Nomz Bistline Survived A Cult. Now, She’s Making A Pop Album.

Content warning: This article mentions cults and domestic and sexual abuse.

Nomz Bistline is finally free. The 27-year-old, who was recently featured in the Netflix docuseries Trust Me: The False Prophet, survived what is widely considered a cult and served 21 months in prison for a crime she was allegedly compelled to commit by its leader. Now, with her newfound autonomy, she’s writing it all down.

“It's only been 18 months since I've been out, so I still am so fascinated by things. I started this little diary called My First Time Diary. I save receipts and tickets, like the first time I rode a roller coaster,” Bistline tells Bustle. “On that ride, it finally felt like my physical world was catching up to my mental world, and I couldn't get enough of it.”

Over Zoom, Bistline is unrecognizable from the series’ footage, trading her prairie-style dress for a baby-pink zip-up, her traditional teased pompadour for a ballerina bun, and her wide, alert eyes for a kind, relaxed smile.

Bistline was born and raised in the Fundamentalist Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints (FLDS), an offshoot of Mormonism that maintains the original church directives of polygamy and patriarchy, as well as isolation and financial control. At 20, Bistline became the 13th of over 20 sisterwives to a man who claimed to be a modern prophet and demanded complete obedience in God’s name. She and her fellow wives, many of whom were underage, were subjected to coercion, sexual violence, and threats against their lives.

While Bistline’s abuser cultivated power, cult expert Christine Marie, Ph.D., and her videographer husband, Tolga Katas, gained access to the group’s base on the Utah-Arizona border in 2021 under the pretenses of creating a documentary. Marie, also a survivor of abuse at the hands of a self-proclaimed prophet, quietly collected evidence of the leader’s crimes, which she ultimately turned over to the FBI.

Even after Bistline’s abuser was arrested on federal charges related to child sexual abuse, he continued to exert control over the adult women over the phone from prison. Meanwhile, his underage wives were placed in foster care. Led to believe she was carrying out God's will, Bistline retrieved the other girls from state custody on his orders — ultimately leading to her conviction in relation to the kidnapping. Once she was separated from her former life, she came to realize she’d been lied to. Her time behind bars, she says, “set her free.”

Since her release and departure from the FLDS, she has felt a moral obligation to speak out about the abuse she endured and the dangers of psychological manipulation, both through her social media and her participation as the only sisterwife interviewed in the Netflix documentary.

Between press interviews, Bistline is studying psychology, working on her memoir, drawing, modeling, and has traveled to LA, New York, and Nashville, where she bar-hopped to watch musicians on their way up. With dreams just as big as theirs, she’s working on a pop album of her own.

Bistline first came to songwriting in prison and was particularly struck by Olivia Rodrigo's “Vampire,” one of the first secular songs she had heard outside the FLDS community, which severely restricts access to the internet or TV.

According to Bistline, the cult’s leader, who is currently serving a 50-year federal sentence, is set to stand trial again, and she and several of his former wives have been subpoenaed to testify once more.

When she learned she’d have to return to court, she says, “I went through all the emotions again — just when we were out of the storm, [we’re] being dragged back in. So that night I wrote a song called ‘I'm Tired of Being Strong.’”

Below, Bistline opens up about her new creative pursuits, her relationship, and finding humor in her trauma.

You're working on an album. What can we expect?

In prison, I wrote a song called "Survive." It's me now speaking to my younger self — forgiving her, acknowledging what she went through, and recognizing that she endured all of that [so I could] be where I am today. I'd never heard of Billie Eilish when I wrote it, but now that I've listened to her music, it has that vibe. Very low, melancholy, sad, and really deep.

I hear you also model!

I didn't know I was a natural in front of the camera, but I actually love it. Seeing the pictures come out is incredible, especially knowing where I came from and how far I've come. It's fun to even see that transition in myself. It gives me the courage to keep going.

On your social media, I've seen videos of you making fun of your abuser. What's it like to have a platform where you can do that?

It's healing, honestly, seeing everyone join in, knowing he has no power over me anymore. It's empowering [and] validating. I'd love to become some kind of advocate or positive influence through it.

You're building a loyal audience — you're so funny!

You know that saying, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger"? I always laugh and say, I don't know about stronger, but it sure made me funnier.

You’ve recently gone Instagram official with your boyfriend, Wendell Jeffson, the son of Warren Jeffs. How did that relationship come to be, and how has that played a role in your recovery?

Warren Jeffs kept his immediate family very sacred from the rest of the people, so I never even knew [Wendell] existed until I had left. I saw a documentary [How I Escaped My Cult] about him, and I was in the middle of going through the whole filming process of this Netflix series. So watching the way he embraced the media and was able to go through that was so inspirational.

I didn't ever see myself falling for someone again. It was too risky, too scary, and after everything, it just didn't seem possible at the time. But we got to talking on Instagram, and he asked me out. It was so healing to talk to someone who understood and who cared. I'm really happy to have him.

This interview has been edited and condensed for clarity.