On why I'm talking about my faith transition

In my late teens and early twenties I spent a lot of time sorting through and healing from the effects of some of the family conflict that happened when I was a kid. I remember feeling this deep pain and not knowing what to do with it or how to make sense of it. There was no going back and undoing it or magically making it go away. I wanted to find some meaning or purpose in what I had experienced and the pain I continued to feel. But there was none. I didn't deserve it; I didn't cause it. There was no reason I had to go through it.

I found peace with those experiences when I decided I could use what I went through to help others. My suffering wasn't for nothing if I could use it to prevent or alleviate suffering in someone else. I made a conscious choice to let myself become more compassionate. I tried to be sensitive to loneliness, be a listening ear, not be afraid to cry with someone else or make myself vulnerable so that person didn't feel so alone.

It is for the same reason that I am talking about my experience with doubting and then leaving full activity in the Mormon church. In the four-ish years I've been on this journey, I've interacted with a lot of people, mostly online, who also have doubts or who have decided to leave. There is a lot of loneliness and pain, confusion, rejection, disappointment. While my road has been incredibly difficult for me, I know I'm lucky. Many, many people have it much worse.

I expect I am not the only person you know who has or will experience doubts, go through a period of inactivity, or decide to leave completely. My hope is that as you interact with those people now and in the future you might be a little more patient, a little more compassionate because of what you read here. Maybe, knowing the pain that is likely there, you'll be more likely to move toward that person than pull away. Maybe you can hold them while they cry. Maybe the best you can do is say nothing. Maybe you will say, "I know someone else who has been through something like this. Can I put you in touch with her?"

Every time I post something big or controversial about Mormonism on facebook I have at least one person (sometimes as many as 5 or 6) contact me privately to say, "Thank you for saying what you did. I thought I was the only one" or "I'm so glad to know I'm not alone" or "I'm really struggling, can we meet up for lunch sometime? I need someone to talk to." This is worth it. This is why I'm talking. I would never know who these people are or that they needed help if I wasn't talking.

Tornado

I wrote this post about a year ago and decided not to publish it. Some recent events got me thinking about this one again. I'm deciding to publish it now.

I am the victim of a natural disaster. This was no flood that affected all the homes in my neighborhood, it wasn’t an earthquake that everyone felt or that my house could have been retrofitted to withstand. The storm wasn’t a hurricane that could be predicted; I had no chance to board the windows, to stockpile supplies, or flee in advance of the storm.

I was hit by a tornado. It was of the micro-burst family. The kind that comes quickly, before one realizes storm clouds are gathering, strikes firmly and destructively in a concentrated area, and disappears before most people knew it was ever there. It was the kind that demolishes a home and leaves the neighbors on either side unscathed.

My house was lovely and well-loved. This house was at the core of everything I thought I was. My house of faith was indestructible and built to last, or so I thought. The foundation was strong, it was built of the best materials: sincere effort, honest sacrifice, true devotion.

I did all the things right, just like they told me. I went to church every week–I was never inactive. I graduated seminary–I did all the readings, memorized the scripture masteries, won the conference bowl. I went to weekly activities, firesides, girls camp, youth conferences, EFY. I went to BYU. I served a mission, and a good one–other missionaries may have thought me obnoxious I was so dedicated and obedient. I taught at the MTC. I never turned down a calling. I went to the temple every week for years. I never tried anything illegal; I never drank alcohol, or tea, or coffee, just like they told me. I paid tithing. I got married in the temple. I got as much education as I could, just like they told me. I didn’t think I had any reason to fear a storm. My house would last through the eternities. I was set.

As a missionary, I remember wondering why some got defensive and upset by criticisms or questions about certain topics. ‘The Church is True,’ I thought, ‘the Truth will stand on it’s own. It speaks for itself.’ While I didn’t seek them out, I didn’t see there was any harm in listening to alternate views or criticisms. I had nothing to be afraid of. I didn’t live shuttered inside my house, away from the world, but let the windows open and the breeze blow through. There was no storm my house couldn’t weather.

From my current vantage point, I can look back and see moments of doubt, unanswered questions, things I chose to ignore. At the time, these things were unimportant, easily moved from my consciousness. The older I got, the more my life deviated from how it was ‘supposed’ to go. I was bothered by this occasionally, but I was doing all the right things. So I carried on. I learned things in graduate school that felt as true and right as anything I had ever learned in church. And yet, they were at odds with church doctrine and culture. I dug deeper, unafraid and certain The Truth would prevail. And that’s when it hit. My house was destroyed.

I won’t tell you here and now the particular elements that made up the storm. They would be a distraction to the story I am telling. More importantly, surviving this tornado has been the single most difficult thing of my adult life. It has been gut-wrenching, disorienting, lonely, and painful in a way I don’t have adequate words to describe. I don’t wish that experience on anyone. I don’t want to invite that storm to your house.

One of the more difficult aspects of this experience is that no one seems to see that I’m traumatized. I’m raw. I’m in shock. A tornado just hit my house, and it’s gone. It was everything I had, and it’s gone.

People start to notice that something has changed, that I’m different, that my house isn’t what it was. I’ve been told by several to stop protesting, stop being in their faces. I’ve been told I’m being childish. I’ve been told I should be quiet about it. But my house is decimated! I did not want this; I never intended for it to happen. I hung on as long as I could, but the storm ripped my house away. I picture myself stumbling out of the rubble, mumbling and confused. Faces I hope would provide refuge and comfort tell me to go away. They’re angry. They’re disappointed. They just can’t be around me right now. If I only understood [fill in the blank], I wouldn’t be in this mess.

I’m not mad at them. I understand perfectly where they are coming from and why they say what they do. I used to be just like them. Some try to remind me how beautiful my house was; they tell me how much they admired it. I know they mean well, but the problem isn’t that I don’t remember; the problem is that that house is gone. Something else may rebuild in it’s place, but it will never be the same. It can’t be.

I wander about trying to find my bearings. There is debris everywhere. Sorting through it all is impossible, but I try. Sometimes I come across bits of debris in unexpected places–the wind has scattered the pieces of my house such that I don’t know where they all are–and it’s like the storm hits all over again. Now more than a year later, it still makes me cry. Sometimes the tears are angry and hot but mostly they are the kind that come with whole-body sobs. It’s lonely.

I am fortunate to have stumbled upon a few other refugees. We cry together about all that has been lost without blame for having invited the storm or the suggestion that we willfully tore down our own homes. We joke and we smile about the things that we love[d] without the expectation that our houses are back and everything’s fine now. These friendships have carried me. They have been the silver lining on those terrible storm clouds.

So what’s my purpose in sharing all this, I ask myself. First, I have an aching need to tell my story, to be understood–this soothes the ache. Second, I want the people I care about and who care about me to know I’m not scary, I’m not dangerous, I’m just sad, I just lost my house. I still love you. I’m still me. I may keep some distance because the pain of seeing your disappointment or facing the possibility of your rejection and criticism on top of the pain I already experience seems too much to bear. Third, I hope no one else has to go through what I’ve been through (and I’ve had it pretty easy, compared to other refugees I’ve encountered). We, as a people, the Mormon people, ought to do better here than we have been doing. I know some will chafe at the idea that, given my current state, I use ‘we’ when speaking of the Mormons, and that hurts too. Mormonism will always be a part of me. So yes, we can do better to provide refuge for people like me, to let them know they are still welcome in the neighborhood after their houses have been destroyed, if they choose not to rebuild, or if the new house looks nothing like the old one. Religion or no, this is the heart and soul, the guts of humanity: to care what happens to each other, to be moved to compassion by suffering, to witness pain, to help.

Update Goals 2014

We're here mid-way through the year, and I decided it's a good time to review my progress on my 2014 goals.

1) It's happening! I passed both my licensing exams, the second one just last week. I have sent my check to the state board for my license fee and am waiting for them to process the paperwork and issue the license. I have done all I needed to do here and will soon put a giant checkmark next to this goal. I am so, so happy about this. It's been a long and hard road. I feel very accomplished. I will now be able to practice on my own if I want to, don't need to have all my documentation signed by a supervisor, have more employment opportunities available to me, and can be paid more. As long as I take continuing education and pay my renewal fees, I will never have to take those exams or do more formal education. Hooray!

2) This goal is going most excellently. I have read at least one book per month. Here's the rundown with a short review of each:

One Day, David Nichols. This was just a fun read. It was made into a movie a few years ago. It's a RomCom, telling the story of this couple/friendship by reviewing the events of the same date every year. Nothing spectacular but a fun read.

Dance of the Dissident Daughter, Sue Monk Kidd. Incredible. This was the most important book I've read in a few years. Kidd writes about her feminist awakening, conflict with her faith (not Mormon, by the way), exploring the feminine divine, and coming to a place of peace within herself and her faith community. At times it was too difficult to read; I'd have to put it down for a few weeks before I could come back to it. This book was tremendously useful in helping me conceptualize my own journey, find a language to describe what I was experiencing, and having hope that it will get better, there will be peace. I highly recommend this one.

Unaccustomed Earth, Jhumpa Lahiri. Fantastic. Lahiri is one of my favorite contemporary authors. The first portion is a collection of short stories while the second half is more of a novella. Her writing is soulful and descriptive. I have read some of her other works, and this one did not disappoint.

Gone Girl, Gillian Flynn. I liked this book. It drew me in with all the drama and kept me guessing throughout. There were some holes here and there, but overall it was a great read. This was especially fun to read at the same time as a friend. We were passing each other at work saying, "what? Did you read the part where  . . . ?"

Saving CeeCee Honeycutt, Beth Hoffman. This was another fun read. A quick story about a girl with a tragic upbringing who is adopted by an aunt in Georgia and surrounded there by loving women who help her heal and grow into herself. Fun and heartwarming.

I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings, Maya Angelou. It was interesting to read this right after CeeCee for a completely different view of southern life. Angelou's writing is engaging and her story captivating. I thoroughly enjoyed reading this book. The characters felt like real people and not caricatures, which I greatly appreciated. I left it wanting to know what happened next, to find the next autobiographical work and know where we went from here.

Testimony, Anita Shreve. This was another page-turner kind of book. It's about a sex scandal that happens at a private boarding school. Each chapter is written from the perspective of another character, some characters contribute several chapters but some only one. The style changes from first person, to second person, to third person, to journal writing, and back. Part of what made it interesting was piecing together bits of the story yourself as the characters narrated their perspectives. 

3) Eh. Not going as well as I'd hoped. I think with the stress of studying for the exam, finding time to write got pushed lower on the priority list. In the few days since I finished the exam, I've found myself mentally composing all kinds of blog posts. Expect more from me soon. If I don't actually get to write one post per week, I think I can average one per week for the year.

4) I'm still at my same job. I'll be out by the end of the year, for maternity leave if for no other reason. It's looking hopeful that I may be able to leave my full-time position there anyway. I've got a post brewing about what I've learned this last year that may be interesting, at least for me.

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.