On Becoming: Ex-Mormon Girl Part 3 : PR Child Soldier

Warning. This is going to be meandering both through time and in topic. It seems that I was pretty triggered by the last couple of installments and I have been working on this one in fits and starts. It's not cohesive and if I try to make it that way it's never going to see the light of day so...yeah.

Before I continue I should note something.  What I'm doing right now will be considered by many people as participating in "Anti-Mormon rhetoric". Growing up I was taught to fear and shun and flee from any hint of anti-Mormon rhetoric.  It was literally the worst thing a person could do. Worse than "fornication" or murder in my mind. IT WAS TERRIBLE. **P.S: when I, as a totally "good Mormon" came out on this blog as being a Democrat years ago, I was accused as being a "wolf in sheep's clothing" so yeah, there are a ton of Mormons for whom what I am doing right now is the ultimate in rebellious sinfulness. They aren't even praying for a person like me at this point. I deserve whatever I get. That's the mentality. Carry on....:)

When I was still in first or second grade I think I was dimly aware of a lot of angst of the anti-Mormon movie "The God Makers" and I remember my aunt coming over to watch something on TV and being super stressed out about what people would say about it. I was warned never ever to watch anything like that. Don't read it, don't listen to people who say they know bad stuff about the church. They will only lead you astray.

I was obsessively obedient to this instruction until one day around 17, I remember coming across a pamphlet in our kitchen, Somebody must have come over and wanted to discuss it with my parents. I think it was an anti-Mormon pamphlet and it was about the sketchy past Mormons have had in terms of race. There were some deeply disturbing quotes in there by names I recognized as esteemed past (and possibly present) leaders of our church.   At the time I was living in Swaziland, I was a definite minority as a white person and I was dating a really great Black South African guy. What's more, I was attending a school which had specifically been built as an educational shelter outside of Apartheid South Africa. I was attending it with Nelson Mandela's grandson and his stepdaughter.  We had always been a really liberal family, racism was not considered in any way acceptable in our home.  I remember my hand shaking violently as I read the pamphlet. I could not believe it. I knew that the church had not allowed Blacks to have the Priesthood until the late 70's and when I had asked why I had received vague answers about it being illegal or something. Seriously. I had heard all sorts of airy explanations which sounded plausible to my naive (brainwashed) childhood mind but this seemed extremely wrong, there was more to it than just not allowing Blacks to have the Priesthood, way more. I confronted my parents. I don't remember their explanations but it was tense and I remember feeling as though I was in the wrong somehow for questioning and asking I was on the defense here, not the Church.

This is how it always went when I brought up major concerns. When I brought up polygamy (which I was deeply, deeply troubled by) I was told to just relax, have faith, God would work it out.  The doctrine I had learned implied that polygamy would actually be required in Heaven but lots of people assured me that only the most worthy people would be required to do that and they would be happy to do so. (Implying of course that either I wouldn't make it to that state or when I did I would be cool with it.) The inherent inequality of polygamy struck such a nerve with me, but I would swallow the apologists explanations of why it had happened too. So noble of those men to take in all those aging widows in the early church. There was never any discussion on why Joseph Smith saw fit to marry a 14 year old child. Which he did.

Back to the present time. When I began voicing public criticism of the church in the last couple of years (really gingerly at first, super vanilla stuff for the most part) I was unfriended on facebook in droves. I would go to see how this person or that person was doing, people who had been marvelously supportive and kind to me over the years, and find that we we weren't friends anymore. There usually hadn't been a big deal made of it, (Mormons aren't really ones for confrontation) and in fairness, when I first officially "outed" myself on Face-book in December last year,  I had invited people who felt as if this gave them the obligation to gallop in and white-knight for the church to relieve themselves of that obligation by unfriending me. And many did. I get it. Completely. The shunning from most people didn't bother me at all, but the lack of acceptance from others was devastating. It hurt like hell, but I understood it.  It is exhausting to feel that sense of obligation. To constantly be on the defensive. I know because that state of being pretty much defined my childhood and teenagehood as a Mormon. I was a soldier for the church. A PR soldier. If people say bad stuff, stand firm, deny, reframe it, shine it up, make it pretty, normalize. The Church is always right. The Church Leaders are ALWAYS ALWAYS right. And it is your sacred responsibility to not just believe that but make others believe it too.

Sadly, on top of all that crazy pressure, even the idea of  the church just never was for me. It always felt wrong. From my youngest memories, the term, "The Only True Church" (often followed up with "on the face of the Earth, Mormons freaking love that expression) gave me the cringiest feeling.  So exclusive. It was embarrassing to me in its hypocrisy. Here I was, a little girl, maybe 5 or 6 or 7 and I'm singing, "Jesus says love everyone" and being told about the Only True Church and referring to myself as a member (and others as "non-members"). And how about all the people all over the world who had no idea about this true church? Or who really believed in THEIR true church? And why did God even need people to be in churches, couldn't they just be nice to other people and love him?


Later, people would come at me with accusations of wanting to fit in, or be cool and politically correct. Please. I was freaking 5 years old and it wasn't adding up. What's more I felt like an outsider in my own community when I even thought this stuff. Like I'm some kind of cool 5 year old rebel without a cause? Don't be crazy.


Straight up hellion right there.

Easter. I was probably eleven I remember sitting on my bed after eating way too much sugar on a day that should be joyful and carefree for kids but I was feverishly writing in my journal. Goals and gratitude. I was trying to pretend to be so spiritual and good. I had talked myself into believing that somehow Jesus was going to read this journal and totally forget my sinning ways. SPOILER ALERT: THERE WERE NO SINNING WAYS. I was a good kid. Like, a really good kid but I felt bad, dirty, sinful, unworthy and ashamed constantly. I own that this was partly because of my personality and partly because of the fact that I was sexually abused just as I entered puberty until I left home. That certainly didn't help, but I didn't ever factor that into the equation. I just knew that I was the worst, and I was frantic and scared about it.  It just now struck me that if you read the early years of my blog you will see more of the same. Except by that point I wasn't aware that I was doing it to persuade God and myself, by then I had pushed that shit way down deep and I thought I was being 100% sincere in my gushings about the church and its teachings. I might be saddest about that stage of my life. I don't know.

Being 13 or so. A friend of mine teasing me in French class about the temple and how a "naked Mormon Priest jumps into a jacuzzi with some dead bodies and baptizes them". Ok THIS DOES NOT HAPPEN and he knew that too. He was being a 13 year old asshole and we are still friends and I think he still thinks its really funny but that was hella traumatic for me. The whole class laughing. Me trying to do damage control, trying to repair the church's image, wanting to die instead. I was 13 man. It sucks to be 13 without all the other shit I had to deal with. God. I could go back and slap him now and I probably should have, and told all those other laughing idiots where to get off too.  Better yet I should have joined in and said, "well not quite but yeah, it's nucking futs can you even believe my life?!" Amazing how much clarity one has for one's 13 year old self at age 40. ;)

My parents wouldn't let me date until I was 18. This was 2 years ahead of the official Mormon dating age but they had read it differently. It was ridiculous. Ultimately I had plenty of boyfriends before age 18 and my parents were pretty lenient about it and boys were always welcome to chill at our house, But the whole not being officially allowed to date thing was awkward and embarrassing and weird as hell and there were plenty of times I just pretended not to like the guy rather than have to come clean with the real reason why he and I couldn't go to the movies alone together. The same issue arose with "modesty". Again my parents ended up being quite lenient in later years but god forbid I ever consider a bikini or a sleeveless formal dress. Oh hell to the no, man.  All the same, none of this was terrible. Just stressful and like I said, being a teenager is just stressful as it is. Throw in being regularly abused and then being some kind of crazy Mormon freak who actually wasn't crazy or a freak and was trying to successfully straddle both worlds. It's a nightmare.

When we lived in Swaziland the teasing and scrutiny regarding the church got even worse. There were a bunch of Evangelical missionaries in the area and those guys are VICIOUS man. Turf War! My friends soon became aware of the fact that I was Mormon and some of them nudged me relentlessly about it. I don't remember them being overtly mean or disrespectful but I do remember every goddamn thing being attributed to our Mormon-ness and it made me mental. Once a national magazine came out with a cover story something along the lines of "A Mormon Temple Bride Tells All". Holy shit-balls. Panic Stations! This was BAD.

 Look, let me explain something here. I didn't even know what went on for a Mormon Temple Bride. All I knew was the temple was awesome, I was going to have to be squeaky clean to go there, it was super risky dating non-Mormon dudes because there was every possibility that I would want to marry one and he wouldn't want to convert and then No temple marriage for ME and well then....it was an unthinkable tragedy. No eternal marriage, no eternal family. Generations would be lost to non-belief. It was UNTHINKABLE.  All my non-Mormon boyfriends were immediately made aware that this thing would never go anywhere unless they converted. I'm sure they were all,..."haha, FINE WITH ME, escape route included!'' Anyway I remember hustling to the magazine stands at the store and hiding all the copies of that magazine. (Averting my eyes lest I inadvertently see some of the "SACRED NOT SECRET"  (another one for the Mormon Phrase Manual), information included in this fallen girl's account.   When you go to the Temple you make solemn convenants never reveal what you have seen or heard in there. Like on penalty of eternal damnation. Up until not long before I first went to the Temple you even had to mime slitting your own throat and disembowling yourself should you ever do such a thing. Holy shit.  DOES THIS SOUND OK TO YOU?  In fairness, apparently it didn't sit well with a lot of people 'cos they dropped that.

And then came the Gay issue. But that's for next installment because this one is already long and crazy enough and I gotta post this thing already. And here I go...editing be damned as I'm sure you have discovered by now ;)

Becoming: Ex-Mormon Girl Part 1.

The other day, I was regaling a friend with a story about an unfortunate family interaction with members of the church recently. (We had found it fairly amusing, given that we assumed they weren't trying to make sure that the family stayed away). After I wrapped it up I commented,  "you know what? These guys have no idea what they are even doing wrong.  Why people are leaving in droves. They put so much energy into getting them and then they lose them.  And they don't seem to get it at all. I almost want to help them. Like, as a consultant. You know like how security companies interview burglers to improve their systems?"  I warmed to my topic...

"I could be EX-Mormon Girl. I could go around the country training LDS leaders."

I was only half joking. "our stake president is actually a really cool guy, I bet he would let me get experience speaking to our stake for free".

"No" said my friend.  He knew I was mostly kidding but...."Don't do that. They are looking for a type. And you ain't it."

Yeah. Good point. Ok I guess I will have to come up with another brilliant plan. But I think this conveys how complicated leaving this faith can be. How conflicted it is. How confusing it is.

Here's the thing. The Mormons have been extraordinarily good to us.I have talked about it often on this very blog. Some of the people I most love in the world are active Mormons. They are good people. And there are some cool things about the Mormon church. I'm a confident public speaker in no small part due to them, I can conduct music in a rudimentary way. I've been in plenty of leadership positions even as a stay at home mom. When we moved to places where we knew nobody and had no family, we could always count on the church network. We always tended to gravitate to having more friends outside of the church than in it but everywhere we lived we have found a least one or two families to become close to and those relationships have been precious. Our children were given a great sense of intergenerational family thanks to the church, and the many kind and loving teachers and leaders they have had in it.  And the church has helped us out tremendously in financial ways over a long period of unemployment and at another time when we were struggling very badly.  In addition we have received a lot of service from members of the church.  We have been beneficiaries of great good from the Mormon church. There is no escaping  the truth of that and I would never want to downplay or deny those things which were absolutely saving graces at the time.

None of this is simple. Being a Mormon is difficult. Leaving the faith is very difficult. Life after leaving the faith is lonely and full of conflict. It's all just...difficult. But then it gets less and less so. In that regard anyway. Leaving the Mormon faith is a decision I am more grateful for every day.  The Mormons warned me it would be though. They covered this contingency. "Little by little the Spirit will cease to strive with you, your heart will be hardened, Satan will have you in his grasp." And so still. To this day. I find myself second guessing my decision. There is a little part of me which probably always will. And everyone will have their opinion on why that is. The Mormons will say that my soul knows the church to be true and the Spirit is striving with me. My brain will say that the Mormons are very sophisticated in their brainwashing. I really believe that to be true.

"People can leave the church but they can't leave it alone" One of those catch phrases much beloved of Mormons.  The truth is that they set it up that way.  From the earliest ages you are taught to doubt your instincts if they are "leading you astray" or "causing you to doubt what you know to be true." Doctrinally they talk a really good game about examining your faith. "search, ponder and pray" is preached and sung about and urged. But there's a catch. Search, ponder, pray..but if those measures turn up short, and you don't find yourself embracing the faith, that's on you.  You are wrong.You did it wrong. Keep trying.  Sort yourself out. Figure out why. That's the only option available to you.

There is this one "General Authority" (are you noting the weird lingo? This stuff never even struck me as off until very recently) who every Mormon I've ever talked to really digs. He's cool. He's chill. He's handsome. Ex-pilot. Cool accent. They call him  "The Silver Fox". As an aside, the bar is set suuuuuper low for these dudes in terms of charisma.  Poor sweet Mormons. Shit, that comes across so condescending and yeah, I guess it is. It's just that they ask for so little from these old guys. Everyone is so eager to laugh at the tiniest bit of levity. (That always did strike me as off. I remember rolling my eyes even as a young kid when one of the General Authorities would do something like pause, or raise eyebrows or make a vocal inflection that indicated he wasn't quite as serious as usual, and people would eagerly roar with laughter. It wasn't even funny you guys. And I found it sad. On that level I always knew what was up and I found it really demeaning.One could say it was a warning bell for me. When people are giving other people that much power that they will laugh at their unfunnies...something is off. I was growing up in an environment with an unhealthy power deferential and I was attuned to it.

 Anyway, so this guy is incredibly popular for the reasons I listed above but also because he generally preaches actual Christian tenets. Like loving and not judging and being accepting of where people are on their journey.  He might be the only reason some Mormons hang in there. He imparts many beautiful quotable quotes, Many gems. Yet still,  I would venture to say that his most pinterested quote is...waiiiit for it.

"Doubt your doubts before you doubt your faith."

How about this. How about faith and doubt coexisting?

I know some highly intellectual Mormons. People who are more brilliant and more intellectually curious and more logical than I am or can ever hope to be. They are Mormons on their own terms. They sort through all this shit and make it work for them. I don't know how they do it but I believe that they do and more power to them. I think most of them figure out a version of Mormonism that they can handle and stay "active" for the sake of family and community. I don't think there are a lot of people I describe who are highly intellectually curious and don't see some fatal flaws in the doctrine. But hell, what do I know.  I don't share my story for those folks. They will be just fine.

I share for the ones like me. Smart, aware, tuned in to reality and themselves enough to question. Intellectually curious enough to say, "heeyyyy what about..."  but for whatever reason not able to break free. Guilt, fear, self doubt. I don't know. But something is tying them down and if they are like me, they often aren't even able to articulate their truth and why this is not working for them. I listened to a podcast last week, Jordan Peterson was speaking and one phrase resonated so hard. I scribbled it on my kitchen blackboard. I'm in the zone now so I'm going to  have to paraphrase but it was something like, "The ability to speak your truth will be a bulwark between you and hell".

Over the years I flirted with leaving the church. I had a handful of periods of inactivity. Once I remember being in the kitchen of friends and just freaking out. "How can you believe this shit?" I raged.  "How can you believe in a God who is a literal terrorist? Who insists that you jump through a thousand hoops, that you participate in all sorts of crazy rituals, that you go to the temple, that you dress in weird clothes and memorize rhymes and riddles and secret handshakes to come into his presence?! And if you can't keep up, if you can't do "all that you can do" or hell maybe you just don't want to...he will take everything you hold most dear and separate you from it? Are you kidding me? He dangles your family, being with your family for eternity in front of you.  THAT. IS. TERRORISM. Do what I say or risk losing your husband and children forever. Does THIS NOT STRIKE YOU PEOPLE AS MESSED UP?"

Everyone in the room told me that I needed to be on meds. They literally did. And I literally got on meds. And stayed on them for years.  I did not need the meds. I needed the ability to speak my truth. Until I did, I was in hell.

And yet. Even after articulating this rage, this fear, this rage from living with this fear, from never being able to keep up, from being so completely exhausted by the cognitive dissonance required for all of it,  I took the dry blue pills. I went back. I kept going back. Even though I couldn't cut it. I couldn't do what I was supposed to do. I couldn't believe what I was supposed to believe. I was always so angry. But I went. Even though I would come home from church every.single.sunday seething. Even though every time my husband and I piled our 5 tired, disgruntled hungry children who had been made to to sit still and "be reverent" for 3 hours while dressed in their sunday best in the van and we drove home screeching at each other every Sunday. Miserable. Resentful. Drained. Even though with the barest examination this clearly wasn't bring my family closer to each other or to God. I went back. And I took my kids with me.

Ok so here is what. Since  I was a little girl, I sensed I had a specific purpose. It was very clear that I was to help people. To comfort them in some way.  I was so excited to discover that way was. Would I be a Dr? A psychologist? A lawyer fighting for their rights? Over the years I have been a doula, a personal trainer, a motivator...but still I waited for my real purpose so that I could settle into it and give it my all.

Yesterday I went for a really long run and as I ran and thought about conversations I have been having with people who have been reaching out to me lately, it finally became clear. It's not a big revelation, friends have been trying to tell me this. Family have assured me of it. Here's what is is. That mission? The purpose?
You've been doing it.
You. have. been. doing. it. for years.
I'm a truth teller. I'm an oversharer. This is my job here. We all have a job. Mine is to tell my truth. Nobody else's.  I speak from my soul, the truth of my experience. I speak to my tribe.

I don't think of myself as remarkable or unique. There are many of us with this purpose and I might not have anything new to say. I probably don't. But somebody reading this, might find something that they haven't read anywhere else which resonates with them. Something which makes them feel understood. Less alone. Less Other. Less of a failure, less of a freak. More emboldened to speak their own truth. To trust their doubts. To trust their faith. To trust their feelings.

Yesterday we were driving to a party. Ella told me about a boy who had pointed out once that he could see her underwear when she was wearing a dress without leggings underneath.
 "It hurt my feelings mommy, and now I don't like to wear dresses anymore without pants."
We talked about it.  About other words for hurt feelings. Expanded her vocabularly into words like "embarrassed" and "self conscious" or "uncomfortable" or "defensive" or "exposed."

 As the conversation wound down I said to her, "the important part is that you always listen to your feelings. Your feelings are real. Your feelings are smart. They might not always be telling you what they seem to be telling you right at first but it's important to pay attention to them. We can always look at them and try to figure out what they are saying and what to do with them but remember that you have smart feelings."

I'm going to post this before it gets too long and I overanalyse it to death. It's going to have typos, the editing has been minimal. I wrote it on a picnic table in the woods fresh from a run before the battery on my ancient laptop ran out. I have so much more to say but I'm starting here.  I feel like I need to post this today and I have smart feelings.
xox

Hello. We should talk...

It's been a while darlings and everything has changed.
It might be the strangest time in anyone's life. Or it might not be. For me, it's definitely up there.

I last wrote when I turned 40 on my own terms.

When I turned 40 I found my voice. It's been there all along of course, and from time to time it squeaked out and said tiny bits of what I was really thinking but most of the time it was strangled. As long as I can remember there have been nightmares of calling for help on the phone and not being able to talk. Or not being able to see the numbers to dial for help.

And then the truth, as it always does, set me free.  It wasn't a pretty process, the birthing of the truth. Kind of grisly actually. Lots of stitches, lots of scars. Still in the recovery process. Hell of a ride. But so worth it. As birth always is.

Mostly those nightmares have gone away. I don't feel strangled or stifled anymore. I'm no longer aware of  that constant lump in my throat of that brick like weight in my solar plexus, almost literally physically holding me back from...wherever it is I'm going or whatever it is I want to say whoever it is I am going to be. Now it's just actual real life, irritating logistics that get in my way but those are a lot easier to work through. I can see the numbers to dial now and my voice works just fine.

Let's talk briefly about that cringey "Letter to my formerly depressed self" about a year ago. I'm not even going to link to it. I am not. Ugh. don't remind me. No seriously you guys need to stop referring to that shit every time I get low. Real talk: I hate that letter so much. I have thought of deleting it, but I'm not going to because it's part of the record of my process.  Depression doesn't just go away. It never becomes "Former".  Neither does trauma.  It circles you down the drain either forward or in reverse.  That's the quickest analogy I can come up with. At your worst, when you are trying to go it alone,  you are right around the grungy hole of the drain, the abyss is echoing, you might have one leg and one arm already being sucked down into it. Maybe you are ever looking into the black nothingness of it with something like longing and relief.

Getting help pulls you back from the grungy hole, drags you away from the sewer system..the great unknown. Once you get help and while you work at it, the circumference of the swirls get bigger and further away from the black hole, but the black hole is there. It is always there. If you neglect the things keeping that force field in place the swirling suction starts to feel stronger.

Sometimes it has nothing at all to neglecting your self care. You can do everything right but life just sucks. I don't know about every type of depression. I deal with PTSD and that can be fixed but it takes time. I'm really happy with my progress. I'm cruising along really well supposedly. Still. Triggers just happen, shit comes to the surface at unexpected times. It can suck but I'm learning to sit with that. Life is hard for everyone. Everyone has some sort of damage, some sort of battle. This thing is my basket of deplorable (to coin a phrase). I deal with it, I hope to deal with it less and less over time but I can do this. I got this. I don't like it, but I got this. Probably. I hate to tempt blog fate. Blog fate can be such a little bitch. There are days when I definitely don't got this. I get by with a lot of help from my friends. Moving on. Because enough already.

Ok wait.  I have to make just more than a glancing reference to the Ultimate Shit Show.
So.  Donald Mothereffin Trump won the election. It's a total shock to the system on a daily basis. Honestly I still can't quite grasp it.  And most of you can't either. There's no big revelation here.
But what I do find fascinating is that in such a short time it has really had a part to play in reshaping my outlook, how I spend my time, who I spend it with. Which brings me to:

Hey! I was published in a book.   Over the years, I have been published in magazines and newspapers, I used to have a paid column on a major internet network when that was still a really big deal. I've been paid for my writing here on and off over the years, but seeing my name in print between hard covers. For a book that mattered. Telling a story that I thought I might never acknowledge even to myself?

That feels..like an accomplishment. That felt good. I almost didn't do it. And the fact that I pushed through and did do it feels even better.

Now. It's not my book. It's a collaboration of stories. We all met in the aftermath of aforementioned Shit Show and as women do, we came together, freaked the fuck out, then poured all that angst into something major and created a miracle. In three months, thanks to the grit and tenacity of a few and the bravery and love of all, 80 women from across the country had written a raw, an honest an often untold story of what the election of  The Creature meant to them. For many it was a similar process as what it was for me...first the bad, ofttimes the pain, the trauma, the hurt and the unwanted feelings...and then came the fire,  The resolve, the fight. Cliff notes: As women we have unified. This is our moment. This is our time. This is our movement and because we aren't going down with the biggest, screamiest fight of our lives, we will ensure that future belongs to our daughters. It's their turn. Our sons will be just fine.

I would not have survived the days since November 8th 2016 nearly as well without my new posse of fierce, funny, brave and brilliant friends and even so, it's been a struggle for us all. But struggle is life. And life has been not boring. That is one thing I can heartily attest to.  I hate boring and life...is. not. boring. in, 2017. I wish it were exciting in a less terrifying and disappointing way but the sparks of light and love that shoot up to the surface of this horrifying garbage  heap do inspire and invigorate me. Every penny of that book goes to help other women. You should get it. We didn't have a cent for marketing and that thing is holding it's own. That book is a Nasty Woman.

So that's good. That's really good. But I sometimes miss my old life. This one is really noisy. I asked my friend if he thought things would ever go back to the way they were and he said no. I believe him and that makes me sad. I miss when I had more intimate relationships with the people on my facebook page. I miss the mundane silly things. I miss the friends I have become estranged from since the election and since I left the Mormon faith because I have spoken out about things. Sometimes with too much anger and too little measure. I have hurt people. That makes me sad.I don't know if I regret it though. I can't honestly say I do. I regret losing people I love but I don't regret saying what I needed to say. Even if it was in a messy angry way. I used to say that above all else I didn't want to hurt people. But now I'm different. I'm a bit darker or maybe more honest. Maybe I'm moving through something to get to the other side. And here's the truth. I avoid hurting people. I actively dislike hurting people even if they deserve it and I abhor hurting those who don't. But here's what else. I am through with allowing myself to be the collateral damage in that goal. First do no harm. To Oneself. I'm on the list now. It was about time.

And sometimes, like maybe yesterday, I take a tiny bit of guilty pleasure (ok make that a lot) in the possibility of inflicting discomfort on someone who has done me wrong. But this is not about that either.

I find myself composing essays lately. As I run the wonky trails in the woods, I will have a big idea for one, it makes me quicken my step, catching a tiny little of air as I skip down the tiny hill. They come to me as I drive, turning the radio down as a thought carries me away and blooms into a topic. Then there is an essay, a series of essays. It won't all fit...that's going to have to be a book...

 As I go through the motions of washing dishes,  as I  watch the morning's wasted cereal being sucked away by the garbage disposal. As I methodically sweep the floor and push the broom into those weird little cracks between appliances to get the tortilla chip my youngest son leaves as his calling card every morning, I am far away lost in questions and words and ideas.

Sometimes I sit immobilized on my couch in my silent house gazing across the living room at my laptop, paralyzed with the agony of all I want to say and wondering how to say it all. All the questions I want answers to. I want to record things, I want to ask things, I want to explore things. And my process for doing that is by writing about them.  I need to write about the things which shaped me as a girl, and a woman and a mother. About the community I walked away from, about the friends I have lost. About the friends I have gained. About the strange awkward numbness of estrangement  and the unbreakable threads of enduring love between families devastated by lies and sickness and secrets. About when it's better to forgive and work through things and when it's better to let go so that you really can.

About how weird this idea of aging is. If  the beauty industry didn't tell us that we needed to start looking out for "seven signs of aging" would we notice it  when we were in our 30's or only when we were much older?  In some ways I guess it's good. To become acutely aware of your own mortality. So that you can stop wasting time. I want to talk to other women about how 40 has made me love being in my own skin.  About how there are moments when I hate looking in the mirror. How can I feel feel so healthy and strong, probably physically better than I have ever felt before yet look like the crypt keeper. What the ACTUAL HELL?! And then there is another moment when I am laughing and unconscious of myself and I look up into the mirror visor in my car and am surprised to be staring into the eyes of a woman with a such a confident and lively expression on her face. How for the first time I see a woman who I would like to be friends with.  A woman who looks..well like a woman, not a little girl. I love that look. It's a subtle change. I don't know if it's a change in facial structure or something less concrete but I've seen it more and more over the last year and I do believe that it's my favourite look. Even if it does come with "fine lines and wrinkles". Why is there this this incredible shift at around 40. When we suddenly own it .Hormones, experience?  It's magic is what it is.

And sex! I want to explore why so many people think most women don't like or want sex after they have kids. And why for some reason everyone is down with that. It's a total crisis when a guy stops wanting sex or can't make it happen but women...well they are so tired after all. What the hell? Sex is awesome. It's really awesome and I think women should be enjoying it until they die or are close to dying just like it seems that men do. I mean. What on earth not? We have all that equipment designed solely for enjoyment y'know? Seems like a terrible thing to waste. Not just sex. Pleasure in general. Why are women so afraid of pleasure. Why are they so into self deprivation? What's in it for them?

I want to talk about friendships. The ones we have from cradle to grave, the ones we have for certain seasons, the ones we have that fulfill just about every emotional and intellectual need and the ones that fill only the shallowest of them. Why some of the most intense and lovely ones can just fade away after time and why that can be ok sometimes and why some that shouldn't die do, and how sad that is and maybe what we can do to rekindle them.

I want to talk about parenting relationships and the weird social constructs we have imposed on those. The ideas of how we should be communicating with our kids, or not. The limits we should supposedly be imposing on them. How I have defined my role as a mother and how I don't actually give a damn about what people think about me in that regard anymore and how much it is has improved my relationships with my children.  (OR HAS IT? I want to talk about that!)

I want to talk about why I left the Mormon faith. Because sometimes even I get confused regarding the reasons.  I want to talk about why life is so much better for me and my family since leaving. (OR IS IT??? I want to write about that!)

I want to talk about how much I hate where I live and how much I love it. I want to talk about how I have grieved and celebrated the circumstances of my life and my fantasies for the future.

But I don't want to just talk about all these things with reference to myself. I want to talk about them with other people.  I want to have conversations. I have gravitated to facebook because it is a place for conversations. But there are so many limits. Today I wrote something that had come up in the LDS General Conference. It made me mad as so many things regarding the LDS corporation do. Somebody I have known for many years responded. I feel her. It's something I might have done from her side of the fence not long ago and I respect her for it. I think it took a courage of convictions and I admire her calm confidence. She prempted by saying she knew she would be ridiculed and torn apart on my page for expressing herself. Initially I found that fairly irritating and I resented the accusation. I don't allow bullying. I do allow vigorous debate with a no nonsense style.  I accept that tensions get high and people aren't careful about feelings. I'm pretty comfortable with that in a debate scenario. But it doesn't mean that everyone else is.  I have lost many familiar and cherished faces from my facebook page. I know they think I  have become a dark and cynical person. They would rather not deal with my brand of..whatever. I get it. And if things are going to turn ugly and personal I do think it's best that they keep their distance. And yet.

I know that if they heard my voice  and they heard me discussing these things with other people though, they would probably get a different sense. I am endlessly curious about the human condition.About how other people see the world. What makes them tick.  I miss the diversity. I miss having people who are brave enough or thick skinned enough or to coin a Mormon phrase, contentious enough to come to my page and challenge me. I want them to change my mind as often as they reinforce my confidence in my own choices.  But the written word has limitations.

Today I thought about doing a podcast. It seemed like the natural easiest solution. I even researched it a little bit. Logistics and technology are not my bag. I can't think of anything I have less interest in. If you want someone to come up with content, to be engaged and engaging, to keep the conversation going though, I'm your girl.  I think that's going to be the next move for the blog but I need logistics people. And I need people who are willing to talk about stuff with me. And maybe we have 3 listeners. And they will be our tribe.And that will be enough. And that's what I want to do.

So. What do you all think about that?

Well I'm out of time.
So ends the longest blog post of all time. Is anyone still out there? It's ok if you aren't. I understand. This is not a blog post I might want to read on someone else's blog either. Or maybe I would?

Either way, I am satisfied. Satiated for now.  Because I scratched an itch. I filled my craving. My craving takes many forms and today was a day to indulge. In the grey light of this morning I snuck out of bed and sat cross legged and started writing as a new friend recently suggested that I should. I hand wrote, stream of consciousness in a beautiful grey Moleskine journal. I don't remember what I wrote but I remember that it flowed and that it was delicious.

I bought a pack of six of those journals last night. Tonight I will go back and buy 6 more and I will fill them all because that's another craving I have denied for a very long time now, and indulging it felt sublime.. And perhaps I will end up with 12 journals filled with nothing of any type of substance but they will be meaningful to me.

Because I am a writer and I won't pretend any longer that I am anything less.

Thank you for being my reader.

I Remember When

I've been working on another blog post but the theme of change has been thick in the air today and late this morning a friend of mine asked a question which triggered some memories. So I thought I would jump in....many prompts late with the 8 minute memoir project a couple of my most admired bloggers are doing right now. I hope that's ok. Even if it's not. I'm doing it. Because that's the kind of crazy maverick I am you guys. ;)

I remember when everything started to really change for me. When things started shifting in a solid way. I had never been comfortable or satisfied with the status quo. Never. Even as a child.  But I remember when I started to feel it in my chest.  And then in my throat. I remember when it would start making my pulse quicken and my stomach feel hollow with it. When the whole natural universe seemed poised to squeeze it out of me and to hold me up while it did.  A little bit more every day, it built and built and built. It actually felt like it was seeping into my bones, making me stronger until I was ready to pour what was left of it out.

I remember running that summer. In the woods and on the beach.  Running, listening to music. Always the way in which I find clarity, the way I meet with myself.   Two memories in particular stand out to me that summer. Running along the beach . The shore was narrow and uneven where the waves of the lake broke and scattered across it.  My left leg was lower than my right on the sand.  It was awkward but I was determined. I had to struggle to find every foot hold and my bare feet made light circles as they displaced the water in the sand. My music was telling me that I had to be braver. That my voice was worthy of being heard. That yes it was uncomfortable but it was ok.  No it wasn't wrong .Yes. ok. More than ok. Needed. Desperately needed. A sense of triumph and resolve started to grow inside of me.

I remember running in the woods, wanting to please the God that I had grown up with. Pleading for things that made sense to my kind and inclusive heart to synch up with what I heard when I sat on the soft upholstered wooden benches and the cold metal chairs. The way they seemed to for all the other peaceful looking people there.  Pleading for my kind and inclusive heart to stop warring with my rebellious, impetuous soul. 

I remember the moment the music went quiet. The notes of the music melded with the notes of the birds in the woods. I remember that I saw a lovely doe. It looked at me expectantly but fearlessly and suddenly there was absolutely no doubt. None whatsoever. Just love.  My kind and inclusive heart and my rebellious soul were one and they were perfectly in synch.  And my voice was strong and brave and needed to be heard.

I still haven't made my voice heard on the issues I was wrestling with regarding my religion and faith in the way I envisaged and I will know when the time is right for it. If ever.

But I made my voice heard in my own personal life. The courage I took from those moments. The peaceful confirmation of myself as a wise and valued member of the universe taken from those sacred moments, offered to me by the sand and the water and the soft forest floor and the birds and the butterflies and the doe and the sun filtered through the green of the trees. That acceptance and courage allowed me to confront ugly truths and damaging people when I least expected to have to.  And that confrontation was painful and dark at times and took almost everything I had to offer. But I never regretted it. Not even for one moment.

I will never swallow or doubt my kind and inclusive heart or my rebellious soul when they clamor urgently for my voice to be heard again.  And the knowledge of that feels like the sun rising inside of me.

A Moving Update on Life Lately, The Perfect Storm of Growth or Why I keep having to deal with the same BS…

See what I did there with the “moving update” (since we’re moving? Not?  Erhem ok.) So last night I wrote this super boring whiny post and then I wisely refrained from hitting publish.  I was really tired you see, and overwhelmed and just…tired and suddenly everything was So Irritating and Unfair and Maddening and a number of other whiny things..and ugh.

This morning when I got back from my early morning soccer practice pick ups (oh yes, you read that right…now soccer is getting me up early every single morning of summer), I decided to succumb to the fact that I felt physically ill with exhaustion and so, instead of tackling the chaos of my home for 12 solid hours which has been my routine of late, I lay down with this song going through my mind and I took a nap. And lo and behold, upon waking everything is suddenly ok.  Not awesome, still irritating and unfair and just as much out of my control as it ever was. But with the addition of a little bit of rest I have a bit more of a grasp on the fact that what you can’t control is not worth obsessing over.

I’m kind of in the Perfect Storm of Growth Opportunities right now. (If we’re going to be a Pollyanna about it) or what could otherwise be referred to as I Hate Everything.

In addition to the glorious fun of packing up a house and having a garage sale and arranging for an international move and trying to find a job and get my kids into schools and ship my dog (which will cost more than shipping my family and my goods) and get my house on the market, we’ve been dealing with a Large and Pervasive Issue that’s been a long and ongoing one. The problem is that pretty much everything else hinges on this Issue being resolved.  And just when we think it’s about to be resolved, it’s not, instead it’s just added to in a freshly outrageously annoying way. Over and over again this happens. Over and Over afreakinggain.  And that’s getting old.  Whatever, it got old about 8 months ago.  Now it’s just…All The Swear Words.

The better part of me understands that this is for our learning and growth and even has a bit of an inkling of what I am to learn from this but the immature, willful, indignantly pissed off part of me has dug in it’s two year old tantrum heels and has decided that I will.not.learn.from.this because it’s a stupid thing that shouldn’t be happening at all and it’s unfair not my fault, it’s the fault of other people, and I’ve done enough  just by letting everyone live.

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So I’ve spent a lot of time and energy assigning blame and being outraged and tallying up the total of the damages. And every day I get more tired and more bitter and more angry and yeah…it’s totally making a positive difference in my life and those around me. As one may imagine.
Do you notice patterns in your life? Or is it just me? That you keep having Issues in the same themes (or is that just me, the slow and stubborn learner?) And that your problems seem to occur in just the areas that are the hardest for you? Again, the better part of me recognizes the themes and says, “gee ya think you might want to work on that so we can move on to  new things?” and the 2 year old tantrum part does that whole noodle legged,  heavy body flopping around thing and screams, “what the freaking HELL??! Why do I KEEP HAVING TO DEAL WITH THIS BS??!!! Seriously? SERIOUSLY??” 

And thus, naturally, I keep having to deal with this BS.  Because God loves His kids. Even the really stupid, stubborn ones who go all floppy legged and flailing body whenever things don’t go their way. And unlike this imperfect parent, He will see it through with us until we figure it out. He doesn’t give in and say, “ok fine you little BRAT” and pick us up off the floor and carry us to where we need to be.  I imagine him gazing at me sorrowfully though and saying, “oh you poor thing, you must be getting so tired of all that tantruming! I so wish you could just calm down and do this my way so we could all move on to new things. It really would be so much simpler. Honestly it’s painful to watch you go through all this turmoil.”

See I know all this. But alas, more often than not my 2 year is in the driver’s seat. And then there are other times when I would dearly like to succumb and be zen and trusting and faithful but I almost feel like that would be cheating and irresponsible and that obsessing and getting mad is my way of contributing to a swift and successful resolution.  I know that doesn’t make sense and it’s not rational and that I’m just contributing to the general stress and unhappiness rather than the solution but it’s my way of Doing Something.  I have issues with Not Being Able To Do Anything.  (AKA I’m a Control Freak). Surprise!

In other news, the last couple of weeks has been about paring down ie: getting rid of our mountains of crap. We had an epic garage sale a week ago and because we got rid of so much stuff I had grand visions of going back into my house on Saturday night and skipping around in the emptiness, hearing my happy songs echoing off of the bare walls.  Reality has been a bit different. I have spent the last week literally digging out of the utter chaos left of my home. It. Is. Such. A. Mess.  And every time I create order in one room, it destroys another room.  I feel exactly like this squirrel. All earnest, feverish, ultimately ineffective activity,  and then defeated. just vaguely walking away and mindlessly eating something .



All.Day.Long. It might be adding to the sense of Frustration and Impotence just slightly.
Why all the mess? Well we sold a lot of furniture which was storing our stuff which we didn’t sell either because either it wasn’t stuff we wanted to sell or because we had SO much other stuff to sell that there just wasn’t room.

So all week I’ve been sifting through the remains of Garage Sale Day and concurrently packing the stuff that we want to keep but don’t want out when we stage the house for sale.  This means that the attic which I got gloriously emptied out for the garage sale is now filled right back up with photos and framed pictures, special occasions plates and dishes etc etc.  Happily it’s all a lot more orderly up there now. Our precious crap is safely entombed in plastic tubs and totes. (I swear we’ve spent most of the proceeds of our garage sale on buying those damn tubs).

We are trying to get to the point that we have only the stuff in the main levels of the house that we really need to use every day until we move.  And it has struck me more than once that it’s a special kind of stupid that we have all the other stuff. Why do we have all the other stuff? Let’s get rid of all that stuff! I have been letting go a lot of that stuff actually. It has been very good for me in overcoming my sentimental hoarding tendencies.  We still have too much stuff, I have a long way to go but I am about 10,000% better than I was just a couple of weeks ago.  I mean really, I must give myself props for progress in at least this area of my life.  It all counts, right? Anyway every day since Sunday I wake up and think, “today is the day! Today is the day that we get our house back and everything is clean and serene and wonderful!

And every night after a day full of the squirrel Bernese Mountain Dog Routine on an endless loop, I go to bed feeling like this:

You have no idea how accurate that second montage is. The kids are loving me so much right now.
Finally, those of you who read/know me and my liberal leanings may be wondering where I stand on stuff in the news regarding my church lately. I have so many feelings. In fact this is a major component of my Perfect Storm lately but none that I feel right about attempting to articulate in too much detail at just this juncture. Please know this, though. I believe with my whole heart in a wise, infinitely kind and loving Godhead and I believe that we have each been given minds, intellects and the spirit of questioning and reasoning of our own for a reason and as part of a specific divine mission.

I believe that we each have a set of talent and skills and strengths for the purpose of helping and uplifting one another.  I for one am grateful beyond words to those who have the courage and kindness to speak out on issues that may be considered by some to be taboo but which affect so many of us.  They have strengthened and comforted me and helped me to understand the nature of God and His love for me in a way that I could not before. They have only strengthened my faith and helped me to reconcile with things where I otherwise might have continued to feel very misunderstood and alone.

I feel that honestly expressing deeply held feelings, sharing experiences and yes, publicly seeking answers to questions is a great service to others who have those same questions, feelings or experiences.  An inestimable gift to those who otherwise may be feeling isolated, alone and marginalized.  I believe that when we do this we are doing what we have been specifically commanded by Christ to do.  I honestly believe that we ease each other’s burdens when we share the  load. I believe that nobody asking questions with pure intent either privately or publicly should be punished or shunned or turned away. I believe that ultimately each person has the ability and responsibility to decide for themselves what is true and right for them.

Mostly I believe that each of us is on a unique and personal journey which is worthy and difficult and I believe that we are always better served when we ditch the judgment and bring the love. As for the rest, this guy says it best. I love him a lot.

Sending much love to anyone out there who is feeling frightened, misunderstood and alone for any reason. You aren’t you know. xoxox

Why being "cool" (liberal) and being a good Mormon are not mutually exclusive

Thank you so much for the overwhelming response for my last post. I am most touched by the civility of all involved. From thousands of hits on this post I only got one comment that was not positive and it really wasn't terrible.  Thank you for sharing it with your friends, thanks for the kind messages and comments.  It is always so good to feel supported and find others who understand or are trying to understand your point of view.

To clarify, that post was written mostly to reassure people who may be feeling marginalized within my faith, to let them know that there is room for them and they have friends there.   I was in no way trying to use the post to make my religion seem more liberal and mainstream or "normal".  Once again, I don't really care what the world at large's take on my religion is. I have no control over what other members of my church do or say and what others are going to take away from that. I can only speak for myself.  I believe the gospel of Jesus Christ is perfectly in keeping with many liberal ideals which is why I choose to be liberal. My interpretation of the gospel gives me no other alternative. I do however recognize and that I am among the minority in that interpretation of my faith and that the Mormon culture (rather than gospel) is extremely conservative. I'm not going to try to pretend otherwise.

That said, I think I speak for more Mormons than one realizes when I talk about being a liberal Mormon and today I want to address one misconception (usually from those within my faith) regarding why liberal Mormons like myself choose to be liberal.

There's a popular Mormon blog I read and the author has on several occasions alluded to those of us who take a more liberal stand on things as doing it in order to be "cool".  In contrast those who take a more conservative stand are considered by this author to be brave and noble and strong enough to do so even though it is "uncool".

A commenter on my last blog claimed that liberals like me claim to believe what they do in order to stay in favor with "society".  Being "liberal" apparently means being "hip" and "cool" and socially acceptable.  And really, that's the only reason we believe what we do, because we are so weak minded and immature and insecure that if we aren't getting props from the cool kids, whatever shall we do? Basically, we are accused by some as wanting to have our Mormon cake (I bet it's a jello cake..mmmmm) and eat it too.

Ok first. Let's just look at the logic to this argument shall we? If you are a member of a Mormon community, you can assume that if you choose to be liberal you are going to find yourself to be in the minority. You know, (because people like my Anonymous commenter and the bloggers I reference today and yesterday have all but come out and said it) that you are considered to be weak in the faith, someone who wants to fit in with society more than doing right by God.  A feeble and pitiable soul who will sacrifice what they know to be right in order to be considered "cool".

 So by being liberal you know, right out of the gate, that others within your own community are judging you and think that you are verging on apostasy. Who consider you a sell-out and your views as dangerous and evil, who may even be concerned about your influence on their children.

Now let me ask you this, if you were so concerned about your image, wouldn't you (particularly if you were a 38 year old mom of 5), be more concerned about fitting in with your Mormon community?  About being seen as upstanding and noble and brave and virtuous. As having ethics and integrity?

Wouldn't you be more concerned about being "cool" with them?  Despite popular misconceptions about Mormons there are actually plenty of conservative friendly, kind, fun women in our church who have kids the age of my kids and do fun things together.  They are dynamic and successful and pretty and fashionable and hip. They are smart and talented and creative and organized. They are athletic and trendsetting.  I think they are cool.  If I was so worried about being in with the in crowd, wouldn't I work harder to make sure that I had my liberal proclivities well covered just in case I offended them and I (or heaven forbid, my kids) got left out of their cool social scene?

If I was so determined to be "cool" and accepted by the non-Mormon community, that I was willing to  cast aside my moral convictions, I assure you that we would not be that pain- in -the- butt family who doesn't want their kids to play sports on a Sunday (do you have any idea how complicated that gets as kids get older and more serious about sports, and how many sacrifices have to be made by teams and coaches to accommodate them?) And that's just one place where our religious convictions make us stick out like sore thumbs, inconveniencing others and being "uncool".

I find it incredibly judgmental and condescending when people dismiss liberals as hipster wannabes.  What does "cool" mean anyway? To me someone who is cool is someone who is kind and genuine. I admit that I want my kids to be well-liked. I don't want them to have social problems.  I try to teach them (to the best of my ability) how to be socially aware and acceptable. After years and years of trial and much error, after lengthy and careful observation of what makes the popular people popular and cool people cool, after years of learning from my own considerable failures in this department, my best social advice to my kids is this:

People like the people who are genuinely and reliably kind. To be kind is cool. To make others feel good about themselves is attractive. When you recognize and magnify other people's strengths rather than their weaknesses they will want to hang out with you more.  People are drawn to people who care about them and are genuinely interested in them.  If you demonstrate these qualities you will always have friends you can count on.

I'm pretty sure my kids think I am trying to trick them into being good people by wrapping it in the pretty packaging of popularity, but really and truly, this is my best social advice.  I don't have anything more effective to offer them.  Something better may be out there, but I don't  know what it might be.

I wrote an epic post a couple of elections ago about why I am a liberal Mormon and how I think our faith lends itself more to be liberal than conservative so I won't rehash that here.

Suffice to say that I don't believe what I believe in order to gain popularity in the eyes of "the world". I don't write posts like this to get a ton of hits on my blog. I have a degree in Marketing, I've blogged for years, I have learned a lot about blogging and growing readership over those years.  I have had many opportunities to make my blog a much bigger deal than it is, and I guess I have just never been motivated enough to make that happen.

I believe what I believe and I write posts like this because believe it or not, it feels right to me.  It is in keeping with the dictates of my conscience.  I believe these things because I imagine Jesus Christ embracing them. I share these beliefs because I think that He wants and expects me to. I think He has given me the opportunity, the forum and the ability to talk about these things because He wants people who are in pain to hear them. I believe and share these things because I take my baptismal covenants to mourn with those who mourn and to comfort those who stand in need of comfort, seriously.  I believe and share these things because I strive to be a witness of Him at all times, and in all things, and in all places.  I fail dismally in my strivings, every day, but that is my goal.  I am very proud to be a member of a church bearing his name...the church of JESUS CHRIST of Latter Day Saints. I emphasize the Jesus Christ part because to me, that's what it is all about.

I would be a hypocrite if I did not admit here that I have been guilty of judging those who have conservative beliefs harshly and unkindly at times. Of attributing unChristlike motives to their beliefs. I need to do better with that. I'm trying to.  At the end of the day, I believe that heaven will be filled with members of every political party.  It will be filled with people who did their best to love one another, to feed his sheep, to take care of the one.  To do what they felt was right.

As a liberal Mormon, just like any other Mormon,  I am just doing my best, just trying to do what I feel is right.  If that makes me cool, then that is an awesome by-product, but it's definitely not the motive.

Giving people the benefit of the doubt is a decision that one rarely regrets. Not judging others is incredibly liberating and it frees up a ton of time and energy to do more good in the world.

Have a great day m'peeps.... be cool.

The trouble with being "A Mormon" (in the opinion of one active LDS blogger)...

Hmm….wow where do I start. Ok that’s a joke. Kind of. I mean, let’s be real, nobody chooses to be a Mormon because they think it’s the easiest way to go. It’s a demanding faith, a lifestyle and identity which requires many sacrifices but I embrace it because I believe it comes with accompanying blessings which far outweigh the sacrifices. I think that what many may see as a restrictive lifestyle ultimately offers a lot of freedom if you interpret it the way I believe God meant us to. I believe God is a perfectly loving and adoring parent and as such His sole goal for us is that we are happy, that we reach our potential and experience the true joy attached to that.  I don’t believe He is in it for the glory or the power. He’s in it for love. That’s all. 

When I was a young kid in South Africa, Mormonism was practically unheard of and I was always mortified when my parents would slip into LDS lingo in front of my friends. I didn’t want to be seen as different or weird. When I was a young teenager, Mormonism was more well known but definitely still seen as very cultish. I was ok with people knowing that I was a Mormon but I felt extremely defensive of my religion and it stressed me out to feel as though I was constantly called upon to defend it.  As an older teenager I relaxed somewhat and became comfortable and proud of my identity as a Mormon but it irritated me that pretty much anything I did that might seem out of the ordinary was attributed to my Mormon-ness. 

When I abruptly left my school in Southern Africa to go the an LDS school in the US and very shortly after that became engaged and married, rumors swirled that I had been sent away for an arranged marriage. (And those are just the rumors people confessed to me, I’m sure they got worse).  I get it. It was a pretty weird and sudden turn of events which shocked me most of all and I’d have probably thought the same in their shoes. But it wasn’t an arranged marriage, it was just boring old love.

 As a younger adult, I was somewhat more confident and very open about my religion but my heart would still freeze and then pound frantically when I read negative insinuations about my religion and I would leap to the defense. It was very tiring.

Now that I’m  a bit older I am in the wonderful position of no longer caring. I know that my religion has certainly defended itself from much worse assault than people saying mean things about it and it really doesn’t need me to fight any battles for it.  I don’t get upset when I read or hear people being negative about Mormonism anymore.  It really doesn’t bother me at all. I don’t take it personally.  I really don’t.  And here is why. I have learned over the years that when people talk about “The Mormons” they don’t mean ME. They might think they mean me, but they don’t.  Yes, I am a Mormon, yes my faith is very central to my identity and who I am but my relationship with my faith is my own, it is personal and unique. Nobody’s faith is exactly the same.

The trouble with being Mormon is that unlike being Protestant or Lutheran or even Catholic, you tend to be automatically lumped into a homogenous group. Your identity in the view of others instantly narrows.  Over the years I have heard things like “wow you aren’t like any other Mormons I have known” or “you’re the coolest Mormon I know” or “that doesn’t sound like what I know about Mormons” and I always wonder how many Mormons the people who have said this actually do know. Because funnily enough, we are all individuals.  And when you break it down, we are as alike as individuals to each other, as we are to anyone outside of our faith.  And as much as I would like to believe that I am, and my teenaged kids would like to assure me that I am not, they are right I am not particularly cool and there are lots of other Mormons who look at some things similarly to the way I do.

I would say that my split of very close friends outside and inside of my faith is about 50/50.  And I would say that  the reason that I am friends with people inside of my faith is because I met and hung out with them at church and got to know them better. I think our relationships developed like any friendship does from acquaintance to friendly to close because we had other things in common. 

Yesterday I was scanning a post on a blog I have never read before. It had about a thousand (literally) comments and I was sort of half heartedly skimming and scrolling through a few before I closed the page. One really brief one caught my eye. I read it and thought, “ wow, now that’s awesome. I love that. It reminds me of something Julie would say”. Then I looked to see who wrote it. Sure enough, it was my friend Julie. It was pretty cool.

Julie is a Mormon too and I knew on the first Sunday I heard her speak in church that I wanted to get to know her better. I clicked with her on a personal level. It had nothing to do with the fact that we were both Mormon. It had to everything to do with something she said about how she felt about being a Mormon.

Now, I honestly can say that when I stand at the podium at church and look out at the congregation I feel a great sense of love for everyone I see sitting in the pews.  I think this happens when you share experiences with a group of people where you are touched by the Spirit.  The Spirit is a spirit of love and unity and you associate those feelings with the people you are with when you feel them. Not to mention that so many people in that congregation have done so many truly kind and Christian things for me and my family and for so many others.  So yes, I do feel great affection for the members of my congregation at church. I like being with them when we are at church.  But honestly, outside of church meetings and activities I just don't have a whole lot to do with many of them.

Some of this is because we are all busy and when I have a free moment I generally feel the need to go fetal in a sensory deprivation chamber rather than forge new or stronger friendships, much as I would like to.  But it's also because outside of going to the same church, many of us just don't have a lot in common. It is not like just being Mormon is enough to sustain close friendships.  Just like all Catholics don’t chill together on the strength of being Catholic. And all Methodists aren't joined at the hip just because they are Methodists.

My closest Mormon friendships happened because we share similar views of the world and similar ways of interpreting our faith. But even among my like-minded Mormon friends there is individualism. We certainly don’t hold the same opinions on everything. That would be really boring. We differ on many issues. Because we are individuals. We have separate brains, separate perspectives, separate life-experiences. We come from different cultures, educational backgrounds. We are different.

The trouble with being Mormon is that many people in our society do not seem to understand that we are just like anyone else when it comes to having thoughts and feelings and beliefs and opinions.  To them, Mormon is Mormon. We are brainwashed lemmings. One speaks for all. And that is simply not true. An illustration:  Glenn Beck and Joanna Brooks are both Mormon. Two more different views on the world and our faith you would be hard pressed to find ( for the record, if I could choose one of them to have dinner with, it would definitely be Joanna Brooks).

The trouble with being Mormon is, that when someone identifies herself as Mormon in the name of her blog, and then she writes a homophobic rant on that blog about a Disney movie and that post goes viral, those of us who aren’t homophobic become uncomfortable.

It's not because I don't want people to think I'm weird.  I don’t really care if people think I’m weird anymore (because I am, aren’t we all?) And I don’t care if people think my faith is weird (because c'mon now, it totally is…aren’t they all?)  But I do care, very, very much about kids and young adults and even older adults who are gay or lesbian or bisexual or transgendered or in any way different, and feel marginalized and isolated by society. 

I care very much about people I may go to church with, a place which should feel safe and accepting and embracing who may read that and feel uncomfortable and threatened at church, wondering if everyone else there thinks the way this woman does. I care very much about people who may stop going to church altogether because they feel that there is no room for them there because of the views this woman has expressed.

I care about anyone with a gay child or sibling or parent or friend who may read these hateful and misguided rantings and think they represent the rest of us.  I care about anyone gay or not who may read what this woman wrote with a sinking feeling of despair and fear. I care that anyone may think that because I share the identity of "Mormon" with this person that I also believe that being openly gay is unacceptable and an abomination, or that their feelings over which they have absolutely no control are frightening and dangerous and unnatural.  Because as far as this Mormon (and a whole lot of others) is concerned that’s not true. 

If you are a Mormon or even a non-Mormon and you don’t fit into the mold of what Mormons like this woman have decided is ok, let me tell you that I think you are ok. So what? What are my credentials? Who am I to say that? I must be some sort of sub-Mormon, a fringe, edgy liberal Mormon who can say this, right? I don’t really represent real Mormons, right? Sadly I'm not really edgy or interesting at all. 

I’m a stay at home 38 year old mom of five living in Ohio, who says you are OK. I’m a temple recommend, church calling holding, active LDS member and I say you are just fine. I went to early morning seminary for 4 years, I attended institute, I went to a church school for two years, I have been president or in the presidency of Relief Society, Primary and Young Women and I say you are awesome. I got my Young Women medallion and I was married in the Temple (Salt Lake even!)  to a returned missionary and I say you are loved.  I take the Sacrament, I teach Sunday School, I go to Relief Society I have Family Home Evening with my kids and Family Prayers and Scripture Study and I say you are equal. (I even dress my kids in matching outfits and decorate for all the holidays and take an unholy number of photos and I say you’re A-ok.)

So what? Am I trying to say that I am the perfect Mormon and therefore I get to say you are ok? Heck (dare I say hell?…yes I do dare say hell because where-I-come-from-it-is-not-a-swear-word, and even if it were, I’d probably still say it because the truth is, I swear quite a bit and I think there are far worse things I would do if I couldn’t….so..) HELL no.. I am not remotely perfect. Not even in the same city of the ballpark of perfect. But I’m a Mormon too. And gosh darn it by golly gee I GET TO HAVE MY SAY TOO, (Dammit). 

I am frankly, sick and tired of other imperfect people speaking for me and representing me when they really don’t represent me at all.   Heck, (I felt ok saying “heck" that time) I don’t even represent MYSELF from a few years or even months-or possibly days- ago. I have changed my mind (and will no doubt continue to change my mind) on so many issues as my understanding expanded, I met new people, had experiences and educated myself.

For instance, the way I changed my opinion regarding legalizing abortion. I was vehemently against it but now I am for it because I have done enough research to know that legalizing abortion makes for FEWER ABORTIONS. And anything that will save babies who could be given to loving couples desperate for babies, and save young women from the devastating emotional and physical repercussions that abortion so often has, is something that I am totally for.  

And the way I used to think that marijuana should be illegal. Until I nursed my mother in law through the horrendous aftermath of chemo.  Then I wondered why something that  is natural, easily grown and known to be extremely effective without the harmful and horribly uncomfortable side effects of the exorbitantly expensive chemical cocktails (which are legal) could not be given to relieve the misery of this woman. This wonderful woman who had spent her whole life taking care of other people as a nurse and a mother but was legally prohibited from using effective comfort measures on her deathbed.

Maybe some of my more liberal views will become more conservative with different experiences and different information. I’m perfectly open to that, it’s happened before. All I am saying is I know it’s natural to do so, but maybe consider not judging Mormons en masse or assuming you know the way Mormons think or believe or feel or vote. 

There are many, many ways in which I would be very proud and happy to be associated with Mormons, but just because other Mormons may be fine people and wonderful neighbors who bake amazing bread and have great work ethics and  invest wisely does not necessarily mean I am too. (My bread is average at best…unless we are talking banana bread-I make awesome banana bread.)

I don’t know any Mormons who aren’t doing their best to do what they think is right. And I know there are many of them who might be deeply uncomfortable by having what I am writing in this blog post representing them.  There are yet others who will be grateful for what I’ve said, and plenty more who would be completely indifferent.  

So bear in mind if a Mormon you meet or read online seems crazy and bigoted chances are they are just crazy and bigoted or more likely... hurting and confused. It’s not because they are Mormon.  Likewise, if they seem totally together and wonderful and sane, sadly it’s not because they are Mormon. I absolutely believe that following the gospel in its purest form will help people to be a lot more happy and perhaps even more sane and together than they otherwise would be, but getting baptized into Mormonism is not the ticket to being happy, wealthy and wise.  (Oh that it were!)

Just like everyone else on the planet, every Mormon is here on an individual journey with unique baggage. I am genuinely sorry about the pain and turmoil which seemed to motivate the blog rant I referenced above. I feel compassion for whatever drove this person or any other person who writes hateful and fear-filled rhetoric of any type,  to express those feelings.  I pray that they will find clarity and healing and peace.  I also pray for those who may have been hurt by what she wrote.  

I think we make it so complicated when we decide to judge. It's so much simpler to have the policy of just being kind and sensitive to one another’s tender feelings and struggles. Happily, that’s all we have ever been asked to do. God was so kind, so merciful as to spare us the burden of judgement. I am oh so grateful for that gift.  

What do you say we all just do what we can to be an instrument of His peace, to seek to understand rather than to be understood?  To love one another, and treat them kindly too? To do good in the world every day?  To help someone in need? To cheer up the sad and make someone feel glad? I'm going to do my best to stick to that policy. Because it's only when we don't do those things that we have failed indeed.
        ***************************************************************************
My follow up post to this one: Why being "cool" (liberal) and a good Mormon aren't mutually exclusive. 

You might also like to read:
An open letter to my Mormon brothers and sisters
On losing one's shiz. Part 2. Or: Why I am not going to shut up anymore
On Parenting: What I am Not Screwing Up
Mormon Democrat. How? Why?!

How I wanted to ditch my family, and came closer to Jesus. All in one night.

Since I covered all the frou-frou aspects of our Easter celebration yesterday, I thought I’d talk about some of the more spiritual experiences and insights the day brought for me.
The Sunday before Easter Sunday, I was asked to give a talk in our Sacrament meeting the next week. I readily accepted. Public speaking is one of the few things I am not afraid of, and I find talk and lesson preparation the best way to learn things and become more in tune spiritually. I felt like it would be the perfect way to prepare myself for Easter Sunday.
I had a really busy week with Aaron’s birthday and other events, but because the topic of the talk was the Atonement, I had no shortage of material and I gathered it avidly all week. No worries, I just had to edit it and put together the talk.
Suddenly it was Saturday night. After Aaron’s celebration I got home late. I was exhausted. Ella had been up all night, all week. Refusing to eat, refusing to sleep. But when we got home, by some miracle she was asleep. The house was quiet, and I was sure I would be able to pull my talk together fairly quickly if I had an hour or two to focus on it.
Aaron soon left to take Benj to a late night soccer game. He was expected home at around midnight. The other kids were in  bed. I was left alone in the silence. Perfect. I prepared to dive into my preparations.  I wanted to talk about what the Atonement teaches us about Compassion, Empathy and especially Charity. I fired up the computer and typed the title of my talk.
Cue: Ella screaming in her crib. Mommy!! MOMMMEEEEEEE!!! HEEEWLP!
I rescued her and gave her some milk, assuming for sure that she would fall back to sleep immediately, given her extreme sleep deprivation.
No. This was not to be.
Instead she draped herself across me. Between me and my keyboard. I reached awkwardly over and her tried to pick out a few sentences. Then the thrashing started. And the kicking.
My first paragraph was deleted. Unintentionally.
Irritation mounted.  I spoke soothingly to her through gritted teeth and tried to recreate from memory what had just been on my screen.
The staccato whining began, “Eh…eh…eh…eh…Mommmmmeeeeeee” (kick kick, thrash thrash…she sticks her hand down my shirt-default comfort maneuver).
I ignore her and reach over mountain of thrashing two year old with the added impediment of having an arm down my shirt, and try to think evolved, spiritual thoughts and knit them into some sort of inspiring message…
“Mommmeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee, eh eh….eh…” I try to reposition her on my shoulder to give me greater freedom to get to my keyboard. No. She wasn’t into it. Thrash thrash kick kick. I save my work…for it is in mortal peril.
Resentment seethes. THIS IS RIDICULOUS. Can’t I just have ONE SECOND TO MYSELF FOR GOSH SAKES?? SERIOUSLY?!!! SERIOUSLY?????? I need HELP here! Where is my husband. At soccer. Of course!  Do we have to play soccer every second of every day AND NIGHT!? CAN WE  EVER JUST HAVE ONE FREAKING BREAK FROM SOCCER?!
I felt irritation building to boiling point, resentment rising like bile in my throat, as she thrashed around. I was frustrated to the point of tears. Why couldn’t she just sleep! Kids sleep! She’s two years old! Not two months old. WHY WAS SHE DOING THIS TO ME?
SERIOUSLY?! SERIOUSLY? Could this night get any more irritating or frustrating?
I just wanted to run away. To have one evening of peace, quiet, uninterrupted sleep, no hand down my shirt, no soccer schedule. Was it too much to ask that I have some peace while I write a talk about the Atonement??!
Oh….
It suddenly occurred to me that it was somewhat ironic that I was feeling hostility for my family because they were getting in the way of me preparing a talk about charity.
This, of course, this was a perfect time to practice charity. And so I scraped the bottom of the barrel of my emotional reserves and will power, and forced myself to take a breath and pray.  I asked the Lord to soothe my raw nerve endings and feel or at least act patiently toward my 2 year old, to treat her with kindness and tenderness. I prayed to understand how important soccer is to my son and how great it was that my husband could be with him to support him and spend time with him.  I prayed for understanding and patience to outweigh my irritation. I will not say that my nerves were instantly soothed. Because they weren’t.
An aside before I complete my tale of woe…
I am a doula, and as such a prenatal educator, and when I teach expectant mothers about the pain they may expect during childbirth I always remind them that unlike a broken arm. childbirth is pain with a purpose, the pain is productive, and when they are able to keep that in perspective and focus on the outcome and reward they are working towards, they are able to work with their bodies far more effectively. The pain does not go away entirely but it becomes a lot easier to cope with.
Back to my story..
As I gritted my teeth and committed to having charity and then recommitted just seconds later, over and over again that night, I cannot say that the situation became easier. I was still beyond tired, my nerves still felt frayed, my child was still thrashing around more and more agitatedly and I was still feeling increasingly concerned about all I needed to do before I could rest, but I will concede that the commitment I had made to use this opportunity to try to become more Christ-like, to give this frustrating situation purpose,  made the experience a little more bearable.
While I did not necessarily endure it well, I was able to endure it as best as I possibly could, until my sweet husband was able to come on the scene. As he walked through the door, with the clock approaching midnight, he saw my frazzled state and immediately suggested we pray together to allow me to collect my thoughts and have the energy and focus needed to finish the task.
Had I not been trying hard to keep my thoughts and actions charitable, I have no doubt that I would not have been in the right frame of mind to stop and breathe and pray with my husband.
As we did so, I received the comfort energy and clarity that he petitioned the Lord to bless me with. I felt a sense of peace and focus.
I am wholly convinced that had I not been trying to bring charity into this situation, I would not have felt the genuine affection I felt for my sweaty son as he allowed me to give him a hug hello and congratulate him on his good performance.
If I had not committed to having charity, I would probably have alienated the spirit and I am fairly sure that my state of mind could not have been salvaged enough to complete my preparations.
Elder Ballard said “charity begins at home. The single most important principle that should govern every home is to practice the Golden Rule—the Lord’s admonition that “all things whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them” (Matthew 7:12). Take a moment and imagine how you would feel if you were on the receiving end of thoughtless words or actions. By our example, let us teach our family members to have love one for another. “
As Christ took upon Him countless sins, struggles and pains, so we are given countless opportunities to allow ourselves to empathize with others and to be Christ-like in our reactions, to take upon us as much as we can the feelings and struggles of others and to do all we can to ease them while simultaneously refining ourselves and becoming more the manner of men and women He asks us to be.
When I try to ponder the pain the Savior experienced in Gethsemane it is utterly unfathomable. As a parent, I always say I can only be as happy as my most miserable child. When they are struggling, I struggle. In fact I believe that the pain and struggles our children endure are perhaps the most exquisite anguish that we can feel. I don’t know of a single parent who would not gladly trade places with a child who is in pain. It would be so much easier to bear that burden for them. When I think that Christ felt every type of pain of every human who ever lived, it is awful and awe inspiring. But when I struggle, it is also deeply comforting.
When we are struggling with something particularly difficult, is there anything more comforting than having the genuine sympathy and understanding of a friend who truly understands that trial? This is the reason why support groups exist, and are so helpful to those who are going through specific trials. We are most comforted when we feel that we are understood.
In a particular poignant and beautiful scripture, the Savior tells us, “I have graven thee upon the palms of my hands”. He knows all there is to know about us, we are a part of Him.
Jesus Christ knows. He knows.
He perfectly identifies with every single thing we experience because He has experienced it. Not something like it, but our unique pain. He has felt it in exactly the same way we feel it. He knows the irritation I experienced, He knows exactly the way I was feeling that night. 
Not only does Christ understand and sympathise with our pain but he accompanies that sympathy with comfort and good news. In John 16:33 The Savior says: “These things I have spoken unto you, that in me ye might have peace. In the world ye shall have tribulation: but be of good cheer; I have overcome the world” (John 16:33).
So what does this mean for us? How do we use this gift He has given us to overcome our tribulations? How do we become more like Him?
Elder Uchtdorf recounted this story in 2010 LDS General Conference talk:
A story is told that during the bombing of a city in World War II, a large statue of Jesus Christ was severely damaged. When the townspeople found the statue among the rubble, they mourned because it had been a beloved symbol of their faith and of God’s presence in their lives.
Experts were able to repair most of the statue, but its hands had been damaged so severely that they could not be restored. Some suggested that they hire a sculptor to make new hands, but others wanted to leave it as it was—a permanent reminder of the tragedy of war. Ultimately, the statue remained without hands. However, the people of the city added on the base of the statue of Jesus Christ a sign with these words: “You are my hands.”
The newly ordained Pope Francis bucked tradition and risked much condemnation from conservative traditionalists when he washed the feet of muslim women prisoners the day before Easter. After which he said,
“We need to go out to the outskirts where there is suffering, bloodshed, blindness that longs for sight, and prisoners in thrall to many evil masters. It is not in soul-searching or constant introspection that we encounter the Lord.”
In the words of Pres. Uchtdorf: As we emulate His perfect example, our hands can become His hands; our eyes, His eyes; our heart, His heart…..I hope that we welcome and love all of God’s children, including those who might dress, look, speak, or just do things differently. It is not good to make others feel as though they are deficient. Let us lift those around us….
When we are tempted to judge, let us think of the Savior, who “loveth the world, even that he layeth down his own life that he may draw all men unto him. …
“[And] he saith: Come unto me all ye ends of the earth, … [for] all men are privileged the one like unto the other, and none are forbidden.”

Since Easter I’ve been trying to keep these lessons in my heart, I have been trying to remember that I can be working every minute of every day toward being His hands. Every decision I make, every interaction I have brings me closer to, or further from Him.
Whether we are serving our family simply by not freaking out at them when we are all touched out and at the end of our rope. Whether we are going to the outskirts and serving the least of His children. Whether we are extending kindness, understanding and love for all people, not just those like us, not just those who are easy to love, who are easy to understand, who are easy to serve, who are easy to relate to.  This is when we are His hands. This is when are encountering Him. This is when we are using His gift to become more like Him.  This is when we are like Him.