On how to talk to me now

While I was visiting Utah recently a friend asked me some questions about my religious situation. First, let me say that I appreciated this so much! Since I have been more open about my change in beliefs, there have been a handful of people who have contacted me saying things like "I love you just the same" or "I didn't know you were hurting. You can talk to me." These little things have meant the world to me. Thank you, and thank you.

Second, I thought my friend might not be the only one with these questions, so I'll address them publicly here.

1- I'm still me. I'm not really all that different than I was before. You can still keep in touch with me, joke with me, do whatever we did before.
2- You don't have to censor yourself. I understand Mormonism and still love parts of it and the people. You can tell me about what's happening with your calling, in your ward, or whatever; I won't be offended. That's a part of you and your life. You don't have to hide it from me.
3- I won't be offended by your Mormonness if you won't be offended by my lack of Mormonness. I really can't even imagine where this would be an issue, maybe if my shorts don't go to my knee or something. I support things like gay rights and gender equality, but I try not to be too in-your-face about it. If I cross a line, you can let me know.
4- You can still invite me to things. I'll come to baby blessings or baptisms or to hear you speak in church. You are my people. I love you and support you. Sometimes that means showing up for you. I don't care if that's in a Mormon church. Just try not to be too upset with me when I can't come to an event inside the temple.

Thanks for loving me and standing by me.

A Mother's Day Apology

As a teen there were times I was critical of my mother. This is developmentally normal. Teens are keen to notice hypocrisy, inconsistencies, and faults, especially in their parents. I think my experience was amplified and extended because of things I learned in church.

It wasn't so much that I had a lot to complain about what my mother did; it was more about things she didn't do. She didn't decorate or craft. She didn't stay at home with us anymore (not her choice, by the way). She didn't bake bread from scratch or spend time creating centerpieces or handouts for the Relief Society Lesson. She wasn't the image of the perfect homemaker I was learning in church was the divine role of women. I felt especially justified in my criticism because I had the backing of The Church. I knew what was 'right' how things were 'supposed to be,' and it was pretty clear my life wasn't matching up.

In the last four years I've gone through a feminist awakening and my view of acceptable womanhood has dramatically expanded. There isn't one right way to be a woman or a mother that fits for everyone. There are myriad valuable things mothers give to their children. My focus on what I wasn't getting from my mother kept me from seeing and appreciating what she was giving me.

I am embarrassed by my former criticism of my mother. The thing is, she is fantastic. She gave me an appreciation for the value of friendships, a wealth of social skills, an open mind about people who are different from me, an understanding that a career you enjoy is more important than one with prestige or a high paycheck. She talked to me about choosing a good mate and how to recognize unhealthy relationship patterns before you make the commitment to marry. Have you heard about cycles of abuse becoming generational? And how it takes a strong commitment from one individual to break the cycle for future generations? My mom was that person for me. I only marginally experienced a lot of the dysfunction that was in my dad's family for the few generations I know of because of my mother. I remember her teaching me how to respond to a first grade bully with compassion and understanding.

My mother taught me to love a variety of foods, even though she's a picky eater. She supported me academically and never did projects for me, even though sometimes I wished she would. She helped me develop confidence in myself. She didn't talk negatively about her own body or make a big deal about my appearance; because of this I was shielded from a lot of the body shaming so prevalent in our culture. She talked to me, and she listened. She talked to me about what I was learning and not just how I looked or who I wanted to date. I knew, especially as I got into later adolescence and young adulthood, that she genuinely liked me as a person. We liked spending time together. This did wonders for my confidence. As I started my new position in management last year, I found myself often drawing on lesson I'd learned from my mother: how to value my employees, how to do team decision-making, how to be an approachable leader, how to not take myself too seriously. She's the best!

Thanks Mom. Happy Mother's Day!

Note 1: I want to be clear that I don't de-value the more traditional aspects of motherhood I learned about in church. The idea is that there are many things mothers give to their children and that one set of skills or traits isn't better than another, just different. It's not that my narrow view has shifted to be an equally narrow view with different attributes, it's that my view has expanded to include a wider variety of characteristics and values. I won't be critical of you if you're a crafting, decorating, stay-at-home mom. There is no right way to be a woman or a mother.

Note 2: I wrote this post from the perspective of mothers, this being Mother's Day and a post about my own mother, after all. If I were being completely accurate, anywhere I said 'mother' the word 'parent' would be more appropriate. I don't think what parents give to their children is determined by gender as much as by personality. Fathers can do anything I attributed here to mothers. And many mothers teach their children things traditionally thought to be the domain of fathers.

On pregnancy dreams

I have been having fantastically entertaining dreams lately. Here is a sampling of the highlights:

• I was on a True-Life Adventure with extended family. My uncle was together with this guy and we were staying at their cabin on a lake for the weekend. We were all so happy for them and they seemed so happy.
• My daughter was in a tank at the zoo, discovering the animals. It all seemed so normal and good until this giant sea turtle tried to hold her under the water. She handled it like a champ though and got herself free before I had to go into the water to rescue her.
• My work offered to pay me more money for working fewer hours.
• We were in the sauna at Milton's house in our clothes. It became increasingly sweaty and uncomfortable, but the food was delicious.
• I've had a couple sexy dreams too, but I'll forgo the details on those.

Why can't I experience this symptom/side effect all the time?

On how we talk about our children, especially teens

When I was in junior high, I remember the teachers saying things to us like, "your brains all go down to your pants. We're just waiting out a few years until you're reasonable humans again" and "you're all so hormonal and difficult to deal with." Yes, they really did say these things to us. Why would any of us try to be easy or reasonable for them? They didn't expect us to.

Kids tend to live up to the expectations others, especially parents, set for them. If we expect that they will be difficult, they will be. The last 2.5 years I've had the privilege (I really do think it's a privilege) to work with a lot of teens and parents. There are common themes that come up with every family: trust, wanting freedom, keeping rules, doing chores, arguing, respect, etc. A lot of the work of therapy is helping the families negotiate these issues in a way that is age and developmentally appropriate. I have had teens say to me, "I argue with my mom because I'm a teenager. That's what teenagers are supposed to do."

Part of this is due to developmental changes happening in adolescence, but that's a topic for another time, another part is definitely expectations. I take this knowledge and try to be conscious as a parent about what I say about my child in front of my child. I try not to complain about her, not that there's much to complain about. I try to talk positively about her body and her future. If you say something to me about how difficult a future life stage will be, I will correct you if my daughter is around. (Consider yourself warned.)

Sometimes being a parent is difficult. I get tired and fatigued and there is never enough time for myself or my social life. Sometimes I get frustrated and lose my patience. None of this is my child's fault. I won't blame her for my stuff. The reality is that she is wonderful, completely, perfectly fantastic. She is healthy and strong, articulate, opinionated, and funny. About a year ago Blake and I were talking about whether we were ready for another child. We ultimately decided that we weren't ready, it wasn't the right time for our family. Part of our conversations centered on our daughter. We feel that we won the child jackpot. Would it be tempting fate to try again and expect to get another child as great as her? There were other very important factors that went into that decision, but how easy she's been to parent was part of the conversation.

I look forward to her being a teenager. I want her to love her changing and growing body. I want to watch her develop her social skills. As she develops greater capacity for self-awareness and abstract thought, I hope to be involved in guiding her to be a compassionate human being who stands up for others. She will be excited by new ideas, developing and using logic; I hope I can engage with her in thoughtful conversations and arguments even if it's just for the sake of arguing and encouraging her verbal and logical thinking skills. I want to watch her discover who she is and try on different identities and friends and styles and music. I want to be inspired by her hope and optimism and wisdom. I expect her to be an awesome teenager and to enjoy parenting her during those years.

On spirituality and trauma

At a meeting at work about vicarious trauma--how therapists can become traumatized by helping others with trauma--I was given this essay about the effects trauma can have on a person's spirituality. The whole thing was great, and particularly pertinent to the journey I've been on, where the trauma was the problems with spirituality.  I want to share the concluding paragraph. I find it inspiring and hopeful.

In receiving appropriate care, compassion, and direction, victims can overcome the destructive impact of trauma, break through restrictive approaches to life, and become more soulful and compassionate beings in the process. Traumatic injuries, when accompanied by love and understanding, do not become places of deadness, denial, and disease. Rather, they become bridges of compassion that connect victims to all sentient beings. Survivors accept that they can be broken, overwhelmed, and rendered powerless. These realizations are not considered shameful (as they were at the beginning of the journey) but are now recognized as the common ground that connects victims to all forms of life. Becoming comfortable with one's inherent capacity to be rendered powerless enables survivors to encounter the brokenness and wounds of others without fear. Survivors want to do everything possible to decrease the gulf of disconnection separating victims from others while simultaneously helping them realize that the loss of their former ways of being in the world, despite the tremendous pain involved, is an opportunity to discover the Spirit living at the core of their being.

This is part of why I love doing therapy. I can play a part in helping someone transition out of deadness, denial, and disease and toward a more soulful and compassionate life. And I think in any context, building bridges of compassion is one of most beautiful things a person can experience.

The world breaks everyone and some become strong at the broken places. ~Faulkner

On the boulevard of broken dreams

I had originally thought to title this post 'The Lonely Road,' and the more I thought about that, I kept thinking of this Green Day song. I know, I know. Go ahead and laugh; I am quoting Green Day lyrics. I'm going to use it to provide some structure to these thoughts that didn't totally have a coherent narrative form yet. 

I walk a lonely road

The only one that I have ever known

My transition with Mormonism has been a lonely road, most definitely. But this is not the only one I have every known. I used to walk a road of community and belonging and certainty. I was happy there. I never went looking to leave that road. It was the only road I thought I would ever know, and I was perfectly fine with that. This road I'm on now is lonely, probably the lonliest road that I have ever known. No one that was on the Mormon road with me can really walk this road with me, and I don't expect them too. What's more difficult though, is that there isn't anyone to talk to about this journey on my road. We don't have a framework in our culture that welcomes or validates the stories of the lonely road. 

Don't know where it goes

But it's home to me and I walk alone

I don't know where this road goes. I don't know where I'm headed, and that's scary. I do know that there is no going back. Even if I go back to full activity, that road will never be the same. A Pandora's box has been opened. The things that were unleashed can never go back in the box. There are some things you can't un-see and things you can't un-know. That road I was on is gone forever. I don't know where the road I'm on ends; it's unsettling. Part of what I have lost is that certainty of knowing where I was going, how my life would turn out. The trajectory was all laid out.

I walk this empty street

On the Boulevard of Broken Dreams

Boulevard of broken dreams indeed. All these dreams I had for myself, the plans for where my life was going and who I would be are gone. Sometimes this brings to me a feeling of deep sadness. It's a kind of grief and mourning and loss that is profound and yet ambiguous. And sometimes as I look at the broken dreams I feel betrayed. I did everything right. Why didn't my life turn out the way it was supposed to be? Where was the warning? How could this have been prevented? There's really no sense in entertaining those questions though, because it's done.

Where the city sleeps

And I'm the only one and I walk alone

The city sleeps. This is another part that's lonely. I've been going through this dramatic life change, a heartwrenching journey, and no one seems to know. No one is there to wtiness my journey. It happens alone, in the dark, while everyone else peacefully sleeps. [It's not so much that I think people are sleeping, as in unaware, it's just that I'm using the lyrics of the song here. No one be offended.] There's a temptation sometimes to think that no one cares. As soon as this thought enters my mind, I know it's not true. It's not that my friends and family don't care; I know they do. It's that there isn't cultural validation for this story; there's no precedent, no framework. If someone has an illness or experiences a death in the family, we know to go to them. We know to listen, to hug, to bring meals. We give them lots of space to talk and cry and grieve and question. Blog posts or facebook statuses about these topics are met with sympathy and support. We don't know how to handle the stories about leaving church. It's scary. What if the things that caused this crisis in my life cause one for you too? It's safer not to go down that road. What do we hear about why people leave? They've sinned in some horrible way, want to sin, are lazy, or have been deceived by the devil and/or anti-mormon literature. Better stay away. I completely understand why people react this way. And yet, it leaves me out in the dark, all alone.

My shadow's the only one that walks beside me

My shallow heart's the only thing that's beating

Mostly this is true, I keep myself company; I comfort myself. However, I've also come across a most welcoming and supportive community of strangers. The ex-mormons out there, mostly online, caught me in a free-fall and helped me find some solid ground again. I don't think I can overstate how much this community of people has helped me. They have all walked the lonely road before. They gave me people to talk to about my journey--this undoubtedly saved many of my relationships, perhaps even with you. They helped me avoid pitfalls. They showed me how to prioritize my relationships, not make rash decisions while in crisis, not become bitter, and not throw out what is still good in my life and my faith while in this difficult transition. And the thing is, they used to be people I was afriad of. I assumed they had some axe to grind, were out to destroy, and yet I found them to be a supportive, warm, thoughful, and caring community. Why do these people leave the church and not leave it alone? I can't speak for everyone, but my sense of the community is that Mormonism will always be a part of them and that they still care deeply about the people. They are the people that walk beside me, metaphorically speaking though, as most of my interaction with them is online.

Sometimes I wish someone out there will find me

'Til then I walk alone

On finding my limits

I'm an ambitious person. I like being busy. I usually feel fulfilled and energized when I've accomplished a lot. The last year or so has been an exercise in finding my limits over and over again.

Working full-time is tiring. The company I work for is particularly difficult. Another therapist in the area said of the agency I work for, "that place is the absolute trenches. If you can make it there, you can make it anywhere." I've been here for 2.5 years. It's wearing on me.

The transition I've gone through with Mormonism has devastated me. It has totally turned my life upside down. The changes have affected almost every relationship in my life. It has been absolutely exhausting.

The combination of these circumstances in the same time period has drained my reserves. It has been so difficult for me to come up against my limits over and over again. I have to say no to birthday parties I want to go to, I don't cook like I wish I did. I don't keep in touch with people I miss. I don't run. I don't do too much for myself aside from the bare minimum. This is about all I can do. I just don't have it in me to do much more.

For a while this was completely discouraging. I've come to a point where I know what's going on. I understand why my energy reserves are low, and it makes sense. I am hopeful about the future. We are working on making changes in our lives to alieviate some of the pressure on me at work. I'm in a better place with my faith. I think I've gone through the worst, am on the other side, and ready to rebuild. I have some ideas about how to replenish and renew, and I am hopeful.