My name is Braden

When I was fifteen year old, I found myself in a state of confusion and instability. With alcoholism and and drug abuse in my family, I found my teenage years very difficult at times. Along with this, I had to deal with the realization that I was gay. Between the turmoil at home and the homophobia at school, I felt very isolated and increasingly depressed.

At the time, though, I was fortunate to find a very kind and inviting group of friends. Though I wasn’t yet able to tell them I was gay, I found in them the sense of belonging and happiness I was looking for. Like me, they were a little bit cut off from the rest of the world. Unlike me however, their isolation was not because of something born deep inside them, but because of their religion; my friends were LDS.

As time went, I began spending more and more time with them, becoming closer and closer, all while learning more and more about the church. As I spent time with them and their families, I came to see the Church as a surrogate family life, one with more stability and happiness than I found in my own home. As much as I loved and was close with my mother, problems with my step-father made me unhappy and uncomfortable at home. I retreated into the illusion of security I found with my LDS friends.

Eventually, I made the difficult decision to come out to my best friend. While he assured me I was still loved and still his friend, he made sure to let me know that my homosexuality was not right in the eyes of God, and that living that life would be a damning decision on my part. I was suddenly faced with a terrible dilemma: sacrifice the serenity of the new family I had found, or suppress a significant part of my identity. Needless to say, I chose the Church.

I remember distinctly when I told my mom that I was joining the Mormon Church. She looked at me long and hard, with worry and love in her eyes and told me: “Braden, you know you can’t be gay AND Mormon.” I knew this, but I felt in my heart that if I tried hard enough to fit in, prayed enough, and threw myself at the feet of God, that he would take this horrible affliction from me, as if there was something that could be healed.

Thus began the many years I would spend in the church. I gave my everything to the religion, all my time, all my effort. My heart was completely devoted to it. I was given calling after calling, and praised for being so courageous and inspirational to the ward. I taught primary, served in the Priesthood, spoke with the High Council, attended Institute and planned Ward activities for my YSA ward. And yet, despite all my faith and work, something was terribly wrong. God was not fixing me, like I hoped he would. And worse yet, I was beginning to hate myself for being gay more and more.

You see, I didn’t fit in with the church. I knew I was different. Temple marriages, children, a family, seemed so far away that it might as well have been impossible. I had no attraction to women, I could not fake it, no matter how much I tried. And as much as I loved the people around me, I was constantly hearing homophobic remarks from my peers. Anything that was stupid, or bad, was ‘gay’. Gay was something that was to be afraid of. Moreover, Sacrament meeting became a nightmare for me whenever the issue of sexual purity came up. Inevitably there would be a ten or fifteen minute moment devoted to addressing the issue of “same sex attraction”, as the church named it. I cannot begin to describe the deep spiritual and emotional anguish it causes to be told week after week, month after month, year after year that what you are and what you feel is evil, disgusting, an abomination and wrong. When you hear it enough, you begin to believe it about yourself. Self loathing becomes your default feeling.

As time went on, I became more and more depressed. I went to LDS family services for counselling, but to no avail. Nothing was going to fix this for me. I had thoughts of hurting myself. Surely even being sent to a lower kingdom because of suicide was a better alternative than living this life, this lie.

Eventually, I began to distance myself from the Church. I enrolled in university and met other gay and lesbian people. They were happy and enjoying their lives. Why couldn’t I? Despite all the apprehension and terror I felt, I began to see other men, to experiment with my sexuality. I felt free for brief moments, and utterly and hopelessly guilty and lost at others. Eventually though, and I don’t quite know where the change happened, I came to the realization that I could not live like this any more. I needed to look in the mirror and see myself, not something sick and in need of treatment.

Just as my amazing mother was there to warn me from joining the church (and I really should have listened to her), she was the one I went to when I decided to leave. She told me how happy she was, and proud that I was able to live for myself now. After I was released from my calling as Activities Chair in the YSA ward, I faded away. My attendance dropped off. And while my friends were worried about my absence, I was happy. There was never anything wrong with me, and though I missed the church in some ways, I loved being able to live on my own terms.

But I still needed to get some sort of closure, and explain my disappearance to my friends. So I decided to write an open letter to everyone. I posted the letter to Facebook, which is as follows:

“Something you should know before you read this: This will not be funny, it probably won’t be entertaining. This is from my heart, and I mean every word of it.

I had an epiphany over a recent weekend among friends in Edmonton. A rather large one, in fact. Some may say life changing. To a lot of people this may come as sudden and unexpected, but it is nothing more than the summation of two years worth of change in my lifestyle and personality, changes for the better. And while a lot of you may disagree, I can say without equivocation that I am now the happiest I have ever been in my life. Some of you may read what I have to say and rethink our friendship.

Good riddance.

I wish you no harm, but understand: people like this (those who choose to be unable to sustain friendships with those whose beliefs and lifestyles differ than their own) are, I feel, at the root of every social injustice in the world today. So then, away from the preamble, on to the heart of the matter. The Epiphany: I have no desire, any longer, to hide things, anything, from anybody. This involves two major elements of my life. What follows is the first of the two:

I no longer consider myself a religious man.

Believe me when I say it took a very long time to both come to this conclusion and then to understand how I had gotten to this point. What can I say when a significant portion of the people I know are acquainted with me on the basis of faith? I cannot say “Sorry”, to do so would be apologetic, something which I am not. I make no apologies for how I feel and what I believe, I admit no wrong doing in this. “So what?”, while closer to how I feel, is more aggressive then I would like, as is “Deal with it.” So then, I say nothing. This is a matter that concerns only me and my future, all I can say is this: I never liked anyone for who or what they believed in, I can only expect the same.

However I know this will be difficult, even impossible for some people I have met. The following will help you deal with this: Under Facebook’s privacy settings is an option to block people. My name is spelled B-r-a-d-e-n Y-a-m-a-m-o-t-o. All cellphone software contains the option to delete contact phone numbers, refer to your user manual if you need help there. I go the University of Lethbridge and work at the Cheesecake Cafe. You may consider avoiding these places if you think interacting with me would be awkward. I won’t mind. If the above applies to anyone, those people may stop reading now.

For anyone still reading, maybe you would like to know why this has happened? I understand this may be shocking, considering how active in the LDS church I was. Ultimately, the reason is twofold:

1) I understand the immense distinction between Religion and Church. Religion is the overarching system of beliefs and ethics built from interpreting scripture, Church is its practical implementation by humans. The startling discrepancy between the two is among my most intense motivations for leaving.

2) I had a strong sense of personal morality going in to the Church, as opposed to having one formed by doctrine.

During my years as a ‘Mormon’ I came to realize that while the scriptures I read said one thing, the clergy and members I interacted with on a weekly basis often acted in defiance of this. And while at the time I could shrug this off as mere human error, the volume of such occurrences began to increase to a point of cognitive dissonance. I make no exaggerations or hyperbole when I say that the LDS concept of Jesus Christ resulted in panic attacks and severe anxiety disorders, something that I feel would have eventually killed me.

I cannot believe in a church whose members are taught the unconditional saving love of Christ on Sunday, but who then proceed to use the terms ‘Fag’ ‘Homo’ ‘Nigger’ ‘Whore’ ‘Slut’ ‘Skank’ on Monday. To say nothing of the epidemic of “That’s so gay!” or ‘That’s so Jewish’. This is NOT Christianity, this is sycophantic hypocrisy. I will not miss you.

The standard retort at this point is to ‘excuse people their failings’. Here is my only apology: Forgive me, but I will not. Cloaking deep seated xenophobic prejudice and hatred with superficial testimonies of love are no less duplicitous and dangerous than Judas himself. That some people have sold their Saviour for the silver of ‘acceptance’ and ‘moral majority’! How ironic that they proselytize against being caught in the wave of ‘moral decay’ while freely swimming in waves of homophobia, racism and materialism.

An important caveat: As I mentioned earlier, there is a difference between religion and church. From a purely conceptual framework, my former religion is wonderful. The scriptural interpretations are rather moderate, at times even liberal when contrasted against hardline fundamentalist Christianity, and ‘love’ really is the order of the day (to say nothing of the outstanding humanitarian work done by Salt Lake City). However, as with all things, the concept has a tendency to get muddied by human interaction at the micro level. You may wonder: Is this an indictment of anyone in particular? In most cases, it is not, though notable exception exist in my mind. Really, I speak in generalities here. And as a final wave of assurance: By and large, in terms of my LDS friends, I gravitated always towards those that displayed a level of relativism and humanism. In other words, this epistle is not meant as an attack on the people I love, who just happen to also be LDS.

On to my second point: Having a strong moral compass before the introduction of religion. I am very fortunate to have been raised in a family that emphasized the value and dignity of all people. I knew what was ‘right’ and what was ‘wrong’ (in so far as the distinction can be made) long before I knew who Paul, Elijah, or Judas were. This point is less about why I moved away from organized religion, and more about why the change was so easy: In effect, it was no change at all. To emphasize, I am still the same person I have always been, before, during and after my foray into the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I believe in doing good to all people, I believe all people are inherently good, I believe all value systems and lifestyles are as legitimate as the next, and I believe ignorance and prejudice ought to punished by proliferation of large, pointy rocks.

So what does this mean for me, personally? Paradoxically, both quite a lot and nothing at all. My personality and values are unchanged. And yet, I feel afforded a greater degree of mobility in my life. And while I may loudly decry the attitudes of a few, I laud the love of many. Much like myself, I believe that the love shown to me by so many wonderful members came from their own personal space, without mediation by a governing religion. People were good because they were good, not because a Bishop, an Elder, a President told them to be so. For any of the doctrine to take hold, it had to first resonate with the personal philosophy of the individual. If there is one thing I learned, it is “people will not do something they do not believe in”, an idea with both positive and negative implications.

I will never say that I truly regret the past; the Church gave me an exceptional place to grow as a human. It provided me with lifelong friends and valuable experience. But the time has come for me to move beyond this. The experience, ultimately, was worthwhile, but no longer reflects what I believe in. I have nothing but love and respect for those of you who made a positive impact on my life, and in no way does this letter constitute a farewell, nor does it mean I will never step foot into a chapel again (I believe a bit of spirituality is good, every once in a while). It is, and always has been about being honest with myself and with others. From here I can only move forward on the same moral high-ground I chose to walk in, now unfettered by what I feel were arbitrary edicts.

I will, in effect, be good, without God.”

After this, I did lose many friends. But in their place, I gained self respect. I was able to walk away form the church, from living my life as a lie. I have now been living not only out as a gay man, but as a genuine human being. Without the constant rhetoric about the evils of homosexuality and the hatred from those around me, I have become unimaginably happy with myself and with my life. While I may not fully regret my decision to convert (I did learn much about myself in those years), I know that leaving was the best decision I have ever made. I am at peace with me now. And that’s worth more than the illusion of eternity.

My name is Braden and I’m an Ex Mormon.