losing friends

An old Mormon friend of mine asked me why some old friends who left the church won't return emails and phone calls. There's the desire the keep up the friendship, but the faithful/exmo divide seemed insurmountable. This is what I replied.

I'm really sorry to hear about your lost friendships. That really bites. I've been trying to get my thoughts together on what to say, but, of course, I don't know your friends and why they haven't kept in touch. I do know, though, that it is a very difficult transition.

Especially in the case of your gay friend, I would guess, there's a lot of negative baggage associated with all things Mormon. For me, leaving was like my house fell down around me, and adjusting to "post-Mormon" life is like a major renovation. I've had to sift through the rubble, throwing out stuff I find harmful, and trying to preserve the stuff I want to keep. I became very inward-focused for a while, neglecting my relationships with others, so I could concentrate on my own upheaval. Not on purpose, it's just what happened.

I think there's also a tendency among us leavers to cut off everything church-related, including faithful Mormon friends, in order to come to grips with our new selves, redefine our selves and goals, and move on. I think it's an effort of self-preservation, really, where everything is just so overwhelming. If your friends are anything like me, it's just more comfortable and easier to be friends with fellow ex-Mormons, people who understand us and have been through similar things. More than anyone right now, they are "my people." I am, and I bet your friends are, trying to repair relationships and negotiate how to be friends across those barriers. It's tough.

In addition, many of us fear that faithful Mormon friends are hoping to get us back in the church, or will simply misunderstand us, or will want lengthy explanations (or worse, debates or fights) when we may not be prepared to dredge all the emotions and reasons up again. (Don't worry, I don't feel that with this email exchange.) We also fear that our Mormon friends will judge us, like you said, or cut us off. While I haven't lost any good friends, I've certainly lost church acquaintances and people whom I thought were friends. Partly because we stopped attending church and activities, and partly because (it seems) they were afraid of us. Ouch.

I don't know if that helps you understand your friends a little better or not. Just my thoughts. I'd say, try again. Be explicit. If it were me, I'd prefer my friend to just come out and say, "Listen, I feel like our different religious choices have gotten in the way of our friendship, and I think that bites. I want to be friends with you. What can we do about it?" Everyone is more comfortable once the elephant in the room has been acknowledged; it may cause some awkwardness at first, but it's worth getting past it by just talking about it directly.

the day

This is a significant day for the FTA family. We finally wrote, signed, notarized, and sent our resignation letter to Salt Lake (cc'ed to the local bishop), priority mail with delivery confirmation. I couldn't wipe the smile off my face as we were signing those letters, and the notary public put all the official stamps and imprints on it.


I've been meaning to write a post about resignation, the debate about whether or not to bother, and why I hadn't done it yet--these two years as a non-believing, non-attender--but I'll save that for another post. I just want to bask in the satisfaction of having sealed the letter in the envelope and sent it to good ol' Mr. Dodge in Member Services.

If you want information or advice about resignation from the LDS church, see Mormon No More, and great resource put together by Kathy Worthington, may she rest in peace. I regret that I didn't do this earlier so I could thank her personally.

exorcising the spirit

This post follows an earlier one, the spirit. Check that one out first so you can get a segue into where I'm coming from.

During my long process of questioning and exiting, I've re-evaluated just about everything in my life. I had a especially hard time explaining, defying, and reinterpreting the Spirit. One issue that held me up was that my mom spoke to the Spirit on a daily basis. Spoke. Daily. Even to the point that other Mormons thought she might be a little cuckoo. I think she eventually learned to stop announcing her personal revelations. Not because she questioned them when others did, but because she decided those other people just didn't get it. They could have those revelations, too, if they just listened, you see.

On my way out of the church, I started to doubt that God talks to any of us, that that sort of God didn't really exist. But what would that mean for my mom? Was she just crazy? Was she schizophrenic? Had she, this whole time, been basing her decisions--including how to raise us--off the little voices in her head? I really thought those things about my mom, and thought, for a short time, that maybe she really, really needed a psychiatric evaluation. For a while, it was the only alternative explanation I could think of. Exorcising the Spirit was, then, a choice between "the Spirit really talks to people" or "my mom is crazy." Not a comfortable place to be.

I no longer think God sends messages to people, nor that my mom is crazy (though I think a trip to a counselor wouldn't hurt). I eventually came to another explanation. I now think that her revelations, her promptings, her still-small-voice moments come from within herself, defined and interpreted in a Mormon-influenced way. Her prayers are simply reflections into her own desires and fears, moments to clear her mind of other things and figure out what she wants. This goes for all of my moments of praying and feeling the Spirit, too. If I remember right, Carl Sagan's The Demon-Haunted World was very helpful in my seeing things in a new way. People's brains work to try to make sense of things, and when these things do not have an obvious, natural explanation, it is easy to interpret them in supernatural ways.

Another reason it was so hard to let go of the Spirit was that my mother raised me to think that the Spirit was everything: my conscience, my guidance, my only hope in negotiating this difficult life and returning to heaven. Nothing could be known better than by the Spirit. The Spirit trumped all, including the most obvious evidence. Asking the Spirit, e.g., the messenger for the Lord, was the only way to know things, to make decisions of any gravity, to get comfort, to overcome doubts.

So you could say I felt a bit, well, completely and utterly lost when I realized the Spirit was not, actually, what I thought. I didn't know where to turn for guidance, for comfort, for answers. I felt adrift, floating freely and uncomfortably, without direction. What were my standards? What were my morals? How was I supposed to live?

Somehow, I don't remember how, it finally dawned on me that I was capable of making my own decisions, even about the big things. That I had my own, internal moral compass that could guide me. It was a liberating moment, to see that. It was also quite scary. Before, I had only been asking questions in order to get answers from others. "Where should I go now? What am I supposed to do?"

It only then occurred to me that I should be asking myself questions.

Where do I want to go?

What do I want to do?

The choice is mine.

exiting emotions: guilt

While I moved from believer to non-believer, and in the aftermath of that transition, I felt guilt. Lots of it. I felt guilty that I wasn't giving the church a good chance. That I hadn't been praying as much, and reading the scriptures as much. I felt guilty that I thought of Joseph Smith as a fallen prophet, and then, not a prophet at all.

I felt guilty when I took off my garments and changed into colorful underwear. So guilty, in fact, that I lasted less than 24 hours before putting the garments back on. Then I felt guilty for being so brainwashed as to put them back on. So I took them off again, and felt guilty some more. I felt terribly guilty when, on the third day of wearing colorful underwear, I talked to my mom about my changing beliefs. That got me feeling so guilty I put my garments on again. And then I felt guilty again for letting my grown-up self be pressured into changing my underwear by a phone conversation with my mom, who was thousands of miles away.

I also felt guilty when I

tried coffee

tried alcohol

saw my Mormon friends from the ward

asked to quit my calling

skipped church to go on an AIDS walk

watched rated-R movies

swore

renewed my temple recommend, and stopped believing entirely two weeks later

avoided phone calls from family

talked to family

But I've gotten over most of that. Most of the time I can barely remember the stuff Mormonism told me to feel guilty about. I don't think in terms of "sin" and "righteousness" and "repentance" anymore. Thank goodness. But sometimes, I remember things Mormonism tells me to feel guilty about, and I feel a bit like a double-person. Or sometimes I find myself judging myself according to how Mormonism (and my Mormon relatives) would judge me: a sinning, unworthy, lost apostate.

Then I have to remind myself what I did: I stood up for what I believed, against great odds. I figured out a mass deception, and was brave enough to admit the emperor has no clothes. I veered from the easy path set out for me, the one walked for generations, and am blazing my own trail. I am still a good person, one who makes decisions based on rationality, reason, and experience, rather than authority. I have chosen a better life for myself and my child.

And I am a better person for it.

exiting emotions: anger

When my Mormon world came crashing down around me, I felt angry. I still feel angry sometimes, even to the point of a rage that wants to burst out and break something, burn something, destroy something. I don't often feel that, but it comes from time to time. I've never actually acted on it. I've saved some Mormon-related books so that next time that anger comes about, I'll have something to burn. Sometimes I think it would be cathartic; sometimes I think it would be empty.

I was always really dismissive of "angry apostates," wondering how on earth they could be so angry at something so benign and wonderful. Now I understand. The church took something from me; it hurt me. I have a right to be angry. Dwelling on that anger forever would be unhealthy, but so would ignoring it.

I wrote the following when I was in the thick of aftermath emotions:

I feel angry at the idea that I've had, over the years, many problems with Mormonism--culture, church, doctrine, theology. I know I'm not unique in that; I even talked to my parents about many of these things (place of women, polygamy, blacks and the priesthood, etc), and tried to sort through them, work them out. They are things I see as immoral, not in line with a moral God--so how could they be part of the church? I did some major mental gymnastics to fit it all in--and a lot of putting it on the back burner as "not understandable."

But what if the church isn't true? Then all that mental gymnastics was for nothing--and even worse, all that pain resulting from polygamy, racism, sexism, etc, etc that people since 1830's have known--it was all for a man. Not for God. I can't even comprehend a God that would ask that of us. That is not God.

And I believed it all, from Joseph Smith was commanded by God to marry 33+ women, down to not grumbling about the young women's softball coach because I had sustained her as God's servant. And my family believes it all. And their parents and their grandparents, and ancestors back to 1830. And if it's not true, all of us have been betrayed, and duped. That makes me angry.

in person

After I came out of the non-believer's closet to my family, a couple months passed before I saw any of them in person. I'm sure there was weeping and wailing, confusion and discussions, praying and fasting, but I didn't have to witness it. I didn't have to go to the house for Sunday dinner, feeling awkward and wondering if anyone would bring it up. No one called to ask why, everyone just gave me plenty of space, and I gave them theirs. My parents had been eagerly asking when they could come visit, but stopped asking.

Even though it wasn't the year to visit my family for Christmas, we thought this would be a good year to visit both families, so we decided to split our Christmas vacation between two states. I wanted to be there in person, showing them that I'm still happy and normal. I wanted to assert that, even though I "gave up eternal family-hood in the Celestial Kingdom," I still loved them and wanted to be with them.

I already wrote about that first visit. But I left out a detail.

I remember this:

It is my parents' tradition to park their car at the airport and meet whoever they are picking up near the baggage claim, rather than at the curb. They like to do this to make us feel special, and it does, really. It's exciting to come down that escalator and cross over the map of the world on the floor, and catch that first glimpse of my parents, tense in thrilled anticipation of seeing us and their grandkid again. I generally don't show much emotion on my face, but it always makes me smile to see them at the airport. They smile, I smile, we hug, exchange greetings, and head off to get the luggage.

But this time was different. This was the first time we saw them in person since our disaffection. As I crossed the floor and caught a glimpse of them, I could see my parents hadn't seen us yet. Then my mom turned and saw us.

She didn't smile.

Instead, she did this thing with her face, where she holds her lower jaw off to one side. It means she's trying to keep herself from crying. She's upset.

She wasn't happy to see me. She was torn up inside, happy but despairing at the same time.

I pretended like I hadn't seen it, and I smiled. I was happy to see them, but I, too, was feeling a turmoil of emotions.

Almost a year later, I was alone in the bedroom one night, and this memory came back to me. I cried myself to sleep.

after

In preparation for this post, I read through all the emails I got back from my family members after I sent them emails regarding my non-attendance of the Mormon church. It would be most informative to just post their emails, but since I don't have their permission to do so, nor would I ask for it, I'll have to be content with just summarizing my thoughts about their emails.

First, by the time I wrote my siblings, I was already in email communication with one sister, and had been for months, about my disaffection. Thankfully, I had been and have continued to be open with this particular sister, ever since my first Joseph Smith-scare when I read Mormon Enigma, a biography of Emma Smith. When I was getting ready to come out to my family, I emailed back and forth with her about how to approach things. She encouraged me to get something out in the open with each sibling individually, so it would be personal, and so they would have time to process things before I saw them again in person. It was great advise, even retrospectively; that's just what I did.

But it also meant I had to deal with individual emails back from everyone. And I have a big family. They all wrote back, but everyone reacted differently. I wrote them all back again; only my dad responded to a second email. Since then, only two siblings have ever discussed church matters with me. More on that in another post.

As far as the reaction emails go:

Mom, who must have been too emotional to write anything more, just wrote a simple "I love you" email a few days later. As if nothing ever happened. As if I hadn't just ripped her heart out and stomped on it. As if I hadn't just told her I rejected, not just her religion, but also the way she raised me, and the way she lives her life. That's more or less how she's handled things since then, too. Sometimes I appreciate it. Sometimes I can't stand it.

Dad wrote back, philosophizing about the challenge of finding God in your own way, and saying how that journey is important and he respects I'm on my journey. I wasn't an atheist at that time, so that was fine for him to say. But he also made it clear that he believed I would find "Him" again. As if to say, "The journey is fine, as long as you end up back here." It's patronizing. It's close-minded. It's as if they see me as an 8-year old, mad at my parents for some slight, and I've packed up my teddy bear and toothbrush and run away to the shed in the back yard. And they watch out the kitchen window, nodding knowingly, saying, "She'll be back before dark. Let her be. She'll realize later how silly this is." And so they remain to this day.

Several of my siblings wrote expressing shock and sadness, but ultimately, love and support. They said nothing about testimonies. They wondered how this happened, and even said they'd be willing to talk through things. I have not taken them up on the offer, partly because I've never been alone with any of them since then, and partly because it's just too hard to bring up. It's hard to know if they really want to hear. I guess I'll never know if I don't try. Someday.

A couple of siblings' emails hurt. They certainly didn't mean to hurt me. They just expressed their genuine love for the Gospel, and wondered what happened to me--I had been so great, I had had such a strong testimony. One of them had "had an feeling the other day" that I "was struggling" and so put my name on the temple rolls. (See this post about my thoughts on such actions.) Another said he KNOWS the church is true and KNOWS I'll come back someday and we'll be one big happy eternal family in heaven. He kept using the full name, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, instead of "the church," as if to emphasize it's unique Trueness. Buddy, if it were true, that'd be great. But it's not. Besides, didn't I just tell you I didn't believe all that? But that means nothing to the TBM, except "anyone who says they don't believe it is wrong."

The whole process of emailing sent me into a downward emotional spiral, but I let work consume me, and I didn't (couldn't? wouldn't?) think about it a ton until it was time to visit them at Christmas.

the very jaws of hell

When I was younger, the idea of the devil and his minions scared me to death. As a kid, I was scared of certain parts of the house, let my imagination get away with me, etc. This was worsened by all the cultural representations of the devil, spirits, ghosts, demons, etc in popular literature and movies. In third grade, a friend of mine told me a ghost story about Bloody Mary appearing in the bathroom mirror to some elementary school girls who performed some sort of ritual chant. For years, I couldn't walk into a bathroom without first reaching my arm into the bathroom to turn on the light. I finally had to consciously break myself of the habit when I was nearly an adult. Even as an adult, The Sixth Sense disturbed me. I couldn't be in a room alone for a month.

It was further exacerbated by Mormon teachings. Mormons teach that the devil is real, but also has billions and billions of evil spirits on his side, constantly trying to lead us astray. If the devil is real, if spirits can really interact with mortals in certain circumstances, then who's to say ghost stories are just pretend, I thought.

Add to this stories I heard from my mom and other relatives about so-and-so seeing so-and-so, who is dead. Or hearing voices, whatever. All that had a spiritual-religious bend to it, but it still creeped me out.

While I was questioning, I found out that Jewish theology--the theology of the Old Testament--doesn't even have a devil. The serpent in Genesis doesn't represent Satan at all. There is no Satan in the old church. But JS claimed to have restored the old church. So now why is a devil essential to Smith's plan of salvation--the plan he claimed was laid down from the beginning? Something fishy going on there.

I didn't think much more about the devil until after I stopped believing in God. 'Cause if there's no God, there's certainly no Satan. So now I'm not afraid of spirits or ghosts; it was a great relief when I realized that.

But I haven't gotten around to watching any horror movies. Maybe someday.

(Bonus to anyone who can name where I got the title for this post.)

coming out by email

After I was pulled out of the non-believer's closet, I decided it was best to individually tell my siblings. I wanted to tell them before they heard it from someone else. So I sent out the following email to each of them, personalizing it with extra paragraphs at the beginning and end. I also sent a version to my parents.

I imagine you've heard through the grapevine that we haven't been attending the Mormon church lately. One could describe what we're going through as a crisis of faith--but we see that as a good thing. We're happy with the decisions we're making. Friends, Mormons and non-Mormons alike, have pointed out to us that we seem happier than before; we feel that is true. Of course life isn't perfect, but it's good.

The only thing that gives us sorrow is knowing that our decisions hurt the family. Please know that I love you and all of you dearly, and don't wish to hurt or offend you. But I need to take my path--and right now, that's away from the church.

That does not mean, however, that I've become bad or contentious or immoral or amoral; indeed I think about and seek daily my spirituality and connection to God, and strive to follow my conscience and stay true to my integrity. Currently, I find that connection and guidance better elsewhere than in the Mormon church.

Again, I am sincerely sorry that this hurts you. Confronting that sorrow and that pain, let alone awkwardness, is what has kept me from opening up sooner. Do what you need to do to deal with this, but I would greatly appreciate open communication, love, and support. Not that I expected anything less from you.

the reaction

Since my memory doesn't serve me that well, I pulled up what I wrote after the conversation with my mom in which I was pulled out of the non-believer's closet (with some minor edits).

For certain reasons (distraction, emotional turmoil) I preferred to stay in the closet with regards to my parents and siblings for now. (Already out to in-laws.) I just can't take the turmoil right now. But, due to circumstances partly beyond my control, my family found I have occasionally read and enjoyed websites that don't hold the church and God, etc in the most sacred light (eg Sugar Beet). Thank goodness they don't know about the Foyer or RfM!

So, on a fine Sunday while my husband and our son go off for some forbidden recreational activity (aren't we supposed to be at church?), my mom calls. She and the whole rest of the family are extremely offended by certain cartoons/articles and wonder, "Why oh why did fta visit these sites? Was she trying to offend us? Was she trying to spit in our faces? Is she mocking all we hold sacred?"

So mom asks all these questions (I certainly never expected that reaction, and of course never sought to offend my family, though we did desire to clue them in). Long story short, she asks if I'm still going to church. I answered honestly, we've been going, but not to the Mormon one.

So she knows I am looking for guidance, struggling to find truth and goodness, and she's fine with that (which I greatly appreciated). But she is sure I'm looking in all the wrong places (anywhere but the church). She did bear her testimony but she did refrain from serious preaching, (which I appreciated). Her reaction was altogether better than I anticipated, at least while she was on the phone. She did hang up rather abruptly (before I could tell her I'm still a good, moral person), and I imagine she's bawling right now.

I cried some on the phone (because she was supportive, but she will it interpret as "the guilty taketh the truth to be hard"), but I was more proactive during this phone call than during the last one. I didn't say everything I could have said; I wasn't prepared. And she's not prepared to hear it all right now. But I'm a little out of the closet. And I suppose that will feel better than being in the closet did, but it doesn't today. Does it get better?

And do I make a plan and lay some things down to them (hard) so I am doing more than just reacting to everything they do and think (easy)? They all live in Utah and have for most or all of their lives. They don't think outside of Utah. They don't know that there are normal, good, moral, nice people who aren't Mormon. They don't know that they can go to the park on a Saturday morning and meet other parents with their little children whom they love dearly, who go to church (or are comfortable not going), who try their best to make the world a better place, who love each other, and who ARE HAPPY. They honestly, truly DO NOT KNOW THAT.

I am one of those people, and they don't know me. And I despair.

they asked; I told

I stopped believing and attending in quick succession in spring a couple years ago. I couldn't bear to tell my family. I couldn't muster up the courage. I knew how bitterly hurt and disappointed they would be to have a "lost" daughter and sister. And as time went by, I wasn't sure I felt obligated to tell anyone about my personal beliefs, unless it became a matter of deception. I wasn't willing, or able, I think, to blatantly lie about it if they asked. But they didn't ask.

After that conversation with my mom, I couldn't talk to my parents straight for months. They stopped asking when they could come visit. I avoided phone calls, especially on Sundays. I just couldn't risk them asking, "How was church?" I pretended everything was hunky-dory, even though I was going through the greatest emotional and psychological upset of my life. I never called them. They called me.

Every time I talked to them, my secret wanted to burst out, but I kept it down, locked up. There just is no good time to tell your parents something that will hurt them. There's no good time to tell your parents you reject the way they raised you, you reject their way of life. Over the phone is especially bad. But I lived too far away to tell them in person.

I debated with myself and my husband: Should we just wait until we visit them at Christmastime, so we could do it person? But would that just ruin Christmas? There'd be nowhere to go; we'd all just be there, upset. Should I send them a letter a few months before Christmas, give them time to mourn before we show up?

Time passed, and I never made a decision. I spent a whole summer in the non-believer's closet. Then it came up one day that we liked The Sugar Beet, a Mormon satire website (at the time). My mom was appalled, and so was everybody else, according to her. "Why do you read a website that mocks God?" she asked in serious and wounded tone. I couldn't quite figure out what she meant.

I, apparently, had been desensitized by the devil by this time, because I thought it was funny, Mormons poking fun at their own quirks. I thought it was funny when I was still a believer. I still think it's funny. Come on! Poly-gay-mists? The Spirit now comes in a refreshing mint flavor? Sleeveless dresses banned for nursery-age girls? Funny stuff!

She, however, thought it was so blasphemous that obviously the only way I could like that stuff was if I was totally and completely out of tune with the Spirit. And the only way that could happen was if I wasn't going to church anymore. Or if I'd become a serial killer. She gave me the benefit of the doubt and assumed the former. Not that it was that much better, in her mind.

So she got it out of me the only way she could: she asked.

"Are you still going to church?"

I didn't want to lie. I didn't want to tell the truth. So I equivocated. "We've been exploring some other churches this summer." Which was true. But not a direct answer to her question, since by "going to church" she, of course, meant "going to the LDS church."

This was it. It had to come out.

"FTA, have you been going to the Mormon church?"

"No," I said. I felt horrible. But it was out there.

She reacted a little better than I had anticipated. Which was great. But I still got a lecture along the lines of "Searching for the truth is fine. If that's what you need to do, then do it. But don't ignore the once place where you will find Truth."

It's the "why" of her reaction that bothered me. Turns out her contained reaction was due to an experience she had right after the first conversation a few months previous. After I got off the phone with her that time, she now told me, the Spirit told her I would come back to the church eventually. Frankly, I was appalled that the Spirit told her my future without asking me first what I wanted. What happened to free will? If God knows I'll come back, does that mean I don't actually have a choice whether or not I return?

"What?" I asked.

She explained further. "After I got off the phone with you that last time, I felt peace. So I knew you'd come back."

She felt peace. Then she interpreted it to mean the only thing she could: I'd come back. There was no way that peace meant that she searched her soul and found that she did, indeed, still love her daughter? No way that it could mean that people can leave the church and still be just fine? No, of course not. The church teaches that The Only Happiness comes through obeying all the rules of the church, making and keeping all their covenants, going through their rituals, believing their theologies. No room to budge. So the only way my mom could possibly feel peace after finding out I was questioning all that was "It's only temporary. She'll be back."

I understand that it's her way of coping. But it's also insulting.

the letter I never sent

In response to a heartfelt and concerned, though condescending, letter from my parents after they found out I read scholarly books on Mormonism, I drafted this letter. And never sent it. Now I wished I had.

Thanks for your letter of concern and love. I am going through a period of great doubt, but I see that as ultimately a good thing. If I am not questioning, doubting, striving, I am stagnant. I think you can agree there. I want to "use my own brain" and “follow the Spirit,” finding and defining my own spiritual path along the way.

I am willing to have open dialogue about my ideas and maybe that dialogue will help me resolve some of the issues and pain I have with the church. Maybe it won’t. I am interested in knowing how you resolve your problems, doubts, and questions with the church and spirituality in general. An explanation of the process of understanding (and not just the resolution) would be helpful.

I want to give the church a true chance. I want to truly choose my religion and my spirituality. And I don’t feel like I can do that honestly if I take it as a given that the church is true. That would not be a true search if I already “know” what I’ll choose. It’s going to take some searching and some time.

Sometimes it’s heart wrenching and downright terrifying to think that the things I’ve been taught and always took for granted as true may not be. Sometimes the thought crosses my mind that I’m stupid or deceived. I also think of the phrase in my patriarchal blessing about “the cleverest of temptations and deceptions.” Believe me, these thoughts have occurred to me; I don’t need them pointed out to me.

But most of the time, when I truly look inside myself and at what I understand God to be, I feel free and happy. I feel free to really figure myself out and what I want and believe. It’s very liberating to think that I can choose according to the dictates of my own conscience. To find God as I know him, not as someone tells me to know him. To figure out life, and not have a manual where everything in life is already figured out for me.

I realize that I’m young and haven’t had much life experience, and I do look to others for experience and ideas and guidance, including you, and within the church, but outside it as well (thinking of the 13^th article of faith). Yes, I have been reading books on Mormonism and Mormon topics. I want you to know that I have specifically looked for books that are scholarly and well documented, ones whose authors are truly searching for answers and resolutions. I have also specifically avoided ones that are less scholarly and seek to demean Joseph Smith and/or Mormonism.

This is all still very fresh and recent for me and my thoughts are always changing and it’s hard to collect them to explain myself well. I hardly need to write everything in this one email, but at least it’ll serve to get a dialogue going.

wherein they find out I'm questioning

Right about the time I was pretty sure it wasn't true, but still very torn about it, still wishing I was wrong and just wanted go back to my normal life and pretend my whole world hadn't just come crashing down, my mom called. I had just taken my garments off two days before, not entirely sure if I was actually ready to make that move. But, you know, those new underwear just seemed so much better. And if Joseph Smith made them up anyway, who cares? But years of indoctrination will get to you.

Anyway, my mom called with remarkably bad timing. She found out (I won't get into details for privacy's sake) that we liked to read "anti-Mormon literature." You know, [mom voice] those books that are just a pack of lies and want nothing more than to ruin the church[/mom voice], like Compton's In Sacred Loneliness. I insisted that those books are not, in fact, "anti-Mormon," but rather are scholarship. I explained that I've seen some issues in the church my whole life, and wanted to resolve them; these books would help. (I skipped the part about how there were a whole new slew of issues that had come up in my reading of the previous 18 months.)

"What issues?"

"The ones I've seen for a long time? Polygamy, women's issues, priesthood ban against blacks..."

"I've had those issues, too, fta," she said. "But I didn't turn to some books to look for answers. What do those people know? I went to the Lord. He's the only one with the whole picture. You don't think I've struggled with these things? I struggled with polygamy for 15 years! But through prayer, I finally resolved it. And you can too. But not with those books!"

I explained that if I don't read these books, I'll never be satisfied. I must read them.

Shortly after the conversation, I wrote this:

So my mom called and confronted me about my/our testimonies, and I told her we're exploring, still going to church, but exploring. 'Do you think the church isn't true?' she asked. 'I'm allowing that to be a possibility,' I responded. Which is basically where I'm at right now.

All in all, the conversation was very negative and preachy 'You're deceived by the devil...Satan is trying to get to you...Satan deceived these authors of this anti-Mormon literature to try to hurt people and keep them from going to heaven...There are certain covenants you have to make in order to get to heaven and you have to go to the temple to make and keep those covenants...I KNOW the Church is true with every fiber of my being...Don't you want to go to heaven?...etc, etc.' She wants to me "to go to the Lord and pray about this and ask HIM for the answers, not some books of 'learned' people who are deceived and want to deceive you. Promise me you'll go to the Lord and truly ask for answers." ... Well, I have issues with talking to my mom about anything meaningful in the first place, and I had a pretty much passive role in the conversation, but I refused to give her what she wanted to hear. (Don't worry mom, I see the error of my ways and will burn all those books now and drive to the nearest temple asap.)

I wasn't ready for this. I wanted it to be on my terms. But now at least it's sort of out there. She does not know the extent of the 'damage to my testimony.' Imagine the torrent if I had told her I didn't wear my garments consistently the past week. The thing is, it affected me greatly. The first thing I did after getting off the phone was open the laptop to post a message to the foyer, but both my conscience (read: my mom's guilt-tripping) got to me and my son called me from the other room at the same time. I joined my son in my room and, of this I feel ashamed, put my garments back on. (I had put them back on for church yesterday too, only to take them off in the afternoon when the weather was warm.) Her guilt-tripping from 3000 miles away caused me to change my freaking clothes!

But I can't help thinking 'what if, what if, what if?' "

When she said, "I know," I blurted out, "How do you know?" It was an honest question. I was struggling and lost. I wanted to regain something I had lost, all the while knowing that, really, I couldn't.

Her answer, though, was unsatisfactory. "Because I know." It was empty to me. That meant nothing. That's it? That's all she had? I asked her not to tell anyone. I allowed her to tell my dad, but not my siblings.

The conversation shook me. Shook me bad. I needed some comfort, and found it by putting my garments back on. It felt safer. Maybe I was wrong, maybe she had a point, I thought. I had to talk to someone about it, so I went outside to where my husband was playing with our kid. Another friend was out there, one in whom I could confide. "I just had a conversation with my mom," I told them. She knew exactly what I meant. Disturbed and unsure, I switched between talking about it and sitting there, numb, staring at nothing. My kid and hers destroyed another neighbor's toy right in front of me, and I watched, not noticing, not seeing it. Fear and despair overtook me.

Shortly after that, my parents wrote me a letter to attempt to open dialogue. I wrote back, pretending I was still in my "serious questioning" phase, when really, I was a non-believer. I never sent the letter. I kept silent about all of it for five months.

how sad is too sad?

Sometimes I have those "it" moods, when everything is clouded and hopeless, when I'm sluggish and can't pull myself out of my bed, when I can't concentrate on anything but my exit from Mormonism. When crying sessions seem to come spontaneously and without explanation. These moods generally last only a day or two. Everyone has shitty days now and then. I think I'm entitled to a few.

But this time, it's lasted for over a week now. That's more than half-way to the major diagnostic point on depression: it has to last two weeks. I've had trouble getting out of bed, even when I wasn't tired. I've had trouble getting motivated to work (I'm at work now, if that's any indication). I've had trouble feeling like anyone gives a damn about me. I've been on the verge of tears way too often. And while I've had my good moments and laughed and enjoyed playing with my kids, the normal mood, the place I always fall back to, is achingly sad.

On the third day of this bottom-of-the-roller-coaster spot, I randomly met my friend on the street. He asked me how I was doing, and I started crying right there on the street. Luckily, we were right outside his apartment, so he invited me in and indulged me with a cup of tea and a listening ear for a couple hours. (I'm so embarrassed that I took two hours of your time to vent, D. Since you don't have a full-time job, a busy wife, a dissertation, and three kids or anything.) I explained to him that I've always thought of seeing a therapist when I was down, but then I go up again. It always goes away, so I think I'm okay. His answer struck me: "You never think to fix the roof when it's sunny outside."

How many rain storms do I have to suffer before I get around to fixing the roof?

Maybe I'm not okay. Maybe blogging, while helpful and fun, isn't quite enough. Don't get me wrong; it's immensely satisfying to have other exmos tell me, "I know exactly what you mean," and "Yes, I felt like my youth was stolen away from me, too," and find fellowship in that common experience. But maybe I need a little outsider-perspective.

I think I still allow my own interpretation of me and my process to be influenced by Mormonism, and by my family's view of me, ie, negatively. While I don't think I'm going to hell like Mormonism would tell me I am, I still have trouble seeing me as "standing up for what I believe in" instead of "I'll be excluded from future temple weddings." Maybe that's because the conscience I had for 25 years always told me questioning the church was evil. It takes time to rebuild and reinterpret. And maybe a little perspective that I haven't been able to achieve on my own.

To that end, I called a therapist and set up an appointment.

Whew, I did it.

telling the relief society president

The woman who was relief society president in the local ward when I left the church was a friend of mine. In her position of president, I felt no obligation to telling her my business about leaving. In fact, I felt an aversion to telling her. But because she was a friend, I opened up a little. I wrote the following after my "coming out" conversation with her.

So my relief society president is a woman my age, lives in my apartment complex, and has a kid the same age as mine. Through a series of play dates and informal meeting-in-the-park, we've become friends. I guess today she couldn't keep pretending to not notice that I don't show up to church anymore. [It was kind of obvious I wasn't just staying home sick when she saw me returning from a bike ride just as she was arriving home from church one day.]

She asked, "Can I ask a personal question?"

I knew what was coming: "What's up with the whole church thing?" I had been feeling the need to talk to someone about it, so I let her in on my little secret. Been attending UU, don't believe in the "true-ness" of the church anymore, etc. She actually handled it really well. She's had siblings and close friends leave the church already, and she was able to approach it maturely--everyone has their own way, you need to find where you are comfortable, if you're not questioning, you're not in a healthy place, etc.

Of course, I could still tell that she thinks the church is the best place to be, the best path to take. And "everyone has their own way" means some of us will end up in the terrestrial and telestial kingdoms. But, hey, at least she didn't tell me I was deceived of the devil (like my mom did when she found out I was reading non-correlated books on Mormonism) or give me the first discussion (like my sister did).

I wonder exactly what consequences this "outing" will have. Will we be talked about in her next meeting with the bishop? Will the gossip get around to the rest of the Mormons in our neighborhood? Will the home teachers (whoever they are) start the love bombing? Will my visiting teachers find out I'm "struggling" and need some extra preaching to? Ah well, the ball is rolling...

Looking back at this, I find it curious that I used "my" to refer to both the relief society president and visiting teachers. Like I still allowed them some stewardship and authority over me. But this was at the same time that I felt I had to justify why I even talked to her--as a friend, not as "my relief society president." And yet I used "the bishop" and "the home teachers." Interesting. I was coming out from under the authority of the church, but was still partially granting that authority, too.

Later, I wrote about her reaction in the following weeks.

Since I told my RS pres/friend about my unbelief, she's paid more attention to me, hugged me when saying goodbye for the day (never had before), gotten her husband to try to quell some of my concerns about the historicity of Book of Mormon, and been quick to defend the church against any comment I make she thinks is "anti-."

Like yesterday when we got back from a weekend away, we saw all the Koreans at our apartment complex were BBQing at one grill, and all the Mormons were BBQing at another grill. I went out to the Mormon BBQ and commented that it was a Mormon BBQ, and she quickly said, "There are non-Mormons here too! See, over there!" Her husband, not realizing how important it was to her to defend the supposed inclusiveness of the BBQ, said, "Yeah, well they segregated themselves pretty quick once they brought the beer out, didn't they?" Oh, how I longed to be with the drinkers and a bottle of beer...

emotions and leaving

I wrote this to a faithful Mormon who asked how I have emotionally responded to leaving the church.

Regarding emotions and leaving the church: It was absolutely devastating. You have no idea how horrible it felt to question, destroy, lose everything I thought I knew. And given that Mormonism teaches that good feelings point to God and bad feelings point to Satan, well, you can imagine the second guessing of myself, etc. I ultimately decided, though, that feelings weren't a good way to measure truth. So all those negative emotions I felt weren't Satan leading me astray or the Holy Ghost telling me I was doing something wrong, but rather the mental and emotional anguish that comes with questioning your world, and losing it. I'm working on a little personal essay right now about all the negative emotions I felt at the time of my break with the church. Then I'll probably write one about all the positive emotions I felt. 'Cause there is a good side to it all.

But through it all, through all that destruction of my world, there was a new hope, a new growth, a new me. It was very scary for a while, wondering where my direction would come from, how to define my morals, wondering who I am, etc. But I realized within myself I have a perfectly functional moral compass, and I am capable of reasoning, deciding. And that there is a whole slew of philosophers, theologians, writers, scientists, etc, who have also asked the Big Questions in Life and come to various, helpful, enlightening conclusions. I know Mormonism calls his "relying on the arm of flesh," but that's way more comfortable for me right now than relying on God.

it

Some days I don't even think about it. On those days, I keep up posts by post-dating drafts I wrote before. On those days, I wonder if I can keep up the pace of daily posting. On those days, I wonder if I can even keep up the blog. I wonder if I have said enough. That just by telling my story I've had the therapy I sought after in creating this blog. On those days, I sit at the computer to type, if I've ran out of drafts, but my fingers just gently drum away, not spelling anything. I speak aloud to my husband, "Give me a topic," and he teases me, "You've run out of things to say?"

This isn't one of those days.

Some days it grips me. It grips me like a vice around my chest, heavy and tight. Squeezing me, threatening to squeeze tears out of my eyes. I breath deep, but it doesn't help. It remains, heavy and tight, there, deep in my chest. I take my bike to work to get fresh air and exercise, but it doesn't help clear the sadness out of my mind. I clock in at work, but I can't work. The thoughts push into my head. Not even thoughts, really, more like a mess of dark emotions that doesn't let me do any thinking because the cloud is too thick.

I don't want to feel it. But it is there. I can't shake it. Part of me wants to fight it. To hide quietly in another room and silently scream into a pillow, then get a hold of myself and walk out, act like everything is perfectly normal. Part of me wants to embrace it, let it come until I am just a heap of sobbing on the bed, curled up behind my husband. Let the sobs and wails escape uncontrollably from my normally stoic form, lashing out with sadness and pain in every heaving breath.

And I wonder, which is better?

Note: I wrote this days ago, and the mood passed. It always passes. If it didn't, I'd be seeking professional help.

This I Believe

When I first discovered NPR’s This I Believe, I had just gone through a distressing process of realizing what I didn’t believe. Since then, it’s been easier to pinpoint what I don’t believe than what I do. But listening to the segment helps me realize I don’t want to define myself by my unbelief; I want to define myself according to what I do believe. In asking myself what I believe, I’ve come to see that the very exploration of belief is the important thing.

I believe that asking questions can be more important than having the answers.

Until I was in my mid-20’s, I believed very strongly in the version of God I had been raised to believe in. This God was one that had already provided all the answers to life’s great questions; how could one resist believing in such a God? When I reevaluated my belief system, I realized I simply could not be a part of something so religiously chauvinistic and so omniscient.

Leaving my belief system, letting go of that God and all his answers, was frightening and enlightening at the same time. When my world view came crashing down around me, everything I had ever believed, and everything I had thought I knew, came into question. Beyond all the dust and rubble of my old life, I saw a new life. It was as if light touched my skin for the first time, and there was a whole new world before me to discover. I began asking questions like I never had before in order to explore my new world and my new self.

I realized that I had never asked some of the most important questions in life, because they had been answered for me before I even knew what the questions were. Is there a God? What is the purpose of life? What is my role to play in life? Is there consciousness after death? The questions are simple, complex, and universal. I know they’ve been asked before, probably billions of times. But this time, they are my questions. I may be asking these same questions my entire life, and I’m okay with that. I have found more peace and exhilaration in asking my questions than I had in having "all the answers."

exiting emotions: grief/loss

When I realized the church isn't The One True Church, I felt loss and grief.

I lost my world. I lost my direction. I lost my culture. My plan of salvation. I lost my moral compass. My afterlife. I lost a connection to my family. I lost my heritage. I lost all those people who had already died, and I thought I'd see again.

Perhaps most painfully, I lost Heavenly Father. He was gone. It was like he, along with some version of me, had died. Recognizing the active part I played in breaking down my faith, I even felt like I killed him. (I’ve never read Nietzsche, but I’ll get to it at least to understand this part of my self.)

When I was a believer, I felt I had a personal relationship with Heavenly Father. The moments that boosted my testimony most were times I felt like Heavenly Father loved me—me personally—and that he knew me personally and knew me well. My patriarchal blessing was especially tender to me because of that connection. Father’s blessings were also very important to my testimony and my felt connection to Heavenly Father. It seemed that in nearly every father’s blessing I received from my dad (at least a couple a year), Heavenly Father told me, though my father, that He loved me and knew me. Those statements always made me cry, and renewed my dedication to the church. (Now I appreciate them as my own father telling me how much he loves me.)

So to lose that, to destroy that relationship, to have Heavenly Father gone or even dead was immeasurably painful. I felt that loss keenly. It left a gaping hole in my life and in my heart. I had to grieve.

With time, I don't feel that so keenly now, but it was certainly very painful in the few months after leaving.

church attendance

As I stopped going to the Mormon church, it never occurred to me that I would stop going to church altogether. I had in mind that I would substitute Mormon services with some other services. I went to UU meetings a few times, and liked them a lot. I also enjoyed Quaker meeting. I attended Episcopal meetings a couple times, Catholic, even Muslim, but never really had them as options in my mind. Friends stepped up, knowing I was shopping around, and offered to introduce me to the religions that so influenced their lives.

The best part about shopping around was the lack of guilt for not attending. If I felt like going one Sunday, I went. The next, maybe not. It was wonderful to have power over my own time, guilt free.

Eventually, I stopped going regularly at all. I've been twice in the past year. Partly, I’m busy. Partly, my husband and son aren’t into services right now, and I don’t want to spend my precious alone-time on church. Partly, I don’t believe in God.

I see the value of spirituality, of edification, of the peace one can feel in services. But church isn’t the only place I can find that. Usually, I’m just as happy to seek out that peace in a bike ride with my son through the shady streets of town. Or in a hike through the woods. Or a nice sleep-in.

But lately I've needed a little more. I think I might trying attending UU again, see if I can stand the thought of organized religion yet.