one found me

As I busied myself with something in the lounge area at work, I noticed a co-workers whose name I didn't know stop a cell phone conversation and try to get my attention. I turned to him. I think, He looks Mormon.

"Hey, are you from the ashes?"

"Yeah," I asked, wondering how he learned my name and why. There are over 400 people where we work; why single me out?

"I noticed on the company bio pages that you went to Brigham Young."

"Yeah, I did." I glance at his clothes, half-expecting to see a BYU sweatshirt or baseball cap. I think to myself, Why did they have to include our bachelor degrees in the bios?

Trying to keep a nice smile, I ask, "Oh, did you go to BYU?"

"No," he answered, "I'm one of the ones that stayed..."

"That stayed local?"

He nodded.

"Where are you from?" He told me; it was not Utah.

"Oh, okay. And what's your name?" He told me his name and what division he's in.

I think, Should I say something? Should I not? Is it any of his business? No. But now he thinks I'm something I'm not. But I am. But I'm not. Why am I being so stupid? Why is it such a big deal? He's probably in the local singles ward, so he wouldn't know I don't attend. Or he's in the family ward, and thinks I'm in the singles ward. Why do I feel the need to tell him I don't attend?

I said aloud, "Well, nice to meet you. I'll let you get back to your phone call." I smiled and left.

How could such a simple thing be so nerve-wracking?

Honestly, the first thing I did when they put up the employees bios was check if anyone graduated from BYU or one of its associated schools, or listed a Utah town as hometown. He must have checked, too. I don't work directly with this guy, so maybe I'll never see him again. Maybe I will. Why do I care?

the old friend answers

A couple days after I wrote my friend about my non-belief, I got an email back. She was not entirely surprised, she said, having received hints both from me and her mom, who is friends with my mom. The fact that she picked up on some things from my conversations and behavior was not surprising to me. I had, after all, declined to attend the temple with her last time I visited, and suggested we see Confessions of a Mormon Boy instead. (It's a one-man show about a gay man's journey away from Mormonism and toward his own sense of self. She declined to see it, saying she had heard it was "raunchy.") I also told her I didn't have a calling, wasn't visiting teaching, and that I thought ol' Joe Smith started polygamy for sex and power. Not exactly a faithful conversation. And now that she knows I'm a non-believer, she can comfortably discount anything I said before that caused her cognitive dissonance, uh, I mean, caused the Spirit to leave the room.

What did surprise me was that she had heard something about me from her mom. The only way her mom would have heard about me is from my mom. I had honestly thought that my mom kept my disaffection quiet, you know, the black sheep, the dirty, family secret. I guess not. I can only suppose that she framed it in terms of "my daughter is struggling with her testimony," which I would completely disagree with. I'm not struggling with my testimony; I don't have a testimony. I don't want a testimony. I don't even think in terms of testimony anymore. It's more than a difference of semantics, but it's not worth arguing with her about it.

My friend was, understandably, upset. Even though she'd had some hints, she didn't "realize the extend to which my faith had diminished." Again, not the terminology I would use. But it's more than terminology, it's the thinking that comes with it. Do "diminished" and "struggling" describe me well? I'd say, no. I would approach it more in terms of "liberated" or "opened up." But I'm not going to argue that with believers, because it implies they are "not liberated" and "closed off." I try to use more neutral terms, such as "I don't believe anymore" or "I believe differently now."

Bless her heart, she assured me that she loved me very much and wouldn't let this destroy our friendship. I do believe she is sincere in that, but I also recognize the strain that too often occurs in Mormon/non-Mormon relationships. For my part, I will work to keep the friendship up.

She said she had plenty of questions about my disaffection, so I sent her a revised, shortened version of my exit story that I have posted on this blog. I also sent a version of my thoughts on how our families blame my husband for my "struggles," since I figured she'd have questions about how he played into this. I have yet to receive her thoughts on it, but I think it was probably a heavy blow. She's actually the first believing Mormon I've sent my exit story to. I haven't even sent it, as such, to the one sister who would willingly read it.

I'll see what happens next.

telling an old friend

I have one friend from childhood with whom I keep in fairly good contact, but I have never had the heart or guts to tell her about my changed beliefs. Though we keep in contact over email, I recently connected with her on of those connect-with-old-friends sites online. After I saw that she was on that site, I noticed also there's a place to indicate religion.

I could've put something equivocal or vague, I could've left it blank; I could not comfortably put LDS, though the church still lists me as one of theirs. In a gutsy moment of not wanting to hide my beliefs anymore, I entered "secular humanist" for myself. I'm not stupid; she's not stupid. I'd figured she'd see it before too long and notice that I didn't put LDS. It wasn't in order to give her a hint; it was just me not wanting to hide it anymore. Then again, maybe I wanted her to find me out.

So on Good Friday, I went to work to get a few hours in while the office was quiet. The whole place was empty except for the one cubicle right next to mine. I sat down and quickly checked my email before starting work. This friend had emailed and asked, ever so casually, what a secular humanist is.

It was time for The Talk. Or, since I'm a wuss, The Email. I knew I wouldn't be able to get any work done, because I would take a long time writing and editing the email, then be upset that I just ruined her weekend.

In the email, I referred her to an online explanation of secular humanism,* and wrote

As you can tell, the tenets don't jive well with Mormonism. Which is to say Mormonism doesn't jive well with me. I didn't drop Mormonism for humanism, but over time I realized that what I hold to and understand as right and moral is summed up well with humanism.

I assured her I am willing to talk about it, but also understand if she finds it too upsetting to talk about. I apologized for not opening up until now, two years after my world crashed down on me. I explained that keeping this secret was not because I was afraid she'd end our friendship, but because it is just very, very hard to tell people whom you know it will hurt.

As I sat there, typing that in, I giant sob threatened to burst out of me. Knowing a near stranger was three feet away, I clapped my hand over my mouth and let an internal, silent scream rack my body, and some tears rolled down from my eyes. This was not a conversation I wanted to have at all, and not over email. But perhaps email is easier to deal with than face-to-face. I don't know. I've never actually told any faithful Mormons face-to-face.

I went on to tell her

But I want you to understand that I feel great about my decisions. I don't feel lost or confused, or that I am doing something wrong. I didn't leave because I was offended, or I wanted to break commandments. I left because I simply don't believe the church's truth claims anymore, and I don't feel the church is the best place for me and my family. I recognize that the church is a fine enough place for many people; just not for me.

I concluded by referring her to When a Loved One Has Let Go of the Iron Rod and repeating that I was sorry and that I loved her. And now I wait to see what she'll say, if anything.

*After reading the entry, I realized perhaps I'm leaning toward religious humanism, or just humanism. I'll have to explore that some more.

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.

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.

telling, and not telling

I've told some college friends about my disaffection, and they've all been great about it. But I selectively chosen them to tell because I knew they were pretty liberal anyway. Two don't believe anymore either, and the others are quite sunstone-y about it, even NOMish. So they're cool. I have one friend--and a couple relatives--who I bet would completely disassociate themselves from me and my evil apostate she-devilness. Just to protect themselves, you know, nothing personal. But I haven't kept up good contact with them anyway.

I have one high school friend whom I particularly want to tell--and don't want to tell. She is just so sweet, and we've been friends since elementary school. I visited her this time last year, and I wanted so bad to tell her. But I didn't want to ruin the weekend, either. Through our conversations, she asked me if I have a calling. No. "Visiting teacher?" No. "Oh."

Later, she brought up Mormon polygamy. She asked my opinion, and I told her: I think Smith made it up for reasons of sex and power. I told her about Comptom's book. (He's a faithful member! I said). We were in public; I couldn't tell her I didn't believe right there. I almost said something as we were falling asleep that night in her apartment, but thinking about spending the whole next day with her kept me from saying it.

Going away from that weekend I felt so terrible that she talked to me about that stuff in good faith that I was a believer, that believing Smith did it for sex and power is compatible with me having a testimony. She'll feel betrayed when I tell her, and realizes that conversation was not what she thought it was.

But then I kick myself for not giving her credit. She is a great person, and she is a good friend. She would never drop me just because of that. Yes, it would be upsetting to her, but she loves me. Another exmo friend of mine commented that she doesn't worry too much about telling her friends, because she feels that it's good for them to see that people challenge their faith and change. Keeping them in naivety about it isn't a good thing, nor my obligation. My obligation should be to be myself, and to be respectful of them.

Waco, wacko

At work, one of my colleagues revealed he's from Waco, Texas, so I commented that my college has as many connotations as Waco. Of course, everyone then asked where I went to college. I started internally berating myself for bringing it up, but I told them anyway: BYU. The inevitable follow-up questions ensued. "Are you Mormon? Did you grow up in Utah?"

I told them, No, I'm not Mormon. But I was raised Mormon.

One women related that she has Mormon neighbors who are very nice to her. They cook her dinner, get her to come play volleyball (at the stake center?), and, yep, you guessed it, invite her to church.

"No way," she said, "that's where I draw the line. I am Catholic and am staying that way. I'd like to think they're being my friends for my sake, but I can't help think they just want to convert me."

"Sorry," I said. "They will always have conversion on their minds. Of course Mormons are capable of making friendships for the sake of friendships, but it will always be somewhere in their minds that they should try to convert you. Sorry, but that's the way it is."

We got into a discussion that included Under the Banner of Heaven and blood atonement, the church's restrictions on piercings, premarital sex, tattoos, and how BYU came dead last in a ranking of party schools. I told them I was thinking about both a nose piercing and a tattoo, and they teased me that now that I am settled down with a family, I'm going through my rebellious stage. That made me laugh.

I explained that when I am in Utah, I want to stand out so other ex-mos can identify me easily. A lot of us are in some degree of hiding, so it's hard to know who is who. I nose piercing would be a great clue, I told them. To that, one of the guys joked about secret handshakes.

"Actually," I said, "funny you should say that. Mormons do have secret handshakes. And if I ever gave one to someone, they would know I'm an ex-Mormon."

"Wacko," the Catholic girl said. I concurred.

The conversation moved on, and I went home at the end of the day. And I realized I was in a damn good mood. Talking about Mormonism, and having people agree with me that some of that stuff is just wacko--that made me feel good. I'm not crazy after all.

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...

coming out of the non-believer's closet

When I was still "in the non-believer's closet," that period when I wasn't going to church, but hadn't told my family so, I struggled terribly. I was pained about not only how and when I should tell them, but what to tell them, and, especially, how they would react. During that time, I wrote the following.

Oh, how I wish I had an immediate family member to "come out" to! I come from an uber-TBM family, all children married in the temple, several went on missions, dad's in a high position, etc. I am the first one to "lose the faith." That's not to say I'm the first to "struggle with my testimony," because several have had issues with, say, polygamy, women's position, leaders who are supposed to be inspired by God but who do really stupid things, etc. But they are all in a place where they say, "Well, it's God's church, it's really true, so I can reconcile and put up with the crap, as long as I know that God is somewhere behind it and is fixing things, even if it's slowly." I used to be in that place. Until about three months ago.

Since then, it's come crashing down remarkably quickly. And who do I tell? Luckily I have a husband who is in the same place as me. Some people are lucky in that parents or siblings paved the way before them. I'm in the extreme position of "first one out."

My mom is my biggest reason I have not come out yet. I have a somewhat manipulative, guilt-tripping mom. She struggles with depression. I grew up not bothering to ask if I could go play with Sally next door because I knew my mom would say, "No, honey, I don't feel like it." The whole family does a delicate ballet around Mom's feelings and reactions. Don't want to upset Mom. I can imagine the magnitude of the reaction when she finds out about me. Major crying episodes, definitely. Ask my father for priesthood blessings, absolutely. Spiral of depression that she'll then self-medicate with prayer, oh yeah.

But ultimately, I have to tell myself, it's her business how she reacts. It's not my fault.

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.

the first visit

We had predicted different reactions from our families. We thought, based on past experience with my husband's jack Mormon brother, that his family would be silent on the subject. No one in the family had ever asked jack-mo-bro why he stopped going. Ever. And since they already had gone through all the trauma of having a non-faithful son/sibling, we'd figure the trauma of having another wouldn't be quite as acute.

As for my family, we thought they'd want to talk about it. Maybe too much. We thought my parents would want to sit us down for a little heart-to-heart, something we were not looking forward to, and even debating whether or not we would participate in. We also thought the pain and shock would be worse, since I am the first out in my family. They've never had to deal with the thought of a child/sibling choosing to not go to the Celestial Kingdom with them.

That said, I was a little weirded out when we visited my family at Christmas time and no one said a word. Not a word. I even tried to bring it up a couple times, and no one took the bait. It was kind of disconcerting, staying with my Twilight Zone family.

Before we went, we talked about what we would do about Sunday. Should we schedule our trip so that we're not there on a Sunday? Should we be there on a Sunday and go to church with them, just to be nice, just for the sake of family relations? What would that mean to them? Would they think, "Oh, good, they're making baby steps back to The Truth"? Is that trade-off between family comfort and different interpretations and intentions worth it? Should we simply stay home from church? Eventually, we decided to be there on a Sunday, but find some alternative activity for the day.

I expected my parents to at least invite us to church, or ask us if we were going, but they didn't. We ended up meeting Christy and her hubbie for lunch--a thousand times better than suffering through Sacrament meeting. (Hi!) When I got back to my parents with a take-home box and put it in their fridge (evidence of the fact I ate out on Sundays, aka failed to keep the Sabbath day holy), my mom asked, "So how was your lunch?" I was astounded, though not in a bad way. I had expected something judgmental about the Sabbath and skipping church, but, no. It could have been Saturday for how nonchalant she was about it. (She also asked whom I was meeting, but since I met Christy and Jer on the Foyer--an exmo forum online--I told her I was meeting "friends we'd met in [the state we live in now], but who are in Utah now." Which was kind of true.)

It struck me as really weird. I almost wanted her to say something so we could get into a discussion. But I realize how lucky I am that she is acting so, well, normal about it. She's letting me do my thing, and even if she does disagree or disapprove, she's not going to step on my toes about it. On one level, I think, "What a cool mom. I hope I can give her back the same respect." On another level, I think, "It's better to talk about our differences and come to a better understanding." It's one thing to not clash simply because we just avoid talking about our differences; it's another (better) thing to not clash because we've talk about our differences with openness and honesty, and come to a mutually respectful let's-agree-to-disagree arrangement.

telling his family

A couple months after we stopped going to church, we had a family reunion with my husband's family. His approach was to just let it come out, let them figure it out. He didn't want to say something formally.

So I just kept being my (new) self; I refused to be in the unbeliever's closet and hide my new thoughts, attitudes, and wardrobe. I took every excuse (sports activities, morning yoga) to wear non-garment safe clothes, something I wouldn't have done before. I boldly expressed political views that good Mormon girls shouldn't have. We skipped church and stayed at home with his jack Mormon brother. I said things I shouldn't have said about how cheap blow jobs are in our city. I admitted I feel embarrassed when I have to tell people my alma mater (BYU). I got drunk in front of all his siblings.

It was completely out of the blue. No one expected it. Everyone was shocked.

Looking back, I feel I went a little overboard and should have eased them in a littler gentler. I feel terrible that I acted like that in front of all his younger, impressionable cousins. But all of them got the message. Unfortunately, that message left us as "We don't believe in the Mormon church anymore" and probably arrived to them as "We are prideful sinners who let go of the iron rod and are wandering in the dark and dreary wilderness. We won't be seeing you in the Celestial Kingdom, but the beer and sleeping in on Sundays is totally worth it!" (Hmm, maybe I'll make that my new tag line.)

They all reacted differently, according to their experiences and personalities. My father-in-law won't talk about it to this day. My husband's church-going siblings will talk about it, but would rather not. My brother-in-law's first words were, "So you drink beer and everything?" As I've mentioned before, my mother-in-law couldn't speak about it for months, such was her shock and pain.

His non-church-going brother and his nevermo wife were quite shocked, speechless actually, because they would have never expected it from us. Once the shock wore off, they were quite happy to have another couple join them on the fringe. Where before, my attitude toward them was always quietly judgmental, and our relationship awkward and stilted because of the-religion-thing, now I could talk openly about religion or any other subject. The change was all me. They were always great people; I just couldn't see it because "they're not Mormon" was always somewhere in my mind. I guess it still is in my mind; but now, it's a good thing.

(not) coming out to our families

After it was clear to us that we no longer wanted to be a part of the Mormon church, we realized our families were going to have to know about it. But how, when? Do we ease them in to the idea? Let it fall in one blow? Wait until we could do it person? On the phone? In email or letters? Just let them notice we replaced garments with Hanes when we did laundry at their house? Order wine at the next family dinner?

As we talked, we realized we both had very different styles and attitudes about telling--he was more of the let-them-just-figure-it-out style, and I was a they-need-a-formal-letter style--so we decided that my husband's family would find out in his way, and mine would find out in my way.

But the prospect was extremely frightening. I knew how I, my parents, and my siblings had reacted to hearing others' "apostasy" announcements, and it wasn't pretty. Long story short: apostates were 1) stupid, and 2) wrong. The idea of the loss of a loved one for all eternity is too much to bear. Inactives were on the fringes of family affairs, not talked about, misunderstood, unhappy. Apostates were even worse. Inactives were just making mistakes. Apostates were willful sinners and revilers. I was soon to announce that I had joined their camp.

So, I put it off. For several months, I hid. Every time the phone rang, I hesitated. Was it my parents? I avoided phone calls on Sundays, because "How was church today?" would inevitably come up. Every time I did talk to my parents, I felt like I was lying to them, even though we didn't talk about church.

I knew the longer I waited, the harder it would be. But I still couldn't figure out how to bring it up, or write that letter. It was awful.

more debate with myself

Continuing from debate with myself...

I want them to know that I am not just struggling with my testimony, that I didn't wander off the path, that I am not in the dark and dreary wilderness or the great and spacious building. I want them to know that I have made a decision, that I feel good about it, and that I am truly happy. I don't want to die with people thinking of me as an inactive Mormon or a jack Mormon; that is not who I am. I want to stand for what I believe. However, I don't know that they can see me how I see me. They can only interpret my life how they know how--according to the Mormon world view. It is one decidedly different from my own.

My one unhappiness in my decision is this rift with the family--and that is substantial. They will never understand me, they will not know me. We keep up relations; we love each other; we talk and enjoy each others' company. But a huge part of us--their religion and my disbelief in that religion and belief in other things--is never touched. Granted, it's only been months since my "coming out of the closet" and I live thousands of miles away from them; there's not much opportunity to talk. Eventually, we will likely talk. Over the years, there will probably be points of greater pain and points of greater understanding.

Is it better that I pull off the band-aid and disabuse them of the notion that I am coming back? This would force them to confront the issue head-on and begin the healing process, rather than patch over it with their false comfort of my return. Will it help? Will it change anything? Or do I let them continue on interpreting my life according to the only way they know how?

When I visited at Christmas, and I was happy, friendly, didn't bash the church, and was so very normal. Did they therefore interpret that as "Oh, fta is happy after all. She must not be in such a bad place"? Or did they interpret it as "Fta is so happy. She must have returned to church and is faithful again, and it's just her husband who is struggling"? Will every action be taken wrong? So should I even bother? Will writing them just cause them to think, "Oh, wow, she is really angry. She is prideful. She really is deceived," or, "She has her reasons for her actions; we may not agree, but I can understand that she is where she needs to be and it is good for her"? That's all I want. I think that's all I can hope for.

debate with myself

Eventually, I told my family I wasn't attending church anymore, that my spiritual path has "moved away from the Mormon church." They didn't really ask why or want to know details. I assumed they think I am too intellectual and have lost sight of faith in favor of evidence. Got too big for my britches. They operate on the assumption that I will return eventually, and I've realized over time that this gives them comfort. But for a long time, I struggled with whether or not I should tell them more. To put it all down on paper and explain the extent to which I was a total non-believer, that I was never coming back. That I wasn't "struggling with my testimony" or a Jack Mormon or an inactive. That I was done.

I wondered if telling them--ripping the bandage off--would be better than letting them have their false view of me. I wrote down what I was thinking at that time:

Writing to mom and dad about my unbelief is fundamentally difficult, since I would be basically telling them (implicitly) that I reject how they raised me. Obviously, they did their best, did what they believed is best, and I think they did a pretty darn good job. They are many, many things about how they raised us that I appreciate and love. But by telling them I reject Mormonism--and have no plans to raise my son Mormon--I reject part of them. And I hate that. (Side note: I will not shield my son from Mormonism, or any other religion. I want him exposed to a plurality of religions and ideas so that he can choose when he is older. I will be up front with him about how his extended family is Mormon, why they are Mormon, and why I am not Mormon.)

I go back and forth about writing everyone. On the one hand, Mom and Dad are convinced that I will return someday, as witnessed by the peace they have felt about me. They have their comfort in that; it is their coping mechanism. Part of me wants to let them have that comfort, even though I think it is false. While they felt peace [when I told them I wasn't going to church anymore] and interpreted that as "fta will return"--that is the only way they _can_ interpret it within their Mormon world view, that's the only thing that makes sense--I think that emotion of peace can be interpreted differently.

Such as how I interpret it: "No matter what, we love fta. We can sense that she is okay and happy and the spiritual path she chooses for herself is fine." A problem I have with them "knowing I will return" is that this denies me freedom of choice. If God knows I will return, that means I will definitely return--it is not my choice to return; it's "already" been decided. Is God so omniscient that we don't have truly free will? During my process of leaving, I asked this question. I adopted a somewhat modified version of an omniscient God, one that can see possible future paths that open and close before us as we make decisions, and can guide us in choosing better paths.

More tomorrow.