Finding decent articles and first hand experiences from the church has been both frustrating and enlightening. The bullshit the church has said--amazing. I knew about most of it, of course, but my god.
Still looking for first hand experiences, mostly by way of these questions:
1) How long did it take you to say phrases like "if i left the church"?
2) How long did it take you to go less- or in-active? To "break your covenants"?
3) (to above questions) WHY: Specifics, plz, especially regarding any teachings, scriptures, doctrines, lessons, quotes, etc. that fucked with your emotions and kept your drive to stay. The more honest the better. Don't be afraid to say you were offended (because, really, I was offended by the church's treatment of me and others, of polygamy and their sins of omission, etc). If it was something else, lemme know.
4) What emotions did you go through during and following your disaffection?
5) What did other people say? Leaders, friends, ward members, family, etc. I'm considering comparing language before leaving and after--because, yes. There's a HUGE difference. If you received one letter from a friend before leaving and then a more vitriolic response from the same friend later, I'm all for seeing it.
Thank you so much for those of you who've entrusted me with your stories so far. It means a lot.
(and so far I've only received one, one, response from a TBM. But she didn't really grasp what I was asking for. She simply told me why she thinks the church is true, not what she thinks the consequences are of leaving. Oh well. I was happy to have someone respond. Sigh)
you can email me at irreverency@att.net
thanks!
Showing posts with label leaving. Show all posts
Showing posts with label leaving. Show all posts
Sunday, March 20, 2011
Thursday, March 17, 2011
Call for Interviews
I can't wait any longer, and as a friend of mine reminded me--I can always get into the other topic at a different time (likely during my credential courses). As I'm still passionate about LDS issues, focusing on this would likely make my life a lot easier.
SO. I'm still working on the questions, but I need to interview people regarding what it was or is like to doubt/struggle with beliefs/leave the church--officially or unofficially. I won't end up interviewing everyone who offers (I only need 5 primary sources), but I need to know what I'm working with here.
So, aside from interviews, here's what I'm looking for:
- You Tube videos about leaving the church and how the church made the process a pain in the ass, please let me know about it. I'm looking at the moment but if I can find better sources, it would really help. (This could also include specific "I am a Mormon" videos which mention at all why the church is teh best and leaving is scary scary or otherwise bad)
- A scanned copy of the "please stay, [non-apology apology]" pamphlet they send out.
- Stories from those who had to fight like hell to get out of the church (after sending the letter, the church tried to excommunicate them, or otherwise made the process linger--including visits from local leaders)
- Any great articles. I've already got Jeff Holland's piece of shit temper-tantrum talk from the last conference.
- Exit stories on your blog or anyone elses, specifically stories which mention difficulty in leaving because of church authority or other members' impassioned pleas that you review your faith, your testimony, and your history. Members who implore that you repent. Doubts you had and what made you stay despite those doubts.
- Emails or letters you wouldn't mind sharing from stake/ward members, friends or family who freaked out when you left, etc.
- If you are an active member and you're reading this, a letter/comment/whatever telling me why you think leaving the church is a bad idea.
- Blog posts or comments of/from faithful members denouncing doubt, your anger, etc. A post admonishing people to "focus on the good," or talking about how "the church is perfect, but the people aren't." I'm looking for language, here, reasons leaving is not a good idea.
- Pictures, advertisements, etc.
- Anything else you think would help.
Also, I know there are sites out there notorious for their super-anti stance, like The Mormon Curtain and otherwise. I don't doubt the veracity of these sites so much, but I need something that most people would respect, including members. Evidences where the emotions are there, but not insane. Does that make sense? I'd just rather avoid shit akin to "Godmakers," ya dig?
Thank you so much. I appreciate it a lot.
**I asked a few of my super-faithful friends for help, too (including one of my VTs). Think they'll be into it? We'll see. I figure they might fear I'll go apeshit on my project about how lame the church is OR they'll figure it's a great missionary moment. Who knows. I hope they respond.
SO. I'm still working on the questions, but I need to interview people regarding what it was or is like to doubt/struggle with beliefs/leave the church--officially or unofficially. I won't end up interviewing everyone who offers (I only need 5 primary sources), but I need to know what I'm working with here.
Please keep in mind, I'm looking for language RE: retention (the church's efforts to keep members in the church, especially preemptive efforts) and how it manipulates emotions and thoughts or skews logic--in any medium.
So, aside from interviews, here's what I'm looking for:
- You Tube videos about leaving the church and how the church made the process a pain in the ass, please let me know about it. I'm looking at the moment but if I can find better sources, it would really help. (This could also include specific "I am a Mormon" videos which mention at all why the church is teh best and leaving is scary scary or otherwise bad)
- A scanned copy of the "please stay, [non-apology apology]" pamphlet they send out.
- Stories from those who had to fight like hell to get out of the church (after sending the letter, the church tried to excommunicate them, or otherwise made the process linger--including visits from local leaders)
- Any great articles. I've already got Jeff Holland's piece of shit temper-tantrum talk from the last conference.
- Exit stories on your blog or anyone elses, specifically stories which mention difficulty in leaving because of church authority or other members' impassioned pleas that you review your faith, your testimony, and your history. Members who implore that you repent. Doubts you had and what made you stay despite those doubts.
- Emails or letters you wouldn't mind sharing from stake/ward members, friends or family who freaked out when you left, etc.
- If you are an active member and you're reading this, a letter/comment/whatever telling me why you think leaving the church is a bad idea.
- Blog posts or comments of/from faithful members denouncing doubt, your anger, etc. A post admonishing people to "focus on the good," or talking about how "the church is perfect, but the people aren't." I'm looking for language, here, reasons leaving is not a good idea.
- Pictures, advertisements, etc.
- Anything else you think would help.
Also, I know there are sites out there notorious for their super-anti stance, like The Mormon Curtain and otherwise. I don't doubt the veracity of these sites so much, but I need something that most people would respect, including members. Evidences where the emotions are there, but not insane. Does that make sense? I'd just rather avoid shit akin to "Godmakers," ya dig?
Thank you so much. I appreciate it a lot.
**I asked a few of my super-faithful friends for help, too (including one of my VTs). Think they'll be into it? We'll see. I figure they might fear I'll go apeshit on my project about how lame the church is OR they'll figure it's a great missionary moment. Who knows. I hope they respond.
Sunday, March 13, 2011
Retention via Obedience
You'll probably hear a lot about this in the next week or two. I can't decide whether to analyze the language of retention rhetoric in the church or focus on the current climate surrounding the "problem" of teachers.
The first is easy, though maddening. I do wonder if it would help me get over everything. It's not difficult to point out various aspects of the church's strategy to keep people in, but to lay it all out at once and see it all for what it is might help.
Then again, what am I learning? And would it help anyone else out--not the faithful, but the fringe perhaps? The non-member? Those who tell me (as I was told on friday) to focus on the rhetoric of conversion because "leaving the church is easy"?
(i corrected her tout de suite. i don't know if she was a member or just ignorant, but it didn't matter--i've grown to have an automatic impassioned response for such bullshit)
In looking at the church issue I've run into loads of it. Like this:
I've heard similar BS in my own wards. Like the time my Gospel Doctrine teacher told the story of a couple invited to meet with the stake president, who would ask the husband to a rather burdensome position--bishop? Anyway, apparently the SP asked the wife if she would support this calling. She said "I don't like it." The SP said, "Too bad."
My Gospel Doctrine class, with the exception of my husband and I, laughed.
They laughed.
It's just, you know. Really?
And it's everywhere.
And I've done this for 2 1/2 years myself. All this would result in is a more nuanced understanding of one aspect and a paper. I don't particularly care anymore if there's a member in my class who might get his or her feathers in a ruffle over this--they need to know. And they probably won't. Members are olympiads when it comes to mental gymnastics.
So.
The other issue gets me off the church mindset. It would help me focus on a field I'm looking to enter into in a few years. It's part of many related issues I don't know a lot about, other than what I've seen in my own family for the last 2 1/2 years and through my interactions with my kids' teachers--not to mention the experiences I've heard from friends of mine. In that way it'd likely be educational for me as well. Right now I'm thinking of looking at what I see as the current focus--salary--and the rhetoric surrounding the argument.
Or something like that.
That, and Jon Stewart provides me with more than one fantastic commentary I could use.
I love me some Jon Stewart.
The first is easy, though maddening. I do wonder if it would help me get over everything. It's not difficult to point out various aspects of the church's strategy to keep people in, but to lay it all out at once and see it all for what it is might help.
Then again, what am I learning? And would it help anyone else out--not the faithful, but the fringe perhaps? The non-member? Those who tell me (as I was told on friday) to focus on the rhetoric of conversion because "leaving the church is easy"?
(i corrected her tout de suite. i don't know if she was a member or just ignorant, but it didn't matter--i've grown to have an automatic impassioned response for such bullshit)
In looking at the church issue I've run into loads of it. Like this:
To obey means to follow and to accept direction...I was impressed by the remarks of Elder A. Theodore Tuttle of the First Council of the Seventy, when he asked a young man if he was preparing to go on a mission. The young man replied, ‘I don’t want to go on a mission.’ Elder Tuttle’s response was, ‘What does that matter? The Lord wants you to go.’ This is a perfect example of how the law of obedience should be exercised -- Keith Brian Rutledge, in Conference Report, Melbourne Australia Area Conference 1976, p. 18. via "Lesson 34: Obedience," Aaronic Priesthood Manual 1, (2002)
I've heard similar BS in my own wards. Like the time my Gospel Doctrine teacher told the story of a couple invited to meet with the stake president, who would ask the husband to a rather burdensome position--bishop? Anyway, apparently the SP asked the wife if she would support this calling. She said "I don't like it." The SP said, "Too bad."
My Gospel Doctrine class, with the exception of my husband and I, laughed.
They laughed.
It's just, you know. Really?
And it's everywhere.
And I've done this for 2 1/2 years myself. All this would result in is a more nuanced understanding of one aspect and a paper. I don't particularly care anymore if there's a member in my class who might get his or her feathers in a ruffle over this--they need to know. And they probably won't. Members are olympiads when it comes to mental gymnastics.
So.
The other issue gets me off the church mindset. It would help me focus on a field I'm looking to enter into in a few years. It's part of many related issues I don't know a lot about, other than what I've seen in my own family for the last 2 1/2 years and through my interactions with my kids' teachers--not to mention the experiences I've heard from friends of mine. In that way it'd likely be educational for me as well. Right now I'm thinking of looking at what I see as the current focus--salary--and the rhetoric surrounding the argument.
Or something like that.
That, and Jon Stewart provides me with more than one fantastic commentary I could use.
I love me some Jon Stewart.
Friday, March 11, 2011
"What is THIS?"
The other week, my husband threw his temple clothes on our bedroom floor so he could use the bag for something better.
It takes him a while for some of this stuff. Then again, I think I still have mine. Not because I'm attached, but it's like a bad souvenir. I don't know how to explain it.
ANYWAY, my daughter comes out of the room a few days later with the apron wrapped around her waist. She's staring at the thing like it's completely foreign.
"What is this?!" she asks.
I died laughing. I don't remember what I told her. We try to be respectful but not entirely--don't need her thinking badly of her family, but you know. It is weird. I think most members would admit that if they felt no one else would hear them.
Story 2.
The other day a woman joined an ex-mormon facebook group* who had a last name I'm SO FAMILIAR with. It's Squeaky's last name. Remembering stories about how all people with this last name are related, I told her "you are legion in my town." Turns out, her husband is Squeaky's husband's cousin. I even knew her husband--kinda--had heard of him.
They LEFT THE CHURCH four weeks ago. Like, right away--no process, just "omg, we're outta here." Tossed the garments. Told most everyone. Her in-laws wrote them a letter, calling them to repentance for the sin they obviously committed. She's already lost friends.
I never would've guessed this guy would leave the church, just by virtue of his name and family--they're ridiculous in the church, but then again so many of them are leaving right now. Of course, this particular couple lives in Oklahoma now and not California--so that sucks--but still, it was validating.
It was validating. I don't know how to explain that. It's not that I questioned myself, but it's nice to have someone a little closer to home who's going through the same thing.
Something seriously offended her. I know that's a bad word to use, but she discovered something bad enough to shake her from her TBM-ness. And not only her family, but two or three other families in her WARD. All at once, they've left.
NOT ONLY THAT, but a temple president from their stake had left a few years before. A temple-fucking-president. He prefers to remain low-profile, but apparently he ran into some serious incongruities and wrote a few letters to the First Presidency. They initially went ignored, but the squeaky wheel gets the grease. A Seventy finally wrote a letter back, basically telling him to forget about the truths he discovered.
A. temple. president. I respect his wishes to remain under the radar, but could you imagine if he went public? It would be amazing. Some discussion is online, but the story in its entirety remains unpublicized.
*this group is secret and won't show up in any searches, and it's a bit of an effort to get in if the admin doesn't already know you--they're very careful about keeping things safe for apostates and free of trolls. if you're interested in joining, lemme know. i'll see what i can do to hook you up.
It takes him a while for some of this stuff. Then again, I think I still have mine. Not because I'm attached, but it's like a bad souvenir. I don't know how to explain it.
ANYWAY, my daughter comes out of the room a few days later with the apron wrapped around her waist. She's staring at the thing like it's completely foreign.
"What is this?!" she asks.
I died laughing. I don't remember what I told her. We try to be respectful but not entirely--don't need her thinking badly of her family, but you know. It is weird. I think most members would admit that if they felt no one else would hear them.
Story 2.
The other day a woman joined an ex-mormon facebook group* who had a last name I'm SO FAMILIAR with. It's Squeaky's last name. Remembering stories about how all people with this last name are related, I told her "you are legion in my town." Turns out, her husband is Squeaky's husband's cousin. I even knew her husband--kinda--had heard of him.
They LEFT THE CHURCH four weeks ago. Like, right away--no process, just "omg, we're outta here." Tossed the garments. Told most everyone. Her in-laws wrote them a letter, calling them to repentance for the sin they obviously committed. She's already lost friends.
I never would've guessed this guy would leave the church, just by virtue of his name and family--they're ridiculous in the church, but then again so many of them are leaving right now. Of course, this particular couple lives in Oklahoma now and not California--so that sucks--but still, it was validating.
It was validating. I don't know how to explain that. It's not that I questioned myself, but it's nice to have someone a little closer to home who's going through the same thing.
Something seriously offended her. I know that's a bad word to use, but she discovered something bad enough to shake her from her TBM-ness. And not only her family, but two or three other families in her WARD. All at once, they've left.
NOT ONLY THAT, but a temple president from their stake had left a few years before. A temple-fucking-president. He prefers to remain low-profile, but apparently he ran into some serious incongruities and wrote a few letters to the First Presidency. They initially went ignored, but the squeaky wheel gets the grease. A Seventy finally wrote a letter back, basically telling him to forget about the truths he discovered.
A. temple. president. I respect his wishes to remain under the radar, but could you imagine if he went public? It would be amazing. Some discussion is online, but the story in its entirety remains unpublicized.
*this group is secret and won't show up in any searches, and it's a bit of an effort to get in if the admin doesn't already know you--they're very careful about keeping things safe for apostates and free of trolls. if you're interested in joining, lemme know. i'll see what i can do to hook you up.
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Outdated
I've concluded that being Mormon sets a person back about 5-10 years. At least. More the longer you're in. The more Molly or Peter you are.
I mean, seriously. Eric and I are just discovering some of these shows.
At first we watched That 70s Show but quickly decided it was rather unworthy for our delicate eyes and ears. We didn't really subscribe to cable back in those days as it was, so it was that or Dharma and Greg which as I remember was a fantastic show.
But I digress.
These days we're watching shows like Arrested Development, Flight of the Conchords, catching up a bit on South Park (at least I am--it was brand new for him), Curb Your Enthusiasm, Big Love, True Blood, etc. The Tudors. There's more. I just can't think for shit lately--but you get the idea.
GOOD SHOWS. And movies, too. I gave up on good movies right around the time that American Beauty came out. I was in my room when my family watched that show because I knew it was unworthy. God. Still have yet to watch that one.
I don't get it. We were too busy watching crap reality shows when this stuff was on. Stuff we never would've watched.
At least we had Gilmore Girls--when Rory and Paris didn't have their little girl-on-girl kiss during Spring Break. Like Seinfeld when they weren't having "The Contest"--which we now find absolutely hilarious.
I know in the eternal scheme of things this is rather lame, but I'm just now getting all the one-liners.
My favorite so far:
you know what time it is when i'm down to just my socks? it's time for business. that's why they're called business socks.
A friend of mine had the last bit on her MySpace page. I didn't get it. I thought she was being random. No. Flight of the Conchords. For reals, people. Watch the show.
Then again, maybe you already have.
Or not?
Monday, November 8, 2010
SF Trip
There's so much to say, but for today I'm going to keep it to a short summary of my trip yesterday:
I was fortunate to meet Donna of Ward Gossip and a few other couples yesterday at a meeting of post-mormons at the Ferry Building in San Francisco. I'll admit I wasn't entirely sure what to expect and I think it took both my husband and I a moment to adjust.
SO WEIRD.
Blood and flesh and bone and whatever people bitching about the church! In front of me! Weird! I see it online all the time, but I never ever ever see or hear it in person. Not with knowledgeable people. Insiders. People who are obviously hurting. I feel so alone here, which is the reason for this blog--but there are others out there. It's so good to know.
We met next to a Peet's Coffee (and a book store--oh how I wish we had time and money!) and then Donna broke out the champagne to toast one of the absent members, who, I believe, just welcomed a new baby into the world (thank you for the champagne, Donna!). Eric and I were the youngest as far as how long it has been since we've gone inactive.
It is incredibly sad and maddening what the church does to its disenchanted members. It robs people of things both physical and not. It turns adults into children.
...Well, it treats its adults like children so I suppose that isn't entirely surprising.
I especially liked that Eric was able to vent a little bit. I wasn't sure if he'd jump in or not, but he really enjoyed himself.
My children stayed, as you know, with my SIL and headed off to church with them. I wondered how they'd do--namely if they'd be excited about it or want to go back.
The verdict? Abbie was more thrilled about the snacks and having her hair straightened and being virtual twins with her cousin. Church, she said with exasperation, was "boring!" But more specifically primary.
Jason didn't say much. Joseph told us that he learned about Jesus and had cookies. I wanted to ask him what he thought about Jesus, but as he didn't take it any further, I left it alone. It was late and he fell asleep in the car about five seconds later anyway.
When I checked all my stuff on the computer later that night, I discovered an email from H (Glenn Beck lovin' tea parting...you get the idea). She taught Joseph's class and said that he is just such a polite and nice boy and I must be doing something right!
Now my more cynical side says "for an apostate?" but I want to give her the benefit of the doubt. She means well. It was a compliment. As insane and extremist and naive as she is, she does always mean well and has always tried to be respectful. Sometimes I think we're more alike than not and that's why we butt heads. What tickles me is how I saw her a few weeks ago at my niece's birthday party and she said "hi" and left me alone for the rest of the time she was there. I dunno. She followed my last blog and after a while told me she couldn't handle it anymore. Happens.
But! good trip. Great people. Eric got to see more of San Francisco than he's ever seen--I can't believe he's never been through Golden Gate Park. Now he wants to take the kids there. On the way back, we drove through the Castro District (it's not hard to realize you're in the Castro District OR Haight-Ashbury--not the people so much, but the plethora of rainbow flags). Also saw where a friend of mine works and wanted to stop by, but we were late as it was. Next time.
Oh--one last thing. I'm 99.999% sure SIL and her husband know we don't go to church anymore. Apparently they decided to look through old boxes of their son's old church suits and dressed up my boys in it. God, I miss my boys and my man in a suit. So handsome. Anyway, as we were leaving Jason asked if he could keep the suit. I double-checked with SIL's husband and he said "y'know, it doesn't matter to me. I don't know how often you'll use them, but I don't care." It was clear he knew we just don't have a regular need for church clothes.
They're very cool about it. One reason I wasn't sure if she knew is because, historically, when she's upset she wears it on her sleeve but won't talk about it. She's been nothing but normal lately.
I don't know how we lucked out. Especially after hearing some of the stories at the group. Everyone needs my in-laws as their family. Their silence makes me nervous sometimes, and I'm sure they think it's just a phase as they've seen so often in others, but I'm grateful to not have to experience what so many have to experience. It really is awful--abusive and hateful and totally antithetical to what these members claim to embrace. These member families and friends are scared. I saw and experienced some of that from my own family when I joined. Being scared doesn't justify it or make it easier by any means, but it explains it a little. I hope for all of you who experience abusive reactions that time will help to heal, or that at the very least you'll find family and friends of your own who will be a support to you that you need. What I've lost is nothing compared to what others are losing.
As much as I enjoyed myself at the meeting yesterday, it made me wonder if I need more of a Post-Christianity group. As far as I could tell, everyone there was a lifetime member. As much as I embraced and internalized teh gospel, I've always known something else. I may have never wanted to go back to that, I may still be scared of it, but I've always known there was a world outside the church. And, not to say it the way it'll sound, I've always had a bit of a mind of my own. That's something.
Religion turns adults into scared little kids. I'm done with that shit.
<3
I was fortunate to meet Donna of Ward Gossip and a few other couples yesterday at a meeting of post-mormons at the Ferry Building in San Francisco. I'll admit I wasn't entirely sure what to expect and I think it took both my husband and I a moment to adjust.
SO WEIRD.
Blood and flesh and bone and whatever people bitching about the church! In front of me! Weird! I see it online all the time, but I never ever ever see or hear it in person. Not with knowledgeable people. Insiders. People who are obviously hurting. I feel so alone here, which is the reason for this blog--but there are others out there. It's so good to know.
We met next to a Peet's Coffee (and a book store--oh how I wish we had time and money!) and then Donna broke out the champagne to toast one of the absent members, who, I believe, just welcomed a new baby into the world (thank you for the champagne, Donna!). Eric and I were the youngest as far as how long it has been since we've gone inactive.
It is incredibly sad and maddening what the church does to its disenchanted members. It robs people of things both physical and not. It turns adults into children.
...Well, it treats its adults like children so I suppose that isn't entirely surprising.
I especially liked that Eric was able to vent a little bit. I wasn't sure if he'd jump in or not, but he really enjoyed himself.
My children stayed, as you know, with my SIL and headed off to church with them. I wondered how they'd do--namely if they'd be excited about it or want to go back.
The verdict? Abbie was more thrilled about the snacks and having her hair straightened and being virtual twins with her cousin. Church, she said with exasperation, was "boring!" But more specifically primary.
Jason didn't say much. Joseph told us that he learned about Jesus and had cookies. I wanted to ask him what he thought about Jesus, but as he didn't take it any further, I left it alone. It was late and he fell asleep in the car about five seconds later anyway.
When I checked all my stuff on the computer later that night, I discovered an email from H (Glenn Beck lovin' tea parting...you get the idea). She taught Joseph's class and said that he is just such a polite and nice boy and I must be doing something right!
Now my more cynical side says "for an apostate?" but I want to give her the benefit of the doubt. She means well. It was a compliment. As insane and extremist and naive as she is, she does always mean well and has always tried to be respectful. Sometimes I think we're more alike than not and that's why we butt heads. What tickles me is how I saw her a few weeks ago at my niece's birthday party and she said "hi" and left me alone for the rest of the time she was there. I dunno. She followed my last blog and after a while told me she couldn't handle it anymore. Happens.
But! good trip. Great people. Eric got to see more of San Francisco than he's ever seen--I can't believe he's never been through Golden Gate Park. Now he wants to take the kids there. On the way back, we drove through the Castro District (it's not hard to realize you're in the Castro District OR Haight-Ashbury--not the people so much, but the plethora of rainbow flags). Also saw where a friend of mine works and wanted to stop by, but we were late as it was. Next time.
Oh--one last thing. I'm 99.999% sure SIL and her husband know we don't go to church anymore. Apparently they decided to look through old boxes of their son's old church suits and dressed up my boys in it. God, I miss my boys and my man in a suit. So handsome. Anyway, as we were leaving Jason asked if he could keep the suit. I double-checked with SIL's husband and he said "y'know, it doesn't matter to me. I don't know how often you'll use them, but I don't care." It was clear he knew we just don't have a regular need for church clothes.
They're very cool about it. One reason I wasn't sure if she knew is because, historically, when she's upset she wears it on her sleeve but won't talk about it. She's been nothing but normal lately.
I don't know how we lucked out. Especially after hearing some of the stories at the group. Everyone needs my in-laws as their family. Their silence makes me nervous sometimes, and I'm sure they think it's just a phase as they've seen so often in others, but I'm grateful to not have to experience what so many have to experience. It really is awful--abusive and hateful and totally antithetical to what these members claim to embrace. These member families and friends are scared. I saw and experienced some of that from my own family when I joined. Being scared doesn't justify it or make it easier by any means, but it explains it a little. I hope for all of you who experience abusive reactions that time will help to heal, or that at the very least you'll find family and friends of your own who will be a support to you that you need. What I've lost is nothing compared to what others are losing.
As much as I enjoyed myself at the meeting yesterday, it made me wonder if I need more of a Post-Christianity group. As far as I could tell, everyone there was a lifetime member. As much as I embraced and internalized teh gospel, I've always known something else. I may have never wanted to go back to that, I may still be scared of it, but I've always known there was a world outside the church. And, not to say it the way it'll sound, I've always had a bit of a mind of my own. That's something.
Religion turns adults into scared little kids. I'm done with that shit.
<3
Thursday, November 4, 2010
Yes.
I can't seem to see very much outside the frame of my relationship with religion these days, and this song is no different.
But it raises a different question: lyrics or music? I'm a lyrics girl, myself. But I do appreciate good music as well.
But it raises a different question: lyrics or music? I'm a lyrics girl, myself. But I do appreciate good music as well.
I Feel Weird
Steel Train, "Trampoline" (2007)
When I was eighteen everything was alive
Then the planes hit the towers
Then she died and he died
A part of me disappeared six feet in the ground
A million miles in the sky a fire burns,
A fire burns, a fire burns and it is mine
And I did what I did
What we did to survive
Five whole years of my life I spent mourning you and why?
Girl you're still alive
But you're too dead to keep inside
You take the years, you keep it all, I finally think I might be alright
So let's just let it all go cause nothing can change
And if something is lost then there's something to frame
I just sing what I have
And I got this girl, not yet crushed by the world
I'll count the freckles on her face one, two, three hundred times a day
And sing a new song
Something I'd never hear
It's better love that I found, bigger love that you fear
So deep inside me, hot in this frozen cave
Her fire burns, her fire burns, her fire burns and it is brave
When I was eighteen everything was alive
Then the planes hit the towers
Then she died, then he died
A part of me disappeared six feet in the ground
A million miles in the sky a fire burns,
A fire burns, and I just let it all go
I won't fear change
And if something is lost then there is something to frame
I'll just sing what I have in the heavens above
In the song in the sky a fire burns,
A fire burns, a fire burns and its for you
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
WTF, god?
I'm pretty empty of inspiration these days, and what I can get out of me doesn't end up all that cohesive. So I thought I'd take an oldie but a goodie from my livejournal account.
From August 10, 2009
I prided myself in my intuition, if you would call it that. Fellow LDS would consider it the spirit of discernment. I was a Mormon psychic, in a way. But I loved how I just knew things. I knew I'd be married before I could even put in my papers for a mission--and I knew I would marry Eric specifically before I even met him. I can't explain it. Not even now.
But this--this came only five months after Jason was born. Our little red Kia sped along Highway 680 to Oakland to participate in the temple endowment session; Eric was at the wheel, my eyes were fixed on the rolling landscape around us. The car was quiet.
Then, it seemed, the world around me slowed and cleared, and I knew I was supposed to have another baby. Soon.
Abbie was eight months old when we decided to have Jason. The pregnancy with Jason proved more difficult, probably by virtue of having a toddler around, still in diapers. Not to mention the severe case of baby blues I suffered with after he was born--we had just returned home from a hospital in Sacramento where Abbie underwent surgery and dealt with some complications. And my family was not as excited about Jason's arrival, so nobody was at the hospital. Jason came early, too, just by a week but enough to make it impossible. Eric had to work nights during that week, not to mention a full load at school. I was alone with a new baby. When Abbie was born, she was taken away at twelve hours old to a new hospital, and so I had no idea what to do with a newborn baby boy. The nurses certainly weren't of any help.
It became increasingly difficult to find a reason to get out of bed.
So with my revelation--almost as strong, if not stronger than the one I had regarding Eric--came astonishment. Add to the mix a very personal but very universe shattering experience I will not discuss here, and I just wanted to be done for a while. To be normal. To be a parent to the two kids I had--two kids I'm almost comfortable enough to say came from expectation and probably a dash of immaturity rather than so-called "revelation." This time I didn't want to be pregnant again. I didn't want to go through the bullshit.
But Eric said he had the same impression. Without my pressing for it.
We were taught to never question God's will, that the faithful follow without hesitation. I was a martyr, after all. It lent an air of strength, of resiliency. I had always taken a certain pride in doing impossible things, and this was in so many ways an impossible request. I figured the impression was so strong as to overshadow my doubt. This was a must.
Still, it brought me to tears and a few screaming sessions. I tried to rationalize something else. Maybe we could wait. God wouldn't want this for me. Not now. Besides, we couldn't afford it. Eric didn't have a job that would support three kids. His employer had just made it crystal clear his chances for promotion were slim to not-a-chance-in-hell. We had one car and lived in a small apartment. We struggled to get laundry done--so if we were to have another baby, we'd have to move. Again. Into a more expensive place.
But I sucked it up. This was my time, nobody else's, to pull up my pants, strap up my boots, and just do what God asked me to. After all, he'd asked more impossible things of others. This was a test of my faith.
Joseph arrived nine months later at 11:30am on the dot, December 26, 2005.
This was quite literally one of the hardest things I've ever had to even initiate on a few levels. But things worked out. A head clerk position opened up at the store for twice a week and Eric grabbed it right up. Then we took out a student loan to supplement our savings to buy a mini van. And we moved only three months after Joseph's arrival into another two bedroom apartment (couldn't afford a three) with a washer and dryer.
The following June, I found myself getting three hours of sleep a night and writhing under the pain of daily migraines. I had little to no help since Eric was gone all the time, either sleeping, at school, or studying. I had to deal with this alone, and the kids suffered because of it. I was worrying about when we would be able to get into a bigger place, trying to control things I had absolutely no control over. But I couldn't stop. I had to know if we could move in a year, if he would get a job, I wanted a house, etc, etc. This went on for months, but it wasn't until late July, desperate, I decided to see a doctor. I wanted to know if she'd give me some muscle relaxers. I'd been to see her six months prior for sinus headaches, but the sinus headaches always blossomed into migraines. And I wasn't sleeping. It wasn't fair to the kids, not at all.
Instead, and after listening to my stories, she determined I had Generalized Anxiety Disorder and put me on Cymbalta.
It was like a revelation. I was outgoing, chatty, and not afraid anymore. I didn't feel compelled to control everything anymore. I had more patience with the kids, with Eric, and with myself. And although the manic-like honeymoon period lasted only a week or so, I still felt great. In time, however, I discovered I suffered a side effect I didn't want to live with (I drenched myself in sweat just by unloading the dishwasher--no exaggeration). So I went back to my doctor. She placed me on Wellbutrin which only made things worse.
I went through at least four different pills. After the Wellbutrin I discovered the pills would only work for a little while. I kept going back.
"This isn't working."
"Okay, let's try this," my doctor would say.
Finally, and only about four months ago, I threw my arms in the air. Nothing was working. In a bout of desperation I went to a counselor who suggested I was to my ears in depression.
I went to my doctor, who has known me for some years now, with that knowledge and she wondered aloud if I could be bipolar. I dismissed her with a wave--no, I said. i've never experienced a manic episode.
Of course, to my knowledge, bipolar was the extreme. People who jumped off cliffs and did stupid scary shit all the time. But on my drive home from that appointment, things came to my mind: times I had needed little to no sleep, times I hurt myself on purpose to make the anger and hurt go away, racing thoughts and words, compulsions, obsessions--unbearable forgetfulness. Times I felt I could do anything only for it to go away the next week. Times I woke up early and spring-cleaned the entire house before 7:30 in the morning. Times of uncharacteristic and sudden aggression. Times I often forget about so I write them down. I have to remember.
So I went home and I researched it out and discovered the different kinds of bipolar. In tears, I called a friend of mine whom I've known for a while now who suffers from the mental disorder.
"I've wondered about you for a while," she said. "I just didn't want to say anything."
Eric said the same thing.
I called my doctor. "What's that you said about bipolar?"
I don't want anymore of his revelations if this is what it means. It's affected my family negatively. It brought me from being an overanxious but patient mother of one to a bipolar mother of three.
And though I wouldn't consider this an active part of my disaffection, it's yet another thing for me to be angry about. What is the point of hearing from God if it brings me to this low?
Why would I want to hear any more?
From August 10, 2009
I prided myself in my intuition, if you would call it that. Fellow LDS would consider it the spirit of discernment. I was a Mormon psychic, in a way. But I loved how I just knew things. I knew I'd be married before I could even put in my papers for a mission--and I knew I would marry Eric specifically before I even met him. I can't explain it. Not even now.
But this--this came only five months after Jason was born. Our little red Kia sped along Highway 680 to Oakland to participate in the temple endowment session; Eric was at the wheel, my eyes were fixed on the rolling landscape around us. The car was quiet.
Then, it seemed, the world around me slowed and cleared, and I knew I was supposed to have another baby. Soon.
Abbie was eight months old when we decided to have Jason. The pregnancy with Jason proved more difficult, probably by virtue of having a toddler around, still in diapers. Not to mention the severe case of baby blues I suffered with after he was born--we had just returned home from a hospital in Sacramento where Abbie underwent surgery and dealt with some complications. And my family was not as excited about Jason's arrival, so nobody was at the hospital. Jason came early, too, just by a week but enough to make it impossible. Eric had to work nights during that week, not to mention a full load at school. I was alone with a new baby. When Abbie was born, she was taken away at twelve hours old to a new hospital, and so I had no idea what to do with a newborn baby boy. The nurses certainly weren't of any help.
It became increasingly difficult to find a reason to get out of bed.
So with my revelation--almost as strong, if not stronger than the one I had regarding Eric--came astonishment. Add to the mix a very personal but very universe shattering experience I will not discuss here, and I just wanted to be done for a while. To be normal. To be a parent to the two kids I had--two kids I'm almost comfortable enough to say came from expectation and probably a dash of immaturity rather than so-called "revelation." This time I didn't want to be pregnant again. I didn't want to go through the bullshit.
But Eric said he had the same impression. Without my pressing for it.
We were taught to never question God's will, that the faithful follow without hesitation. I was a martyr, after all. It lent an air of strength, of resiliency. I had always taken a certain pride in doing impossible things, and this was in so many ways an impossible request. I figured the impression was so strong as to overshadow my doubt. This was a must.
Still, it brought me to tears and a few screaming sessions. I tried to rationalize something else. Maybe we could wait. God wouldn't want this for me. Not now. Besides, we couldn't afford it. Eric didn't have a job that would support three kids. His employer had just made it crystal clear his chances for promotion were slim to not-a-chance-in-hell. We had one car and lived in a small apartment. We struggled to get laundry done--so if we were to have another baby, we'd have to move. Again. Into a more expensive place.
But I sucked it up. This was my time, nobody else's, to pull up my pants, strap up my boots, and just do what God asked me to. After all, he'd asked more impossible things of others. This was a test of my faith.
Joseph arrived nine months later at 11:30am on the dot, December 26, 2005.
This was quite literally one of the hardest things I've ever had to even initiate on a few levels. But things worked out. A head clerk position opened up at the store for twice a week and Eric grabbed it right up. Then we took out a student loan to supplement our savings to buy a mini van. And we moved only three months after Joseph's arrival into another two bedroom apartment (couldn't afford a three) with a washer and dryer.
The following June, I found myself getting three hours of sleep a night and writhing under the pain of daily migraines. I had little to no help since Eric was gone all the time, either sleeping, at school, or studying. I had to deal with this alone, and the kids suffered because of it. I was worrying about when we would be able to get into a bigger place, trying to control things I had absolutely no control over. But I couldn't stop. I had to know if we could move in a year, if he would get a job, I wanted a house, etc, etc. This went on for months, but it wasn't until late July, desperate, I decided to see a doctor. I wanted to know if she'd give me some muscle relaxers. I'd been to see her six months prior for sinus headaches, but the sinus headaches always blossomed into migraines. And I wasn't sleeping. It wasn't fair to the kids, not at all.
Instead, and after listening to my stories, she determined I had Generalized Anxiety Disorder and put me on Cymbalta.
It was like a revelation. I was outgoing, chatty, and not afraid anymore. I didn't feel compelled to control everything anymore. I had more patience with the kids, with Eric, and with myself. And although the manic-like honeymoon period lasted only a week or so, I still felt great. In time, however, I discovered I suffered a side effect I didn't want to live with (I drenched myself in sweat just by unloading the dishwasher--no exaggeration). So I went back to my doctor. She placed me on Wellbutrin which only made things worse.
I went through at least four different pills. After the Wellbutrin I discovered the pills would only work for a little while. I kept going back.
"This isn't working."
"Okay, let's try this," my doctor would say.
Finally, and only about four months ago, I threw my arms in the air. Nothing was working. In a bout of desperation I went to a counselor who suggested I was to my ears in depression.
I went to my doctor, who has known me for some years now, with that knowledge and she wondered aloud if I could be bipolar. I dismissed her with a wave--no, I said. i've never experienced a manic episode.
Of course, to my knowledge, bipolar was the extreme. People who jumped off cliffs and did stupid scary shit all the time. But on my drive home from that appointment, things came to my mind: times I had needed little to no sleep, times I hurt myself on purpose to make the anger and hurt go away, racing thoughts and words, compulsions, obsessions--unbearable forgetfulness. Times I felt I could do anything only for it to go away the next week. Times I woke up early and spring-cleaned the entire house before 7:30 in the morning. Times of uncharacteristic and sudden aggression. Times I often forget about so I write them down. I have to remember.
So I went home and I researched it out and discovered the different kinds of bipolar. In tears, I called a friend of mine whom I've known for a while now who suffers from the mental disorder.
"I've wondered about you for a while," she said. "I just didn't want to say anything."
Eric said the same thing.
I called my doctor. "What's that you said about bipolar?"
"Let's just try something, okay?" she said.
And while I'm not 100%, I'm better.
I don't want anymore of his revelations if this is what it means. It's affected my family negatively. It brought me from being an overanxious but patient mother of one to a bipolar mother of three.
And though I wouldn't consider this an active part of my disaffection, it's yet another thing for me to be angry about. What is the point of hearing from God if it brings me to this low?
Why would I want to hear any more?
Saturday, October 9, 2010
Waving the White Flag
Gawwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwd.
Have you read, heard or seen some of the responses to the editing fiasco? I'd list some but then I'd have to kill myself.
I'm done! People, there is no hope. In this sense I do think I need to leave the fucking church alone. I can talk about, work through, cry and scream about my experiences, but this bitching activism thing about their doctrine and policies and ignorant beliefs is like bashing my head against a brick wall. I can only lose so much blood.
I realize that wavering members might see this blog and that leaving is a difficult thing but ultimately a very good thing, but it's like a reverse version of Russian roulette. Most of the time I'm just hurting myself. Once in a while someone will stop by and be all "hmmm, she might have something" but is it worth it? I'm not sure, and I'm leaning toward "NO." Unless a person comes to me, I'm done. I at least need a break.
I started this blog to just talk about religion. Y'all, I had severed all ties with the church for months except for the ones I couldn't escape: family, a few friends. Every time the Ensign showed up at our house, BAM! into the trash. It still does, but y'know. Example. I didn't look up this shit. I left the NOM board alone. It was wonderful.
But like I mentioned, you just can't escape this completely. You can't. And I go through cycles, sometimes severe, of obsession. I began not too long ago to obsess over religion and god and what I believed and didn't believe. I wanted a bit of support. I needed it. People told me I needed to blog again, and I figured the church would only be a part of it. It would have to be. Aside from being born Christian (which is huge), the church is the single biggest influence in my life. My membership spanned what I consider to be my most formative years. I can't ignore it completely, and I knew I wouldn't be able to.
That said, I was under the naive and hopeful assumption when I began this blog that the church had to at least give it a fucking break for a little while, but jesus. They can't. Always something.
And their sheep just follow. I don't even know why they have eyes.
Mmph. I mean that and I don't. I visited with my MIL last night and I don't think I have to say it again but I will: I love my MIL. She's a sweet woman who has been nothing but the same to us since we (er, the kids) told her we don't go to church anymore. And it made me think of all the shit I've been saying, the posts on facebook where she is a friend, the thoughts, whatever.
I don't want to shove this shit in her face. Not without her asking about it. She's happy, she's a good woman, she's not hurting anyone. She's even really kind to her out nephew. She's a good, good woman. We disagree on many things, but she's always been really good to me. And it's good to love others despite fundamental differences, because we are more than just our sexuality. We are more than just our beliefs. Though those two things make up a huge part of who we are, nobody is two-dimensional. We are complex, wonderful beings and we need diversity in this world if we are to really survive and be happy.
My ex-roomie has been nothing but good to me. MLDSFDTS.
I can't figure out how I can rail against the church and not against them. It's not possible. They take it so personally. And why not? We all know how it gets into your blood.
Railing against the church for us is like an exorcism. We take it personally, and why the hell not? We have every reason to. But sometimes, I just really wish I could quietly go. My anger more than anything makes me feel the church still has power over me.
It all makes me think back to when I was first disaffected. You know, very very angry and very loud. The regrets afterward. Nobody responds well to childish ranting. I need to respect their decisions and their views if I want them to respect mine. Shoving it in their faces doesn't do jack shit because, in the end, they will believe despite until something hits them just right. Just like Prop 8 did for me. Polygamy.
In short, I need to STFU. I will speak up when necessary, but it needn't take up the majority of what I do say. If I want them to see me as more than just an ex-member, if I want them to see my happiness, then I need to curtail the bitching which doesn't do much good anyway. I will stand up, but I also need to know when to back down. If I want respect then I need to give it. I remember what it's like to be a TBM just like I remember what it's like to have your first real doubts.
I get my recent anger, you know. Events like Packer's talk and Prop 8 was what really gave me the green light to consider leaving. It was offensive. I didn't appreciate what my experience taught me about the church: that they think I'm stupid, blind, and willing to ask "how high?" when they demand that I jump. I've never been that kind of girl--except as a member. And the more my political views changed over the last five years, the more I realized the grey in the black and white, the more these doctrines snapped me out of it. That really was the beginning of the end, polygamy. Thinking I should have another child when I knew I shouldn't, couldn't. Being told how to vote. The hatred toward people who don't hurt others any more than anyone else. So when I see these issues arise again, it triggers and I get obsessively angry all over again. And I kind of hate myself for remaining. I can't condone this shit, even passively.
Which is why I drafted my first resignation letter last night. I'll get into that in another post probably.
But once you've been gone for a while you begin to romanticize it. You want to be kind and not like the devilish "antis" you were warned about and vilified for so long. You want to be that good example, to prove to other members that see? i may be an apostate but i'm still a good person who doesn't obsess and bitch and turn into a monster. And, in that vein, because we're good people, before we know it we're only thinking of the good things about the church. For me, it's (some of) the hymns, the smell of the church building, the traditions. I miss seeing my husband dressed up. I miss seeing my boys dressed up. I enjoyed teaching the women in Relief Society for the two times I could handle it before I had to cry uncle--not because I hated teaching (I loved it) but because I didn't believe in it.
Yet if I were to attend a church, the LDS church would be the only one I would feel at home in despite everything. I liked the quiet. I liked the lack of crazy shouts of "hallelujah!" and the lack of fear that someone would break into tongues. It's a more inclusive doctrine. It wasn't weird to me--with the exception of F&T Sunday, but that was more entertainment than anything else. So you begin to forget about the hurtful things, the things that made you miserable. You want to forgive and forget. So we need the reminders occasionally that it wasn't all that great. Ask Kiley. Sometimes we need an Elder Packer to remind us why we left.
It's not a bad thing to remember the good. Because they are, in large part, good people. We didn't join to be assholes. We joined because we wanted to be better. We stayed because we wanted to be good. We left because we wanted to better our lives, to be truer to what we know now is reality. To grow and enjoy life. We got out of the fucking cave and omg, it's pretty awesome. We want to spread that gospel. But we need to give remaining members the benefit, to allow them their own time to get to whatever conclusion they will get to. We may be sad for them because we feel they are missing out on so much, but in the end it is their decision. If it makes them happier and they're kind to others, then we need to leave them alone and not waste our breath fighting with people who have dug their feet in, who only want to be right. And we can understand that. At least I can.
I'll talk with MLDSFDTS if she wants to, I'll just be myself and deal with his family thinking I'm super weird instead of just a little, but I need to GET OVER IT. Life is too short for this.
Besides, MIL aside, there's no arguing with super TBM members. There's just not. Not that I've really tried, but listening to their reactions was enough. I get so angry as to lose all rationality. I just want to scream, and that does nothing for the cause.
I'm done. White flag. Surrender. All that. There's no point. I know there's a point with people who are wavering, but goddammit, that's not my place. Not to the extent I've taken it. I'm yelling at people in vain and at the expense of others who don't deserve to hear it all the fucking time. What good is it doing?
I'm tired of being so angry...again. I always end up hating myself in the end. I'd like to enjoy myself. Laugh a little. Move forward instead of going back. This isn't that. There's a whole world out there, and all I can do is be spiteful. This isn't getting my power back. This is giving it back to the people who I allowed to take it away in the first place. They don't deserve it.
I recognize, however, that it might take me a little bit to fully get over this. I'd be dishonest if I told you and myself that I won't ever bitch like this again. I will. It's part of the process. But for now, I want so much to be done. Also, I'm dealing with a bit of depression this last month or so (I'm bipolar. There. I said it.) and it makes it difficult to make firm decisions. To not obsess and feel attacked. To not feel so goddamn insecure and defensive. Anger is easier and more cathartic than being depressed and feeling like nobody likes me, guess I'll go eat worms. Being angry makes me feel in control, powerful. But I'm not.
Have you read, heard or seen some of the responses to the editing fiasco? I'd list some but then I'd have to kill myself.
I'm done! People, there is no hope. In this sense I do think I need to leave the fucking church alone. I can talk about, work through, cry and scream about my experiences, but this bitching activism thing about their doctrine and policies and ignorant beliefs is like bashing my head against a brick wall. I can only lose so much blood.
I realize that wavering members might see this blog and that leaving is a difficult thing but ultimately a very good thing, but it's like a reverse version of Russian roulette. Most of the time I'm just hurting myself. Once in a while someone will stop by and be all "hmmm, she might have something" but is it worth it? I'm not sure, and I'm leaning toward "NO." Unless a person comes to me, I'm done. I at least need a break.
I started this blog to just talk about religion. Y'all, I had severed all ties with the church for months except for the ones I couldn't escape: family, a few friends. Every time the Ensign showed up at our house, BAM! into the trash. It still does, but y'know. Example. I didn't look up this shit. I left the NOM board alone. It was wonderful.
But like I mentioned, you just can't escape this completely. You can't. And I go through cycles, sometimes severe, of obsession. I began not too long ago to obsess over religion and god and what I believed and didn't believe. I wanted a bit of support. I needed it. People told me I needed to blog again, and I figured the church would only be a part of it. It would have to be. Aside from being born Christian (which is huge), the church is the single biggest influence in my life. My membership spanned what I consider to be my most formative years. I can't ignore it completely, and I knew I wouldn't be able to.
That said, I was under the naive and hopeful assumption when I began this blog that the church had to at least give it a fucking break for a little while, but jesus. They can't. Always something.
And their sheep just follow. I don't even know why they have eyes.
Mmph. I mean that and I don't. I visited with my MIL last night and I don't think I have to say it again but I will: I love my MIL. She's a sweet woman who has been nothing but the same to us since we (er, the kids) told her we don't go to church anymore. And it made me think of all the shit I've been saying, the posts on facebook where she is a friend, the thoughts, whatever.
I don't want to shove this shit in her face. Not without her asking about it. She's happy, she's a good woman, she's not hurting anyone. She's even really kind to her out nephew. She's a good, good woman. We disagree on many things, but she's always been really good to me. And it's good to love others despite fundamental differences, because we are more than just our sexuality. We are more than just our beliefs. Though those two things make up a huge part of who we are, nobody is two-dimensional. We are complex, wonderful beings and we need diversity in this world if we are to really survive and be happy.
My ex-roomie has been nothing but good to me. MLDSFDTS.
I can't figure out how I can rail against the church and not against them. It's not possible. They take it so personally. And why not? We all know how it gets into your blood.
Railing against the church for us is like an exorcism. We take it personally, and why the hell not? We have every reason to. But sometimes, I just really wish I could quietly go. My anger more than anything makes me feel the church still has power over me.
It all makes me think back to when I was first disaffected. You know, very very angry and very loud. The regrets afterward. Nobody responds well to childish ranting. I need to respect their decisions and their views if I want them to respect mine. Shoving it in their faces doesn't do jack shit because, in the end, they will believe despite until something hits them just right. Just like Prop 8 did for me. Polygamy.
In short, I need to STFU. I will speak up when necessary, but it needn't take up the majority of what I do say. If I want them to see me as more than just an ex-member, if I want them to see my happiness, then I need to curtail the bitching which doesn't do much good anyway. I will stand up, but I also need to know when to back down. If I want respect then I need to give it. I remember what it's like to be a TBM just like I remember what it's like to have your first real doubts.
I get my recent anger, you know. Events like Packer's talk and Prop 8 was what really gave me the green light to consider leaving. It was offensive. I didn't appreciate what my experience taught me about the church: that they think I'm stupid, blind, and willing to ask "how high?" when they demand that I jump. I've never been that kind of girl--except as a member. And the more my political views changed over the last five years, the more I realized the grey in the black and white, the more these doctrines snapped me out of it. That really was the beginning of the end, polygamy. Thinking I should have another child when I knew I shouldn't, couldn't. Being told how to vote. The hatred toward people who don't hurt others any more than anyone else. So when I see these issues arise again, it triggers and I get obsessively angry all over again. And I kind of hate myself for remaining. I can't condone this shit, even passively.
Which is why I drafted my first resignation letter last night. I'll get into that in another post probably.
But once you've been gone for a while you begin to romanticize it. You want to be kind and not like the devilish "antis" you were warned about and vilified for so long. You want to be that good example, to prove to other members that see? i may be an apostate but i'm still a good person who doesn't obsess and bitch and turn into a monster. And, in that vein, because we're good people, before we know it we're only thinking of the good things about the church. For me, it's (some of) the hymns, the smell of the church building, the traditions. I miss seeing my husband dressed up. I miss seeing my boys dressed up. I enjoyed teaching the women in Relief Society for the two times I could handle it before I had to cry uncle--not because I hated teaching (I loved it) but because I didn't believe in it.
Yet if I were to attend a church, the LDS church would be the only one I would feel at home in despite everything. I liked the quiet. I liked the lack of crazy shouts of "hallelujah!" and the lack of fear that someone would break into tongues. It's a more inclusive doctrine. It wasn't weird to me--with the exception of F&T Sunday, but that was more entertainment than anything else. So you begin to forget about the hurtful things, the things that made you miserable. You want to forgive and forget. So we need the reminders occasionally that it wasn't all that great. Ask Kiley. Sometimes we need an Elder Packer to remind us why we left.
It's not a bad thing to remember the good. Because they are, in large part, good people. We didn't join to be assholes. We joined because we wanted to be better. We stayed because we wanted to be good. We left because we wanted to better our lives, to be truer to what we know now is reality. To grow and enjoy life. We got out of the fucking cave and omg, it's pretty awesome. We want to spread that gospel. But we need to give remaining members the benefit, to allow them their own time to get to whatever conclusion they will get to. We may be sad for them because we feel they are missing out on so much, but in the end it is their decision. If it makes them happier and they're kind to others, then we need to leave them alone and not waste our breath fighting with people who have dug their feet in, who only want to be right. And we can understand that. At least I can.
I'll talk with MLDSFDTS if she wants to, I'll just be myself and deal with his family thinking I'm super weird instead of just a little, but I need to GET OVER IT. Life is too short for this.
Besides, MIL aside, there's no arguing with super TBM members. There's just not. Not that I've really tried, but listening to their reactions was enough. I get so angry as to lose all rationality. I just want to scream, and that does nothing for the cause.
I'm done. White flag. Surrender. All that. There's no point. I know there's a point with people who are wavering, but goddammit, that's not my place. Not to the extent I've taken it. I'm yelling at people in vain and at the expense of others who don't deserve to hear it all the fucking time. What good is it doing?
I'm tired of being so angry...again. I always end up hating myself in the end. I'd like to enjoy myself. Laugh a little. Move forward instead of going back. This isn't that. There's a whole world out there, and all I can do is be spiteful. This isn't getting my power back. This is giving it back to the people who I allowed to take it away in the first place. They don't deserve it.
I recognize, however, that it might take me a little bit to fully get over this. I'd be dishonest if I told you and myself that I won't ever bitch like this again. I will. It's part of the process. But for now, I want so much to be done. Also, I'm dealing with a bit of depression this last month or so (I'm bipolar. There. I said it.) and it makes it difficult to make firm decisions. To not obsess and feel attacked. To not feel so goddamn insecure and defensive. Anger is easier and more cathartic than being depressed and feeling like nobody likes me, guess I'll go eat worms. Being angry makes me feel in control, powerful. But I'm not.
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
Looking Back: Religious Progression
It's weird reading my old posts. I was so afraid to say or admit to certain things, afraid to offend people I didn't even know. I conceded often--which isn't a bad thing, necessarily, but...I dunno.
I sometimes feel as if there's not a hell of a lot more for me to say, like I've already said it all, just cleaner and more PC. To continue or repeat those rants would be a bit of a snore. Staged and scripted. I've felt a bit dry lately. I don't like to write unless I'm driven to write.
Anyway, it's interesting to see how some of my readers changed throughout the course of that blog. A few people left when they felt I crossed the line (how dare i criticize a leader!), but for the most part people kept with me, and I appreciated that.
But I have at least one (non-member) friend who felt I was far too conciliatory, and I think I always knew she was right. Let's face it, though: I was saying a lot of really controversial crap, at least to the TBM and even wavering-TBM crowd. To myself. It scared me a lot to say some of the things I said and it took me a while to stand up firmly to it, even if for only a few points. Two people I know from my own stake visited the blog. One girl kept with me for a while and we eventually had to part ways on facebook, and the other came only once to say "c'mon, we're not all that bad are we?"
Members take this shit so personally.
I even found out later that my dad was worrying about me. My dad! Mr. "Well-where-are-the-golden-plates-now, hmmm?"
I mean, shit, you can't please anybody. Hard as you might try, it's not gonna happen.
It's just interesting to see the progression and it makes me wonder where I'll end up. I look for quotes sometimes for this blog and find the sentiment that agnostics are pansies who can't make up their minds because they're scared. Fence-sitters. That's kind of where I was eighteen months ago, a fence-sitting-mormon girl. Hated it.
I hate that some may regard me as sitting on the fence of belief. But that's my problem. After all, I did take the leap and record my religious beliefs on facebook as "agnostic" and haven't looked back. But I had to be ready first, just like when Eric was later ready to list himself as "atheist."
Eric and I had a talk the other day and concluded that we're really just a hop, skip, and jump away from being on the same page. I consider myself agnostic because, like I've already mentioned, I don't think we know anything so to say we do seems a bit presumptuous to me. However, I'm leaning more on the atheist side. I'll be okay in the end either way, I figure. There's still the question of the ultimate point of creation, whether it be of a creator or a bunch of atoms bursting (and where did those come from?)--and that keeps me agnostic, too. Eric's college courses led him to believe there just isn't enough evidence to worry about it.
It is a fact that the more we learn from science the less religion needs to answer for the unknown, this even though some adopt a cafeteria-style approach to scientific theory and fact because the Bible says the Earth is only 6,000 years old!
I'm not quite ready to proclaim a confident disbelief or if I'm even sure I feel that way. But I wish I was. Then again, is it so bad to be a bit more open to things? I think it depends on where I am honestly: open or scared. Letting go of god and all that comes with him is frightening, and I've a lot of respect for people who've been able to do that.
I'm not even sure anymore if I have a hope in god. The more I consider the idea of returning to the Earth at death, the less I find I need him. The more I realize people are good without god, the less I find I need him. The more I find that life goes on just like it always has, the less I find I need god.
If I have a hope it is in that everything will work out. That I'll learn to trust myself and that that will be enough. Faith in oneself is just as hard, if not harder, as faith in a benevolent supreme being.
But it frustrates the fuck out of me to find myself praying to whatever when I'm scared. In there, I suppose, is a hope. But it seems like an awful selfish one when there are people in the world who suffer exponentially worse than me. That doesn't mean I don't matter, but I'm aware that I'm much more fortunate than many others. That said, I don't find myself thanking "god" for my so-called blessings. I find I can be thankful just for the sake of being thankful. It feels more honest.
I allow sentiments that suggest I'm a wuss to get under my skin far too much. I just spent two to five years afraid to leave a church I obviously didn't agree with because I didn't want to hear about it. Because I'd been told what would happen if I did. I wrote my last blog with the initial intention to prove a member could be liberal and a faithful mormon, but it was intellectually dishonest. I wasn't all that faithful. I ended up exposing myself as the rule and not the exception. I wanted to be strong, and while some of my posts--especially toward the end--suggested some strength, I was still very much afraid. Only time can heal that, I've found.
Right now I'm ready to resign, but I won't until my husband is ready, too. After all, it's his family, his community (he grew up here), and 30 years to my 10. I can wait.
So I'm a waverer. It's part of a process. At least now I'm not afraid to admit I drink coffee and have the occasional beer or cocktail or say the leaders and even the scriptures are assholes and full of crap.
And I can't help but wonder if leaving the LDS church is a bit of an inevitable gateway to atheism (or if that's a bad thing). I know it doesn't have to be, but it feels that way. I can't see the way to reach any other conclusion, especially as one who has been to many other (christian) churches before.
My above-mentioned non-member friend had her own struggle with Christianity and came out on the believer's end, and that intrigues me. I guess I just always felt I'd come out on this end because even there, at my other blog, when I'd go on about Christ I wasn't speaking of myself so much but to those who were reading so they'd listen to me a bit more. I don't take issue with Christ so much, anyway. I like much of what he's purported to have said and done. My biggest issue was the church's self-serving narcissistic bullshit with the occasional Jesus Christ punctuation.
Besides, it's a debate strategy. It's also, to me, a matter of respect of other people's beliefs.
But it bothers me that I'm generally the one to respect and feel others don't feel the need to respect me because I'm the apostate. Eric says it's that way because we're the ones who have changed the rules. I don't know. So I'm afraid to "blaspheme" sometimes. To offend. I don't know if anybody I know has found this blog or not (my ex-roomie is rather sneaky), and so I still hold back a little. Is this a matter of respect or just fear--and where's the line? Example: I don't care who knows my sekrit temple name, but I know it'd be crossing the line for the few friends I've left.
Topic for another post.
And I don't know. One of my personal mottos is to "never say never." So who knows. I may find myself an unorthodox believer someday. I don't want to ever consider myself a zealous one again, shiver. I just never want it to be out of fear. I never want to be put in a box in any sort of shackles because I don't feel I can handle this life on my own, with those I love around me. Shouldn't that be enough?
Life is too short for that.
I'm happy with where I am--to an extent. I still feel in a bit of a purgatory spiritually, like I have to pick a side. Perhaps that is my inner people-pleaser more than it is anything else. I still haven't found my peace. My husband has. Other people have. I'm still looking and waiting for my own.
I guess in some ways I'm still The Liberal Mormon That Could.
I sometimes feel as if there's not a hell of a lot more for me to say, like I've already said it all, just cleaner and more PC. To continue or repeat those rants would be a bit of a snore. Staged and scripted. I've felt a bit dry lately. I don't like to write unless I'm driven to write.
Anyway, it's interesting to see how some of my readers changed throughout the course of that blog. A few people left when they felt I crossed the line (how dare i criticize a leader!), but for the most part people kept with me, and I appreciated that.
But I have at least one (non-member) friend who felt I was far too conciliatory, and I think I always knew she was right. Let's face it, though: I was saying a lot of really controversial crap, at least to the TBM and even wavering-TBM crowd. To myself. It scared me a lot to say some of the things I said and it took me a while to stand up firmly to it, even if for only a few points. Two people I know from my own stake visited the blog. One girl kept with me for a while and we eventually had to part ways on facebook, and the other came only once to say "c'mon, we're not all that bad are we?"
Members take this shit so personally.
I even found out later that my dad was worrying about me. My dad! Mr. "Well-where-are-the-golden-plates-now, hmmm?"
I mean, shit, you can't please anybody. Hard as you might try, it's not gonna happen.
It's just interesting to see the progression and it makes me wonder where I'll end up. I look for quotes sometimes for this blog and find the sentiment that agnostics are pansies who can't make up their minds because they're scared. Fence-sitters. That's kind of where I was eighteen months ago, a fence-sitting-mormon girl. Hated it.
I hate that some may regard me as sitting on the fence of belief. But that's my problem. After all, I did take the leap and record my religious beliefs on facebook as "agnostic" and haven't looked back. But I had to be ready first, just like when Eric was later ready to list himself as "atheist."
Eric and I had a talk the other day and concluded that we're really just a hop, skip, and jump away from being on the same page. I consider myself agnostic because, like I've already mentioned, I don't think we know anything so to say we do seems a bit presumptuous to me. However, I'm leaning more on the atheist side. I'll be okay in the end either way, I figure. There's still the question of the ultimate point of creation, whether it be of a creator or a bunch of atoms bursting (and where did those come from?)--and that keeps me agnostic, too. Eric's college courses led him to believe there just isn't enough evidence to worry about it.
It is a fact that the more we learn from science the less religion needs to answer for the unknown, this even though some adopt a cafeteria-style approach to scientific theory and fact because the Bible says the Earth is only 6,000 years old!
I'm not quite ready to proclaim a confident disbelief or if I'm even sure I feel that way. But I wish I was. Then again, is it so bad to be a bit more open to things? I think it depends on where I am honestly: open or scared. Letting go of god and all that comes with him is frightening, and I've a lot of respect for people who've been able to do that.
I'm not even sure anymore if I have a hope in god. The more I consider the idea of returning to the Earth at death, the less I find I need him. The more I realize people are good without god, the less I find I need him. The more I find that life goes on just like it always has, the less I find I need god.
If I have a hope it is in that everything will work out. That I'll learn to trust myself and that that will be enough. Faith in oneself is just as hard, if not harder, as faith in a benevolent supreme being.
But it frustrates the fuck out of me to find myself praying to whatever when I'm scared. In there, I suppose, is a hope. But it seems like an awful selfish one when there are people in the world who suffer exponentially worse than me. That doesn't mean I don't matter, but I'm aware that I'm much more fortunate than many others. That said, I don't find myself thanking "god" for my so-called blessings. I find I can be thankful just for the sake of being thankful. It feels more honest.
I allow sentiments that suggest I'm a wuss to get under my skin far too much. I just spent two to five years afraid to leave a church I obviously didn't agree with because I didn't want to hear about it. Because I'd been told what would happen if I did. I wrote my last blog with the initial intention to prove a member could be liberal and a faithful mormon, but it was intellectually dishonest. I wasn't all that faithful. I ended up exposing myself as the rule and not the exception. I wanted to be strong, and while some of my posts--especially toward the end--suggested some strength, I was still very much afraid. Only time can heal that, I've found.
Right now I'm ready to resign, but I won't until my husband is ready, too. After all, it's his family, his community (he grew up here), and 30 years to my 10. I can wait.
So I'm a waverer. It's part of a process. At least now I'm not afraid to admit I drink coffee and have the occasional beer or cocktail or say the leaders and even the scriptures are assholes and full of crap.
And I can't help but wonder if leaving the LDS church is a bit of an inevitable gateway to atheism (or if that's a bad thing). I know it doesn't have to be, but it feels that way. I can't see the way to reach any other conclusion, especially as one who has been to many other (christian) churches before.
My above-mentioned non-member friend had her own struggle with Christianity and came out on the believer's end, and that intrigues me. I guess I just always felt I'd come out on this end because even there, at my other blog, when I'd go on about Christ I wasn't speaking of myself so much but to those who were reading so they'd listen to me a bit more. I don't take issue with Christ so much, anyway. I like much of what he's purported to have said and done. My biggest issue was the church's self-serving narcissistic bullshit with the occasional Jesus Christ punctuation.
Besides, it's a debate strategy. It's also, to me, a matter of respect of other people's beliefs.
But it bothers me that I'm generally the one to respect and feel others don't feel the need to respect me because I'm the apostate. Eric says it's that way because we're the ones who have changed the rules. I don't know. So I'm afraid to "blaspheme" sometimes. To offend. I don't know if anybody I know has found this blog or not (my ex-roomie is rather sneaky), and so I still hold back a little. Is this a matter of respect or just fear--and where's the line? Example: I don't care who knows my sekrit temple name, but I know it'd be crossing the line for the few friends I've left.
Topic for another post.
And I don't know. One of my personal mottos is to "never say never." So who knows. I may find myself an unorthodox believer someday. I don't want to ever consider myself a zealous one again, shiver. I just never want it to be out of fear. I never want to be put in a box in any sort of shackles because I don't feel I can handle this life on my own, with those I love around me. Shouldn't that be enough?
Life is too short for that.
I'm happy with where I am--to an extent. I still feel in a bit of a purgatory spiritually, like I have to pick a side. Perhaps that is my inner people-pleaser more than it is anything else. I still haven't found my peace. My husband has. Other people have. I'm still looking and waiting for my own.
I guess in some ways I'm still The Liberal Mormon That Could.
Friday, August 27, 2010
What I Believe
A commenter suggested a few posts ago that my hesitance to send in my resignation letter might have something to do with a (however minute) belief in the supposed truth of the church.
It might have--okay, it did--at first. But that hesitance to stop going to church was born out of fear that it might be true. And I've never believed in doing things out of fear--dates way back to when I attended my dad's assembly of god church. They loved striking fear into you. It was a good motivator. The end, they say, justified the means. So I stopped going.
Part of what drew me to the LDS church was the lack of fear-inducement. At least I didn't see any then, and I still believe it's not nearly as bad as I've seen or experienced.
I have said a few times why I hesitate, but I'll say it again: I don't like letting go of comfortable, familiar things. I don't like disappointing people who I love and who have been nothing but good to me. This is not the same demand for independence as what joining was. If anything, I have been resistant for this level of independence. If I leave the church, I'll lose its best people. So far so good, but I have lost one that matters. And that in the beginning of my disaffection.
I set a standard for myself in my first year of membership. I was a "golden convert." My patriarchal blessing said my family would chill out and, I thought, maybe join. It said I would bring many people into the church. I had told my best friend and my roomie that I never saw myself leaving. I was committed. I belonged. People thought I was a member before I joined. I would trust in god. He knew better. I believed that much.
But ultimately I joined the church because i "knew" it was true. I had read the Book of Mormon before joining. I had prayed. I had even been to the temple, gone to church, etc. I had a friend who met with me at a pizza joint semi-regularly to talk with me about the gospel (he was a recent RM in my English 1A class and /swoon! i had a crush--but i was determined to not join because of him. and i'm proud to say i didn't)
It's hard to just decide one day that it's all bunk after hearing time and time again that it's not and even preaching that certain things are not of or are against god. Knee-length skirts/shorts. Coffee. Caffeine (Eric and I switched positions on this a few times). Tea. Keeping the Sabbath "holy."
I was a pain in the ass for my family on many of these points. I freely admit that. After all, I was right, even if it seemed wrong or weird or nonsensical. God's ways are mysterious.
See, I had decided the summer before I met Squeaky that I needed to find a church and also began reading the Bible again--from the beginning. I would read certain passages and think "Gah, that's just wrong..."
and then,
"But if it's what God says, then who am I to argue?"
It was a measure of my maturity, I thought. I was 18.
So that gives you an idea of my mental mindset. If it's right, it's right and who the hell am I to question? I know nothing!
Throw in Squeaky and you have some serious evidence that I should consider this church. So I did.
Once I had my experiences and various so-called confirmations of the LDS church, I allowed everything else to fall into place. I didn't get the coffee/tea thing, but whatever, I thought. Doesn't matter. And besides, Joe Smith was right about tobacco before they knew it was bad (right?), so maybe there is something about coffee and tea that science doesn't yet realize is really really bad for you.
That deep-seated belief--the fact--that we don't know everything today is the main reason I consider myself agnostic.
The more I realized I knew nothing the more I realized we know nothing. I learned that those in positions of "divinely appointed authority" were just as messed up in their thinking as anyone. Anyone under direct guidance of a good, loving, fair god would never condone slavery (Brigham Young), would never say such awful things about the African-American race, suggest the Native Americans needed to be white, say gay people needed to marry straight or have electroshock therapy and later soften it to "just be celibate."
A loving god would demand equality of his people and never stray from that, no matter what society at large thought at the time.
A benevolent god period would never change his mind to suit the whims of his people if the following is to be believed (and it is, I hear it so often in the LDS church at least): "Same yesterday, today, tomorrow, and forever" right?
I don't just see this thread in the LDS church. I see it in all Christian churches.
I still pray sometimes when I'm especially scared. I don't know who I'm praying to, but I do. I do it out of hope that there is someone there watching out for me. I am thankful when bad things don't happen to me or my own. It feels incredibly selfish ("thanks for saving my kid instead of those other kids"), but I do pray.
It might be waning, but I have a hope in a god. I have a hope in the afterlife and in seeing my family. If there is a god, I have a hope he/she/it will know my heart and judge me based on that. I do not believe that the road to hell is paved with good intentions. Whatever hell is.
If there is a god and he/she/it is willing to toss me aside because I'm not good enough, I don't want shit to do with god anyway. Nobody needs to be told they're not good enough, especially when they spend their lives doing nothing but trying to be good.
That said, if there is nothing but this, I am even more thankful for what I do have. I realize I have to embrace it now because one day I won't have it. They won't have me. If there's nothing after this life, it won't matter anyway. I'll be gone. Eventually my husband and kids will be gone. Such is the way of things.
(I don't know how to tell my kids this, though. I don't want them to be scared.)
I think of it like this: I don't remember jack from before I was born. I figure death will be the same kind of nothingness.
Yet sometimes I can't help but feel eternal. I don't know if it's because I just am or because I've been taught all my life that I am.
I don't believe. I don't have a "sure knowledge." We can't know everything. I'm not entirely convinced we can know anything. My agnosticism may turn into atheism. It may remain. I may become a theist or whatever. I don't know.
But anyway, if I have any hope or faith--if that hope or faith isn't in god--it's in that everything will work out.
This lack of belief gives me motivation to make the most of this life. To chase my dreams. To be more. To love my family more. To make a legacy. To have faith in myself. Things I never felt motivated to do or be as a believer. I was told time and again that god loved me, but it didn't really feel like it. I was put in a box. And as a parent (remember, we're told God is our Father and loves us as one), I've no plans to micromanage my kids or to place conditions on my love for them. No plans to ever let them think they're unworthy of me. That's not love. That's tyranny.
This life is a gift. It doesn't matter from what or whom, it just is.
I'll let the rest figure itself out.
It might have--okay, it did--at first. But that hesitance to stop going to church was born out of fear that it might be true. And I've never believed in doing things out of fear--dates way back to when I attended my dad's assembly of god church. They loved striking fear into you. It was a good motivator. The end, they say, justified the means. So I stopped going.
Part of what drew me to the LDS church was the lack of fear-inducement. At least I didn't see any then, and I still believe it's not nearly as bad as I've seen or experienced.
I have said a few times why I hesitate, but I'll say it again: I don't like letting go of comfortable, familiar things. I don't like disappointing people who I love and who have been nothing but good to me. This is not the same demand for independence as what joining was. If anything, I have been resistant for this level of independence. If I leave the church, I'll lose its best people. So far so good, but I have lost one that matters. And that in the beginning of my disaffection.
I set a standard for myself in my first year of membership. I was a "golden convert." My patriarchal blessing said my family would chill out and, I thought, maybe join. It said I would bring many people into the church. I had told my best friend and my roomie that I never saw myself leaving. I was committed. I belonged. People thought I was a member before I joined. I would trust in god. He knew better. I believed that much.
But ultimately I joined the church because i "knew" it was true. I had read the Book of Mormon before joining. I had prayed. I had even been to the temple, gone to church, etc. I had a friend who met with me at a pizza joint semi-regularly to talk with me about the gospel (he was a recent RM in my English 1A class and /swoon! i had a crush--but i was determined to not join because of him. and i'm proud to say i didn't)
It's hard to just decide one day that it's all bunk after hearing time and time again that it's not and even preaching that certain things are not of or are against god. Knee-length skirts/shorts. Coffee. Caffeine (Eric and I switched positions on this a few times). Tea. Keeping the Sabbath "holy."
I was a pain in the ass for my family on many of these points. I freely admit that. After all, I was right, even if it seemed wrong or weird or nonsensical. God's ways are mysterious.
See, I had decided the summer before I met Squeaky that I needed to find a church and also began reading the Bible again--from the beginning. I would read certain passages and think "Gah, that's just wrong..."
and then,
"But if it's what God says, then who am I to argue?"
It was a measure of my maturity, I thought. I was 18.
So that gives you an idea of my mental mindset. If it's right, it's right and who the hell am I to question? I know nothing!
Throw in Squeaky and you have some serious evidence that I should consider this church. So I did.
Once I had my experiences and various so-called confirmations of the LDS church, I allowed everything else to fall into place. I didn't get the coffee/tea thing, but whatever, I thought. Doesn't matter. And besides, Joe Smith was right about tobacco before they knew it was bad (right?), so maybe there is something about coffee and tea that science doesn't yet realize is really really bad for you.
That deep-seated belief--the fact--that we don't know everything today is the main reason I consider myself agnostic.
The more I realized I knew nothing the more I realized we know nothing. I learned that those in positions of "divinely appointed authority" were just as messed up in their thinking as anyone. Anyone under direct guidance of a good, loving, fair god would never condone slavery (Brigham Young), would never say such awful things about the African-American race, suggest the Native Americans needed to be white, say gay people needed to marry straight or have electroshock therapy and later soften it to "just be celibate."
A loving god would demand equality of his people and never stray from that, no matter what society at large thought at the time.
A benevolent god period would never change his mind to suit the whims of his people if the following is to be believed (and it is, I hear it so often in the LDS church at least): "Same yesterday, today, tomorrow, and forever" right?
I don't just see this thread in the LDS church. I see it in all Christian churches.
I still pray sometimes when I'm especially scared. I don't know who I'm praying to, but I do. I do it out of hope that there is someone there watching out for me. I am thankful when bad things don't happen to me or my own. It feels incredibly selfish ("thanks for saving my kid instead of those other kids"), but I do pray.
It might be waning, but I have a hope in a god. I have a hope in the afterlife and in seeing my family. If there is a god, I have a hope he/she/it will know my heart and judge me based on that. I do not believe that the road to hell is paved with good intentions. Whatever hell is.
If there is a god and he/she/it is willing to toss me aside because I'm not good enough, I don't want shit to do with god anyway. Nobody needs to be told they're not good enough, especially when they spend their lives doing nothing but trying to be good.
That said, if there is nothing but this, I am even more thankful for what I do have. I realize I have to embrace it now because one day I won't have it. They won't have me. If there's nothing after this life, it won't matter anyway. I'll be gone. Eventually my husband and kids will be gone. Such is the way of things.
(I don't know how to tell my kids this, though. I don't want them to be scared.)
I think of it like this: I don't remember jack from before I was born. I figure death will be the same kind of nothingness.
Yet sometimes I can't help but feel eternal. I don't know if it's because I just am or because I've been taught all my life that I am.
I don't believe. I don't have a "sure knowledge." We can't know everything. I'm not entirely convinced we can know anything. My agnosticism may turn into atheism. It may remain. I may become a theist or whatever. I don't know.
But anyway, if I have any hope or faith--if that hope or faith isn't in god--it's in that everything will work out.
This lack of belief gives me motivation to make the most of this life. To chase my dreams. To be more. To love my family more. To make a legacy. To have faith in myself. Things I never felt motivated to do or be as a believer. I was told time and again that god loved me, but it didn't really feel like it. I was put in a box. And as a parent (remember, we're told God is our Father and loves us as one), I've no plans to micromanage my kids or to place conditions on my love for them. No plans to ever let them think they're unworthy of me. That's not love. That's tyranny.
This life is a gift. It doesn't matter from what or whom, it just is.
I'll let the rest figure itself out.
Friday, August 20, 2010
It's not personal, it's business
Something I'm learning:
I don't have a grudge or a hatred or severe disappointment (etc) toward individual members of the church, per se. I get where they're coming from and understand that they are a product of--for lack of a better word, and i know it's a sticky one--brainwashing. They've been told all their lives or, in the convert's case, many years what is what to the point they cannot see anything else. The church could come out right now and declare something obviously immoral or obviously ridiculous and they will still have members who will bow their heads and say yes.
For me, it was being told the answer to my prayer wasn't as good as the answer the prophet got. WTF?
I know what these people have been told. I know people love to be right (i do). I know people like to feel like martyrs for a righteous cause. They like to feel better than others. To judge and criticise. Religion feeds and caters to all of this, no matter what Jesus or whomever else may teach.
Of course not every follower of any religion is this way, but I'm not loathe to submit that the majority are.
And yes, I've had some serious problems with self-righteous and self-effacing members who get up on their highest horse to tell me that I'm wrong and in how many ways. Their favorite saying seems to be that "you can tell me the sky is green all you want, but it doesn't change that it's blue"
(which is a ridiculous saying)
Or they like to tell me that I'm going to hell, breaking certain covenants (or all of them), going against teh prophet of god, ignoring what i deep down know to be true, etc. etc. etc.
Whatever.
So while I've had issue with certain members and will probably continue to have issue with certain members (can't avoid this and let's face it, though their judgments may bother me less now it can still be fucking annoying), my biggest beef is with the church that pulls these good people's strings. The church that puts words in these people's mouths. The church that lies and manipulates and ignores fact in order to press its own agenda, justifying the means to the end.
And it's made me think a lot. My last blog became a means for me to find my courage to unofficially leave the church. It was one of the hardest things I've ever done. But I did find that courage. I think I started this blog to work to and find the courage to resign because it just seems stupid and disingenuous to remain an official member of a church I cannot stand.
And it hurts for me to say I can't stand it. It was there for me when I did need something like it the most. I do think--though I hate to say it--that I did need to join. But I don't think I ever believed in the purported literal history of the Book of Mormon. I might've thought it was a divinely inspired book, but hardly history. The church catered to some very important needs for the first four years (and that might be generous), but beyond that it broke me down.
Yet in leaving I'm finding a confidence I haven't had, I think, ever. So maybe it's good that way.
But it's not about the individual people. I may feel sorry for them much like they may feel sorry for me, but it's not my place to really say so. They think I'm unhappy just like I think they may not be as happy as they're told they are. But I'm not above thinking some of them are truly happier in the church.
I just can't stand by much longer and be a part of this. I don't know what it'll mean for this blog once I resign, but I'll discuss those thoughts later.
It's all very complicated, my feelings toward the members--but they're humans, too, with needs and whatnot. The church is, for some, all they know. For others it was a saving grace (like for me). For others, they can't fathom anything else.
The church does that. It has progressed and evolved in such a way as to guarantee its growth. They convince the people they speak for God and are thus always right. They tell them if they don't listen, certain things will happen. They say "nonono, we don't pull our members' strings. but we do expect loyalty." They then ensure they are their members' world so leaving is the most frightening prospect of all. So they stay and pay and obey.
And let's not forget their studious PR department that tells them and the rest of the world that they're not really robots.
It makes perfect business sense, and as I was once a girl who bought it all I can't blame current members for believing. I can be annoyed to all hell, but it's probably a projection of my own embarrassment of ever being that way.
I don't have a grudge or a hatred or severe disappointment (etc) toward individual members of the church, per se. I get where they're coming from and understand that they are a product of--for lack of a better word, and i know it's a sticky one--brainwashing. They've been told all their lives or, in the convert's case, many years what is what to the point they cannot see anything else. The church could come out right now and declare something obviously immoral or obviously ridiculous and they will still have members who will bow their heads and say yes.
For me, it was being told the answer to my prayer wasn't as good as the answer the prophet got. WTF?
I know what these people have been told. I know people love to be right (i do). I know people like to feel like martyrs for a righteous cause. They like to feel better than others. To judge and criticise. Religion feeds and caters to all of this, no matter what Jesus or whomever else may teach.
Of course not every follower of any religion is this way, but I'm not loathe to submit that the majority are.
And yes, I've had some serious problems with self-righteous and self-effacing members who get up on their highest horse to tell me that I'm wrong and in how many ways. Their favorite saying seems to be that "you can tell me the sky is green all you want, but it doesn't change that it's blue"
(which is a ridiculous saying)
Or they like to tell me that I'm going to hell, breaking certain covenants (or all of them), going against teh prophet of god, ignoring what i deep down know to be true, etc. etc. etc.
Whatever.
So while I've had issue with certain members and will probably continue to have issue with certain members (can't avoid this and let's face it, though their judgments may bother me less now it can still be fucking annoying), my biggest beef is with the church that pulls these good people's strings. The church that puts words in these people's mouths. The church that lies and manipulates and ignores fact in order to press its own agenda, justifying the means to the end.
And it's made me think a lot. My last blog became a means for me to find my courage to unofficially leave the church. It was one of the hardest things I've ever done. But I did find that courage. I think I started this blog to work to and find the courage to resign because it just seems stupid and disingenuous to remain an official member of a church I cannot stand.
And it hurts for me to say I can't stand it. It was there for me when I did need something like it the most. I do think--though I hate to say it--that I did need to join. But I don't think I ever believed in the purported literal history of the Book of Mormon. I might've thought it was a divinely inspired book, but hardly history. The church catered to some very important needs for the first four years (and that might be generous), but beyond that it broke me down.
Yet in leaving I'm finding a confidence I haven't had, I think, ever. So maybe it's good that way.
But it's not about the individual people. I may feel sorry for them much like they may feel sorry for me, but it's not my place to really say so. They think I'm unhappy just like I think they may not be as happy as they're told they are. But I'm not above thinking some of them are truly happier in the church.
I just can't stand by much longer and be a part of this. I don't know what it'll mean for this blog once I resign, but I'll discuss those thoughts later.
It's all very complicated, my feelings toward the members--but they're humans, too, with needs and whatnot. The church is, for some, all they know. For others it was a saving grace (like for me). For others, they can't fathom anything else.
The church does that. It has progressed and evolved in such a way as to guarantee its growth. They convince the people they speak for God and are thus always right. They tell them if they don't listen, certain things will happen. They say "nonono, we don't pull our members' strings. but we do expect loyalty." They then ensure they are their members' world so leaving is the most frightening prospect of all. So they stay and pay and obey.
And let's not forget their studious PR department that tells them and the rest of the world that they're not really robots.
It makes perfect business sense, and as I was once a girl who bought it all I can't blame current members for believing. I can be annoyed to all hell, but it's probably a projection of my own embarrassment of ever being that way.
Thursday, August 19, 2010
Hi, I'm Marishia and I'm a Homosexual Mormon
I saw this one coming, too.
But not quite like this.
Go read the article at Mormon.org.
See, my problem is not so much with this homosexual member of the church who chooses to deny herself EVERYTHING related to having an inkling of a romantic life (this particular paragraph is heart-wrenching:
I have now come to understand and accept my homosexuality as one of my crosses to bear in this life which will help strengthen my faith in Christ and will teach me to be obedient to my loving and merciful Heavenly Father. I know that if I continue to be obedient to my Father in Heaven that one day he will bless me with the righteous desires of my heart to marry a good man in the temple and to have a forever family of my own.)
but it is the perpetuation of the teaching--the myth--that those who leave are:
1) Forever bitter
2) Unhappy
3) Into drugs and alcohol and other unhealthy things to help deal with the depression
4) Merely suppressing that which they know to be true
But I'll be fair. She didn't say these things happened simply because she left (although it did happen after she left), but because she was trying to get over her depression over being a lesbian.
Now who encouraged that?
But don't worry. Now she knows it's just a "physical defect."
I know.
And it does bother me to say I'm sad for someone who is in the church because it pisses me off when people say they're sad for me for leaving, but this?
It's horrible.
But not quite like this.
Go read the article at Mormon.org.
See, my problem is not so much with this homosexual member of the church who chooses to deny herself EVERYTHING related to having an inkling of a romantic life (this particular paragraph is heart-wrenching:
I have now come to understand and accept my homosexuality as one of my crosses to bear in this life which will help strengthen my faith in Christ and will teach me to be obedient to my loving and merciful Heavenly Father. I know that if I continue to be obedient to my Father in Heaven that one day he will bless me with the righteous desires of my heart to marry a good man in the temple and to have a forever family of my own.)
but it is the perpetuation of the teaching--the myth--that those who leave are:
1) Forever bitter
2) Unhappy
3) Into drugs and alcohol and other unhealthy things to help deal with the depression
4) Merely suppressing that which they know to be true
But I'll be fair. She didn't say these things happened simply because she left (although it did happen after she left), but because she was trying to get over her depression over being a lesbian.
Now who encouraged that?
But don't worry. Now she knows it's just a "physical defect."
I know.
And it does bother me to say I'm sad for someone who is in the church because it pisses me off when people say they're sad for me for leaving, but this?
It's horrible.
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