Landon Was a Mormon, an Ex-Mormon Profile Spotlight

I’m a computer engineering PhD student. I believe everyone is worthy and has inherent value. As I grew up, I did all the right things, as far as my young self could tell. All of my friends belonged to active families. I was baptized the day after my eighth birthday, and I started going to Cub Scouts that same week. I was encouraged to share my testimony in primary, and despite not understanding any of it, I recited the familiar lines: “I know the church is true, I know Heavenly Father loves me,” and so on. When I aged out of primary, this became second nature. I was a Mormon.

I remember receiving praise from my family because I had made the decision to be baptized and receive the priesthood. I enjoyed the praise, but I don’t remember making any decision. The church simply expected me to want to participate. When I remember church in my early teenage years, the emotion that dominates my memories is fear. I was terrified of messing up, doing anything that wasn’t perfectly Christlike. I didn’t dare let myself have a crush on someone, since my leaders’ loose interpretation implied that being attracted to someone was as bad as murder. It was not until my 20s that I learned that this nervous voice in my head was clinical anxiety telling me I wasn’t good enough, not the Holy Ghost keeping me safe from sin.

In the same way the church assumed I wanted to be baptized and receive the priesthood, they assumed I wanted to serve a mission. It was made clear to me since primary that I would disappoint my parents and likely be berated or shunned by members if I didn’t serve. I was told I wouldn’t find a wife if I didn’t serve a mission, and I knew the young women in the church were taught to only date returned (with honor) missionaries. I attended mission preparation classes and went to the “mission prep” activities (where leaders taught us how to sew on a button or cook a grilled cheese sandwich), but I still felt unprepared. I had spent my whole life in the church, but I still felt that its doctrine was so convoluted that I couldn’t make sense of it. I had prayed about the Book of Mormon, Joseph Smith, and the truthfulness of the church. I never felt anything, but I figured God was holding off or I was not righteous enough to get a response. If everyone around me said the church was true, it must be. I received a phone call from the ward secretary asking when I would like to meet to start mission papers. When I arrived, I learned my papers had already been started. I was given a list of tasks to complete along with a deadline, and I was told what to set as my availability date.

I was one of the first people endowed in the Idaho Falls temple after the renovation, so it was a disorganized, confusing experience to say the least. I received no explanation of what to expect, and it was traumatizing to be expected to make huge promises without any indication beforehand of what those promises would be. Everything was disorienting, and all of my ordinances were performed “for and in behalf of Landon, who is dead.” It wasn’t until later that I learned they had a different script to read if it was a living ordinance, and I spent the rest of my time in the church wondering if my endowment was even valid. I became anxious that this was God’s punishment for some sin I hadn’t remembered to repent of, throwing away my shot at exaltation.

I was to serve in the Honduras Tegucigalpa mission. After some research, I learned it was statistically one of the most dangerous places in the world. I heard from someone who served there that the church often provided inadequate food, medicine, and housing to missionaries. All the talks and lessons during the MTC conveyed one message to me: if I was not an exactly obedient, perfect missionary, my safety was immediately in danger. If I failed to obey any of the mission rules or commandments, my parents were in danger of never seeing their son again. On top of all of this, we were closely monitored as we wrote home. There were several staff members in the computer lab at all times while it was unlocked, and we were told that if we were struggling, we should not include that in our emails home. Everything was to be faith-promoting. This struck me as extremely strange: God trusted me to represent Him in a huge capacity, but He didn’t trust me to email my mom. Because of all of this, I didn’t dare write home about how awful I felt since I believed disobedience would put me in danger (or at best earn me some kind of punishment), and I didn’t need to stress out my worried family even further.

During the remainder of my mission, I became extremely anxious. I didn’t have access to sufficient resources, so I lost a significant amount of weight and lived with an infected foot for the majority of my mission. While I had great relationships with a couple of companions, I survived emotional and physical abuse from multiple companions without any option for recourse from the church. When riots started, we were told to stay in our homes, but many of us didn’t have sufficient food and clean water. We used gift money we had received from home to purchase some emergency food and supplies (against the instructions of the mission president). When I served as assistant, I started seeing major issues with how the mission was run. I was expected to do the job of a mental health professional when missionaries called in distress. I saw how little the church did to help missionaries who were robbed or assaulted. And I noticed the lack of discernment that went into assigning mission companions.

I attended the singles ward for just over a year before I got married. We were disappointed to learn that the only part we played in our own marriage ceremony was the word “yes”. The temple worker instructed us before the ceremony; he said he would ask us one question, and the answer was “yes” and not “I do”. My wife and I had to decrease our church activity for a few reasons, including time constraints and health limitations. One of the most noteworthy, concerning, question-sparking parts of our experience was when we were serving as primary teachers but were unable to attend for a couple of weeks in a row. The primary presidency stopped by our apartment when we were both sick with a cold and asked to visit. We said they could stop in for a few minutes, and their first question was about what they could do to get us back in our calling. We stayed polite, but this got us thinking about the intentions of the church as an organization. A great deal of factors impacted my decision to leave the church, and a great deal of other factors impacted my wife’s decision. As my wife has become a therapist and learned a great deal about trauma, we have each processed trauma caused by the church.

Eventually, everything that was stacked against the church added up. Everything I had put on my metaphorical shelf (where one keeps things that they don’t want to think about yet) had become too heavy, and the shelf broke. While on a work trip in Iowa, I determined I needed to seriously evaluate my church membership. I was done being uncomfortable with the church’s teachings and actions while still supporting them, and I needed to either be firmly in or firmly out. When I got home, I prayed my heart out and asked God if I should leave the church. I felt more peace and comfort than I ever did when I asked if the church was true. I came to the conclusion that either God was a liar or these feelings were manufactured in my own mind. In either case, I was not going to continue to support an organization that caused me and millions of others incredible amounts of trauma. Since leaving, I have been happier than I have ever been. I enjoy the health benefits of tea, the low-calorie energy I get from coffee, and the extra money I have from not paying tithing. We have more opportunities to be generous and kind. Sunday mornings are finally enjoyable, and we don’t feel like we have to spend two hours in triggering church meetings. We have focused on trading up, and we are so grateful for the wonderful people who have helped us learn how to live without the church.

But most of all, I feel like I’m finally allowed to be a good person. I can support causes I truly believe in. I can help people directly rather than hoping a church uses my money to benefit “the poor and needy”. My relationships have improved so much. Friendships are more meaningful, and I finally feel free from the anxiety and guilt I felt as a church member. In short, my life got so much better after I left the church. As I grew up in the church, I was taught that if someone tries to refute beliefs with facts, a personal experience cannot be refuted. I encourage you, then, to consider my experience. And if you are affiliated with the church, I would encourage you to consider your own experience. Perhaps we have more in common than you suspect, and perhaps you will also find that leaving the church behind is the best decision you ever make.

Landon

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