Freedom from Faith and Control
As I reflected on the relationship between family, faith, and control, I arrived at more fundamental questions. What is a family? What does it mean to be parent and child?
When I was in primary school, I read a story in a textbook called Children Raised by Wolves. It told of two children, Amala and Kamala, said to have grown up among wolves.
Descriptions of them walking on all fours and howling like wolves left a powerful impression on me as a child. I never forgot it.
Whenever I encountered the distorted relationship between my partner and their parents, that story came back to me.
However, while writing this blog, I looked it up again and learned — for the first time — that the credibility of the “children raised by wolves” story is now widely questioned among specialists. It is a reminder that not everything we learn at school is necessarily true.
Of course, it is best when family relationships are harmonious. But if a healthy relationship cannot be maintained, I believe it is acceptable — even between parents and children — to create distance.
It feels tragic to think that a person’s life should be fixed entirely by the circumstances into which they were born. We are shaped by the burdens we are given, but I want to believe that how we live remains our own choice.
I myself grew up in a household marked by constant conflict. For many years, I lived bound by that experience. Now, I live freely.
During my period of rest, I did not meet my own family even once. I have come to think that no news is good news. At the same time, I continue to prepare myself to help should the need arise.
This is not because I believe “family must be helped.” It is because I choose to help, of my own will. I am not governed by anyone else’s thinking.
During that time, I read the works of the French philosopher Alain. When I came across the idea that pessimism is a matter of emotion, while optimism is a matter of will, I felt as though I had rediscovered my true self.
Fortunately, from a young age, I managed to live without losing my own will. At the same time, I suspect that this strength of will was forged within an unhappy family environment. I cannot tell which came first. It is very much a question of the chicken and the egg.
My partner has left their faith and cut off contact with their parents. Even so, I still often notice traces of that influence in their words and actions. That said, the fact that they have begun to choose their own life is, I believe, a significant step forward.
As I live my own life, I also want to watch over my partner’s life — with the patience of someone prepared to do so over the course of a lifetime.
Next Chapter — As Many Families as There Are People
As an adult, I came to realise that there are as many forms of family as there are people. I also began to recall how many children around me had grown up in harsh circumstances. In the next chapter, I would like to reflect on these memories.
