I think this has come up in the comments before, but I've never really written about it. I haven't written much of anything lately, partially because we just finished a big move and I've been packing since the beginning of May, and partially because I haven't had a lot of angst related to my faith transition (and yeah, I'm still calling it that, because although I know what I've left behind, I still don't know where I'm going).
But I'm in the Feminist Mormon Housewives Facebook group, and they talk a lot about the temple in there. Mostly about garments, which I've never worn and probably never will wear. And you would think that should mean I just don't care about the conversations, not that they actually bother me. But they do. I've always had a lot of trouble with the idea of the temple.
When I was a senior in high school, my seminary teacher told us that when a couple gets married, the woman tells her new name to her husband, but the man does not tell his to his wife. Ever. She was pretty excited about this, actually, because she viewed her acceptance of it as a measure of faith (and that's what the lesson was on). I felt sick to my stomach.
And for the next eight years, every single time I thought about getting married in the temple, I felt sick to my stomach. Literally sick, and painfully. It was a really big deal to me. I usually ended up in tears, freaking out because I didn't see how I could get married in the temple, freaking out even more because I thought my revulsion was a sign of how unworthy I was to do so. After all, accepting things we don't understand is a measure of our faith, right? And obviously my faith was crap.
One Christmas vacation—just two weeks after I'd gotten engaged—I was home and having a discussion with my family. Some things came up, and I learned that it was possible that my horrible feelings about the temple were related to some childhood abuse. I was so relieved. That would mean it wasn't my fault, wasn't a worthiness issue. And it would mean that I might someday be able to get over it. I went back to BYU feeling much better about things.
But in the end, that knowledge wasn't the solution. I learned some more things about the temple and I've learned some more things about myself and the church. And those things—not whatever's left over from my childhood—are what have decided how I feel about the temple.
The frustrating thing is that I still feel uncomfortable thinking about it. Someone took a poll in that group the other day, asking how we all felt about ordinances. My answer was a combination of two of the responses: that I think ordinances and rituals are a nice human-made construct and are not necessary for salvation, but that for some people, the preparation for the ordinances is what is important. For some people, ritual is a big part of their religious experience. I'm not sure yet how I feel about it—either it isn't a big deal for me, or just the Mormon rituals aren't; I need to have some experience with other forms of religiosity to find out what I think.
All of which is to say that since I don't believe in it, I feel like it shouldn't still bother me. But I guess I've been having those feelings for a long time, and maybe they won't go away immediately just because my brain has decided they should.
Tuesday, June 19, 2012
Friday, May 18, 2012
Drifting
2008 was a pretty formative year for me, apparently. In a way, that year was the end of a whole phase of my life and the beginning of a new and completely different one. Two major things happened: I got married and I became a liberal.
I discovered politics in that year, and in finding my political identity I started losing friends. The first two were L, my roommate, and D, her older brother and a dear friend of a couple years. I still thought homosexuality was a sin back then, but I told them I didn't think BYU's new Honor Code statement was "in favor of homosexuality" simply because they changed the policy to say that only homosexual behavior, not attraction itself, would get you kicked out, and that made me their enemy. They said horrible things to me, called me "baby-killer" and "immoral," questioned my standing in the church and wrote incredibly offensive things to me on my blog. (Heard of Standard of Liberty? Their family. Run by their parents, and they actively participate.)
Next was B, with whom I'd always had a really friendly relationship. All of a sudden, over the space of a couple weeks, he started commenting on my political posts on Facebook, insulted my friends, told me progressives were "the cancer of America," and then announced that I was "a bad person" for disagreeing with him on the health care bill.
I don't really miss these friends, because the way they treated me was so unbelievably bad that no amount of good memories could cover it.
No, the problem is that my other friends are still friends with them. M, my best friend and room-roommate of three years, is also liberal (ish). She and I were always together in talking to D and L, and we would always talk to each other about how awful the things they were saying were. In fact, she still sends me messages sometimes telling me about some ridiculous insanity or other. But she's still friends with them. Like, good friends. She talks to them more than she talks to me.
Our other roommate, J, was also someone I was incredibly close to (she's the one I talked about here). I was just looking at her Facebook and saw that she'd been talking to D. This, on top of the things I wrote about in that post I just linked to, suddenly has me feeling that maybe... Maybe that phase of my life is just over. J used to tell me how much she loved having political discussions with me and seeing other perspectives. Ever since she got married she's gotten more and more conservative, and I don't feel like I can say something because she doesn't frame her thoughts in the form of a discussion—just says things like "President Obama lost my vote when he came out for gay marriage" and bears her testimony about how abortion should be illegal because a woman's body isn't her own, it's a gift from God.
So the point is that I don't really know if I see these friendships continuing into the future. We all live in different states now, none of us is especially good at keeping in touch long distance, and our political and religious beliefs are growing further and further apart. In fact, though they are already "concerned" about me because they read my blog, they don't even know the half of my disaffection with the LDS church, and I really don't know how they'll respond when they do. M I think would stick around even if she does mourn for me, but J... I don't know. I get the impression that her husband has a lot to do with her move to the right wing, and I won't be competition for that.
The real thing is that it bothers me that these women are still friends with people who treated me so horribly. It hurts, even three years later. I would absolutely not still be friends with someone who'd attacked my best friend's morals and called her a bad person. Am I just a better friend than they are? Do they like D and L and B better than they like me? Or is it just easier for them to maintain a relationship with people who aren't going against the grain of everything they've ever known? I think it's probably the last thing, but it doesn't really matter—they all come out to the same place. There's a big part of me right now that just wants to cut ties and move on. I'm never going to be a good Mormon girl again. They're both mothers now and I'll probably be childless until I'm 30. M is fairly liberal politically, but pretty conservative and orthodox church-wise. They were both born in Utah and aside from reading, we don't really have any hobbies in common anymore. They're still friendly with people who consider me an enemy of God. I just don't know how to work around that... Or if I have the energy to keep doing it.
I discovered politics in that year, and in finding my political identity I started losing friends. The first two were L, my roommate, and D, her older brother and a dear friend of a couple years. I still thought homosexuality was a sin back then, but I told them I didn't think BYU's new Honor Code statement was "in favor of homosexuality" simply because they changed the policy to say that only homosexual behavior, not attraction itself, would get you kicked out, and that made me their enemy. They said horrible things to me, called me "baby-killer" and "immoral," questioned my standing in the church and wrote incredibly offensive things to me on my blog. (Heard of Standard of Liberty? Their family. Run by their parents, and they actively participate.)
Next was B, with whom I'd always had a really friendly relationship. All of a sudden, over the space of a couple weeks, he started commenting on my political posts on Facebook, insulted my friends, told me progressives were "the cancer of America," and then announced that I was "a bad person" for disagreeing with him on the health care bill.
I don't really miss these friends, because the way they treated me was so unbelievably bad that no amount of good memories could cover it.
No, the problem is that my other friends are still friends with them. M, my best friend and room-roommate of three years, is also liberal (ish). She and I were always together in talking to D and L, and we would always talk to each other about how awful the things they were saying were. In fact, she still sends me messages sometimes telling me about some ridiculous insanity or other. But she's still friends with them. Like, good friends. She talks to them more than she talks to me.
Our other roommate, J, was also someone I was incredibly close to (she's the one I talked about here). I was just looking at her Facebook and saw that she'd been talking to D. This, on top of the things I wrote about in that post I just linked to, suddenly has me feeling that maybe... Maybe that phase of my life is just over. J used to tell me how much she loved having political discussions with me and seeing other perspectives. Ever since she got married she's gotten more and more conservative, and I don't feel like I can say something because she doesn't frame her thoughts in the form of a discussion—just says things like "President Obama lost my vote when he came out for gay marriage" and bears her testimony about how abortion should be illegal because a woman's body isn't her own, it's a gift from God.
So the point is that I don't really know if I see these friendships continuing into the future. We all live in different states now, none of us is especially good at keeping in touch long distance, and our political and religious beliefs are growing further and further apart. In fact, though they are already "concerned" about me because they read my blog, they don't even know the half of my disaffection with the LDS church, and I really don't know how they'll respond when they do. M I think would stick around even if she does mourn for me, but J... I don't know. I get the impression that her husband has a lot to do with her move to the right wing, and I won't be competition for that.
The real thing is that it bothers me that these women are still friends with people who treated me so horribly. It hurts, even three years later. I would absolutely not still be friends with someone who'd attacked my best friend's morals and called her a bad person. Am I just a better friend than they are? Do they like D and L and B better than they like me? Or is it just easier for them to maintain a relationship with people who aren't going against the grain of everything they've ever known? I think it's probably the last thing, but it doesn't really matter—they all come out to the same place. There's a big part of me right now that just wants to cut ties and move on. I'm never going to be a good Mormon girl again. They're both mothers now and I'll probably be childless until I'm 30. M is fairly liberal politically, but pretty conservative and orthodox church-wise. They were both born in Utah and aside from reading, we don't really have any hobbies in common anymore. They're still friendly with people who consider me an enemy of God. I just don't know how to work around that... Or if I have the energy to keep doing it.
Tuesday, May 1, 2012
Things to Keep
Several things conspired to bring about this post. (1) I tend to think about how I'll raise my future children a lot.
(2) Most of my cousins and friends are LDS and have kids, so my Pinterest feed is regularly flooded with things related to children and the church (sacrament meeting quiet books, scripture-story coloring books, Mr. T Mormonads, and printables, my goodness, when did these things become so popular?).
(3) I'm trying to get back to where I can see good things about the church—just for myself, and because I don't know what my status is going to be with the church right now as far as family goes.
So I saw the Mormonad and I laughed, because... Mr. T. But then I rolled my eyes at "choose the right" and was about to move on. And then I had a minor epiphany. If my kids are going to be involved with the church, I'm going to need to figure out which Mormon things I'm okay with and which I'm not. Modesty doctrine (the way Mormons do it)—not okay. Attitudes about homosexuality—not okay. "Follow the prophet", no; attitude toward politics (especially things like Prop 8 and the ERA), no.
But CTR—that's one I think I can use. It's a Mormon thing, yes, but the meaning isn't Mormon. My aversion to it is only because of my problems with the church right now, and I will of course teach my children to choose to do the right thing. What I teach them the right thing is will be different from the typical CTR definitions, but that's okay. They can wear the rings if they want, and that will be at least one thing they can have in common with the other kids. It will be at least one Mormon thing I don't hate, and it's the first to surface in my quest to remember the good things about the church.
This is progress for me, I think. This is encouraging.
Sunday, April 22, 2012
Guys! I Kind of Suck at Life.
Have you noticed? I keep wanting to take breaks, because I am something of an emotional basket case and I get really tired of feeling anxious and/or furious all the time. And then I keep cheating on my breaks, because... I don't know why. I really don't, I just have this thing in me that wants to be reading and posting things all the time. What is the deal? I said one week ago that I needed to stop reading anything political or controversial in any way, and all week long I've been cheating but then not letting myself post things so people wouldn't know I'd been cheating. It's kind of absurd.
The internet breaks are great, I'll be honest, because I read a ton and feel awesome for not sitting in front of a computer all day. But I just don't feel like that's... sustainable. I mean, am I really going to not use the internet for the rest of my life? So then I say I can use the internet but skip the controversial things, and I'm pretty sure that's even worse, because then I spend time online and it isn't even meaningful and I find myself doing that zoning out thing where I keep clicking around and then suddenly realize I've been online for an hour and haven't done anything.
Blech. You know what? We're moving to Salt Lake City. (I haven't really announced this anywhere, but I might as well since it's a month and a half away.) And I'm really excited for that, because I really hate Texas. It sucks out here, and we've had to live with my parents for the last year, and that sucks even more. I have two friends, one who lives 20 minutes away and one who lives 45 minutes away, and I don't see them very often, but when we do get together we don't really talk about things anyway so basically I don't have a real-life outlet, and that's why I'm excited to move to Salt Lake. I didn't want to move back to Utah, you know, but Mike really does, and I've decided that this is a really good compromise. I can live in a city, which I really want to do, and I will have a lot of like-minded friends nearby. I'll be able to go to things like Sunstone if I want to, and lectures and conferences and book clubs and feminist get-togethers. I won't be totally isolated in Rural Conservative Town, like I am now. And I think that's going to be really good.
I don't know if this post has a point. Hurray!
The internet breaks are great, I'll be honest, because I read a ton and feel awesome for not sitting in front of a computer all day. But I just don't feel like that's... sustainable. I mean, am I really going to not use the internet for the rest of my life? So then I say I can use the internet but skip the controversial things, and I'm pretty sure that's even worse, because then I spend time online and it isn't even meaningful and I find myself doing that zoning out thing where I keep clicking around and then suddenly realize I've been online for an hour and haven't done anything.
Blech. You know what? We're moving to Salt Lake City. (I haven't really announced this anywhere, but I might as well since it's a month and a half away.) And I'm really excited for that, because I really hate Texas. It sucks out here, and we've had to live with my parents for the last year, and that sucks even more. I have two friends, one who lives 20 minutes away and one who lives 45 minutes away, and I don't see them very often, but when we do get together we don't really talk about things anyway so basically I don't have a real-life outlet, and that's why I'm excited to move to Salt Lake. I didn't want to move back to Utah, you know, but Mike really does, and I've decided that this is a really good compromise. I can live in a city, which I really want to do, and I will have a lot of like-minded friends nearby. I'll be able to go to things like Sunstone if I want to, and lectures and conferences and book clubs and feminist get-togethers. I won't be totally isolated in Rural Conservative Town, like I am now. And I think that's going to be really good.
I don't know if this post has a point. Hurray!
Tuesday, April 10, 2012
Dwindling in Unbelief
I almost feel like this should be the new name of my blog, except that I noticed there already is a blog with that name, and I don't want to change mine anyway.
Ahem. What I mean to say is... I have finally come to the conclusion that I don't believe anymore. I don't believe the things that make Mormons Mormon.
I don't think Thomas Monson is in contact with God. I believe that the General Authorities are good men—I don't suspect them of deliberate deceit or having conscious ulterior motives—but I don't believe that God is talking to them any more than s/he talks to anyone else. I just can't not believe that if God really were directing a church to the extent that the LDS church claims to be directed, that church would be the first to recognize and denounce oppression and inequality in every form, instead of defending it tooth and nail (*cough*ERA*cough*). The LDS church is not exactly on top of things in this department, by which I mean that they are completely backward and even further behind than some other churches.
I don't have a testimony of the Book of Mormon, either—but then again, this is one thing I don't think I ever had, even when I was fully active and orthodox. And while I infinitely prefer the Bible to that book, I am also now very aware that the Bible was written by men, and therefore approach it with a significant amount of skepticism.
I've had this post—everything before this sentence—sitting in my drafts since the end of February, and I hadn't read it since I took a break from the internet at the beginning of March. Today I did, and it still fits, so I guess it's really true. I'll admit, I did a bit of backpedaling after first reading through it; not that I don't still feel that way, just that the words sounded a little stronger than I want them to. It's like... rather than believing actively that it's not true, I just lack the belief that it is. Which I'm pretty sure is just a copout response that tries to soften the blow but essentially says the same thing.
A couple days ago I was on my Goodreads profile and the section with my favorite quotes came up. I saw one from Brigham Young—and I realized that I no longer felt that sense of ownership I used to feel when I came across someone or something related to Mormons. Funnily enough, I still think the words of the quote are great in spite of the irony that goes with them:
I guess I used to feel some kind of... something, you know? when I read the name of one of the prophets somewhere in the secular world. Especially that one, because my university was the one bearing his name. But this time, I didn't.
Anyway. The great thing is that, thanks to this internet break, I've spent an entire month developing a kind of apathy toward the church. Apathy doesn't sound like a great thing, but since it's replacing anger and hurt and the manic frustration that comes with helplessness, it is indeed pretty great for me. The real triumph will be when I can maintain this apathy—at least to a certain extent—without the crutch of avoidance (which is what I've been doing for the last month). When I can read Feminist Mormon Housewives and the news without freaking out about the patriarchal shit being consistently shoved down everyone's throats, I'll know I'm good. Right now I'm shooting for medium-level avoidance, trying to break myself back in slowly and painlessly. We'll see how it goes.
Ahem. What I mean to say is... I have finally come to the conclusion that I don't believe anymore. I don't believe the things that make Mormons Mormon.
I don't think Thomas Monson is in contact with God. I believe that the General Authorities are good men—I don't suspect them of deliberate deceit or having conscious ulterior motives—but I don't believe that God is talking to them any more than s/he talks to anyone else. I just can't not believe that if God really were directing a church to the extent that the LDS church claims to be directed, that church would be the first to recognize and denounce oppression and inequality in every form, instead of defending it tooth and nail (*cough*ERA*cough*). The LDS church is not exactly on top of things in this department, by which I mean that they are completely backward and even further behind than some other churches.
I don't have a testimony of the Book of Mormon, either—but then again, this is one thing I don't think I ever had, even when I was fully active and orthodox. And while I infinitely prefer the Bible to that book, I am also now very aware that the Bible was written by men, and therefore approach it with a significant amount of skepticism.
I've had this post—everything before this sentence—sitting in my drafts since the end of February, and I hadn't read it since I took a break from the internet at the beginning of March. Today I did, and it still fits, so I guess it's really true. I'll admit, I did a bit of backpedaling after first reading through it; not that I don't still feel that way, just that the words sounded a little stronger than I want them to. It's like... rather than believing actively that it's not true, I just lack the belief that it is. Which I'm pretty sure is just a copout response that tries to soften the blow but essentially says the same thing.
A couple days ago I was on my Goodreads profile and the section with my favorite quotes came up. I saw one from Brigham Young—and I realized that I no longer felt that sense of ownership I used to feel when I came across someone or something related to Mormons. Funnily enough, I still think the words of the quote are great in spite of the irony that goes with them:
“I am more afraid that this people have so much confidence in their leaders that they will not inquire for themselves of God whether they are led by him. I am fearful they settle down in a state of blind self security. Let every man and woman know, by the whispering of the Spirit of God to themselves, whether their leaders are walking in the path the Lord dictates, or not.”
― Brigham Young
― Brigham Young
I guess I used to feel some kind of... something, you know? when I read the name of one of the prophets somewhere in the secular world. Especially that one, because my university was the one bearing his name. But this time, I didn't.
Anyway. The great thing is that, thanks to this internet break, I've spent an entire month developing a kind of apathy toward the church. Apathy doesn't sound like a great thing, but since it's replacing anger and hurt and the manic frustration that comes with helplessness, it is indeed pretty great for me. The real triumph will be when I can maintain this apathy—at least to a certain extent—without the crutch of avoidance (which is what I've been doing for the last month). When I can read Feminist Mormon Housewives and the news without freaking out about the patriarchal shit being consistently shoved down everyone's throats, I'll know I'm good. Right now I'm shooting for medium-level avoidance, trying to break myself back in slowly and painlessly. We'll see how it goes.
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