Annette Stephens, 73, Nunawading, Vic.
Glancing at the red foam ball wedged on the end of my nose, I felt ridiculous.
At least I wasn’t the only one wearing eccentric colourful clothes and a gold, sparkly hat.
The 30 strangers gathered in the lecture hall were dressed up too.
“Welcome to your first ‘klowning’ session,” the lady announced. “Inside each of us is a clown and we must learn to let it out.”
It sounded completely bizarre but I forced myself to stick it out.
I was at a personal development workshop run by a group called Kenja.
A friend of mine had promised its founders, Ken Dyers and Jan Hamilton, were experts and would help me out of the hopeless rut I’d found myself in.
I’d been desperately lonely since my divorce two years earlier, my job as a teacher wasn’t satisfying and I couldn’t afford to give my kids Nina, 16, and Stefan, 14, the beautiful home they deserved.
I felt like I’d hit rock bottom.
I felt like I’d hit rock bottom.
I wanted to give up but I’d owed it to my kids to try to make myself better.
So I paid $60 and went to the first Kenja session, where I was ridiculously dressed as a clown.
“In these clothes, our true selves blossom,” Jan promised.
We formed a circle and took turns standing in the middle, introducing ourselves.
Then Ken started aggressively pointing out our faults.
“You’re hiding behind your beard and long hair because you don’t want to face the future,” he taunted one man.
“And you!” he roared, coming right up to my face. “You’re determined not to be vulnerable. How’s that been working for you?”
I blinked, frozen in shock, trying to process what he’d said.
I did have a habit of acting tough and putting up emotional barriers so I didn’t get hurt.
Was that why my life was in ruins?
I started sobbing hysterically.
“We’re all going to support Annette,” Ken told the group.
He’d shown me just how pathetic I was and I needed his help to change.
Bachelor in Paradise celeb Keria Maguire was raised in a cult.
So I signed up to attend Kenja’s monthly meetings
He and Jan had such a commanding presence that when they started sprouting strange theories about spirits and past lives, I didn’t doubt them.
“We’ve all forgotten who we are,” Ken explained. “We need to free ourselves from the traumas of past lives.”
It gave me a sense of purpose and belonging.
Ken and Jan convinced me that if I wanted my life to change, I had to get serious about it.
So I gave up teaching and signed a 12-month contract to become a professional Kenjan.
It meant I had to help recruit new members.
As the job wasn’t paid, I sold flowers on the street in my spare time.
One day, Ken introduced us to something called ‘processing’, a procedure that would fix our psychological problems.
To do it, we formed pairs and stared into each other’s eyes to release blocked energy that held us back from achieving our dreams.
It cost $40 per session and would need to be done several times before it worked.
Scraping together the cash each week was tricky but I was sure it would pay off.
One day, I was having a private processing session with Ken.
“Just relax,” he said, as I sat on the floor and stared into his eyes.
Next thing, my face was wet with tears and Ken was inviting in his next client.
“It gave me a sense of purpose and belonging.”
I’d completely blanked out for two and a half hours and had no recollection of it.
“What just happened?” I frowned.
“The dishonesty within you clouded your vision,” he said. “You’ll need more sessions to clear it.”
The more ‘processing’ I did, the more I was convinced it would eventually work.
I became almost obsessed with it, spending huge amounts of time and money on more sessions.
I’d even leave the kids with their dad for the weekend to attend workshops in Sydney.
It’ll make me a better mum, I reasoned.
One day, during a private session, Ken asked me to remove my clothes.
“Nudity helps release our blocked energies in an unrestricted flow,” he insisted.
I did and what felt like seconds later, I opened my eyes.
I’d blacked out again.
This time, Ken was lying on top of me with his undies and trousers around his ankles.
“That was an excellent session,” he grinned.
“I became almost obsessed with it, spending huge amounts of time and money on more sessions.”
My mind spun.
Had Ken touched me?
I felt sure he’d never hurt me.
He was the one helping me.
After that, I became so dedicated to Kenja, I started selling my belongings to afford the sessions.
Within two years, my furniture, car and finally my house were gone.
The kids lived with their dad so I could move to Sydney and attend the new Kenja Centre there.
“I’m doing this for us,” I told Nina and Stefan.
They weren’t happy but I was certain we’d all benefit in the end.
Soon entire families signed up to Kenja workshops.
Ken took a liking to one girl, Clara*, 10, the daughter of a devoted couple.
He even invited her for private sessions.
“She is the embodiment of love,” he told us.
One day, when Clara was 16, I walked in to the processing room and found her completely naked.
She stepped over Ken, who was fully clothed on the floor, and sat down next to him, as though it was the most normal thing in the world.
“Kenja is a cult,” I told her. “I’m coming home.”
Nudity helps release blocked energies, I remembered.
Over time, the teachings of Kenja became distorted and conflicted.
One minute we were lost spirits, the next, we knew exactly who we were.
The endless ‘rules’ became overwhelming too.
We were constantly walking on eggshells around Ken.
One day, I discovered a magazine article on hypnosis and how it can put you in a trance-like state, unable to recognise time.
Is that what Ken did to us?
0Later, I went to the bookstore to find out more and I came upon a novel about mind control and cults.
Flicking through, my stomach began to sink.
It outlined how people can become masters of control and make followers believe they’re making choices, not being coerced.
I thought of how Ken and Jan dictated how I acted, spoke and even what I wore.
They controlled every aspect of my life.
I’d lost who I was at a person and my kids were no better for it.
We were all worse!
Ken and Jan had sucked me in and profited from my loyalty.
1I didn’t know how much money I’d spent over the ten years but it was every cent I had.
Heart pounding, I packed my bags and called my mum.
“Kenja is a cult,” I told her. “I’m coming home.”
“I was riddled with guilt when I realised I’d abandoned my kids for Kenja.”
I didn’t say anything to Ken and Jan, too afraid of the repercussions.
Thankfully, Mum took me in and slowly I started to find myself again.
I was riddled with guilt when I realised I’d abandoned my kids for Kenja.
By then, they were adults.
2I’d missed watching them grow up.
“I’m so sorry,” I cried to Nina and Stefan.
Thankfully, they let me explain and slowly, we mended our relationship.
Two years later I started speaking out about Kenja and, inspired by my honesty, four girls, between the ages of eight and 15, came forward with allegations of sexual abuse against Ken.
He denied them but was found guilty of one charge of indecent assault.
Disgracefully, he spent just six days in jail.
A few years later Ken was again charged with sexual assault, this time by two girls who were 12 at the time of the crime.
Before the case went to court, Ken killed himself.
3Many took it as an admission of guilt but Jan and her followers maintained his innocence.
Although Kenja denies it’s a cult, I feel differently.
These days, Jan still runs it and Clara remains devoted to it.
It’s terrifying that a cult can brainwash people so intensely they don’t even realise it’s ruining their life.
To read more of Annette’s story buy The Good Little Girl, Annette Stephens, Big Sky Publishing, RRP $29.99 available online
Name has been changed
