Hi! I'm Helen

Reading that policy next to what they actually did to me is like looking at two different universes.
Here’s the core truth I am reacting to.
Everything the lds church wrote in that policy is the opposite of how they treated me and/or people in my situation. See link below.
churchofjesuschrist.org/study/manual/abuse-how-to-help/…
For 12 years, I have belonged to the Mormon church that claims to protect victims, listen with compassion, and take abuse seriously. None of that happened to me. Not once. Not even close.
Before the last 11 years, which I spent inside this religious community that severely mistreated me, I had already endured more than most people face in a lifetime. I experienced the profound grief of losing my entire biological family, including my husband and my daughter. Following these devastating losses, I lost my home and every form of stability a person needs to survive. I became homeless, alone, and terrified, trying to navigate a world that felt cold and unforgiving. I had no support system, no safety net, and no one to turn to. I was simply trying to survive from one day to the next.
When I finally found what I believed was a community, I spent 11 years experiencing systemic senior abuse, humiliation, and emotional mistreatment by an institution that targeted the vulnerable. The trauma of this experience was so profound that I am currently seeing a therapist to help process the deep damage it caused. I am sharing this because I am ready to face my past, stand in my truth, and safely reclaim my life with the right guidance. Today, I am at a point in my life where I have no job, no money, no family, and I am struggling deeply.
The price I have paid in the form of emotional distress and disrespect is far too high. I will not tolerate being treated as a second-class member or being abandoned and endangered, as happened when I was left alone and abandoned in the church building late at night after cleaning the church.
Their own written policy says leaders should listen, believe, support, protect, and immediately take action. Instead, I was humiliated, bullied, ignored, and emotionally abused by the very people who were supposed to help me.
They say “abuse cannot be tolerated.”
But they tolerated it. Because they all are abusers.
They enabled it.
They allowed it to continue for over a decade.
They say leaders should “never dismiss a report of abuse.”
They are the abusers.
Mine dismissed everything I said.
They minimized my pain, blamed me, and even tried to push me toward homelessness again.
They say victims should feel safe, heard, and supported.
I felt unsafe, alone, and constantly attacked.
They say abusers can be manipulative and deceitful.
Yet they believed the abusers and ignored the victims.
They preach compassion, but they practice cruelty.
They preach protection, but they abandoned me.
They preach Christlike love, but they acted with hypocrisy and indifference.
My experience was not an exception, it was a pattern.
And I will not stay silent about it. They have abused me emotionally, physically too because of the stress accumulated.
For twelve years, I tried to make a home in the Mormon church. I walked in with hope, with trust, and with the belief that a church should be a place of compassion. Instead, I found myself slowly shrinking under the weight of judgment, gossip, and emotional mistreatment that no one should ever have to endure.
At first, I tried to explain away the small things, the dismissive comments, the cold looks, the way people acted as if my presence was an inconvenience. But over time, the small things became patterns, and the patterns became a culture. A culture where kindness was preached from the pulpit but rarely practiced in the hallways. A culture where people smiled on Sunday and gossiped on Monday. A culture where vulnerability was treated like weakness, and asking for help was treated like a burden.
I was a woman trying to survive, trying to stay afloat, trying to find community. Instead, I was met with condescension, cruelty, and a level of hypocrisy that still shocks me when I think about it. Leaders who claimed to represent God spoke to me as if I were beneath them. Members who claimed to value charity turned their backs when I needed support. I was talked down to, dismissed, and treated as if my struggles made me less worthy of dignity.
In my experience, the disciplinary system in the Mormon church is deeply inconsistent. They claim to excommunicate members for serious moral violations like adultery, but in reality, it often depends on whom the person is, not what they did. Some people are punished harshly, while others, especially those who are well connected, favored by leaders, or seen as “important”, are quietly protected.
This creates a culture of favoritism, where certain members are shielded from consequences, while others are judged, shamed, or pushed out. Instead of fairness and accountability, the system becomes selective and political.
For people who are already struggling, this double standard can be devastating. It sends the message that rules only apply to some, and that leadership chooses who deserves compassion and who deserves punishment. No church should operate like that, and no member should be treated as disposable while others are protected.
Every stake president or bishop is different. Some are genuinely kind, and some are terrible, truly horrible people. It all depends on who you end up dealing with. Some will step in and help without hesitation, while others will turn their backs and pretend not to see anything at all. But in my experience, most of the time, the leadership I encountered was not good. That is simply the reality I lived.
In this church struggling people are treated like a burden. If you were poor, sick, or going through a hard time, you weren’t seen as someone who needed compassion. You were treated like an inconvenience, something they wished would disappear. People in pain were pushed aside, ignored, or shamed instead of supported.
My landlord, in particular, was a deeply abusive man. A psycho. He targeted women, and he targeted me even more harshly because I was part of the same church community. Instead of showing basic human decency, he used his position to intimidate, harass, and control. And because he was tied to the church, he knew he could get away with it. No one in leadership ever stepped in to stop him. They protected him, not the people he hurt.
The apartment where I was living belonged to the church, and of course the landlord was part of the church as well. I lived there for eleven years, long enough to see the good, the bad, and the ugly, and everything in between. When leadership changed, the atmosphere changed with it, and not always for the better.
And then came the moment that broke everything.
Last year, the crazy landlord started refusing the rent so he cans evict me. He decided to throw me out of my apartment with the approval of the bishop and stake president. No compassion. No conversation. No humanity. After years of enduring emotional mistreatment inside that church, they pushed me out of the one place I had left. I was 68 years old, and they treated me as if I were disposable.

That eviction wasn’t just a housing issue. It was the final confirmation of what I had been feeling for years: I was never safe there. I was never valued. I was never seen as a human being deserving of care. I was not evicted because I left before.
I remember two years ago, the bishop called me and asked if I would be willing to help a sister who was sleeping in her car. I had two bedrooms, so of course I said yes, I have a big heart. And now, a year later, that same bishop, who is now the stake president, was ready to throw me onto the streets after I helped someone in need at his request. The hypocrisy and betrayal are disgusting.
I have experienced bullying, insults, and constant judgment within the church. I have witnessed firsthand how financial status seems to dictate worth and treatment within this community. My contributions to the church, including cleaning and other services, have been disregarded and devalued.
The recent actions, or rather inactions, of the bishop and stake president regarding my impending eviction have been the final straw. To be clear, I was essentially told I would not receive assistance because, according to the bishop's claim, the Lord instructed him not to help because he wanted me to be homeless. This, coupled with the existing negativity and gossip that permeates the church, and the actions of my Mormon landlord, has made my decision very clear.
I am also disgusted by the utter lack of compassion and trust I have encountered. The suggestion that I am not actively seeking employment, despite evidence to the contrary, is insulting. The constant complaints from other members and the resulting prejudice from leadership are unacceptable.
While I am grateful for any past assistance I may have received, the price I have paid in the form of emotional distress and disrespect is far too high. I will not tolerate being treated as a second-class member
Those leaders and members had preventing me to be a temple worker, they are preventing me to get a job.
This is a pure case of elder abuse, and it should never have happened to anyone, especially not to a 68 year old woman who deserved protection, not mistreatment.
Two years ago, the bishop called me and asked if I would be willing to help a sister who was sleeping in her car. I had two bedrooms, so of course I said yes, I have a big heart. And now, two years later, that same bishop, who is now the stake president, was ready to throw me onto the streets after I helped someone in need at his request. The hypocrisy and betrayal are disgusting.
Leaving the church wasn’t a loss, it was survival. It was reclaiming my voice. It was choosing myself after years of being diminished.
I am telling my story now because silence only protects the people who caused the harm. I am telling it because what happened to me was wrong. I am telling it because no one deserves to be treated the way I was treated, not in a church, not in a community, not anywhere. This is a pure case of elder abuse, and it should never have happened to anyone, especially not to a 68 year old woman who deserved protection, not mistreatment.
And I am telling it because I survived. I walked away. And I am finally speaking the truth.
This decision has not been made lightly, but it is one I have come to after enduring years of mistreatment, disrespect, and ultimately, a complete lack of emotional support from both church members and leadership. Twelve years is more than enough time to realize that this is not the community for me.