My Awakening

The first real doubt came when I went through the temple to take out my endowments – 3 days before my marriage ceremony. I was shocked when I realized I was agreeing to sacrifice my body and soul to a physical and spiritual death if I ever revealed what I witnessed – and even went through the motions of slitting my throat as a sign of the impending doom if I dared to speak. Boy did that make me feel warm and fuzzy! And I worried that I’d never be able to remember all the secret handshakes and coded words and my new secret name to pass through the veil after I died – which apparently was the only way to enter into the Celestial Kingdom. All this time I thought my entrance was based on my actions on earth. But the real moment when I began to question the “doctrine” of what I had believed in all my life was actually quite simple. I remembered the article of faith learned as a child “We believe man will be punished for his own sins and not for Adam’s transgressions.”…yet here I was watching a poorly made film “reveal” that Eve’s punishment for partaking of the forbidden fruit was to suffer physical death and now all women would be cursed with the physical pain of childbirth that could include physical death. What??? That’s why it hurts??? Maybe I just assumed “not for Adam’s transgression” also covered Eve’s! But my doubts lingered, especially through each of my pregnancies, and something I never quite forgot – and couldn’t quite figure out how this article of faith taught to young children didn’t apply to women and people with dark skin who were cursed for generations because of their forefather’s and mother’s decisions.

Realistically it seemed silly to believe the reason childbirth was painful was because of Eve – considering the fact that I’ve watched kittens and puppies be born and their mother’s appeared to be in pain and they had nothing to do with Eve – or the fact that pushing a seven pound baby out of my body (or anything for that matter) would obviously be painful. But of course, I pushed aside the facts and relied on my faith that I would find the answers to these contradictions in the after-life.

For eighteen years I was a good Mormon woman. I sacrificed my “worldly” expectations by convincing myself that going without was the right thing to do. I accepted callings and served willingly – and have the distinction of being a Primary President for 7 consecutive years – something I absolutely loved! But something continued to feel empty inside. Maybe it was my marriage to a man who was a good man – just emotionally detached and the feeling of “never being good enough” that always seemed to be present. I dutifully pushed the negative thoughts aside and focused on my family. I told myself eventually I’d be blessed and feel happy and whole if I just had enough faith, if I fulfilled each calling, paid a full tithing, prayed night and day, held family home evenings, didn’t gossip….well….you all know the routine.

My “awakening” came abruptly and harshly through a traumatic experience….but that’s another story. I found myself questioning everything. Why didn’t I feel comforted? Where was the Holy Ghost? I teach the primary children it will comfort them! I speak at their baptisms about this wonderful new gift! But where was it when I needed it the most? Why didn’t I feel comforted and loved instead of feeling I’d been thrown into the depths of despair and completely abandoned? How was this horrible thing allowed to happen? I was a good person; I tried very hard to consciously do the right thing and was counting on those blessings that were promised. I prayed, I cried and I tried so hard to make something good come from something so bad and remain positive – and then I got angry. I began to skip church. I couldn’t stand to go listen to someone preach about love and forgiveness. I couldn’t stand to hear Christ’s resurrection would save us all – even those who do such horrible things. I couldn’t stand hearing the “pollyanna” promises of eternal life and happiness if we choose the right. And mostly – I couldn’t stand the cliché’s – which was the only “comforting” thing a bishop or church leader could say to me. I stopped wearing my garments. I became fiercely independent and didn’t want ANYONE telling me how to feel or how to act or what to wear or what to think or what I could and could not do. My family, in-laws and Mormon friends thought I was going through a mid-life crisis. I didn’t understand why they didn’t see what I saw, and our relationships became strained. I pulled away from them and they withdrew, which exaggerated my feelings of abandonment. My husband was transferred unexpectedly to Colorado and I jumped at the chance to live in a place where nobody knew my name or story.

I never was considered “active” once I moved. Oh I would attend church once in a while – usually if the kids were participating or if I succumbed to the pressure from my husband, who ironically, became “Super Mormon Man” once I stopped attending. For 18 years I was the force that kept our family active in the church. He never fulfilled a calling and had to be released from each one accepted because he just didn’t do it, and had a serious pornographic and masturbation problem throughout our marriage. He couldn’t even get his home teaching done! He would skip church to attend sporting events or watch them on TV (which of course were kept secret from his family and ward members) and would become incensed if I told anyone the truth about his whereabouts. But now he was “Mr. Mormon” and I was now no longer willing to ignore his hypocrisy along with many of our local church leaders, and it became a sore spot between us. I became defiant and walked into the church with an attitude whenever I did attend. I would sit in Gospel Doctrine or Relief Society and openly glare at the speaker if I didn’t agree and mutter under my breath my objections (causing others who were stuck sitting near me to fidget uncomfortably) and sometimes would just walk out. I only did this a few times before my husband stopped pressuring me to go because he was so embarrassed by my behavior.

Not surprisingly, my marriage quickly crumbled. I had a new job, new friends from work and some I discovered online. For the first time since my marriage, I had friends who were not L.D.S., and was interested to hear their views on life, love, marriage and religion. At first I would defend Mormonism and explain the “misconceptions” in the world about the church. But in my heart I knew there were more contradictions. And since I was “Ms. Independent” now, I couldn’t come to terms how the church taught we were sent to earth to get a physical body and determine for ourselves our place in the after-life by exercising our free agency, when the church was the biggest restrictor of my free agency with threats with dire consequences if we didn’t obey. The biggest threat held over all of us – the loss of our children in eternity – was huge and something that continued to keep me in line for awhile. My husband and I separated and I began a new life that did not include the church. We both moved out of our shared home into new separate homes that were in a different ward – but in the same ward boundaries. I got the usual home teachers assigned and visiting teachers and I would tolerate their visits once in a while. A few months after moving into the ward, the bishop invited me in to meet with him. He was a nice man and we got along very well. But I could tell he had an agenda. We continued to meet every few months to “catch up” on life for the next two years. I told him my feelings of the church and he challenged me to read the book church books, but I never did. He told me he was there to help me. He could see I was in tremendous pain because of my traumatic experience. He could understand how I would feel so angry, and he was going to help me through this process. And to make me feel better about his help, which I was reluctant to accept – it could be on my terms. And for a year or two he pretty much kept his word. He made the mistake once of referring to my not being “strong enough” to stay true to the church and endure to the end. And I remember telling him through tears how much STRENGTH it took to leave the church, to leave all that I knew and believed, to risk being rejected by my friends and family, to end my temple marriage and risk eternal damnation and the loss of my children. Weak people don’t do that – they ignore their inner voice and follow the pack.

Two years after our separation my husband came to me and asked me to read a book written by a Mormon man about his troubled marriage since it would “help me understand him better” and I agreed. They say that people “emotionally divorce” someone before they actually legally divorce someone. I would say this is true in my case. I had no desire to be married to him, but wanted to keep our relationship amicable for our children’s sake. So I read the book, which was promptly followed by a letter from him and a visit asking me to reconcile with him. He had accused me of many things at the end of our marriage – mostly adultery – and told everyone who would listen that I was guilty. Now he sat before me remorseful of his actions and how he treated me during our marriage and said he was told by his Stake President, whom my husband told me was a “true man of God” and whom I’ve never met – that he had prayed about our situation and received the answer I had never broken my endowments and I was a good and faithful wife – and counseled my husband to reconcile with me to heal our family. I think I actually smiled when he said this – but not out of happiness – out of sarcasm. I was a good and faithful wife to him for 18 years when we were together. But once we agreed to end our marriage, I became intimately involved with another man. And here’s the shocking part – I wasn’t sorry or guilt-ridden. Now he was sitting before me telling me this Stake President – who had never met me – could vouch for me. Ah huh. Of course I didn’t tell him the Stake President had misinterpreted his answer from the Lord. Instead I told him I no longer had faith in the church or even considered myself Mormon and that we were on two separate paths. He wanted a “good Mormon wife” – and I would never be that again, and it was time we finalized our divorce so we could both move on.

The bishop called me back in when he heard news of our impending divorce. I could see he was different. He seemed intent on finding out about my personal life and asked many personal questions. He kept reassuring me that everything I told him would be held in the “strictest of confidences” and my husband and children would never know my answers, he just needed to know as my bishop so he could “help” me. I told him the truth. After all, I may be an “adulterer” but I’m not a liar. J I had been separated from my husband for over three years, and yes, I had become involved with another man during this time. And no, I wasn’t sorry, and no, I didn’t consider myself an adulterer. I could see how HE could think that since I was still legally married, but I didn’t, and frankly, didn’t see how he had any authority over me or had the right to pass judgment on me. We also talked about a few of my issues with the doctrines of the church and he promised at our next meeting he’d have my answers for me. At the end of our meeting he told me he’d call me to set up another appointment and we joked that he would have his “homework” done and ready for me. I never got that call that his homework was completed. But a couple of weeks later on a Sunday night there was a knock on my door. My young son answered and was handed an envelope with my name on it. I never saw who delivered it. I opened it up to see that it was a letter from the Bishop informing me that I was being requested to attend a Bishop’s Court to present my defense of the adultery I had confessed to in his office. Of course I didn’t attend. I had no interest of defending myself to a group of men who have never even met me and whose sole intent was to judge me. A week before Christmas I received a certified letter from the Bishop telling me I had been ex-communicated on the grounds of adultery and apostasy. The letter also said I was no longer allowed to pray in public or speak of the church or its practices and I would never be contacted by the church’s representatives again….(thank God). The only people I told I was ex-communicated were my older brother and the man I was involved with, who was also my best friend. I never wanted my children to know because I didn’t want them to think I was a bad person.

I couldn’t end this story without including postscript about what has happened since. About two months after I received my formal notice of ex-communication, my fifteen year old daughter let it slip one night as we were making dinner that she knew I was ex-communicated. I was shocked to hear this and asked her how she knew. She hemmed and hawed for a few minutes before admitting that her dad sat her and the other children down and told them one day after church.

She said the Bishop told her dad he needed to tell us so we wouldn’t be confused why I couldn’t go to their church activities or watch them perform in church, and they needed to pray for me since I was “going to hell”. (That’s a healthy thing to tell children, isn’t it?) They were also told they needed to stay close with their father and the church so they didn’t end up like me. So much for the “strictest of confidences” I had originally been promised. Apparently a church leader isn’t held accountable for lying. They should change their motto of “Families are Forever” to “Families are Forever as long as you do it our way”. Of course after hearing this information I pretty much went ballistic on my ex-husband and said a few choice and un-Mormon-like words about him and HIS bishop and HIS church and their interference in my relationship with my children. I used to think ex-communication is the worst thing that could happen. It’s not. Instead of feeling worthless, remorseful or sad, I actually feel free and reborn. Free of the burden I carried all of those years. I used to joke with a Mormon friend that “inactivity in the church was under-rated by active Mormons”. I no longer feel pressured to conform to rules that the rest of the world wasn’t required to do. I’ve discovered wonderful, spiritual people from a variety of religious faiths. I still consider myself a spiritual person, and still have a strong faith that there is a God and Christ is our Savior – and they haven’t abandoned me although his “representatives” have.

Do I pray? Not like a Mormon does. But I give thanks as I’m driving down the road for a beautiful day I’ve been given. It’s more like a conversation that includes care for others and protection for my children. And I’m thankful for my blessings – and yes – I still have blessings despite being labeled as a bad person by the church. I have a home that provides shelter (even though it’s a rented one). I have enough money to buy food and clothing for my children, I have good friends and a great job and am in good health and am thankful for my sense of humor which allows to me laugh at myself when others would cry. What a blessing those things are in my life! But more importantly – I discovered me. I discovered how strong I really am after “enduring” through the trials of life. I’ve discovered new passions that I never would have developed as a Mormon – like wine – and someday am determined to take wine tours all over the world as my knowledge increases. I like having my Sunday’s back where I am free to do whatever I want.

I am no longer judgmental of others and accept people for who they are and respect their thoughts and life choices. I think I’m more approachable as a mother. My children know they can tell me things they’d never tell their dad, and we’ll sit down and talk about things like sex and alcohol and drugs instead of telling them what to do. And believe it or not – I’m grateful I used to be Mormon. The church taught me the value of service and working hard and being honest in my every day dealings, which I still strive to be. But now I will be the judge if I’m making the right choices or not and hold myself accountable for my actions, not a stranger that claims to have authority over me and the power to punish. I will decide my value in life and will never again allow another person or organizations determine if I’m good enough or “worthy” to receive blessings. Am I perfect? No. I’ve made some whopper of mistakes and bad choices. But I’m not of so little worth that I should be cast aside forever. I’m glad my children are being taught the values of the church, and will continue to support their activity in church as long as THEY want to be involved. But if they decide differently – as my daughter has already done and my oldest son is leaning towards – I will support them just as strongly. Life doesn’t end when your membership in the church does. It will continue to go on and you will continue to learn and grow and laugh and cry. You will live! That’s the message I want others to have – especially those who are just starting down the path I’ve already walked down. You will be okay. In fact – you just might thrive.