Hi!

Pretext:

There are a couple of attributes I have that I believe play an important underlying theme throughout my story of leaving the church.

As a kid, I remember having conversions with kids in school about their beliefs. I just wanted to understand how we were different, how we were similar. Really, I just wanted to understand them. My life has been edified by my conversations with those who are different from me, for each one taught me greater empathy, understanding, and even helped shape who I am today. I’m no extrovert, but I genuinely love people and getting to know them.

Bluntly, one could say I’m a natural skeptic, but similar to my desire to understand others, I have always been fascinated with how the world works. I want to see behind the scenes and make sense of the world around me. I appreciate beauty and the wonder of the world around me, and I think that drives me even more to understand what I see. I like this, but this often also means that I don’t take things at face value, I seek multiple sources before committing to a belief or idea, and I often see obstacles very quickly.

When I was a teen, a group of other young men and I at a church function asked ourselves a question to the effect of, “If you were not born in the church, what do you think your life would be like?” While everyone else had varying versions of different sinful behavior they may or may not participate in if they grew up a non-member, everyone came back to the conclusion that at some point, they would find the church and eventually end up right back here, where we all needed to be. Everyone except me. I told them rather bluntly, “I don’t think I’d be religious at all.” And I meant it. I had no plans to leave the church at the time, but even then, I knew that, had I not been born into this small sect of Christianity, I probably would not be religious at all. Not christian, not buddhist, not muslim, none of it.

But I was very active. My family comes from generations of members. My first ancestor from my direct surname converted in England and left for Zion in the 1850s. I also have relation to the famous John Tanner family and many pioneer stock. I think because of my natural skepticism, I resolved to dedicate myself to this belief even if some things didn’t make sense. I had so many influences telling me this was the way, the truth, and the light, so I just accepted that this must be true even if I don’t understand how or why.

First Doubts:

My doubts as a believing member were not based on any of the classic controversies. They were rooted in basic doctrine. Because of my love of people, I clung dearly to the aspects of universalism that I felt the church taught. I loved the idea that my best friends and people I care about (many of whom were non-members) could, in my mind, be easily saved. After all, if anyone died, went to the spirit world, and learned that this church was true and of all the promises of paradise, why would they not accept it? I genuinely loved this piece of faith I had.

But then it bothered me deeply when people in the church would talk about non-members as others or less than. Now, no one ever said less-than, there was actually an insistence that less-than is not a thing in the church, but language like, “I’m so grateful I’m not a member of ___ church like my friend”, or “I’m so blessed to know the truth, because I would be so lost without it.” really bothered me because it certainly gave the appearance that we had an upper hand. Yet my version of God, I suppose, was all loving, forgiving, and did not pick favorites. As much as this was taught in the church, it never seems like that belief matched up with so many other aspects of this high-control religion.

And speaking of high-control religion, it never made sense to me that all of my non-member friends would likely be saved, yet for some reason, this really restrictive religion was necessary. I felt so much pressure not to avoid coffee and alcohol (I still prefer not to drink), but to be, well, perfect. Every tiny misalignment added up to a guilt that I was not living up to some expectation I believed others had of me. I had teachers and church leaders who told me with full confidence I’d be a bishop some day (or general authority) and as flattering as that was, I hated it because all it did in my mind was heighten my own standard that would be forever impossible to live up to.

Mission Service and My First Faith Crisis:

I served a mission in North Carolina and again had to face my empathy and skepticism head-on. My doubts and questions about salvation became all the more intense and I had a period of time where I seriously questioned why I was serving a mission. I could not understand why I needed to ask these people I was meeting to change their lives when they seemed to live a fulfilling life. For the first time, really, I fully questioned the validity of the church as a whole and it terrified me. I did not talk to anyone about it for fear of how they would respond. Eventually, I came back to the resolve to just trust in the process. But it was getting harder to do so.

I got so good at trusting in the process that by the time the Gospel Topic Essays came out, while I was surprised by the information I was reading, I think it was easier for me to accept it. I figured, if I’m already putting my faith in a plan of salvation I don’t understand, what’s a little controversial church history? I just needed to trust the process. At the same time, my curiosity and desire to understand the world around me meant that I studied every essay I could find and soak up every bit of knowledge I could get. I enjoyed learning more than what I had been told in the past.

Marriage:

Shortly after my mission (4 months after), I got married. Even though I told myself I was not going to be that stereotype, I filled it out perfectly. I think I got too caught up in that trust. I was planning to wait and date longer, but she suggested we just do it before we started college and I just went along with it. I must have known it was a bad idea. I think we both felt really bad about it in the month leading up to the big day, but I felt too locked in. I felt like there was no going back. I trusted the common teaching that any two people could have a successful marriage if they both turn to god.

So we got married in the temple. Some time later in that marriage, I told myself that my lot in life was to be a martyr of sorts. I was miserable. But I held out, I trusted in the process, and tried to believe that all the pain I feel in this life would be well made up for in the next. I was living the life god intended, and if I needed to be a martyr and sacrifice my happiness to be godly, I guess that’s what I would do. We had 2 kids by the time I was 25, and slowly we started to fight less frequently. We could go 2-3 days without fighting, then a full week. Then we only fought once or twice a month. And while, yes, we were fighting less, I think we both just sunk into this rut of depression, knowing we were not compatible, but seeing no way out.

Divorce and My Mental Health Crisis:

Finally, in 2020, she told me she wanted out. I’ll save you the saga of the entire story, but suffice it to say, I was shattered. I was not happy, yet I could not bear the title of divorcee, as well as the reality of what this would mean as far as access and time with my children. I fought for nearly a year to bring back what was already broken from the start. My mental health plummeted to even lower depths and at this moment of greatest need, I turned to god and I turned to the church. I met with my bishop regularly. I attended faithfully, worked my callings, read my scriptures, prayed, fasted. I was desperate for help but as time went on, I actually found that I was becoming more and more numb to the spirit. And this feeling made it incredibly hard to want to study, pray, meet with my bishop, and actively attend church. For that, I felt immense guilt.

For the first time in my life, I was genuinely angry with god. Here I was, giving everything I had to go, at my greatest time of need and in return, I felt like all I received was his almighty cold shoulder. I did not understand it, and it drove me only further into the depth of despair. I remembered stories I had heard of others in similar situations and how they would wrestle with god to find their breakthrough moment when they would be filled with the spirit, peace would come to them, and their faith would be renewed.

Wrestling with God:

So I was determined to have my moment with god. Frustrated with my numbness, I took time one evening alone to lock myself in my room and pray until I felt something. I wanted to know why I was numb, why I could no longer feel the spirit. I wanted to know why, despite all my efforts, I was only feeling worse, day by day. I wanted to know why I had been abandoned.

I got my answer. It was not grand. It was quiet. The answer I felt I received was something to the effect of, “This pressure you’re putting yourself through is not worth losing your life over. God is gracious, understanding, and forgiving. It’s okay to step away if it means saving your life and your sanity.”

And that’s all I needed. I needed some kind of permission to try the one thing I hadn’t tried yet. So I didn’t pray if I didn’t feel like praying. I didn’t study when I didn’t want to, and I didn’t beat myself up over not fulfilling my callings perfectly. The immediate relief and peace I found was incredible.

Slowly Saying Goodbye:

A while later, there also came a point when I accepted that my marriage was actually over, and I was starting to be okay with that. I had a moment where I felt the foundation to my entire life was swept out from under me, and I felt as if I was floating in a void. I questioned everything. I had no idea who I was anymore. I had no idea who I wanted to be or what I wanted out of life. I didn’t know what I believed in anymore. I was not sure I believed in god’s existence. And while there was a short time of disorientation, very quickly a beautiful understanding came to me: From this point on, each new brick I lay in the foundation of my life will truly be my own. It will not be dictated by others or by just “trusting the process”. At this moment, I felt more control over my own life than perhaps ever before. I had a lot of uncertainty, but I felt a lot of excitement as well.

For the next year or so, I did continue to go to church, but was rapidly falling into the category of members who are physically in and mentally out, or PIMO. I found a strong support system of people who cared for me deeply who were outside the church. Despite attending every Sunday, I found it very difficult to even make friends within the church. I remember sitting in the chapel, feeling like an outsider, listening to the teachings from an entirely different perspective.

Eventually, even with periods of study and prayer, and consistent regular attendance, I found myself more and more feeling at odds with what I was being taught in church. I dated someone (who happened to also be a member in a very similar spiritual space as myself) and after being physically intimate, I fully expected to feel guilty and filthy. But I never did. Less and less did the teaching of the church resonate with me spiritually and emotionally, and they had never resonated logically.

There came a point where I actively felt anxious attending church. Anxiety can come from conflict, and the great internal conflict was that I simply no longer believed, and yet, here I was, pretending like I did. I would skip church occasionally, and while that solved the anxiety, I still felt incredibly guilty. I had to make the decision to be in or out.

I debated this for a while. Even though I felt the way I did, I think the years of intense determination in spite of my doubts lingered with me. I also thought of how upset my family would be and it crushed me to think about how my mom would respond when she realized her eternal family might now have a flaw in it. But finally, I decided I needed the courage to do what I felt was right. I borrowed the sentiment from Moroni, to study and determine with the spirit what was true. At this point, I wasn’t even sure about what I felt about the spirit, but I knew what felt right to me and decided to have the faith to follow that through.

Since My Departure:

So I quit, once and for all.

The guilt was gone. The peace that had been growing my life only grew larger. I finally started the journey of learning to love myself and it’s been amazing. My life is still hard, mostly due to the divorce, but the love I have for myself and the confidence I have found since leaving have carried me through so many hard things. I feel more myself today than ever before and all the stress and pain that my life offered me has been worth it. And I am growing still.

I never even looked into the CES letter, exmormon Reddit or other Ex or AntiMormon sites until at least a full year after complete inactivity. And while I do find understanding church history more and it does enhance my choice to leave, I find it interesting that for me, it never really played a part in why I originally left.

I have tried coffee, alcohol and weed in small amounts, but I found I still don’t like them, and appreciate living without them, but see that wholly as my own personal choice. I just prefer a sober life, and don’t like the taste of coffee after years of avoidance. I have friends actively trying to change that, but I do think I feel better when I operate sans caffeine in general.

Today I would consider myself agnostic and a humanist. Turns out, just as my teenage self knew, if the influence of the church was not present in my life I wouldn’t be religious afterall. But even so, life is full of meaning, beauty, and great purpose for me. Life is not perfect. I still have trials and hard periods like anyone. But life is better, and it continues to get better.