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In May 2022, one night shortly after Josh and I separated, I got out of bed in the middle of the night, which was typical that first year of our separation. My anxiety was high and grief so profound, that I had a hard time sleeping. Plus also perimenopause.

I did my usual middle-of-the-night routine: I got a bowl of Grape Nuts and sat down at my desk to color in my coloring book, The Extraordinary Journey of a Little Blue Fish by Sara Muzio. 1

As I was munching and coloring, the idea of a group art exhibit about religious deconstruction came to mind. I had been deep in my spiritual crisis for several years, and painted about it all like a madwoman in 2021, but I really put any further personal searching to the side so I could deal with the separation and divorce. So I was really surprised that idea came to me. I remember thinking, “Now? Really? I kinda have other things going on.”

But just as I said that to myself a rush of ideas about such an exhibit came to mind. So I opened up my journal and started writing down all of my ideas. The exhibit would show artwork that explored deconstruction of high-control religion and the rebuilding of identity, meaning, and belonging. All types of media would be accepted. And a variety of different religions.

So I got all of these ideas out of my head and then got back to my Grape Nuts. And eventually went back to bed.

That idea stuck in my head for the following years, and a few times I shared my goal with online friends and groups. The whole idea really wouldn’t let me go. Plus I was really interested in meeting other artists who had similar stories of religious breakdown. So, even though I crashed and burned in the fall of 2025, I decided then that I needed to get to work on this exhibit.

It’s called Leaving the Fold.

I’ve been dreaming of this for a long time.

Today I’m sharing that I have begun the first phase of the project! Yay me! I launched the fundraiser!

Yesterday I launched the Kickstarter fundraiser for the exhibit. It’s off to a great start and I’m hopeful for the funding we need to make the exhibit happen. I will be sending out a call to artists in May.

Please click on the button below to learn more about the project and consider making a donation. Every amount helps. Tell your friends and family about it.

Thank you for being part of my community, reading my stories and helping me feel seen and heard.

Learn more about Leaving the Fold

As Josh was going through his intense therapy, the mental stress became too much for him so he got a few weeks of medical leave, and then in September his 10-week paid sabbatical started.

I know a 10-week paid sabbatical sounds fantastic, but it also has its cons, as we learned from previous sabbaticals. Too much time at home (in addition to too much together time in 2020) made Josh a little stir crazy so he started going on long drives to get outside and process all he was going through in therapy. He drove all around the beautiful mountains and valleys of northwest Oregon and made pit stops to go on walks in nature and write in his journal.

And just to really lean into the midlife-crisis cliché, he even bought himself a little Miata sportscar for his drives.

I also tried to find fun things to do to keep sane, including family outings. But it seemed that as our personal and marital conflicts rose, so did the chance Josh would be triggered into an emotional meltdown during our outings. I really tried to forget about that possibility because I just wanted us to spend time together.

So our outings that fall were both fun and terrible. The day trip to the beach. The Alanis Morissette concert. The Fruit Loop drive around Mount Hood for my birthday. Setting up for a Relief Society paint night. On the way to and on the way back from my retreat at the end of October. All partly good events, but tarnished by Josh’s meltdowns. It was only in the years after we separated that I realized how emotionally straining those episodes were for me and my children during our entire marriage.

There was so much much stress going on that I was so happy to go on a trip with my mom and one of my sisters to Whidbey Island from September 26-October 2nd.

Mom wanted the experience of riding the train from Eugene to Seattle, so I rode with her, enjoying the comfortable ride and beautiful scenery. We chatted, napped and ate some snacks. We talked about my anger towards the church on the train ride, but only a little bit. I held back because I didn’t want to hurt her feelings about the church she loves so much. I assured Mom that I had no plans of leaving the church, because I didn’t. I truly believed that somehow God would resolve all of my spiritual conflicts and lead me back to being a true-believing and valiant Mormon.

We rented a beautiful home overlooking Puget Sound. It was such a lovely setting. A welcome respite. We spent the next few days relaxing, talking, laughing and going on outings in the area.

During one of the afternoons we wandered through some shops in downtown Langley and ate a delicious meal at the Braeburn Restaurant. We perused through the Moonraker Bookstore where I hoped to buy a book from a local writer. I found the book The Sacred Ordinary: the Odyssey of a Ninety-one-year-old Contemplative, by Urashan.1 I was drawn in by the author’s unique name and by the description of the book on the back cover:

Little did I know that her book, insights, wisdom and life experiences would help me get through my divorce the following year.

One day my sister and I went to Earth Sanctuary, a beautiful, peaceful outdoor space for spiritual connection and meditation. The sanctuary’s forested paths led to Tibetan prayer wheels, stacked stone cairns, calm ponds, the Dolmen Megalith, a labyrinth, Cottonwood Stone Circle and an authentic native american medicine wheel. We felt wonder and honor in those sacred spaces, each centered around varying religious practices.

Visiting the medicine wheel was an especially moving experience. It is located on top of a small hill, surrounded by tall trees and shrubs, and was created and blessed in ceremony by Klaw-osht, a Shaman of the Nuu-chan-nulth tribe from Vancouver Island. To honor that sacred site, participants are instructed to use only Native American prayer protocol and materials while in the wheel, and refrain from taking photos. According to the Sanctuary’s website:

“The Medicine Wheel, one of the most powerful and cherished symbols of Native American belief, is an ancient place of prayer sacred to Native Americans, symbolizing the totality of existence. The Earth Sanctuary Medicine Wheel is a sacred space designed to amplify the power of prayers and connect you with all the Grandmothers, Grandfathers, Mother Earth, Moon, Sun, Sky, and the Creator, on the eternal circle of life.”

And so my sister and I removed our shoes and socks in the silent, drizzling rain and each took our turn walking barefoot through the medicine wheel and offering up prayers. It was such a beautiful experience and a reminder of what indigenous people have known for centuries - that nature is sacred and healing and we are forever connected to all creation and our ancestors.

All in all, our Whidbey Island trip was wonderful and I loved spending time with my sister and mom. I’m also pretty sure I could be perfectly happy living in a little house overlooking Puget Sound for a long time.

When I got back from that trip, I was happy to see Josh and the kids and for the good things that were happening in October.

I found a new therapist and was looking forward to working with them. I had so many emotions to process that had come out of me while intuitive painting for several months. During our initial visit, the therapist said something like “it sounds like where you are isn’t working for you anymore, and you know you want to move away from that but don’t know how to get there.” Yep. This wonderful therapist guided me through the next four years of darkness and I wouldn’t be here without them.

I also renewed my temple recommend. That may seem weird given all I have written so far, but at the time I still believed or at least was trying to believe everything about the church. And I loved the temple.

With all of my emotional and spiritual pain, I was catching glimpses of understanding about the correlation between my religious upbringing and my mental health. That prompted me to paint the piece called “My Bell Jar,” about the first time I realized that I had depression. That was during my junior year of high school, when we read The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath2 for my Women in Literature class. I recognized myself in Esther, the main protagonist, and that terrified me. I kept it to myself. I had no idea how to talk about it then. And frankly I was ashamed to admit it to anyone.

On October 22nd, I was so happy to go out to dinner with many friends to celebrate my 50th birthday. We went to Mother’s Bistro, my favorite Portland restaurant, and enjoyed good food, lots of laughs, and the crowd of fun-loving, kilt-wearing people walking past the big windows of the restaurant. So Portland.

I really needed that birthday dinner with my friends. I was overwhelmed, drowning in my spiritual crisis and family stress. I remember feeling that this all must be happening to lead me to growth and change, but I simultaneously felt like I was losing my mind. I jokingly tell people that I thought I would have everything figured out by the time I turned 50, but as it turns out, that’s the year that everything went to shit.

Earlier in the month of October, I started reading The Dance of the Dissident Daughter by Sue Monk Kidd.3 I don’t know how to properly explain what this book did for me. As you can tell by the dog-eared pages, underlines, highlights and post-it notes, I was deeply impacted and validated by Kidd’s writing.

According to Merriam-Webster, dissident as an adjective means:

: disagreeing especially with an established religious or political system, organization, or belief

Me? A dissident daughter? I never in a million years thought I would become that.

But there I was recognizing myself in Kidd’s story.

“I was going along doing everything I “should” have been doing, and then, unexpectedly, I woke up. I collide with patriarchy within my culture, my church, my faith tradition, my marriage and also within myself. And this collision changed everything.” (Pg. 7)

Holy crap. That’s me. Doing all the church things I should, and then a massive collision of everything.

At the beginning of the book, Kidd shares the account of a dream she had, in which she sees herself on a beach, nine months pregnant. She begins to labor by herself. She births a baby girl, and looking at her close for the first time, realizes that she had given birth to herself.

“I knew as a woman I’d been asleep, but I had no idea exactly how. I knew I was waking up, but I didn’t possess a clue about what I might be waking up to. All I knew was that there was this tiny female life inside, some part of me waking up and wanting to be born. She was rousing me out of years of somnambulance, and something had to be done with her.” (pg. 26)

I wondered if all I was going through was a rebirth.

The author writes a lot about the feminine wound, particularly in religion, which I don’t think I had ever understood before. Maybe the fact that I wasn’t even aware of it is exactly the problem.

“I grew up in a patriarchal church, but even how well meaning the brethren are, the structure is a patriarchal one. As a woman I was severed from something deep inside myself, something purely and powerfully feminine. Steeped in a faith tradition that men had named, shaped and directed, I had no alliance with what might be called the Sacred Feminine. I had lost connection to feminine soul.”

I have almost always felt a powerful feminine energy as a woman in Relief Society in the church- whether that be at service activities sewing reusable menstrual pads, visiting a sister in her home, or singing “Love One Another” together in our Sunday meetings. I don’t know that I ever felt inferior as a woman in the church. Even though I struggled with my own self worth, we were always reminded that we were daughters of Heavenly Father and He loves us.

Like the author, I thought of myself as an independent woman, with my own goals, opinions, likes and dislikes. But I was also passive to men in power. I must submit to what the Priesthood leaders say, as was my sisterly duty. I could relate to what the author said here:

“One of the more uncomfortable discoveries I made about myself during this time was a need to prove myself to the father world - my own father, the cultural father, the church father. The powerful male presence.”

Kidd wrote, “What happens to a female when all her life she hears sacred language indirectly, filtered though male terms? What goes on deep inside her when decade after decade she must translate from male experience into female experience and then apply the message to herself?” (pg. 61)

Oof. That was me. It was more important to please the father figure with strict obedience than it was to listen to my own inner knowing. Heck, for most of my life, I didn’t even know inner knowing was a thing. Feeling the Spirit (who is male, according to the Mormon church) and receiving personal revelation was always in relationship to the Father and the Son, and whatever the male church leaders said would please the all-male Godhead. And to make it more complicated, the church always emphasized that you can only feel the Spirit if you are worthy and keep all the commandments.

For at least a year or two I had been feeling a longing to connect to Heavenly Mother and I was getting mad that the brethren so strongly discouraged it. Don’t pray to Heavenly Mother because we don’t know enough about her. She’s too tender to handle our problems. Talk about her but not too much.

I wanted to know Heavenly Mother. I had some things to talk to her about. A lot of things. As I read The Dance of the Dissident Daughter, I was being awakened to the Divine Feminine and longed to understand my connection with her.

Kidd also wrote about her relationship with her husband during her spiritual awakening. He was resistant and sometimes resentful. She often “woke every day to uncertainty about my marriage. We found ourselves standing at the site of a leveled relationship, one we ourselves had purposely collapsed from top to bottom like those old buildings that explosive experts bring down in a cloud of dust and applause in order to make way for new construction.” (pg. 119)

Yeah, that sounded familiar. Kidd explained that marriages are meant to be created and re-created. I could see Josh and I also doing what she did,

“worked to undo the old marriage and create a new one stripped of the old dependencies and patriarchal set up, a growth-inducing relationship that offered each of us freedom to choose and be, that only allowed for but enhanced the soul in each of us.” (pg. 120)

Josh and I were both trying to break out of the familiar patterns of our individual selves, our marriage and our roles. The codependency was strong. But we encouraged each other in our growth and I was hopeful that we would emerge stronger.

Another important thing I learned from the book is that this phase of life - questioning, anger, crashing of identity, and/or spiritual upheaval is actually common. Not only common, but a natural phase of life for the majority of women, particularly in their 40s and 50s. I had no idea. If any other females around me had ever experienced this inner turmoil in midlife, no one talked about it.

In the church, the focus is always about being stalwart, steady, never wavering and that everyone is counting on you. Be obedient. Valiant. A rock. True disciples never waver. Beware of the Nephite Cycle. Just follow the prophet. Stay in the boat. Doubt your doubts.

So in a way, the fact that many of women’s natural and normal life patterns have been dismissed for centuries is a part of the overall feminine wound.

Not to mention that Mother Nature herself models the cycles of rebirth, growth, harvest and hibernation. We really need to listen to her.

A whole lot of pain could be prevented if the church allowed us to talk about healthy human development and the stages of life, and how those correlate to our spiritual growth. But they always seem so afraid that science and actual human experience will compete with their authority, and their patriarchal way of viewing things.

I was in awe as I read more about this “inner knowing” and how Kidd came to realize that her “ultimate authority is the divine voice in my own soul.” (pg. 92) She explains that the moment that a patriarchal daughter decides to follow her own inner guidance is both life-changing and very difficult for her to do.

“What is held over her head is condemnation, even damnation. We’ve been led to believe that leaving the circle of orthodoxy means leaving the realm of truth. Typically the church has considerable stake in our staying in the orthodox circle. It knows if we claim ultimate authority as something in ourselves, as some inchoate voice in our own souls, it has lost all power over us. We have rendered ourselves independent, outside its control.” (Pg. 93)

I was absolutely terrified that my spiritual crisis would jeopardize my eternal salvation, as my frequent nightmares reflected. I had many, many nights tossing and turning and dreaming of being outcast from my family, shunned by the church, dragged down to hell and being burned alive at the Second Coming. I’m serious. It was bad.4

Frankly, this pisses me off. Because you get people like me who go through a spiritual upheaval and are terrified that if they follow what their own soul is telling them to do, to step outside the very orthodoxy that is killing them, they are risking their salvation.

Not only is it ignorant to think that people will always be unquestioning, but it is abusive to tell members that such changing and evolving in your spiritual beliefs is not God’s way. And it’s extra damaging to tell us that there is “No real spirituality, no salvation, no community, no divine substance” outside of the church.” (Pg. 60)

The constant fear of damnation and my inner conflict with the church were the most excruciating parts of my spiritual crisis. The conflict was that I had believed everything that the church taught was true, but then couldn’t understand why God was leading me away from it. Why was the Spirit and what I now know as my divine intuition, causing me to question church teachings? Why would God do this and then condemn me for it? It remained an ultimate conflict in my soul for the next few years.

I took all of this - my wonderings, questions, conflicts, need for connection to the divine feminine, and my increasing anger towards the church - with me on my next trip: a personal spiritual retreat in the beautiful Applegate Valley of Southern Oregon.

The letter

What do you mean the church isn’t my friend? That it doesn’t have my best interests at heart? That can’t be. I mean, Elder Uchtdorf calls us “dear friends” and President Monson used to wiggle his ears and tell all the members he loves us. Elder Nelson says he prays for us all every day. The leaders pray for my happiness and eternal salvation and hope that I will hold to the iron rod with all my might, mind and strength.

And what about all the good people in all the wards I’ve been in? Young Women’s leaders, RS ladies, bishops, roommates, ward members and mission companions who showed me love with their hugs, handshakes and cute inspirational handouts? Surely they have my best interest at heart. They have been and are my friends.

So much good has come into my life because of the church. Best friends, family, the serenity and refuge in the temple, spiritual experiences, my mission, my college education, guidance about positive ways of living, meeting my husband in the young adult ward, a connection with God, serving others and being the recipient of service. So how could this thing be both a great blessing in my life but not my friend?

Excerpts from Josh’s brutally honest email:

I know this is going to be hard to hear, but I have to say it. The Mormon church is not your friend, and they don’t have your best interests at heart. Every time they respond to your concerns and pleas for compassion and understanding with anything other than complete accountability, full-throated sorrow and amends, and meaningful change, they are gaslighting you. They are spiritually abusing and traumatizing you and other good-hearted members by forcing you to cut off and exile the part of your soul that is willing to stand up to them and hold them accountable.

I don’t mean to attack or disrespect anything about the church that is a positive to you - I know there is a lot. The critical distinction I’m trying to make is between the church as an organization - its leaders and policies and history - and the church as a community and connection to spirituality.

It makes me FURIOUS to see them continue to treat you like this! Shame on them for not listening to you, and to the countless others who have cried out from the depths of despair for healing and comfort, only to be gaslit, brushed off, and blamed.

Everything good in your life that you believe came from being a member of the church actually came to you through other channels, and they just steal all the credit. All the good experiences with family, friends, and leaders, and kids in the church come from the innate goodness of decent people… and came from the real thing - the Universe, the divine, nature, people, art, love, and fully feeling.

Josh’s email was about 5 ½ pages long, a total of 3677 words. He has always been a little long-winded in his writing.

I felt it so deeply that I had to put it down for a few days, think about it and pick it up again later.

Josh’s writing reflected much of what I had been feeling - that the top 15 were subtly yet repeatedly gaslighting me and so many other members:

• Shrugging off our concerns and questions.

• Avoiding taking accountability for the harm, and blaming members for bringing it up.

• Changing the church history narrative and telling us it’s always been that way.

• Telling members to give Brother Joseph a break.

• Making light of women who worry about polygamy.

• Saying everything will all work itself out in the eternities. Don’t worry about the things that don’t make sense now.

• Teaching that you’re having a hard time, it’s because you’re not praying or reading scriptures enough.

• Reminding us that God loves everyone but will only shower blessings upon you if you are obedient and worthy.

• The prophet speaks to and for God. But that one thing he said is just his opinion. And after five million talks about how the prophet is the most wonderful being on the face of the planet, they say he’s fallible, and we’ve told you this all along.

So yeah, during this time of my greatest internal suffering, the church was not my friend.

On September 21st I wrote in my journal:

I fear asking for a priesthood blessing or reading the scriptures or a talk because I’m afraid I won’t be listened to. I’ll just be chastised. I want comfort. I want to feel that God hears my concerns without saying, yes, BUT you need to be doing this and that. I want validation. I want comfort for my tender heart. I want compassion.

I’m scarred from the church abuse and manipulation and gaslighting.

What I wanted and what I needed was to have loving arms wrapped around me to tell me I would be okay. That these struggles are actually a normal part of life development. That it’s okay to question, to ponder, to disagree. That my questions weren’t because I was a faithless, lazy sinner.

I withheld a lot of my feelings about the church from my friends and family members. I didn’t want to offend my mother, siblings and friends who are strong believers in the church. I was afraid they would think I was just being too unreasonably upset about everything. I didn’t dare speak up in church for fear of being labeled as that contentious troublemaker who brings up difficult topics and makes the Spirit leave the room. And then of course I had nightmares about having to meet with the bishop or stake president and being seen as some kind of apostate.

I knew that anger is a messenger, a signal that something is wrong, but I had no idea what to do with this anger towards the church. Was I supposed to deny it, bottle it up, and repent for my harsh feelings about the church? Become a kind of vocal activist for change in the church?

In his email Josh reminded me of what he saw in me: my power, spirituality, empathy, beauty, fight for justice and equity. Things that I hadn’t really thought about myself but were surely making their way to the surface.

The woman you are becoming is a strong, compassionate, visionary leader and a fierce defender of people who get looked down on and hurt. I love those qualities in you! You grew up to be a protector and a Mama Dragon to some of the most tender hearts in the world. But I know you have your own hurts and wounds, and I know what it’s like to be a “fragile guardian” - a proud and fierce advocate that nonetheless has conflict and uncertainty within.

I am so proud of that fierce part of you that dares to get angry with them, and who looks for ways to express her anger. Keep working on that! You’ve got to express it, to get it out, rather than keep it inside.

I could feel the fierce fighter rising up inside of me. She wanted to be known. But Righteous Rachel was really getting in her way.

As a kid, I was a tomboy with a kind of toughness that comes from being a feral child in the 70s. When I wasn’t in school, I played outside. Riding bikes, climbing trees, doing cartwheels off the old picnic table. All that came with stubbed toes, bee stings and scraped knees. At school, I liked getting competitive on the soccer field with the boys during recess and I liked feeling strong as I beat the socks off anyone who dared challenge me at tetherball.

Although I think I was mostly easy going, there was a fighter in me.

One time in second grade a girl in my class got mad at me and told me to meet me in front of her house to fight after school so she could beat me up. I agreed, thinking I could easily take this girl. As I walked over to her house, her dad was out in the front yard, egging us to get on with the fight. But just as soon as I showed up, took my back pack off and tightened my fist, he called the fight off and said something about fighting not being worth it. I like to think he knew I could beat up his daughter. That’s the story I tell myself.

I got in a fight once with a friend about the tetherball rules. She pushed me so I pushed her back. I got in trouble with the teacher and had to sit in time out once we were back in the classroom. I remember feeling sorry that I hurt my friend but strangely proud of myself for fighting back. And there was this strange pride about getting in trouble, being the rebel, a rule breaker.

Somewhere in time part of that fighter in me was buried.

When I was about 11 years old, I got a new Springfield News paper route in the neighborhood of our new house on D Street. I had been delivering papers for two years by then, and had my system of bagging the papers into plastic bags and stuffing them into the pouches of the canvas delivery bag. I can still remember the smelly newspaper scent of that bag. A few days each week, I loaded up the delivery bag, hopped on my bike and made my way through the route, putting papers into blue boxes or tossing them on porches. I faced a lot of challenges on my paper routes: delivering in the pouring rain, collecting money from customers in cigarette smoke-filled homes, creepy people, and those darn snarling Doberman pinschers at that one house on D Street. (I am still a little scared of Dobermans to this day).

But what I hated the most were the bullies: kids who teased or yelled at me as I delivered papers. On this new route, the bullies were my age and lived on F Street. On almost every delivery day, when I rounded the corner by their house, those boys were outside playing, and they got their jollies, as my mom would say, by harassing me every time I came by. They were relentless and it seemed to be getting worse - from just teasing words to cussing at me, blocking my way or trying to push me off my bike. Each time I got away, but it was both scary and annoying.

One day, I was delivering papers as usual, when the boys again made fun of me, cussed me out and tried to push me off my bike. Well, I had enough. I pushed their bikes back, cussed at them, and told them to leave me alone. And they backed off. I felt pretty proud of myself. I stood up to those turds.

Later on at dinner time, I told my parents about the confrontation, that I made those bullies go away by pushing back, and revealed that I had cussed, too. In our household, swear words were a big no-no. A wash-your-mouth-out-with-soap infraction and a personal affront to God himself.

My dad told me to get my jacket, that we were going over to those boys’ house. At first, I thought, “Yeah!! My tough, buff dad is going to tell them to leave me alone!” But as I struggled to keep up with my dad’s long strides on the walk to their house, he told me we were going over there to apologize. Wait, what? Why? Because you pushed those boys and cussed at them. But I was defending myself! One girl against two boys! But Dad was adamant that I apologize. I could hardly believe what was happening. Couldn’t he see how difficult those boys made my life every day? And some of the things they said to me scared me half to death?

We got to their house, knocked on the door, and the boys’ father opened the door. My dad explained that I was there to apologize to the boys for pushing and cussing at them. I remember the boys and the dad looking a little puzzled and a little afraid at the dominating presence of my father. In my embarrassment, anger and shame, I managed to apologize for my actions. And then we walked home. I don’t remember if any words were spoken between my dad and me on the way home, but I was mad. And ashamed, confused and defeated.

I think I lost a bit of my fighter Rachel with that experience.

I learned that night that not cussing was more important than sticking up for myself. That being Christlike meant being meek and letting people abuse you. Don’t stick up for yourself. Jesus didn’t. He just let those mean guys spit on him, beat him, and nail him to a cross. So I was supposed to do that, too.

I became more meek, and honestly carried that almost as a badge of honor. Look what a good girl I was being because I wasn’t disagreeing or questioning or causing trouble.

The fighter in me was starting to shrink. She gradually became quiet. She learned not to fight back. She didn’t speak out when she was mistreated. The fighter that had been instilled in me as a child, playing independently in the neighborhood, was crushed.

I don’t like to admit it, but I let people walk all over me for many years, in various situations. Rude teachers. Classmates who made fun of me. Inconsiderate strangers. Obnoxious customers. Toxic coworkers. I put up with so much crap and didn’t know how to set boundaries. I quit playing the violin after the 6th grade because my orchestra teacher teased me so much. One time my boss called me a derogatory name and I didn’t do anything.

In my relationship with the church for the past 10 years, it was worse than being walked on. It was more like being in the boxing ring with them, just continuing to take hits, over and over again. Stumbling around with a black eye and fat lip, with no one else to call off the match.

So now, back to 2021, I could feel the fighter in me coming back. She was angry. She was mad at how she and others were being treated. Rachel the Fighter was trying to break free of restrictions, of things that just didn’t sit right. She wanted to speak out, saying her concerns and ideas are valid and should be respected and heard.

But this caused a real internal battle. Being quiet and obedient had become part of my identity. There’s a certain reward for being a “good daughter”, a meek one. It felt good to be praised for my agreeable personality. If I rebelled against that identity, I risked everything: the approval of my parents, friendships with church members, my membership in the church, my standing before God, and tragically, my marriage.

I was extremely conflicted and agitated. I didn’t know what to do with all of this. So in addition to painting, I did what I felt was somewhat safe: I wrote. Journal entries, scripture study notes, support group posts, letters -some sent, others unsent. I wrote about the church’s teachings about LGBTQ+ people, spiritual trauma, the need for spiritual support, and the great dilemma I was having about disagreeing with the church but being afraid of it.

What happens when you are continually carrying so much internal conflict on top of relationship stress? When you feel that fighter in you but it is all so overwhelming?

I got so very tired. So weary of it all.

On September 9th I wrote:

I’m tired of everything. I feel like a dam in my soul has been broken and all my pain, frustration, discomfort, anguish, trauma, etc.. is pouring out.

Feel ashamed of being broken, not stoic and strong. I’ve hid my weakness for my whole life.

I want to be heard and validated by God.

Pressure to be perfect.

Tired of feeling like the only one in our family with concerns about our family life and the church.

Is God so limited that he can only handle one binary way of thinking about gender?

Tired of not knowing what my own voice is. Always wondering if I”m following my own intuition or the spirit or the devil. What is my own intuition? Who am I?

Tired of church restrictions.

Tired of church and spiritual conflict.

Tired of mental health challenges of depression, anxiety, ADHD, and scrupulosity

Tired of struggling, constantly pressured to strive strive strive.

Tired of being a pushover.

Want spiritual freedom but even as I say that I wonder if that want comes from the adversary. Because rules and commandments.; Because every blessing comes from obedience to God’s law.

Church gaslighting, conflict and bearing down on obedience to the prophet. Tired of getting my connection with God through 15 men.

Tired of feeling like my spiritual struggles and problems with the church are because I’m not faithful enough and I’m going astray and I’ll be damned. I just need to fall in line and keep my head down.

I was so very tired, but my battles weren’t even close to being over.

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First of all, I apologize for the long break in my writing. I do have more to write but life got crazy and then I crashed and burned, physically and mentally.

At the end of August, my kids and I moved out of our “Grieving House.” She held a lot of emotional turmoil in those walls. Aster is staying with a friend while they look for a new job and apartment in Portland. Gabe is renting a room in the Bethany area while he attends PCC. Since I need to save up money for my own place and figure out what the hell I want to be when I grow up, I started housesitting and petsitting in the Portland area at the end of August.

Ruby and I had many adventures at the seven housesits we went to. I loved staying in a variety of unique homes and taking care of the owner’s pets. Ruby really loved getting to know other dogs, including a tiny Pomeranian, a playful black lab and a total of three Bernese Mountain dogs. Oh, and two flocks of chickens.

I started feeling sick mid-September, but I thought it would eventually go away, so I pushed through. But in late October I still wasn’t better. I was struggling to function. I just couldn’t keep up with everything, so I canceled all my future housesits, resigned from my board position with Bridging Voices, called my doctor and went to my mom’s house.

Turns out I have mono, aka Epstein-Barr virus, aka “the kissing disease.” And I ain’t been kissing no one. =) All the stress of the past few months, and the past few years, really, took its toll and I crashed and burned. What I need now is rest and time to heal.

I stayed with my mom for about 10 days and really enjoyed that time with her. She was working through her own physical setbacks so we made an interesting pair. =) We ate simple meals, snacked on M&M’s and watched her shows: Jeopardy, Wheel of Fortune, NCIS, and of course, Y&R.

I’m now living with my oldest sister and her husband in the Medford, Oregon area. They have a lovely empty-nest home out in the countryside so I am getting lots of quiet time and rest here. I am so grateful to them for sharing their space with me so I can get better. I’m communicating with my doctors, eating well, taking a load of supplements, drinking potions and meditating with crystals. =)

My next chapter is almost ready, so stay tuned for that at the end of this week. Thanks for your patience.

Rachel

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Ecclesiastes:

1:13 And I gave my heart to seek and search out by wisdom concerning all things that are done under heaven.

2:16 I communed with mine own heart.

4:1 I considered all the oppressions that are done under the sun: and behold the tears of such as were oppressed, and they had no comforter; and on the side of their oppressors there was power; but they had no comforter.

8:1 …wisdom maketh [her] face to shine, and the boldness of [her] face shall be changed.

(TW: mention of suicide ideation later in this chapter)

In August I attended a weekly online women’s group about joy. I learned so much from these women. I think I was trying to find my own empowerment, my own joy, even in the midst of my spiritual and marital turmoil. Some kind of growth was happening there. Like me trying to understand my true self and create the kind of life I wanted, to fully feel my humanness. To keep intentionally experiencing moments of joy in our family.

One of the main messages from our group facilitator was that we can actively set our own intentions for joy, in whatever way that looks for us.

“How do you let go of the only form of self you’ve ever known?

How do you change from a person of constant nervous energy or someone checked out with no real presence to someone who makes joy her first priority in life?

YOU SET AN INTENTION FOR JOY.

But it’s hard work. “

In one session, our facilitator said, “If you’ve noticed that doing this joy work has made it hard for you at times, know you’re not alone.”

“You see, you’re changing your mind. And even though that change will be much better for your spirit and mood later, right now it might feel awkward as hell and uncomfortable too.”

Then she shared this quote from Brianna West:

I was sorting through my debris.

Josh had also started on his own journey of self-understanding. He began learning more about complex PTSD from his childhood trauma, in hopes that he could heal from all he endured as a child and young man.

He started reading books and articles about attachment bonds, trauma, C-PTSD and healing, at a feverish pace. He shared a lot of quotes and chapters with me, which were helpful and enlightening, but I struggled to keep up with all the information he was sharing with me. It was so much to process.

We talked often about what we were learning and feeling and experiencing in our own individual growth paths. Josh was proud of me for tackling my huge emotions. I was so proud of him for working through his issues. We both felt that our breakthrough into healing from our childhood trauma was one of the most meaningful developments in our marriage. We were entering a new phase of life, where we were true to ourselves, to each other and to our needs.

Unfortunately, as Josh and I were doing our individual work, things started getting more strained between us. We were processing so much. We were trying to keep the parts of our relationship that were good, and change the things that were unhealthy. We got caught in a cycle of hurting each other, forgiving, then hurting again. We were trying so hard.

Josh said he would never give up on me.

I knew I would not give up on him. I thought we were experiencing growing pains and I believed we would get through it.

What I didn’t realize then was that our marriage was unraveling.

How is it that there can be so much personal growth and enlightenment, and at the same time our marriage started to crumble? When both people in a marriage are growing, changing and healing, is it inevitable that that the relationship will deteriorate? Or is it possible that they can grow and change and adapt to the new version of themselves?

It’s all so tragic, how two people can be growing and learning individually, and at the same time falling apart from each other.

At the same time we were working on communication in our marriage, we were hurting each other

At the same time I was so proud of Josh, I was becoming more stressed around him

I was working so hard to support my husband, just as I was losing my husband

I was guiding and nurturing my children but struggling to stay present with them.

I was working so hard on understanding myself, but still hiding parts of me

The paradoxes. So bewildering.

I was also facing paradoxes in my faith and relationship with the church.

Praying so hard and turning to God — as my perception of God was changing

Studying scriptures for answers — I became more confused

Hanging on to the church — finding it difficult to be there

Filled with wonder — filled with despair and fear

My soul was expanding — losing my faith

I was being hurt by the same church that had blessed me so much.

As I continued with my spiritual upheaval, anytime something about the church came up and I was aggravated, I had a habit of bringing it up with Josh. But because he was trying to emotionally distance himself from the church, me bringing up church issues all the time really triggered him. We tried to set boundaries about what we could talk about with each other. I would ask Josh if he had the capacity at that moment to talk about it. Sometimes he did, but sometimes he didn’t and I tried to respect that. But I often failed. At one point we tried to make any church topic off limits.

Feeling so alone in my spiritual struggles, I was absolutely relieved when I found a podcast and community of like-minded Mormon women, called At Last She Said It. 1 The hosts, Cynthia Winward and Susan Hinckley talk about all the hard topics. The worries. The disenchantment with the church. The hurt. And how to navigate that personal path, whether it be in the church or leaving or anywhere in between.

I surely needed that because I lost my marbles when I heard about Elder Holland’s “musket talk” that he gave at BYU on August 23rd.

One of his main points was that BYU faculty and staff should take up their intellectual “muskets” to defend the church’s doctrine of marriage as the union of a man and a woman,” even if it means there is “friendly fire.”

Now, I know Elder Holland is a good man, a good leader. I think I understand the intent of his message that day. But at that time in August 2021, I was so sensitive about anything church leaders said about same-sex attraction and queer people, that I got mad. That day I went out to my painting station and furiously created this painting: Love or Muskets? I tore up pages of hymns and burnt them along the edges. I placed the hymns about love and mercy on the left side, with hymns about war, battles and power on the right side.

During this time I continued to have unsettling and fearful nightmares. I would wake up emotionally exhausted, confused and scared. All the nightmares had the familiar feeling of fear, dread, worry, about falling off the church path, losing my salvation, feeling responsible for rescuing others, trying to save myself and my family from hell. I often wrote or painted in the middle of the night when I couldn’t sleep.

The art I created during that time reflects my nightmares and inner turmoil, as well as my search for joy.

Looking back, it really pisses me off that the church’s teachings scared me so much that I was having continual distressing nightmares about my eternal salvation. I get that I am a highly sensitive person, but what do you expect when for decades we hear things like:

• “as you choose not to make covenants with God, you are settling for a most meager roof over your head throughout all eternity.”2

• no empty chairs.

• the devil is waiting to sift you as wheat

• if you aren’t perfect, the devil will get you (temple instruction) .

• if you leave the church, you’re ruining my future generations.

• if you don’t proselytize to a random seatmate on the plane, or co-worker, or next-door neighbor, their lack of eternal salvation is on your head.

• Pay a full tithe or be burned in the last days. tithing = fire insurance.

To top it off, a member shared this quote with me, after talking with them about Josh exploring his own path outside the church:3

They will have to suffer for their sins?!! Pay their debt to justice?!! For following the path that is healthier for them? By just trying to live their life the best they could? I just couldn’t grasp that.

This fear-based teaching is damaging and traumatizing. And I’m going to say it, it is spiritually abusive. I haven’t been able to call things abusive in regards to the church until now, because it is so harsh, because the leaders, teachers and members mean well. But what else is it? Maybe other members aren’t affected by the fear like me and my sensitive heart. I don’t know.

Pete Walker’s wrote this about spiritual abuse: 4

I believed all this. I still believed that if I left the church, even for a few months, I would be putting myself in Satan’s grasp and risking my eternal salvation.

I was tired of feeling ashamed and worried about my faith “crisis.” I was tired of feeling looked down on for being hurt by the church. I had a right to be angry. I am sensitive. I get hurt. God can handle my hurt. I needed to ask Him and Heavenly Mother what I was supposed to do with this pain.

I didn’t want to be chastised, I wanted to be heard.

I was clearly spiritually traumatized at this point. So very weary of my soul’s struggle. I was not in a good place mentally and emotionally. I felt like I was going crazy. My negative thoughts, anxiety, self loathing and suicide ideation increased.

I never thought in a million years that my most difficult spiritual struggles would come from the church.

I never thought in a million years that the church I loved so dearly would become a major wedge between my husband and I.

Seeing my spiritual struggle was difficult for Josh. He couldn’t stand seeing me hurt by the church. He saw my tears, hurt and confusion. It made him so angry. He didn’t understand why I couldn’t just walk away from the church, like he did.

I also wondered sometimes why I didn’t walk away. I just couldn’t. I still believed in everything the church taught. I still thought that belonging to the church was the most important thing in my life, and that the gospel taught there contained all the keys to happiness and eternal salvation.

I wrote this in a message to Elder Ballard about people not feeling welcome at church.

“Some may be able to process spiritual trauma and still remain active in the church. But can we blame those who don't? We are complicated human beings. There are so many emotions, circumstances and experiences wrapped up in one person. It can all become too much to bear, so distancing themselves from the church, even from a loving congregation, is a matter of self-preservation. Even anger and bitterness towards the church is a normal response to emotional processing. Our Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ love us where we are at now. They know life is challenging, even in the true church.”

I could say that leaving the church was a matter of self-preservation for other members, but I could not apply that to myself.

I had been taught my whole life that my emotional, physical and spiritual self-preservation was not a good enough reason to leave the true church.

That’s messed up.

I mean, my goodness, I was pleading with the Lord every day and searching the scriptures for answers, and yet I was tormented by the idea that my issues with the church were there because I wasn’t faithful enough. I believed what the brethren say about people who go astray. They don’t have enough faith, are lazy, and are seduced by the world.

I was going astray. After a lifetime of devotion to the church and God, that was a devastating feeling.

And so I wrote the journal entry that started this whole story.

“I am so frustrated, sad, angry, pained, upset, fragile, confused at my church. I am agitated. Spiritually agitated. I don't know what to do. I don’t trust myself to know things spiritually independently outside of my church context. The crappy shit the leaders say, the policies, the hurt, the shame, How much longer can I hold on to the church, being so conflicted and confused by it? How much anguish can I handle? What does God want me to do? Is He listening? Does He understand my pain and confusion? What am I to do?”

Shortly after I wrote that journal entry, Josh wrote me a letter that started with this:

“I know this is going to be hard to hear, but I have to say it. The Mormon church is not your friend.”

I loved exploring color, pattern, texture and layers with Louise, but what really struck me was her emphasis on finding your own personal style - embracing your artistic voice, unleashing your creativity. She talked about laying down strokes of paint intuitively, noticing what colors, marks, patterns and tools you are partial to. Louise encouraged us to experiment without expectation of the outcome, asking “I wonder what happens if…” That really spoke to me because I was eager to not only find my voice, but to loosen up my emotional self.

After the class was over, I kept my painting station set up, so I could practice what I learned from the class.

I kept thinking about the call to let myself feel everything and process trauma (see the end of Chapter 24) . I feel like the pandemic caused me to feel a lot of intense emotions about world events, which in turn caused my heart to crack open to a flood of emotions from past trauma that I hadn’t ever processed. I couldn’t hold those wounds inside anymore. Painful feelings and memories came to the surface, and I spent most of the summer of 2021 at my painting station, creating abstract intuitive paintings.

Before I started painting, I got a sketchbook and wrote down my ideas for paintings. I made lists of topics, life events and feelings that I wanted to paint about. These included, of course, the conflict of the church’s teachings and policies about LGBTQ+ people, journeying on my own path, and my spiritual struggles. On some of the pages I wrote in a stream of consciousness style, writing down whatever words came to mind. I researched the meaning of colors. Red - passion, anger, shame; orange - health, vibrance, courage, ignorance; and so on… I wrote down the colors that came to mind for specific paintings.

I developed my own process for painting each piece, starting with meditation, lighting a candle and incense and finding music that coincided with the emotion I was focusing on. As I painted, the colors, shapes and lines flowed naturally from my mind, heart and hands. It’s a fascinating and layered process. I let my family know that if they saw me sobbing or throwing paint at the canvas, I was okay. I was just fully in the moment.

For the first time I allowed myself to fully feel the so-called negative emotions like anger, fear, despair, confusion, envy, doubt and so on. And guess what? They didn’t last forever! (see Chapter 24) It felt miraculous. And I was in awe.

My first painting is called Night of Anguish, referring to the night in 2015 when Josh told me of his questions about the church and wept with despair. (see Chapter 3) The idea of the painting had been in my mind for a while. A kind of sacred but sad glow around our red couch. The blue represents Josh’s pain. I painted several versions.

Another one of my first paintings is called from Knowledge to Uncertainty. As my faith was being challenged and I was experiencing lots of personal struggles, I found that I was certain of less and less. And there came with it a kind of beauty. A permission to wonder. To ask. A release of the pressure to have a strong testimony.

I shared that painting On a Zoom call with two of my calligraphy friends, Marianne and Kay. It was the first time I ever shared a piece of art about my faith crisis with anyone. It was a little difficult to be that vulnerable. I felt safe sharing this very personal art with them because I knew their response wouldn’t be one of pity for my lost soul. Rather, Marianne and Kay acknowledged the depth of my journey and the courage it took to look closely at all my beliefs and faith.

Also it is very telling that the safest people besides Josh that I could open up to are not members of the church.

It didn’t feel safe to talk to anyone close to the church besides Josh. I was afraid of being reprimanded or dismissed by church leaders, instead of being heard. I was afraid that other members would think less of me. I was worried that my friends and family would be disappointed in me because of our strong roots in the church. I worried that they would be offended by my anger because you’re not supposed to talk bad about the church. I worried that by bringing up difficult issues, I would cause others to question their testimonies. I had repeated nightmares about all of these scenarios.

A few weeks later I created another art piece in an online class called Calligraphy and Painting. I wrote out this Emily Dickinson poem about losing one’s faith. Even writing it out was scary and vulnerable. Was I really losing my faith? What did that mean?

All this painting about pain and trauma was exhausting. Josh and the kids were so patient with me and gave me the space and time to do it. Sometimes after an intense painting session, I had to do a calming meditation, ask for a hug, or lie down for a while.

In one text to Josh I wrote:

“I feel really fatigued and anxious about it so I’m not going to my hair appointment. I’m just going to rest. I’m sorry I’m not present today for everyone. This is so hard and I could use a sweetie hug when you have a chance.”

One day, after a particularly emotional painting, I went into the house to clean my brushes and wash my hands. While I was at the sink, I had this feeling inside my soul and body that I can’t describe as anything else but a fullness. An expanding, beautiful fullness. It was new to me, so I asked myself and God, what is this feeling? And very clearly to my mind came , ‘Joy. This is joy, Rachel.” It came to me at that moment that joy is about allowing ourselves to feel every human emotion. To embrace the humanness in ourselves. Joy isn’t being happily giddy all the time. It is like seeing all of the earth’s seasons as part of a great whole. I was learning to embrace every part of me, all my emotions, my shadows, my faults, all my life experiences.

That was a life-changing moment for me.

Why didn’t I face these demons, my shadows, my trauma before?

It’s strange. By that time, I had been in and out of therapy for 20 years. I had worked through many issues and learned ways to cope with my major depressive disorder. In a way, I had pushed down my trauma and pain so far that I didn’t know they were there. I think I was afraid of admitting that I had struggles. That I wasn’t perfect. That I was broken. I needed to be strong. Just buck up. I didn’t want to admit that some of my life experiences were really harmful, because I shouldn’t be dwelling on those things. I should be able to count my blessings and move on.

I was scared of myself because the church taught me to be scared of myself.

“For the natural man is an enemy to God, and has been from the fall of Adam, and will be, forever and ever, unless he yields to the enticings of the Holy Spirit, and putteth off the natural man and becometh a saint through the atonement of Christ the Lord, and becometh as a child, submissive, meek, humble, patient, full of love, willing to submit to all things which the Lord seeth fit to inflict upon him, even as a child doth submit to his father.” Mosiah 3:19

As a member of the church, I thought that “natural man” was any attribute I had that is not positive and Christlike. And I had to battle those attributes. Fight them. Flog myself with shame about them. Or pray like hell that the weakness will be turned into a strength.

All that definitely affected my ability to look at my issues in a healthy way. And also, maybe I just wasn’t ready to face my shadows until this point.

I have read that many people in high demand religions haven’t learned to acknowledge their shadow selves, to process all emotions and experiences in a healthy way. And sometimes the leaders discourage their followers from self-improvement, discovery, and authenticity. I mean heaven forbid if we think about ourselves for a moment.

Shadow work involves confronting our repressed emotions, traumas, and negative behaviors - even embracing these hidden parts of ourselves. Through the process we can gain more self-compassion and learn healthier ways of coping with our challenges. And we can strengthen our relationship to the divine.

Dominica Applegate from Sacred Humans Co writes:

As Christians, we can explore inner shadows with courage and faith. Shadow work helps us to reconnect with God on a deeper level by allowing us to gain insight into our core beliefs and motivations. It can help us to uncover hidden aspects of ourselves that may have been repressed or ignored, such as our fears and doubts.

Engaging in shadow work can also help us to gain a better understanding of ourselves and how we relate to God. By accepting all aspects of ourselves – both the dark and the light – we can find true inner peace and joy in our relationship with Him. Shadow work can also help us to gain clarity about our spiritual path and find guidance in times of struggle or uncertainty.

Shadow work is a sacred gift from God. It invites us to take a journey inward and explore our deepest, most hidden shadows (ego-identity) with humility and courage. By engaging in shadow work as Christians, we can cultivate true joy, peace, and connection with God.

Here are Dominica’s thoughts about why shadow work might be difficult for people in high demand Christian religions:

While shadow work has gained popularity in many spiritual and personal development circles, it is not widely embraced by the Christian and Catholic communities. This is because the concept of exploring and embracing one’s “shadow self” can be seen as contradictory to the teachings of Christianity, which emphasizes the importance of living a virtuous life and avoiding sin.

Additionally, some Christians may view the emphasis on self-exploration and self-improvement as being in conflict with the idea of surrendering “self” to God’s will and relying on divine intervention for personal transformation.

I have definitely felt that as a Mormon for my whole life. Don’t think about yourself too much. Avoid pride. Lose yourself in service. Give your will to God. Watch out for those self-improvement yahoos.

In a 2024 talk by Elder Ulisses Soares Of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, he says,

During our sojourn in mortality, we often wrestle with what we think we know, what we think is best, and what we assume works for us, as opposed to comprehending what Heavenly Father actually knows, what is eternally best, and what absolutely works for children within His plan. This great wrestle can become very complex, especially considering the prophecies contained in the scriptures for our day: “This know also, that in the last days … men shall be lovers of their own selves, … lovers of pleasures more than lovers of God.” 2 Timothy 3:1–2, 4

One sign that indicates fulfillment of this prophecy is the current growing trend in the world, adopted by so many, of people becoming consumed with themselves and constantly proclaiming, “No matter what, I live my own truth or I do what works for me.” As Paul the Apostle said, they “seek their own, not the things which are Jesus Christ’s.” This way of thinking is often justified as being “authentic” by those who indulge in self-centered pursuits, focus on personal preferences, or want to justify certain types of behavior that frequently don’t match God’s loving plan and His will for them. If we let our heart and mind embrace this way of thinking, we can create significant stumbling blocks for ourselves in acquiring the most priceless pearl that God has lovingly prepared for His children—eternal life.

While it is true that each of us travels an individualized discipleship journey on the covenant path, striving to keep our hearts and minds centered on Christ Jesus, we need to be careful and constantly vigilant to not be tempted to adopt this type of worldly philosophy in our life. Elder Quentin L. Cook said that “being sincerely Christlike is an even more important goal than being authentic.”1

I understand what he’s saying. Being consumed with yourself isn’t healthy and could cause you not to rely on God. He teaches that you can’t improve yourself just by willpower, but by repentance and relying on Christ’s grace.

In our church there is a big fear of selfishness and pride. But sometimes I feel like we’re being warned not to trust ourselves or know ourselves, which is a key part of personal growth. And if we can’t trust ourselves, of course, we must look to the brethren, the leaders, for what is “right" for us. Leaders telling members that they know what’s best for them preserves a loyal following. It maintains a kind of control, whether or not the leaders are meaning to do that.

I think a person can practice self-awareness, self-compassion and authenticity that aligns with God’s will. In fact, since we are God’s children, as we understand and embrace our true selves, we are embracing God.

I have felt that in my life. Through self work, therapy and learning to embrace myself more (because it’s really hard to undo years of unhealthy self beliefs), I feel a closer connection to God. Without anyone or anything monitoring that.

We hear so many talks about forgetting yourself in service to God, being humble, being obedient, develop xyz spiritual habits - from a mostly white male leadership. But what might be healthy for privileged white men to do for spiritual conversion is not necessarily healthy for women, gender non conforming people, BIPOC people and those from non-Americanized cultures.

The author Elizabeth Gilbert shared these thoughts in 2017:

“Men will find their spiritual evolution in a different way than women. Men can only step into the "Divine Masculine" by learning how to be softer — by learning how to be humble, how to feel empathy, how to be self-sacrificing, how to put the needs of others before the raging demands of their own egos, how to share, how to forgive, how to be tender toward the vulnerable and suffering, and how to turn the other cheek instead of reacting with rage and violence.

But women — for the most part — don't need to learn this.

Women don't need to learn how to soften any more. (Trust me, most of us have got that "soft" part down already.) For the most part, the women of this world already KNOW how to be humble, empathic, self-sacrificing, sharing, forgiving, and tender. All that stuff is what we friggin DO — instinctively. So don't preach softness to us, dudes: We friggin INVENTED softness. Women have been putting the needs of others first forever. And heaven knows — women have been turning the other cheek since the beginning of time.

So when you try to teach peacefulness [or in this case spirituality] to women the same way you would teach [spirituality]to men (by telling us to be more soft) you run the risk of teaching women how to be only MORE meek, MORE subservient, MORE compliant, MORE self-sacrificing, MORE humble, MORE accepting of abuses, MORE susceptible to exploitation and predation, and MORE enabling and forgiving of outrageously bad behavior from men.

In other words: It is not enough to ask men to become more peaceful; women must become MORE FIRM.

Men have to find their hearts, yes — but women have to find their SPINES.

This is not about men becoming emasculated, or women becoming shrill; it's about rebalancing a poisoned world through a combination of men's righteous peace and women's righteous anger...such that we can all meet in the middle, on the common ground of basic decency and grace for all.

"I've had enough of this shit" is the last thing every woman on earth has ever said, right before she finally liberated herself from stupidity, violence, and oppression.

Around this time in 2021 I could feel my inner self screaming that something had to change about the way I was approaching my spirituality. My old ways served me for many years, but I was getting to the point in which those ways were killing me. But it would be a long time before I would be able to say, “I’ve had enough of this shit.”

Wisdom begins in wonder. - Socrates

I bought this book from Goodwill about 10 years ago: The Myth of Certainty: Trusting God, Asking Questions, Taking Risks by Daniel Taylor.1

As I was perusing the book section, the title caught my eye. It never occurred to me that uncertainty about my religious beliefs was an option. There is so much emphasis on developing your testimony, bearing your testimony of “what you know” to be true. If you don’t have that, you will falter. And you just need to try a little harder and follow Moroni’s promise so you, too, can know the truth. Sometimes I feel like that leads us to believe that the only way to have a relationship with God and Jesus, the only way we can be worthy to participate fully in the church, is to know. You can’t possibly have a relationship with God if you aren’t certain that Joseph Smith was a prophet, that the Book of Mormon is the word of God, and the only prophet on the earth with the priesthood keys leads the church today.

I purchased the book, and put it on my to-read bookshelf, but I was so subscribed to this idea of certainty for most of my life, that I was afraid of reading the book. Afraid that God didn’t approve. That uncertainty was some kind of anti-Mormon idea. I would glance at it and Righteous Rachel would remind me that I better not read such blasphemous stuff. It sat on my bookshelf for several years, got covered by random piles of stuff, and I just recently found it in a book box again.

I finally read it this week. And I wasn’t struck down. I underlined passages, folded corners of pages and used sticky notes on the really impactful pages.

It gave me a lot to think about.

The author starts by clarifying terms, then writes about reflective Christians, the human need for security, discussing how institutions' primary goal is for self-preservation, the tendency of authoritarianism and the enforcement of rules, reflective Christians in a secular world, and more.

Speaking on the subcultures of intellectual orthodoxy and religious culture:

That helped me understand this tug of war going on inside my heart and mind for the past several years. Being caught between two worlds.

And then came Chapter 4: The Search for Truth and Certainty. This chapter had so many insights.

The author writes about the confusion of truth with certainty.

I recently researched more about uncertainty, faith and doubt from some of my favorite spiritual writers. Here are some excerpts from Richard Rohr’s article, Faith and Doubt Are Not Opposites. 2

My thoughts now on doubt, uncertainty, faith, etc…

We have the human right to say we know something. But we can’t tell someone else that they don’t know what they say they know.

Instead of testifying of what we think are absolute truths, what if instead we say, “I like this doctrine or teaching. It brings me peace and resonates with me. It gives meaning to my life experience.”

What if we stopped being so obsessed with knowing and embraced the beauty of what we don’t know? And just let go of the need to know?

I’m not afraid of uncertainty anymore, but I’m not sure our church likes it.

I feel like because our church leaders have received revelations about certain things - the three kingdoms of heaven, for example, that we only focus on what’s in those revelations and act like that’s the whole truth, that there’s nothing else to know. When in actuality, those revelations give us very little information about the eternities, spirituality, god, etc… Then there is no room for wondering.

I understand that we have a deep human need to define things. To set rules and limits and security. However, I am sick and tired of statements (not just from church leaders) like:

• Faith triumphs over fear.

• Faith leaves no room for doubt.

• Doubt your doubts before you doubt your faith.

• The opposite of fear is faith.

• The opposite of doubt is certainty.

• The opposite of faith is disobedience. Etc…

In my experience, it makes more sense that faith, doubt, certainty, uncertainty, fear are all part of the human experience, especially in a spiritual way. One principle doesn’t necessarily come just after the other, or cause one to be or cause one to disappear. It just is. They don’t need to be feared or demonized.

In the summer of 2021 I was beginning to let go of my tight grasp around certainty. Allowing myself to wonder about spiritual things, to question, wasn’t as scary anymore. I was amazed that letting go of the need to be certain about everything in the church gave me more peace. I felt a mysterious and beautiful wonder about God and life. For a while.

Uncertainty about spiritual things was okay, but later that year I would face a bewildering uncertainty about my marriage and my future that had me gasping for air.

In the journals of my youth, there are some repetitive patterns in the way I started each entry. In 1982-1983, I opened with, “Dear Journal, I’m fine.” Occasionally, an “I’m ok.” Over and over again. It’s so weird. Then I began the trend of apologizing at the beginning of about every third entry: “I’m sorry I haven’t written in a while.” I’m sorry I didn’t finish last time.” “I’m such a bad journal writer.” This went on for quite a few years.

In that spirit, since I haven’t written here in a while, I just want to say to you all, “I’m fine.” But it is taking all of my strength NOT to apologize for not writing sooner. =)

The end of the 2021 school year was weird. I think in April the schools finally reopened, but with a hybrid model - part online, part in school. Aster was relieved to be back among their peers. The pandemic isolation really affected my kids socially and emotionally, Aster especially. It was so hard to see them struggle with depression, anxiety and fatigue. I felt helpless for them. They were due to graduate on June 12th, but were so behind on some assignments that we had to work with them daily to make sure they completed all the requirements for graduation. But they made it and I was so proud of Aster. Knowing how hard school was for them made graduation even more special. We celebrated by going out to sushi as a family, and promised Aster a road trip to the desert as a graduation present, planned for December. And then encouraged Aster to rest that summer.

As for my relationship with the church, my testimony was wavering, as they say.

In our church, having a testimony is everything. It is the most important thing. Having a testimony means that you have prayed about the teachings, the Book of Mormon, Joseph Smith and you feel that they are all “true” - divinely inspired - but not just divinely inspired, - the only complete religious truth upon the whole earth. Having a testimony means knowing that God is our loving Father in Heaven and that Jesus Christ is our Savior. It also means that you know that the president of the church, his counselors and the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles are prophets, seers and revelators and the only people on earth that have the full keys and authority of the priesthood.

Having a strong, unwavering testimony is so important that you are asked if you believe in the major tenets of the church doctrine in a temple worthiness interview with one of the men in the bishopric.

President Gordon B. Hinckley described testimony beautifully:

I’m curious about when knowing things for sure became so important in the church. Has it always been this way? When did fast and testimony meetings begin? When did the temple recommend questions become a requirement in order to enter the temple?

Is saying “I believe” or “I hope” enough? Enough to prove my worth or have the Spirit with me? Can we really know? What if I don’t know? Why is it so important to say “I know?”

We are taught in the church that knowing will keep you safe from the evils of the world. Having a strong knowing testimony will keep you in the church. Knowing will help you to be strong in times of trial. Knowing will help you not be thrown around on a storm-tossed sea. Having a strong testimony is how you stay close to God.

So if my testimony “wavers,” can I still have a relationship with God? Can you ‘know’ that Jesus has got your back but not ‘know’ that the current president of the church is the only human on earth authorized to act in his name?

We were taught as missionaries that our testimonies grow stronger by the bearing of them. If you weren’t really sure if Joseph Smith was a prophet, say that you know he was, then you will know. I did that a few times. Sometimes I felt the truth in that, and sometimes I felt nothing. It was strange.

For years I worried that bearing my testimony, especially to a less active or non-Mormon, really came across as “I’m better than you.” “I know. And poor you, you don’t know.” “I’m one of the elect, so I get to know, and you don’t.” “But also God loves you." I don’t know if I ever came across that way. The possibility of being condescending to someone makes me cringe.

Having a testimony is so important, being able to say “I know” is so important, that we reserve one Sunday each month for Fast and Testimony meeting, where anyone from the congregation is encouraged to come to the pulpit and bear their testimony - share their beliefs about Jesus, the truthfulness of the church and gospel, and the occasional oversharing about their travels, medical issues and personal family matters.

For the most part, I have always enjoyed testimony meetings. Many people get up to the pulpit and start with “I’d like to bear my testimony that I know the church is true.” It really is a sweet way to start sharing your “knowing”. Throughout my life, I have felt the spirit of God countless times when friends, leaders, ward members and strangers have shared their testimony. I think part of feeling the spirit there is because it is a tender thing when someone shares their innermost thoughts and beliefs. But also, I gained strength from their knowing, their testimony of the church. I relied on their testimony. And the spirit was telling me in my heart that what they were saying was true.

My parents bore their testimony often. I thought, “well if they know, then I am on the right path, and I’ll believe it too.” They expressed how much they loved the Savior and how much love they had for their family. A brief look into the windows of their soul. I always admired them for their strong testimonies and belief in the church.

Like many members, before I share my testimony, I feel a nervous tension build up inside of me, my heart burning, as the spirit urges me to go up to the pulpit, and share my testimony. It’s a powerful feeling.

Some people cry when sharing their testimony, some don’t. Some people start to cry and take off their glasses because they can’t see through the tears. Like me and my mom.

There is something about that sobbing at the pulpit when I was a youth. I really think that I did that because I had so much emotional pain trapped inside of me, that even cracking open the deepest parts of me, my testimony, caused me to release a bunch of pent up pain and unprocessed trauma. I mean, my goodness, I loved the church and God, but I was not sobbing because of that belief.

Here is a journal entry about how nervous I was about bearing my testimony and being embarrassed about crying.

I cannot recall a specific incident in which I first gained my own testimony. Instead, my testimony was built through many different experiences and feelings throughout my life.

I wrote my testimony in my journal for the first time when I was 12 years old.

“I feel that Jesus is very important. He is the most important person in my life. He helps me do the right things. I love to learn about him because he is so important. I'm glad that he died for us on the cross to save us from our sins. He suffered so much and is a great example for me. What can I do to serve him? I can do missionary work to make converts to his church. I can pray to my Heavenly Father every day. I can follow Heavenly Father’s commandments. I can be nice to my friends and family. I can read the scriptures.”

When I was around 14 years old, I remember really wanting to know if what I was taught was really true, but mostly I was struggling with my self worth and a disconnection with God because of my depression. I knelt by my bed and asked God if He was really there and if he loved me. I felt a gentle warmth around me and a reassurance that he knew me and loved me.

Journal entry: Age 21 at BYU

Today was a pretty good day. Church went well, as usual, and I got the spiritual lift I needed. It was fast and testimony meeting. I bore my testimony in Relief Society, and I felt really good about that, since I don’t bear my testimony very often. I just expressed my thankfulness for the gospel in my life. I also expressed my love for my family and how good they are to me. Of course I cried the second I got up there, but I got through it, and felt much better afterwards.

Journal entry: July 1993, Age 21

All I know is that the gospel is true, the Book of Mormon is the word of God, and Joseph Smith saw the Father and the Son. My testimony is simple, but very important.

Journal entry: February 1999, Age 28

I read this passage in the book of Mormon (Alma 33: 3-11), which really impressed me. It was a reminder that the Lord truly hears my prayers, and will be merciful to me and answer in his own way. I have had many tearful prayers and pleadings on my knees in the past few months, and I know He hears me.

Journal entry: October 2008, Age 37

I am thankful for the Atonement of Jesus Christ. I don’t have a perfect understanding of the Atonement and sometimes my faith feels weak, but I am trying to have faith - faith in my church leaders and their testimonies, faith in Jesus Christ and the miracle of the Atonement - that it can cleanse me strengthen me, and help me to become the woman I am meant to be.

It’s sweet to read those things that I wrote in my journal. I really marvel how much faith I had in God despite my challenges in life. I tried so very hard.

One thing is for sure, that according to our leaders, fear, uncertainty and doubt are testimony killers. Uncertainty and doubt happen because:

• You have committed lots of sins

• You have been listening to anti-Mormons

• You haven’t sufficiently strengthened your testimony with perfect obedience

• You obviously just don’t have enough faith

• You are a lazy learner

Besides having sex outside of marriage, it’s the worst thing that can happen to you.

I don’t agree with this. I think faith and doubt and belief and fear are all just a part of a spiritual journey. I don’t think fear is automatically an indicator of a lack of faith. Fear is not from the adversary.

The leaders teach that fear and doubt come into your heart for a variety of reasons, but never because life just happens and it’s normal to have ups and downs and discoveries and losses and rediscoveries. Maybe it’s more advantageous for a church to call waves of belief and disbelief as an influence from the adversary, because it keeps people in the church. Make people terrified of their own humanness, tell them that only the church has the answers, and they will stay in the boat. I’m not saying that all church leaders purposely manipulate that way. It’s just a thought.

I remember growing up that we were taught that if we aren’t completely solid in our testimony, we will end up in the Nephite cycle of obedience and belief > prospering > pride > bad things like famine and war > humility before God and praying for relief. And repeat.

I was terrified of that.

I wonder if other members who have scrupulosity tendencies are so scared of ups and downs in their testimonies, that they can get hyper vigilant and over think everything, like I have. There comes a great deal of shame and guilt for even thinking you have slightly wavered from the fold and from “knowing”. One day of missing journal writing and I’ve got to repent.

But what happens to testimony when religious trauma and conflict come into the picture? It’s deeply unmooring. It’s scary. It has caused me to question everything I believed in. I was taught what to believe in by the leaders of the church, so when my major conflict with the leaders’ teachings came, I wondered then, is what I have been taught by them true? Are they right about all this even though lately so many things don’t feel right? Everything was knocked down to the foundation. To the very basics of testimony.

Does God exist? Is He the kind of being that I have been taught that He is? Does He hear my prayers? Does He want me to be perfect?

I don’t remember where my testimony was in the summer of 2021. I loved the church, I believed in God and Jesus, but there was so much spiritual conflict in my soul. It was both painful and fascinating. I was constantly pleading with God to help me.

Is this spiritual unraveling really a faltering of my testimony? Is it really due to my lack of faith and desire to sin? Is it a punishment from God, as Righteous Rachel tends to think?

Is it possible that I am exactly where I need to be on my spiritual path?

I have been hanging on to my faith for dear life, and yet, here I am.

Now that I cannot say “I know” about a lot of church things anymore, what does that say about the strong testimony I once had? I don’t feel like that testimony was false or fake or insincere. I truly believed in everything the church taught. I don’t remember ever questioning anything. There was something about that strong belief that anchored me, that helped me feel secure, and I am grateful for it.

I keep hanging on to the things I believe in. About the only things I know for sure are what love feels like and what pain feels like. I believe that there is a God who is aware of me and loves me. Everything else? I don’t know. And I’m not sure if it matters that I don’t know that everything in the church is true. Maybe someday I'll get back to believing in all of it, maybe I won’t.

I don’t know.

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I continued studying, wondering, questioning and occasionally freaking out over my spiritual shake up. In addition to reading the scriptures, I read several very impactful books that spring and summer. There are dozens of dog-eared pages, highlighted and underlined passages in each book, marking words that touched me or taught me something new. Here are my thoughts and insights from each book. 

Me and White Supremacy by Layla F. Saad

I learned about the book Me and White Supremacy1 sometime in 2020, when many people were talking about how white people really needed to get educated about systemic racism, white supremacy and violence towards people of color. I wanted to learn.  I wanted to learn with other white people, to discuss the issues and topics together. In spring of 2021, I gathered about a dozen friends and family members to meet once a week over Zoom, to discuss the book, chapter by chapter.

Saad wrote with a direct, clear voice, explaining terms and history, and always pushing the reader towards action. I love the subtitle of the book: “Combat Racism, Change the World, and Become a Good Ancestor. “This book is part education, part activation.” 

Saad asked some very important questions right off the bat: 

• In what ways do I hold white privilege? 

• What negative experiences has your white privilege protected you from throughout your life? 

• What positive experiences has your white privilege granted you throughout your life (that BIPOC generally don’t have)? 

• In what ways have you wielded your white privilege over BIPOC that have done them harm (whether intentional or not)? 

• What have you learned about your white privilege that makes you uncomfortable?

Let me tell you, it was uncomfortable, as is any work when you have to take a close look at your own behaviors, biases and actions. 

It brought back a memory of something that happened in May 2020. 

Josh and I and the kids were driving up I-5 to visit family in Vancouver. At one point, a car just ahead of us veered sharply to the right and hit the concrete barrier, and stopped on the side of the freeway. We immediately pulled over to see if we could help. Josh and I walked over and talked to the four young black people in the car, who were ok, but a little rattled. They were on their way to their aunt’s house in Vancouver and then something weird happened with the car. The car was obviously damaged and they wouldn’t be able to keep driving it. 

Josh pulled out his phone to call 911, telling the driver that he was going to report the accident and get the kids medical help. Just as he told the driver this, she got really stressed and begged him not to call the cops. Josh assured her that he wanted to make sure they got the help they needed. 

The driver and her passengers were adamant. “Please don’t call the cops.” It was like an automatic fear came into their bodies. A fear that Josh and I could not comprehend. After talking about it some more, Josh put his phone away and we offered to drive them to their aunt’s house and that’s what we did. 

As privileged white people, we didn’t see at the time what the big deal was about calling the cops. 

Those kids just wanted to avoid further trouble and go visit their aunt. 

Now you may think, what if they were real criminals and that’s why they were afraid of the police. I highly doubt it. But even when a black person gets pulled over for something minor like expired car insurance or a fender bender, it can still be terrifying when they are approached by the police.

As I read the book, I reflected on that experience with those young black people and how my white privilege shields me from the fear they likely experience on a regular basis. 

I have been so clueless about white supremacy and institutional racism. Learning from Me and White Supremacy and discussing topics with the group was very eye opening. 

One of the most important things I learned: Being nice isn’t enough. I need to be anti-racist. 

Braiding Sweetgrass by Robin Wall Kimmerer

I read Braiding Sweetgrass by Robin Wall Kimmerer.2  It is a beautiful and powerful book. I find it hard to describe the book in a way that matches its impact. The author just has this way… of writing about the interconnectedness of nature, animals, humans, indigenous wisdom and science.

In the preface it reads:

The chapter Asters and Goldenrod really struck me, and not just because my oldest child is named Aster. Kimmerer writes about the yearly pattern of the Canada Goldenrod and New England Asters. “The daisy like fringe of purple petals surround a disc as bright as the sun at high noon, a golden-orange pool, just a tantalizing shade darker than the surrounding goldenrod….The visual effect is stunning.”

She wondered why they always grew together. You’ll have to read the book to find out. 

I read about her connection and kinship with the natural world. And kinship it is, as indigenous people use the “grammar of animacy”: referring to plants and animals with the same grammar they would with human family.

She wrote about sweetgrass being both a healer of broken land and a spiritual healer, about reciprocity, a gift economy, gratitude for the Earth and our need for connection with the earth. 

The thought that Mother Earth loves me back and can heal me touched me deeply. I felt a renewed desire to connect with her and ask her to heal me. I began the occasional practice of lying in the cool grass in the front yard whenever I felt really anxious or on the verge of a panic attack. It calms and centers me. Even just taking my shoes off, standing in the grass for a few moments and taking deep breaths is helpful. I just gotta be careful where I step. Because, you know, dog poop.

Sister Outsider; Essays and Speeches by Audre Lorde

I created a protest sign for the Women’s March in January 2017 using one of Audre Lorde’s most popular quotes: “I am not free while any woman is unfree, even when her shackles are very different from my own.”

But I hadn’t actually read any of her writings. So I bought Sister Outsider3.

Audre was a black lesbian feminist, poet, teacher and activist during the 1970s and 1980s. Sister Outsider is a collection of fifteen essays and speeches, about sexism, racism, ageism, homophobia, oppression, growth and more.

Her words impacted me, in the way I think about racism, sexism, anger and the erotic. 

The chapter named “The Uses of Anger: Women Responding to Racism” is powerful.

She starts the chapter talking about her own anger towards racism. 

She also writes about how infuriating it is that black women are often told that their expressions of rage are “useless and disruptive” and if they just calmed down then maybe white folks would listen. 

She then speaks about her anger and what she has learned from it:

Lorde’s insights really struck me, because frankly, I have avoided anger my whole life. Anger is not Christlike. You can’t solve problems if you have anger. Contention is of the devil. Anger causes you to commit other horrible sins, like Cain killing Abel. Anger makes other people uncomfortable. It’s better to be meek and turn the other cheek. Angry women are not attractive. 

I didn’t like feeling anger towards the church because well, I’m taught not to. They all mean well. But here I was, in the midst of a spiritual storm, full of anger towards the church. I was scared of it at first. I was ashamed of it. I hid my anger from most everyone because no one else around me seemed as upset as I was. I was being too sensitive. 

It would take a while for me to learn not to be afraid or ashamed of my anger towards the church.

I was intrigued by the chapter Uses of the Erotic: The Erotic as Power, as I had been unraveling my sexual shame and body shame for several years. Lorde writes about the erotic as power. Erotic is not the same as pornographic. Erotic is creativity, life-force, power, satisfaction. Sharing joy with another person. It flows through us and colors our life. 

She writes:

Eroticsm is connection to our souls and bodies:

Sealed: An Unexpected Journey into the Heart of Grace by Katie Langston

Reading Sealed: An Unexpected Journey into the Heart of Grace4 was one of the first times I read about another Mormon’s daily spiritual practice, thoughts and habits that looked like mine. But then it was also the first time that I realized that those fell under the umbrella of religious scrupulosity. 

Langston describes how The Questions arrived for her at age 9, along with constant guilt for things she wasn’t sure she’d done, near daily confessions, fear-filled prayers and constant reassurance seeking. 

She dealt with her religious scrupulosity as a youth, college student, missionary and young married mother. She carried constant feelings of unworthiness, but didn’t want to bring it up because she thought she was the only one feeling that way.

Me: I thought that everyone was feeling that way.

As I read this book, I remember thinking, “you mean that this isn’t what everyone else is doing? Isn’t every church member obsessively ruminating about their sins and unworthiness, stressed about being perfect, expecting God to punish them? Aren’t we supposed to be worrying about all this?” 

As I was telling  Josh about Sealed on the way to a chiropractor appointment, I broke down in tears. The tears were partly because I related so much to Langston’s scrupulosity, the obsession with salvation and her unworthiness, her pain. But the tears were also because I felt like a fool- that I had been doing this Mormon religious practice thing wrong all this time. That my obsessiveness about being obedient and my salvation never needed to happen in the first place. It really made me wonder, “Why did I internalize the church teachings this way?” I have a lifetime history of mental illness, so maybe that’s why. Langston thought at first that her OCD was what caused her spiritual torment. So she searched for “truer, grace-filled strains of Mormon thought,” only to be consistently disappointed in the lists of duties and emphasis on worthiness and obedience.

I had no idea that there were Mormons who feel at peace with themselves and their progress and their trials and are sure of God’s love all the time. I mean, with all the church’s emphasis on becoming like Jesus and being obedient and doing everything on the worthiness checklist, how do they get to that place? 

I’ll have what they’re having. Which it turns out, is grace.

At one point Langston began having panic attacks and an increased hostility towards God. Then a miracle happened.

She began to gain an understanding of God’s grace by noticing those around her who didn’t struggle with constant feelings of unworthiness, including her husband. 

Man, I could absolutely relate to this.

Learning about forgiveness and the love of God and it is that simple.

Even after her insight into grace, Langston still was trying to hang on to the words of the brethren. To make the church work for her. She continued to be in the church for several years.

Fracturing. The pull of two ways of being, of believing. The grief. That was what I was experiencing.

For Langston, the Mormon “I know, certainty, turned into uncertainty. 

That is exactly the direction my beliefs, my faith, were moving in. I felt like I didn’t and now don’t know a damn thing. 

Langston found herself being pulled away from her Mormon faith. She asked herself, “Why would you break with family tradition? Why would you break your parents’ hearts?”

God led Langston to studies at a Lutheran seminary, and eventually she became an ordained Lutheran pastor. 

I have no idea where my path is leading me. But lately I have been asking myself, “Is it possible that God is the one who has directed me towards this path of spiritual deconstruction and rebuilding?” The church teaches that someone going through this painful journey is doing so because they are lazy, want to sin, criticize the church too much, are being led by the adversary, have forsaken their covenants, are rebelling against God and are in danger of not being with God and their loved ones in the eternities.

As excruciating as it is, I believe that it is God who has led me to this path.

Untamed by Glennon Doyle

Untamed5 is a book about unleashing your true wild self. Stepping out of your cage and following your intuition. Being brave. Taking back your personal power. Tuning into your inner knowing. And so much more. 

I swear it seems after every few paragraphs I was asking, “Wait. You can do that?”

Wait, you can do that?

Wait, you can do that? You can feel all the hard feelings and it won’t kill you?!!

Wait, you can do that?

Wait, should I leave?

Wait, maybe God is leading me to this path of questioning, wondering, getting angry.

Wait, you can do that?

Doyle’s book was empowering, challenging, enlightening and full of “Wait, I can do that?” Her podcast, We Can Do Hard Things6, started in May 2021, and is similar to her book. I love it.

Around this time, I reopened my Rituals for Transformation7 book, and the next chapters were:

• Healing my wounds with Forgiveness

• Resistance is the fundamental human pathology

• I release any resistance to what I feel

• Resistance will never improve my feelings or circumstances

Yeah, I was getting a really strong message from the universe that it was time for me to confront my traumas, and let myself feel all the feels.

By the time my birthday came in 2020, the number of Covid cases in the United States surpassed 8 million. I was still pretty terrified of getting it, so we still isolated ourselves quite a bit and wore masks everywhere. The kids were in distance-learning school, which was ok, but also really hard. My kids have online groups of friends, but not being with their school peers, in person, really affected them. We tried so hard to tune in with their needs and stress, to help each other get through that time.

 Several things happened that fall that helped make life bearable:

• I got a silly birthday card and photos in the mail from my sister and her daughters. It really meant a lot to me and cheered me up.

• The “Fruit Loop” drive through the Columbia Gorge and Mt. Hood

• Sisters Retreat. We usually have our retreats in February, but all of us were losing our marbles so we needed a one sooner. My mom, sisters, sisters-in-law and honorary sister enjoyed a weekend at the beach, complete with gorgeous sunsets, talks, tears, karaoke and bra pong. 

• The election was over. At least for some of us. 

• A nice message from President Nelson, a man of science and a man of faith. He urged us to count our blessings, pray a lot, and get the darn vaccine.

• Thanksgiving with Mom. Just me, my husband and our kids were with Mom for Thanksgiving. It was bittersweet - nice to be with Mom, but a little sad because Dad wasn’t there and we’ve had a big family Thanksgiving gathering at the church for the past decade or so. 

• Christmas season visit with Mom

January started off with a bang, so to speak. 

Josh and I celebrated our 20th anniversary at the Skamania Lodge in the gorge. It was a beautiful place. We relaxed and went on drives and looked out at the beautiful gorge. Looking back, I felt things a little unsteady between us, but I attributed that to the stress of Covid and all being in the same house all of the time. The trip felt like a good break, a reset. 

I had no idea that would be our last anniversary trip ever. 

My spiritual questions and frustration with the church continued. Josh and I frequently talked about what the church recently did that made me mad. Internally, I was still struggling and thinking about the usual things: covid stress, health issues, my kids’ well-being, what my goals should be, and religious questions.

On January 24th, I drove to the Portland Temple grounds. I sat in my car while the rain came down steadily. I wept and pleaded with the Lord to help my kids. Both were struggling with social isolation, depression and parents who were also dealing with the same things. I wrote:

I have so many questions and thoughts in my head. I feel like a failure as a mother - just trying to guide our kids through a pandemic and school and life. I feel I have failed them spiritually (they don’t go to church anymore) but God has given me such a huge challenge and I just don’t and didn't have the energy to do all the righteous Latter-Day Saint things. I wonder all the time what my children need from me. Support or distance? Assistance or independence? Gentle pushes or step aside?

I know one of my most important roles is as a wife and mother, daughter and sister. Keeping my family as a top priority, what else should I be doing? Art or writing a family history, Baking or writing kind notes? Craft? Yard work? Etc. etc…. What is my purpose in life? What should I focus on right now with my talents? 

Around mid-February, I was feeling a lot of emotions coming to the surface: about Dad’s death, Covid, and other things. I needed to work these feelings out, so for the first time I set up a therapy painting station at the dining table. I posted a sign next to my painting area that said “Do Not Disturb. I’m processing shit.”

The paintings are messy. I started by writing words, whatever came to mind about the topic, in my scribbled handwriting, then just started painting abstractly all over the canvas. The painting about Covid turned out pretty red. It was fascinating how the painting about Dad unfolded - with a mix of emotions, missing him, and beginning to see all parts of his personality. Not just him as my Dad, but as Chuck Sullivan, with a personal history that has layers of joy and pain, memories and depth. The painting reminds me of a strong tree with deep roots.

That spring was a time of intentional learning, reading, and questioning. In the spring and summer I read several impactful books and took a few classes online, including: a discussion group for women, an online group that I led to study the book Me and White Supremacy, a calligraphy and meditation workshop, and a painting course about finding your own authentic style. I participated in several workshops through an international calligraphy conference online. I learned about joy, radical rest, systemic racism, boundaries, breathing with calligraphy strokes, and trusting my artistic expression. 

I still had a difficult time watching/listening to general conference, but I did tune into President Nelson’s Sunday morning session talk in April, titled “Christ Is Risen; Faith in Him Will Move Mountains.” I had hope that hearing his words on Easter Sunday would bring me strength. His talk was great until he said this:

“Lazy learners and lax disciples will always struggle to muster even a particle of faith.”

I yelled out, “No no no no No!” and burst into tears.

I struggle so much with worrying that I’m not doing enough, that I don’t have enough faith to merit any help from God. I just couldn’t bear to hear the prophet say that, which is too bad, because the rest of his talk is pretty good. 

Later in April, I learned that someone important to me, Natasha Helfer Parker, was being subjected to a church disciplinary council, and then excommunicated. Natasha had an online presence for several years as the Mormon Therapist, and has her own private therapy practice, focusing on helping people heal from religious and sexual shame. 

I was so angry that the church was disciplining her. As I mention in the following letter, Natasha was influential in helping Josh and I heal from sexual shame and the impact of the church on our mental health. Like many others in Mormon online communities, Josh and I wrote a letter to her Stake President to express our gratitude for Natasha and her positive impact in our lives:

President Daley,

We were alarmed and dismayed to learn of Dr. Natasha Helfer's disciplinary council. We have never met her, personally or professionally, but we have benefited deeply individually and as a couple from Dr. Helfer's willingness to speak boldly, candidly, and professionally about mental and sexual health among Mormons, and the very real harm that can be caused by the church's teachings and culture around sex and sexuality. It is not an overstatement to say that Dr. Helfer's public words - the very things that have invited this so-called "discipline" - have literally saved our lives.

Natasha's counsel helped us start and maintain an ongoing conversation between us about our mental health, trauma, and sexual shame within the church, and helped us learn how to nurture a healthy sexual relationship (an area in which the church is woefully lacking). Her point of view is needed in this church. Thousands and thousands of people are hurting every day in the same way we have. Their pain is real, and it matters. What message does the church send to people like us, for whom Dr. Helfer has done more for our mental health and wellbeing than any church leader ever has, by disciplining Dr. Helfer? How can someone who is hurting from being taught that their natural, harmless human urges are "sin next to murder" read this action as anything other than their church confirming their worst fears: that practicing healthy solo sexuality is a sin, and that they are sinners. Those poor souls will wrestle needlessly with that deadly shame for the rest of their lives, or until they're able to heal, let go, and move on from the harmful teachings of the church: whichever comes first.

Rachel & Josh Bancroft

Portland, Oregon

Natasha’s excommunication exacerbated my deep worry that if I ever said anything out loud that is contrary to what the church leaders say, I will be kicked out. Apostate. Unworthy of blessings. So I continued to keep a lot of my questions, ideas and spiritual insights to myself. I was so afraid. I began to have terrible nightmares of being disciplined by the church. In these dreams I was chased down by more valiant saints who thrust scriptures in my face and followed me everywhere I went, trying desperately to save my soul. The church’s way is the only way and I was astray. 

There was one dream that I had over and over and over again: I am running through the Market Street Chapel (the church building of my youth) trying desperately to get out through one of the back doors. Faceless people (not really my ward members) are blocking my way and tackling me and trying to prevent my escape. They think they are pulling me back into safety. I struggle and push through them, and sometimes make it outside, running to Dari Mart, only to have them chasing after me.

The dream perplexed me, because I love my home ward, youth experiences, ward members and even the familiar smell of the church building that reminds me of one of those old mimeographs in the church library. But I look at it the dream as more representative, as dreams tend to be. I think the dream is more about me needing to free myself of my negative internalized spiritual beliefs, strict church teachings (the familiar brick building) that no longer serve me, and the yearning to expand my spirituality outside of Mormonism. The strong people represent the fear deep in my psyche that I will go to hell if I don’t stay within the orderly doctrinal box of the church, that spirituality outside of the church teachings is from the devil. That I must stay in safety and the only truth. That fear has been so difficult for me to break free from.

Around this time I began to wonder about the church's claim that it is the only true church on the earth. The only one with all the keys and ordinances necessary to get back to heaven. I asked myself (because I didn’t dare ask this outloud): 

• Why do we need to proclaim that we are the only true church? 

• Why do we need a true church?

• Does God need a true church?

• If our church is the only way back to God, then why only give it to a very miniscule amount of people? Why exclude some people?

• Does it really mean that someone who is not a member of our church, tries their best in this damn hard life, will not receive celestial glory in the next life?

I studied talks from church leaders, who stated the usual things:

• Our church has the only true priesthood authority. Everyone else’s is counterfeit.

• Our church is modeled after the one Jesus created, therefore it is His true church.

• Our church has all of the saving ordinances that are the ticket to the Celestial Kingdom.

• There’s only one acceptable faith, one baptism, and one true church.

• Those poor dears outside of our church will never experience true joy. 

As I pondered and studied this question, I found that the phrase “a loving God” can lead to at least two different conclusions about a true church.

A loving God:

1. is one of order and authority and because he loves us so much he created only one strict path, a covenant path to follow so that we could earn our way back to Him. During his ministry, Jesus created a structure, a priesthood authority, a church leadership, a one right way. 

2. who created the beautiful diversity of all of humankind, would not require a strict set of rules to get to heaven. He embraces the many different ways of spirituality. Jesus never taught conformity and uniformity. He didn’t care so much about the rules as how we treat each other.

I asked my questions on a few online forums and received interesting answers:

• One pastor said that in the broader Christian tradition, “the church” includes all expressions of the Christian faith. The Mormon The understanding of “the church” in the broader Christian tradition - includes all expressions of the Christian faith, people who have accepted Jesus Christ. Mormon exclusivism is unique. 

• Another person compared religion to a compass. We use the compass, searching for the same general destination (fulfillment, love, God, etc…), but because we live in different parts of the world, with a variety of cultures, backgrounds, governments, personalities and families, our compasses point in different directions.  I use the Latter Day Saint compass, but it is not more true or correct than any other compass.

• We say that we are the true church because we need to feel special. We need to say it’s true as much as possible to convince ourselves of it.

• Maybe “this church is true” means more that we find God in it. Is my faith strengthened here? Do I find Christ here?

• Just because a church or belief system resounds with me, it doesn’t mean that it is the path for everyone. 

I found this quote from Jana Reiss:

  |

Ooh. I like that. That God works through many different people and different religions to achieve His holy purpose.

I haven’t really ever come to a conclusion about my questions about the true church. I do know that saying that I belong to the one true church feels really conceited and I’m uncomfortable with it. I’m leaning more towards believing I belong to a generally good church, but it’s not for everyone. And that’s ok.

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During the week of Dad’s funeral, I woke up in the middle of one night. I was agitated. I tried to go back to sleep, but I was in the state of trying to get back to sleep and feeling half asleep, all while I was having strong dark thoughts. Insomnia isn’t new to me, but Dad’s death, plus pain medication and the stress of the week definitely affected my sleepy brain. After fighting the thoughts for a while, I sat straight up in bed and woke Josh up, asking him to talk to me so I could get the darkness out of my head. 

I don’t remember what I began with, but our talk soon turned to church stuff. At one point, I declared, “I am so tired of striving all the time, of being told we should be daily striving. And what’s with this ‘I’m trying to be like Jesus’ teaching? I can’t do it. I don’t want to be like Jesus. I want to be like Rachel!”

That’s what I want for you, too. I don’t want you to be like Jesus. Be Rachel.

I felt those words in my heart center as clear as if I’d actually heard them. I even looked around the room to see where that came from. 

Oh my gosh. That’s it! I don’t need to be like Jesus, I can be like me! What? It feels so right! But is that ok?

I told Josh what I was feeling, how the spiritual answer came to me and we talked about it more. I didn’t know I needed that answer so much. I decided that I didn’t want to be like anyone else. I just want to be me! But changing that mindset takes work.

I feel like I still constantly hear the variations of that phrase in our church. I wonder when it started becoming more popular. Is it the actual doctrine that everything we do must be about "becoming more like Him?" Is it actual doctrine that we will or have to become just like Jesus?

I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone in church say something like, “wake up each morning and ask yourself, how can I be myself today?” Instead, it’s more like:

• Ask yourself each morning how you can be like Jesus today.

• We need to be like Jesus.

• Our purpose is to become more like Him. 

• Everything we do and say should be about becoming like Him. 

• Serve “so we can be like Him.”

• Be obedient “so we can be like Him.”

• Stay on the covenant path “so we can be like Him.”

I’m just going to say it. I’m tired of hearing it. 

Which is strange because I have always really loved the song, “I’m Trying to Be Like Jesus,” 1 especially the beautiful rendition by The Tabernacle Choir at Temple Square. And it’s one of my dad’s favorite songs. 

I’m sorry, Dad.

I personally don't wake up each day thinking about how I can be like Jesus. It's more like, how can I get through this day, with some self care and love and patience and not completely lose it. 

Don't get me wrong, I do believe in personal growth and Jesus Christ, but the constant pressure to always strive, strive, strive, be perfect and the constant worry about my salvation was wearing me down.

That night taught me that God loves me just as I am, right now. I’m enough. This has done more for my spiritual health than I can express. It was one of my first experiences of the spirit teaching me about self acceptance. 

I feel like if we embrace ourselves in all our messiness, progression and connection will naturally follow. Healing ourselves and loving ourselves is essential because we are part of God, and They are part of us.

Now, I know that the “trying to be like Jesus” phrase doesn’t mean that we have to be perfect, that it’s more like, let’s help each other, be kind, forgive others, and love completely. I know the phrase doesn’t mean I need to be doing all the things Jesus did. 

Even though the general purpose of “trying to be like Jesus” is to improve ourselves and connect to Christ, problems can develop for religious people when we are constantly striving for something outside of ourselves, with the idea that we are inherently separated from God. We’re taught that we are separated from God because of Adam’s fall, that we are carnal and devilish, we are quick to rebel, lazy, and that we must daily grovel in penitence. (Maybe we are those things to an extent, but more than that, we are amazing, unique humans). It’s like we are trying desperately to close the separation from God with perfect obedience. When in truth, God has been with us all along. 

Add on top of that, we can start believing that true happiness will come after our earth life. Our progression will come in heaven. If we earned it. And if we aren’t in a state of constant happiness here, know our divine purpose every single second of every day, find joy in Christ all the time, we are doing something wrong. If we are perfectly obedient, then we will prosper.  When in reality, life is messy and hard no matter how obedient you are.

I have a very strong emotional protector part that I sometimes call Righteous Rachel. And Righteous Rachel often says,“Loving yourself?! Gasp! Be careful. You know what happens when you think too highly of yourself: The P word.”

PRIDE.

Somehow Elder Benson’s famous talk on pride got us all thinking that we don’t dare think positively of ourselves. Don’t you dare say, “I’m so proud of myself.” Or maybe that only happened to me.

In my teens and twenties, I was so terrified about being prideful, that I thought the way to avoid it and be humble was to think the worst of myself. Combine self-loathing with manic depression, and that led to a lifetime struggle with disassociation and disconnection with myself. 

The crazy thing is, I think I kind of  prided myself in being sooooooo humble. =) 

It’s like saying, I will love myself when I am perfect.

I have learned about radical self-love and self-compassion in the past few years, especially in therapy. And it is really difficult to untrain a lifetime of self criticism. Sometimes my therapist and I will talk about self-compassion, or doing something just for me, or even being proud of myself. And Righteous Rachel comes in strong over my right shoulder. “Watch out, you’re not supposed to work on yourself. You are supposed to lose yourself and forget yourself in the service of others. Remember, you suck. You’re the dust of the earth. And also, if you do something kind for yourself, it could lead to the P word, thinking that you are better than others.”

Often my therapist has then asked me, “Rachel, after you have done something to care for yourself, when have you ever come away from that thinking that you are better than anyone else?”

Never. 

In fact, the more I learn to love myself, with all my flaws and all my goodness, the more I cherish the Goddess in me, the more I see the divinity in others. I feel closer to all of humanity. I have less pride, or an “us versus them” way of thinking.

Which is so interesting because so often I feel that in our church we're putting ourselves in an “us versus them.” way of thinking. The active vs. the inactive members. The saints vs. the sinners. The covenant keepers vs. the rebels. The righteous vs. the world. The whole-truth havers vs. the poor souls who only have a small portion of the truth. The straights vs. the gays. We’ve taken being a peculiar people to an extreme.

For most of my life, the  admonishment to be like Jesus made me believe that it was sinful to feel “negative” emotions, like anger, jealousy, sadness.  After all, Jesus is perfect. He doesn’t get angry except for that one time in the temple. So I shouldn’t either. 

So I became an expert conflict avoider, anger denier and pride defier. I did all I could to push those evil emotions down. It’s actually hard for me to differentiate something: Am I easy going, patient, a peacekeeper, as part of my inherent personality, or did pushing emotions down make me believe that my feelings didn’t matter? It’s interesting to think about, especially in the context of codependency. (See chapter 14) There have been so many times in my life in which I let another person talk to me or treat me poorly, and I didn’t say anything. I turned the other cheek. I thought I was being like Christ. But I really lacked boundaries and self respect. 

I think Jesus did have boundaries. 

Some of my favorite responses to “I’m trying to be like Jesus” include:

Ok, you want me to be like Jesus? Awesome! He was a nonconforming rabble rouser who defied the church leaders and hung out with the outcasts. He also took time to rest and went on a lot of nature walks.

Also, it doesn’t quite sit well with me that the men who claim to be closer to Jesus than anyone else on earth tell me to be like Jesus and then in the next breath teach that anyone who hasn’t perfectly made all the perfect covenants on the perfect straight (not gay) path will not make it to heaven. 

Oh, and if you’re lazy you can’t have access to all of God’s love.

No wonder we are holding on to perfection so tightly. 

Even as I write this, Righteous Rachel is saying, but wait! Checklists! Covenant path! Qualify! Damnit, she is relentless sometimes. 

So, to her, I say, thank you Righteous Rachel for your service. I appreciate all your worry and concern for my salvation. But it’s time for you to chill the heck out. 

I just need God’s love right now. I honestly can’t handle trying to qualify for anything. I’m just trying to get through some real hard shit and make a life of meaning and peace.

I’m holding on to my personal revelation: 

That’s what I want for you, too. I don’t want you to be like Jesus. Be Rachel.

Fires, protests, murder hornets. 2020 might as well add kidney stones and my dad dying.

The week before Dad’s death was a little crazy. It was back and forth with my health issues and Dad’s. It started on Friday, September 18th, when I found myself in excruciating pain on the left side of my abdomen. Over the next few days, I went to both the urgent care and the ER, to get the diagnosis of a bladder infection and kidney stones. I got some heavy duty painkillers and made an appointment with a urologist to get those suckers out.

Late Tuesday night, my siblings and I got an email from my mom, telling us that Dad tripped over a rug and landed hard on his left shoulder and ribs. After watching some tv and taking a shower, the pain got so bad that he went to the hospital. After some tests, the doctor found that there was some minor bleeding from Dad’s spleen, which was a big concern because he was on blood thinners. They decided to keep him in the ICU for a couple days to keep an eye on things. 

Of course, we responded to the email by wondering if Dad had walked to the hospital and maybe he forgot his spleen pads. 

Yes, my Dad has walked to and from the hospital after surgeries and injuries. Eyeroll. And for several years as he got older and his balance was unsteady, Dad wore knee and elbow pads all day in case he fell. I mean, the man was prepared. He also bragged about “knowing how to roll.”

Also, we knew he was gonna drive the nurses crazy unless they gave him popsicles.

On Friday I had my urology appointment and scheduled a surgery date to blast my kidney stones. Later that day at home, my throat started closing up. Dammit. An allergic reaction to the antibiotics. We called an ambulance and I tried to remain calm while my throat was closing up. I was treated quickly and sent home with a new antibiotic. I was a mess. 

And then we got more updates from Mom.

It turns out Dad was a mess, too. 

He had been in an ICU room by himself since his arrival at the hospital (only one visitor at a time due to Covid) and was having a really hard time. He was trying to climb out of the bed and walk home. A nurse told Mom that Dad was experiencing ICU delirium and asked her to help calm Dad down. Dad also asked Mom to come be with him several times, but she wasn’t able to every time. The next few days were really hard for him. 

On Sunday, Dad finally got the ok to go home. Those lonely days and nights in the hospital really took a toll on him and he was really emotional. He would call for Mom and tell her how much he loved her, over and over again. He leaned on Mom, my sister and a new walker for support and companionship when he came home.

On Sunday evening, we had our usual family Zoom call. Dad was sitting next to Mom, cracking jokes about flirting with the nurses. And then we had a “family medical update” since several of us were dealing with health issues.  I seem to recall that my sisters and I argued with Sid about whether or not kidney stone pain is worse than labor. 

Even though Dad looked really exhausted, it was so great to see him on the screen. 

On Wednesday morning, Dad was feeling sick and weak, so Mom called 911 and then called my sister who lives nearby. She was with Mom as the ambulance drove Dad to the hospital, and sent all of the siblings a text about what was happening. All of us quickly traveled to Springfield to be with Mom and our sister.

The medical team tried to revive Dad in the emergency room. Eventually there was nothing more they could do. They said he probably passed away in the ambulance. Thank goodness my sister and Mom were there together, who then texted that Dad was gone.

Soon we were all by Mom’s side, supporting her and each other. 

As soon as we told Mom’s close friends from church about Dad, several of them came over to give their love and offer support. So many people reached out to Mom and asked how they could help, and expressed how much they love Dad. We spent the next few days planning Dad’s funeral service. 

And just for fun, I had my kidney stones surgery on October 7th. 

On October 9th, the day before the funeral, we had a family gathering at the funeral home for the viewing. It was really emotional and my mom gave a sweet prayer.

Dad used to say that he didn’t want us being all sad and sittin’ around at his funeral. He wanted each of us kids to shake hands with those who attended, and welcome them in a friendly way. So it really was a bummer that his funeral couldn’t be the way he wanted, because of Covid. We had to limit the number of people who attended,  and didn’t shake hands with many people. Many friends and family watched the service on Zoom, thank goodness. 

It was a beautiful service and tribute to Dad. It started with one of Dad’s favorite hymns as the opening song: “I’m Trying to be Like Jesus.” Two of my siblings spoke and the grandkids sang “A Child’s Prayer.” As Dad wanted, the gospel and the plan of salvation were the focus of the program. The closing hymn was “I Stand All Amazed.”

The printed funeral program included one of his favorite quotes:

After the service, we drove out to the cemetery. Dad wanted his casket to be brought to his gravesite in his big green 1952 GMC truck, but Mom vetoed that. My nephews drove it to the cemetery and parked it close by.

We stood together in reverence while my brother dedicated the grave and we laid Dad to rest. It was meaningful to have representatives from the armed forces there to fold the US flag and hand it to Mom, honoring the time he served in the Air Force. 

I was emotional during those few days, but I was still in that phase where it felt like he was just out in his shop fixing something and surely he would walk in the door at any moment and declare, “I’m home, you lucky people!” The grief came later, during the holidays and milestones without him. 

As a family, we reflected a lot on Dad’s life that week and shared our favorite things about him. His life was full of significant experiences, hardships, decisions, triumphs, joys and people that shaped him as a man, brother, husband, father, friend and servant of the Lord.

Dad didn’t grow up in the church. I’m not sure his family went to any church regularly, but they did believe in God. They certainly had some really tough times as a family. One of the most formative experiences of their lives was when they left Iowa after losing all of their money and the farm during the Depression. The Sullivan family packed up an old car-converted-to-camper and set out for California on Dad’s 10th birthday. After several days of traveling, their car broke down west of Salt Lake City and when a relative from California came to their rescue, they had to leave almost everything they owned on the side of the road. 

Those Iowa farm boys got picked on a lot and had their fair share of fights on the way home from school each day in Stockton, California. Dad struggled with schoolwork, but his physical strength was valuable on the football field. He played football in high school and college, playing tough matches as an offensive guard in his leather helmet. Football was a lifetime love for my Dad whether he was playing, coaching or watching. Football is practically an eternal principle to him. He gave it his all.

Dad joined the Air Force in December 1950. While in the service, he became good friends with a Mormon soldier. Dad was impressed by his faith and standards. Dad also wanted to live a clean, family-centered life with a gospel foundation and he joined the church in 1955. It was a major life change and once he became a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, he never looked back. He was all in with the church.

I remember him telling our family once that before joining the church, he felt like he was under a big black tarp, and he was clawing at it to get out from under it. When he saw the light from the church peeking through the tarp, he clawed his way out and felt immense joy and peace. 

The gospel was a beacon for him, especially when he went through some very painful life experiences shortly after he joined the church. His ward family was a great support to him and his bishop recommended that Dad serve a mission. It seemed impossible for a 29-year-old balding divorced man to be called as a missionary alongside a bunch of young 19-year-olds. But soon he had a great desire to serve a mission and was called to the West Mexican mission in 1960 - another significant, formative experience that shaped his faith and membership in the church. Just like joining the church and playing football, he was all in.

Although learning Spanish wasn’t easy for him, Dad was determined to be a dedicated servant of the Lord. We have heard many stories about the kind of missionary Dad was. He was physically strong and a little intimidating, no one could walk faster than him, he taught many people, bore powerful testimony, didn’t like to waste time and he regularly made a big pot of stew that lasted a week. 

One of his companions told the story of when he first met my dad, Elder Sullivan. Upon arriving at their apartment, the buff Elder Sullivan sat knee to knee with this greenie and said, “Elder, I don’t know why you came on a mission…but I came here to work. Please don’t get in the way.” 

Sometime on his mission, Elder Sullivan met Sister Kearsley (my mom) , a gorgeous, sassy redhead from St. Helens, Oregon. They admired each other and their individual devotion to the work. After their missions, they both went to BYU, dated and then married in September 1964 in the Salt Lake Temple. Another major, life-changing choice. And again, he was all in. He was devoted to Mom and had a great desire to raise a big family, provide for us and teach us the principles of the gospel of Jesus Christ. He worked alongside my mom to lead our family. 

When Mom and Dad found out that my sister Elizabeth was severely intellectually disabled, had epilepsy, and would never mentally progress in her lifetime, they decided that she would stay with us in our home. He felt strongly that Elizabeth was sent to our family for a reason. Dad was devoted to her care: making customized helmets for her head, building a special bed and room for her comfort and safety, taking her swimming with the family at Willamalane, and giving her m&m’s as they sat together on the couch. He was all in when it came to Elizabeth’s care, and together with Mom, cared for Elizabeth until she died in 2015.

Dad taught me about faith, spirituality and devotion to the church. A lot of what he taught was through his example. 

I saw him reading his scriptures daily. He bore his testimony often to our family and in church. He taught us the plan of salvation using stick figures on a poster board. We tried to have Family Home Evening and scripture study regularly.  He took his role as Priesthood holder seriously. When he gave blessings to us and mom and everybody, he always put on his white shirt and tie. 

Dad was absolutely dedicated to the church. He served in many, many callings, including home teacher, young men’s advisor, counselor in the bishopric, bishop, high councilman, bishop’s storehouse volunteer, self-appointed greeter, Book of Mormon gifter and the President of the First Quorum of the Scoundrels. And it seemed that he mowed every widow’s lawn in the city of Springfield.

I learned at an early age from both Mom and Dad that my Heavenly Father loved me, and that I could talk to Him through prayer. That the Savior was my friend. That the scriptures are true. There’s nothing more important than family and serving in the church. Try to be a good, honest person. Even if the church wasn’t true, it’s still the best way to live your life. God said it, I believe it, that settles it.

I am so grateful for all that my parents taught me about spirituality and living a life with a strong belief in God. What a wonderful gift, a spiritual and religious foundation. All the lessons, songs, classes, ward activities, testimonies, temple trips, and scripture stories were such a strong, positive influence in my life. 

Although Dad was a spiritual giant in many ways, I have learned since his death that he struggled a lot mentally and emotionally. His journals reflect the same themes: feeling like he was being too lazy, not working hard enough. Convinced that he was dumb. Wondering why God put up with him and his mistakes, his unworthiness. Dad was his own worst enemy. I got the sense that he carried some untold pain, trauma and heartache for his whole life, especially during one of the last times I saw him.

We had a brief conversation before I got in the car to drive home with my family. He was conflicted about something, and questioned if I still loved him. As I reminded him of my love and looked into his eyes, I saw pain there. I don’t know how else to describe it. But there was something in his soul that was unresolved. Even after years of devotion to God, it was still there. As an 89-year-old man. Maybe he knew he was getting closer to death and had some regrets. I don’t know.

I saw that even in a lifetime of devotion to God and goodness, a person can be weighed down by mental and emotional struggles that can be a barrier to feeling joy and love from God. And then I realized that’s me. My life. I don’t know if that’s hereditary, but it doesn’t really matter. I can relate to his pain. Maybe Dad didn’t have the tools and capability to have those deep hurts healed during his lifetime. The same types of hurts that I’ve been trying to heal in myself now. 

I hope that when Dad passed to the other side, his untold pain was healed. I hope his self doubts and feelings of unworthiness were swept away in the joy of being greeted by all those who loved and treasured and cheered for him. I hope that he truly feels and knows that he was a great father, husband and friend. I hope that now he is able to fully feel God’s love for him. 

I hope that my spiritual healing will sweep away my self doubt, feelings of unworthiness before God and the mental and emotional pain I have dealt with for much of my life. 

In the few years before his death, I didn’t talk much about my spiritual struggles with Dad. He knew of Josh’s concerns about the church. He knew I was struggling with being the only member of my family going to church. I think I didn’t talk to him about it much because I didn’t want to disappoint him and Mom, but also I think at the time of his death, my focus was still on supporting Josh through his spiritual journey, not my own crumbling faith. 

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As mentioned in Chapter 19, I started writing down my spiritual insights in 2020 because they were just building up inside of me. Josh was the only person I felt I could talk to openly about this. My parents, siblings, extended family and many friends were still active, believing members and I worried about upsetting them with my apostate ideas. So I wrote a lot of it down. 

Here are the three main essays I wrote in the summer of 2020, with a few edits and addendums added later. Some of it gets a little repetitive. 

Essay #1: Why People Leave the Church

When I was a youth and heard the warnings that the fiery darts of the adversary would lead members astray in the last days, I always thought it meant that people would just get so caught up in serious sins that they would want to leave the church. - adultery, greed, stealing, reading anti-Mormon literature, going totally apostate. (Whatever that means) In my young heart, the church was just so good and if you did xyz everything would turn out peachy.

Never in a million years did I think that the causes of members leaving the church or struggling with their testimonies would come from within the church. -misleading history, the mistreatment of LGBTQ people, spiritual and sexual abuse; covering up abuse, sexual shaming, difficult policies, treating people with sincere questions as apostates, etc...

Sometimes it is excruciatingly painful to be a member of this church.

I have several friends and family who have left the church. All of them experienced some kind of trauma in the church that triggered doubts about the church, which then led to excruciating examination of their beliefs. There comes a time when the pain and trauma is just too much. We can’t fault someone for that or say they just don’t have enough faith. Many people leave as a matter of self-preservation and emotional health. It becomes unhealthy for them to stay. The shame, guilt and feelings of betrayal are overwhelming. Now one might say, well, all a person has to do is turn to Christ and all of those feelings would go away, so if they have turned away from the church, they have turned away from Christ. But Christ knows us. He gets it. He knows that we need to process things in our own way. And Christ will be there with us every step of the way.

When the church essays were released, it caused great feelings of anguish and betrayal. It caused people to question everything. And the church never apologized for teaching the wrong history on purpose. That affects people. It becomes too much. Betrayal trauma is real.

I think the August 7, 2019 episode with David Ostler on A Thoughtful Faith1 podcast was very insightful. - about ministering to those who question. He did research on this topic and if I recall correctly, many people said that lack of trust was a big part of their faith crisis.

For those I know (including myself) going through a faith crisis, emotional and spiritual trauma is a major factor in their crisis. Trauma and anguish caused by changing church history narratives, sexual shame, the church teachings about LGBTQ people and just being burnt out from church callings and pressures. I have yet to see our church leaders really acknowledge this trauma as a major factor in a faith crisis. It needs to be addressed.

One of the other main causes of people leaving the church. Sexual trauma. Continual questioning of youth about masturbation. Calling a normal body function evil.  A lot of people have suffered a great deal because of that incessant harping about masturbation. Is it any wonder that we are losing so many of that generation, and part of that is caused by the sexual obsession of our culture, closed door interviews and shame about our sexual beings. 

Addendum 1: 

I’m not sure why I didn’t include several paragraphs about the enormous issues surrounding  LGBTQ+ Mormons and their families - teachings, doctrines, cultural attitudes, people coming out after years of suppression, being kicked out of their homes, etc… But as you know, I write a lot about that later.

Since then I have learned a lot more about why people have faith challenges. 

It feels weird to list those reasons, like it can be so simplified into a list. But one significant thing I have learned in the past few years is that it is NORMAL to have ups and downs in our beliefs throughout our life. These cycles have been written about for millenia in mythology and scripture - learning, prosperity, crashing, deliverance.  Mother Earth shows us daily her natural cycles and rhythms: the seasons, the tides, planting and harvesting, decomposition, weather patterns. We could really learn a lot from Her. Those natural cycles are especially present as we transition into different phases of our lives. 

Other notable reasons:

• Spiritual and physical exhaustion. (see chapter 14 for more on that)

• I’ve had it with this crap.

• I need more grace.

• I just need a break to recalibrate. 

• It’s all a pack of lies and I’m outta here.

Addendum 2: 

In June 2020, my niece was serving a mission in Utah and asked me in an email about my thoughts on people who have fallen away or had their names removed from church records.

Here’s my response:

Hey girl! 

I just love reading your letters that your mom forwards to us. You are rockin it!

Here are my thoughts about people who have left the church:

It's important that we acknowledge their reasons and not dismiss their experiences, especially if the reasons involve trauma and hurt. Many, many members are upset by very real issues: LGBTQ policies, recalling of specific church history facts, sexual abuse in the church, racism, etc...  It can be easy to tell people to just come back or just turn to Christ and everything will be dandy. The thing is, humans are complicated. There are so many emotions, circumstances and experiences wrapped up in one person. Those complex emotions can become too much to bear for some, so distancing themselves from the church is a matter of self-preservation. Some former members do become angry and bitter about the church. That is also a normal response to emotional processing. For many of us, church has always been a safe place, spiritually, emotionally, physically. Unfortunately that is not the case for everyone. 

So, let's just listen. Try to understand their point of view. Healing and processing stuff takes time. Be kind. Assume they are just doing their best. Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ love them and are watching over them, no matter what.

Maybe ask former members, what do you do in your everyday life to have a spiritual connection? (like service, meditating, being in nature). What inspiring books are you reading? As you have reexamined your belief system, what values are most important to you? Do you attend a new church? Tell us about your new church. How do you feel there? What has been helpful to you in your faith transition? Tell them that it is amazing that they are so sincere about being true to themselves. That takes a lot of courage. 

Also, ask them about what they do for self care now. What have they weeded out of their lives to focus on the most important stuff?

Essay #2: Getting Offended

I grew up believing that people who get offended by someone at church just need to chill out. You know, the church is perfect, the people aren’t. But my thoughts on that have changed. And I’m just going to say it, Elder Bednar’s talk in 2006 titled “Taking Offense” made me uneasy. I probably thought I felt uneasy because I needed to repent and be more perfect and not so damn sensitive. Here are my thoughts on getting offended:

When we are offended we are hurt. To be hurt and offended is a normal human response. Someone we thought had our best interests in mind said something that hurt us. The emotion to be hurt is not wrong or right. It just is. We feel. We hope. We trust, then sometimes people hurt us. 

About “we shouldn’t be offended” - well, who among us has never buried a hurt, a pain, a trauma for years and years? Then after years and years we decide that it’s time to process it? That’s just it --- it takes processing, whatever that looks like for each person.

It would be great if we were so perfect that we didn’t experience offense. I wonder if Jesus ever felt hurt or got offended. He probably did. Like when Peter denied him three times. Or when he threw the money changers out of the temple. Then He was able to think it over, and because He knows all things and all intents of the heart, and is a God, He was able not to hang on to the hurt. 

Let’s not judge someone for being offended. Or say flippant remarks like, “oh well, they got offended and left the church.” We don’t know the total of their human experience, circumstances, emotional and mental state, etc.. Maybe at the time, that person just does not have the capability to process their hurt. It’s too much for them to bear. Leaving the situation or the place where the hurt took place is better for them emotionally at that moment. Or it’s just an instinct of self-preservation.

If they hang on to that hurt for years, can we blame them? Life is so hard and full of hurt. 

What if we listen to the pain, the offense, and have understanding rather than judgment? Be a safe place for them to process it. Even then everyone has their own way of processing emotions - and the timeline is different for everyone. 

We can hope that they heal. Ultimately it is their burden to figure out and process in their own way, but we can support them. 

How about instead of teaching people that they SHOULDN’T be offended, we teach them ways to cope with offense and hurt. Teach that they are not bad for feeling offended. Be patient with themselves in the healing process, and possibly:

• Talk to a therapist or friend

• Think it over

• Write it down, let it out

• Desire even a little to not have that hurt carried around

• Pray, ask for guidance

• Talk to the person who offended you

Also, the SHOULD word is dumb. 

Essay #3: Letter about racism

If you haven’t noticed this yet about me, I can get really wrapped up in any kind of injustice. And then write an essay about it. =) Awareness and action is important, but with a balance. I may be overzealous at times. Or maybe I’m just writing these letters to myself and I’m the one who really needs to hear them. I sent the following letter to my bishop and to Sister Bingham, the general RS president in 2020. 

Now reviewing this letter, it sounds like I know everything about systemic racism. As a white person with privilege, I probably have no right to comment on it, but again, I was caught up in the injustice and needed to do something. And I thought this was important.

June 22, 2020

Sister Bingham,

As a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, I am grateful for the recent statement from our leaders on June 8th in response to the murders of George Floyd, Ahmaud Arbery, Breonna Taylor and many other black individuals.  I appreciate our leaders denouncing racist attitudes and the admonition to “seek for an abundant life for all God’s children.” 

I believe that our church leaders have the responsibility to 1) openly denounce racism, white nationalism, and police brutality, and 2) require that anti-racism classes are taught in our wards. 

I am deeply concerned about the attitudes of racism and white nationalism in our church. There are members of our church who display Confederate flags, spread disgusting anti-Muslim emails, think that immigrants are criminals that should go back to their country, and who mock the Black Lives Matter movement. Many still believe that blacks suffer the mark of Cain because past prophets taught that idea. All of this while saying they revere Indigenous and Polynesian people as Lehi’s descendants. I have been appalled at friends’ accounts of the racism and microaggressions they experience within their church community on a regular basis. In addition, many black members of our church are still pained by the Priesthood ban and long for acknowledgement and an apology for that trauma. 

The leaders of our Church have a responsibility to speak out at the pulpit against white nationalism, racism, and police brutality. Your voices must be louder than the non-stop spoutings of politicians and antagonizers. Our members need to hear YOU. While the church has published statements about these topics, I don’t recall hearing many admonitions from the pulpit at General Conference. Only recently did we hear Elder Holland say “May we hope...for the gift of personal dignity for every child of God, unmarred by any form of racial, ethnic, or religious prejudice.” After the racist violence in Charlottesville, VA in 2017, the church issued a statement condemning white supremacy. It would be a benefit to all if there were talks about these topics in general conference and sacrament meetings (as the quarantine restrictions allow).

As a white middle-class American, I know I have been blind to my white privilege and the issues of racism, white supremacy, and police brutality until recently. My parents, who are members of our church, taught me to be kind and Christlike to everyone, so I never considered myself to be a racist or to have racial bias. Now that I look closer at myself, I realize that I do have an unconscious bias that I must examine. I also realize that being kind is not enough. Admonishments from our leaders to be Christ-like aren’t enough. Like the church leaders said in their statement, we must “join us in a journey of understanding and overcoming.” It is possible that many church members like myself do not consider themselves racist because they’ve never said the n-word or have never lynched a black person. As followers of Christ, every individual in this church has the responsibility to do the hard work of unlearning their prejudices. There are many anti-racist organizations, resources, and workshops that could aid in the education of our members. See a list below. 

The church’s June 8th statement says “We likewise call on government, business, and educational leaders at every level to review processes, laws, and organizational attitudes regarding racism and root them out once and for all. It is past time for every one of us to elevate our conversations above divisive and polarizing rhetoric.”

The Church must include itself in this group of organizations. We must actively address systemic racism. It’s an uncomfortable topic for many, but we, especially white people, must lean into that discomfort and be willing to learn how to be anti-racist. We owe it to Black, Indigenous and People of Color everywhere.

With Love,

Rachel Bancroft

Anti-Racism Resources:

Me & White Supremacy by Layla Saad2

Good Ancestor Academy by Layla Saad  

The Great Unlearn podcast and community by Rachel Cargle 

"Confronting White Nationalism in Schools" toolkit. By Western States Center

http://crossroadsantiracism.org/

And it got worse. In response to George Floyd’s murder on May 25th, protests spread across the country and the world. In Portland, the Black Lives Matter protests were held downtown daily for months. I wanted to participate in the protests, but I was terrified of getting COVID, so I stayed home.

The protests in Portland started out peaceful, but many of them got heated and grew into riots. We heard reports of confrontations with law enforcement, tear gas, arson, looting, vandalism and clashes between protestors and counter protestors. It got so bad that the federal government sent in law enforcement teams and it was all such a mess.

Through it all, it seemed like I was witnessing something historic. This was big. 

And yes, I posted a black square on my Instagram account. I really thought I was showing solidarity with the movement, but maybe it was tacky. I don’t know.

People around me started talking more about their experiences with racism. I was appalled at friends’ accounts of the racism and microaggressions they experience within their church community on a regular basis. 

I had been blind to my white privilege and the issues of racism, white supremacy, and police brutality until the Black Lives Matter movement. I never considered myself to be a racist or to have racial bias because I “tried to be kind to everyone”. Wasn’t that being not-racist? But kindness is not enough. 

Lots of people traveled still during the summer, but we played it safe and didn’t do much. We got cabin fever often and went for many drives in the countryside. We went downtown in late June and saw the aftermath of the protests: windows boarded up and colorful, powerful graffiti reflecting the messages of the movement. 

As for my art practice, I launched my website in the middle of June, which was not the best timing, considering the whole world was going to shit, but I decided to do it anyway. I also spent more time making ink from the natural materials on our property.

That summer I created a whole city in Minecraft while listening to podcasts. I had a variety in my playlist, depending on my mood:

• Turning to the Mystics with James Finley

• Mindfulness + with Thomas McConkie

• The Confessional by Nadia Bolz-Weber

• Latter Gay Stories

• On Being 

• Crime Junkie

• Small Town Dicks

• Last Seen

• S-Town

• Unqualified with Anna Faris

• Don’t Ask Tig with Tig Notaro

• Family Secrets

• This American Life

One of those podcasts, Turning to the Mystics1, is so captivating to me. James Finley, a former Trappist monk and author, reviews the teachings of various Christian mystics like Thomas Merton, Teresa of Avila and St. John of the Cross. The way he talks about spirituality, our relationship with God, and emotional and spiritual growth is so beautiful. I would seriously love a Sunday School class focused on the mystics’ teachings.

There is a Mormon way of speaking, both in voice and terminology that is very familiar to me. And that’s ok. But as I listened to religious and spiritual teachers on various podcasts, they were like a breath of fresh air. James Finley’s nurturing and wise voice. The sassy Nadia Bolz-Weber. The moving experiences from gay members on Latter Gay Saints. Thomas McConkie’s guided meditations and insights. I have learned more about my spiritual autonomy, grace, the nature of God, our connection with Mother Earth, through the teachings and readings of non-LDS writers. 

My confusion is no hindrance to God loving me. 

I don’t know what was going on with me, but I started writing more. When I couldn’t sleep at night, or when I was deep in a dream, I was thinking about the church, spirituality and everything in between. Sometimes I would get up and type away to get it all out of my system. Or I would have some spiritual insights and talk to Josh about them in the middle of the night. Often I would do a voice recording so I would remember my epiphanies. I was starting to have my own independent ideas about spirituality that differed from what the brethren taught, like maybe it’s ok for a person to take a path away from the church. It’s okay to pray to Heavenly Mother. What if gay couples could get sealed in the temple? That summer I wrote essays about racism in the church, why people leave the church and people getting offended. 

I was half scared and half empowered, so I asked God why these things were coming into my mind and heart. In fact, I ran through all the possible reasons of why I was thinking differently about church teachings, including:  

• I was losing my marbles. Mental illness made me depart from the brethren’s opinions.

• The fiery darts of the adversary were deceiving me and dragging me down to hell.

• I was being too influenced by the world, my husband, the progressives or the gays. 

I now see it was my soul expanding and searching in a beautiful and painful way. 

That July there were several articles in the Ensign about how to help our loved ones who have left the church.

The quote I loved the most from that issue was from President M. Russell Ballard:

Thank goodness for Elder Ballard’s words. Can you imagine just hammering “the church is true!!” instead of actually listening to someone’s point of view? Just because we think our church has the only true path, it doesn’t mean people who are not on that path are bad, or that their spiritual journey and contemplations aren’t meaningful. 

I visited my parents by myself from July 3-5th. I don’t even remember what we did for the 4th, because my strongest memory from that weekend was seeing my 89-year-old father, dressed in his suit and tie, kneel down at our coffee table to bless the sacrament in their home. He then passed the bread and water to me, mom and a few friends that had come over. It was so beautiful. As always, Mom and Dad’s devotion to God and the sacrament was shining in their home, no matter what was happening in the crazy world. 

Our family gathered for my niece’s wedding on August 1st. The ceremony and reception were held in a lovely outdoor setting in the countryside. Although I was still worried about the spread of Covid, it was so great to see lots of family after months of isolation. I sat with mom and dad in the shade for a while. I remember us siblings making sure Mom and Dad were hydrated and taken care of. Dad looked really worn out. 

Then the world caught fire. Holy hell, it was bad. 

The August Complex fire started in Northern California it became the largest fire in California history, burning more than 1 million acres.

In September, The Holiday Farm Fire burned down homes in towns and communities along the McKenzie River, east of Eugene, and threatened or burned over the communities of Blue River, Vida, Nimrod, and Leaburg. 

On the morning of Sept. 8, 2020, the Almeda fire swept through the Rogue Valley within a matter of hours, destroying more than 2,600 homes between Ashland, Talent, Phoenix and Medford. It was catastrophic. 

It seemed like everyone was fleeing wildfires. Yet again, we needed to stay indoors, this time because of the poor air quality. It was hazy and smoky everywhere. We took a drive downtown one day, which didn’t last long because it was smoky, windy and downright eerie. 

And let’s not forget the Asian giant hornet, aka “murder hornet” was spotted in Washington State that fall. 

What a time for Aster to be starting their senior year. 

Oh 2020, what do I even say about you? The year started with such hope, looking to the future with “20/20 clarity.” I don’t think anyone could have guessed all that would happen that year. I remember thinking that the terrible fires in Australia were not a great way to start the year, but it couldn’t get worse. Ha!

One of my favorite recaps of 2020 is the video series “Explaining the Pandemic to my Past Self” by actor and comedian Julie Nolke

At the beginning of the year, President Nelson encouraged us to study the Restoration along with the Come Follow Me curriculum. So again, I made another effort to start Come Follow Me. I decided to learn more about U.S. history around the time that Joseph Smith was born and the church was founded: The Second Great Awakening. I wanted to get a better understanding of the religious fervor that he talked about. 

I didn’t study church history for long because when February came, I decided to learn more about black history for Black History month. I went with a friend to a lecture at Reed College with author Ijioma Oluo. She talked about her book So You Want to Talk About Race1. I saw the musical/play Who I Am Celebrating Me2 at the Firehouse Cultural Center. I attended the Beaverton School District Conversation on Race. There I learned about microaggressions and implicit bias for the first time. I learned a lot that month, but mostly I learned that I was pretty ignorant about systemic racism, white supremacy, and supporting BIPOC people. And my ignorance would become even more apparent that year with the news covering the tragic deaths of Ahmaud Arbery, Breonna Taylor, George Floyd and more. 

On February 20-23, I joined about two dozen calligraphers for a weekend at the Menucha Retreat Center in the Columbia Gorge, a yearly retreat sponsored by the Portland Society for Calligraphy.  I had a wonderful experience. It was so nice to do something for myself, have quiet practice time, share work and enjoy being around other calligraphers. At my desk I spent my time experimenting with my homemade inks and learning gothicized italic.

One evening in my room, I wrote some thoughts down in my journal. 

I’m at a calligraphy retreat at the Menucha Center in the Columbia Gorge. We arrived yesterday afternoon and I am already loving it. Kind and welcoming artists, sharing work, eating good food, taking time for myself and enjoying the beautiful grounds. 

I have had a lot on my mind lately. I'm trying to decide if I should try to focus on one thing this weekend, or just see what flows out. I think about:

• being present as a mother. Love and gently guide

• Supporting Aster as a gay person

• Gratitude for all my blessings

• God and Christ are with us no matter where we are on our path.

• Can I feel content and joy just because?

• Lately feeling happy with my life - then I get scared that something bad is going to happen to humble me. (ha ha)

But as always, I had a lot of church trauma on my mind and my list also included:

• Dealing with the difference that the church leaders teach about LGBTQ+ and what feels right to me. What does God want me to know?

• Can I step back from my frustration with the church and its leaders?

• Does criticism mean I have a lack of faith?

• Wanting to speak out, but fear church discipline and that it’s not God leading me. 

• If a person chooses a spiritual path outside of the church, does that mean they are “lost” and must be rescued?

When I returned from Menucha, I was on a spiritual and emotional high and I was really looking forward to a Spring Break trip with my family. We had wanted to go to southern Utah and the Grand Canyon for a long time, and finally we were going. We finalized our travel plans, including staying with family in St. George for a few days.

Of course, I couldn't go a very long time without something with the Church bothering me. In late February a section of BYU’s student honor code that banned “homosexual behavior” on campus was quietly deleted. University officials didn’t give any details about this, so many students were hopeful that public displays of affection between two queer people were now permitted.

Finally, on March 4th, BYU retracted the honor code changes. The honor code ‘led to much discussion and some misinterpretation.” Then they clarified that the standards of the church actually did not change, that affection among gays on campus was in fact, not permitted, and not part of ‘living the Lord’s standard of a chaste and virtuous life.”

Of course, this all pissed me off, and I felt so bad for the queer BYU students that had felt so hopeful. My family and I wrote messages of support for the LGBTQ+ students at BYU-Provo and BYU-Idaho who were affected by this debacle. 

The whiplash of events at BYU triggered the familiar pain and confusion about the church’s doctrines and policies about gay people. I needed some support, so I reached out to my Mama Dragons group and met up with a Mama at a local coffee shop to talk and share frustrations. This mama had been through similar frustrations, confusion and anger towards the church. Like several Mama Dragons I had met, she made the tough decision to step away from the church. These women were strong members of the church, had served in the church and raised their kids there. But when their kids came out as gay, they fought that battle of loving the church but opposing the discrimination and policies that degraded their children. At this point, I hadn’t seriously thought about leaving, but I could understand why these women left. It all becomes too much.

All the while, we were all learning about this mysterious and highly contagious new virus going around.

The COVID-19 virus was on a rapid spread across the world. First we heard about the spread in China, then Italy, and then in the U.S. On March 8th, the governor of Oregon declared a state of emergency, but schools and businesses remained open. 

A week later, President 45 declared a national state of emergency. Maybe he was downplaying the seriousness of the virus so that people wouldn’t panic, but I thought his response to the pandemic was ridiculously terrible - - mocking people who wear masks, holding rallies and not requiring masks, telling the country that the virus spread isn’t that bad when he knew it was, dismissing scientific facts, saying we’ll do less testing so we don’t find out about more cases, etc… 

On March 16th, Oregon’s governor directed schools to close and told everyone to stay home.

We had to cancel our Spring Break plans and I was so bummed. 

I was pretty stressed about Covid.  My immune system can be weak at times so I was absolutely terrified of getting the virus. We sanitized all the major surfaces in our house. We got masks. We stayed home and tried to stay busy.  Gabe even taught me to play Minecraft.  I’m not sure when the hoarding of toilet paper started, but when Josh went grocery shopping, the pasta and rice aisle was almost bare.

We started using these new terms like “social distancing”, “quarantine”, “shelter in place”, “pandemic”, and “Zoom calls.” 

After spring break, school was back in session - online, otherwise known as distance learning. I don’t even know how to describe school then. It’s all a blur. I can't imagine the intense stress that teachers were under - Scrambling to learn to teach online and adjust expectations, worrying about the students’ progress. My kids struggled.

The pandemic took a toll on everyone around the world: anxiety, stress, job loss, educational stress, fear, sickness, loved ones dying. By April 20, the US had 1.04 million confirmed cases and 60,000 deaths. 

Ironically, earlier in the year I began reading When Things Fall Apart by Pema Chödrön3. Ha!

Through the stress of that time, it was also a time of growth, learning and finding ways to connect with loved ones. In April, my parents and siblings and the grandkids started having a weekly Sunday Zoom call. We still continue that tradition now. I love that it gives us a chance to check in, laugh at each other and stay up to date on each other’s lives. 

Also in April, I started attending and participating in Zoom church with good friends. I really treasured that time, having a time for a spiritual check-in and support. We got through all the typical technical difficulties and managed to give talks, sing and pray together. 

My ministering brothers began bringing the sacrament to me at home most Sundays, and Josh sometimes joined me. They would walk behind the house to our back porch, where I set a small piece of bread and cup of water on a table. We usually spent a few minutes visiting and checking in with how we were all holding up. The ministering brothers would then sanitize their hands, bless the bread and water, pass it to us, and we would have a few minutes of quiet time to reflect on the atonement. It was a sacred time together.

Like a lot of people, I felt like I was losing my marbles during that time, so I tried to do things that took my mind of the stress. I called several friends that I hadn’t talked to in a long time. It was nice to get up to date on their lives and reconnect. I really missed seeing my local friends in person, so I invited several of them over for lunch on the back porch.

For a while I had been planning on setting up my own art website, and since we were all isolated, it was a good time to do it. In April I started taking photos of my artwork, designing my website and getting my shop all set up for transactions with customers. It was a lot of work, but I was really proud of myself.

My spiritual questions continued to pile up. In March and April, I wrote down a bunch of gospel questions that were on my mind, including:

• What does God want me to be focusing on during quarantine?

• Why do we need a one true church? Other churches also claim to be the only true church.

• Why do so few get to be a part of it?

• Does that concept demean other churches?

• What are the miracles in my life that I haven’t noticed?

• Joseph Smith - is it possible that even though he seemed like a sexual predator and was overly charismatic that the Lord needed him as prophet? And why all the sex stuff?

• What do I do when it’s hard to share the gospel with people when I’m in conflict with so much church crap?

• What are the philosophies of men?

• And my perpetual question: What is Elizabeth doing?

We got through the first few months of the pandemic okay. Things were already so bad in the world, there was no way it could get much worse…

This writing process is fascinating. When it comes time to write another chapter, it makes sense to go with whatever events come next in my timeline. But sometimes my intuition leads me elsewhere. A few weeks ago I read the allegory of the olive tree in the Book of Mormon, in Jacob, chapter 5. Then I kept thinking about The Forest, the wooded part of the property that our last house sat next to. So I got to thinking about what all this was trying to tell me. 

Healing. My mind and heart have been led to learning about healing. And also, I realized for the first time in the past two years, that I just might be healing, in a lot of ways. It is so mysterious to me how healing happens. 

The Forest

We lived in the house next to The Forest from December 2015-August 2022. We loved that mid-century house, tucked back in a one-acre pocket of protected forested land adjacent to Cedar Mill Creek.

When we first moved in, the short trail leading into the forest was accessible only for about 15 feet, and then disappeared into overgrown English Ivy and Himalayan blackberry bushes. Those invasive species had really taken over, but we could also see many native plant species: Oregon ash, Douglas fir, Douglas hawthorne, alders, snowberry, Tall Oregon Grape, bigleaf maple, sword ferns, osoberry, woods rose, thimbleberry, black cottonwood, bitter cherry, ponderosa pine, red elderberry and oceanspray.

We saw the potential in the land and we were determined that we would bring it back to healthy, natural habitat in the middle of the suburbs. Even though I didn’t know much about land restoration, I dove right in as the self-appointed project manager, researching, identifying plants and contacting local agencies for advice. 

The restoration work included removing the invasive plant species, planting native species, strengthening the eroding streambank, and providing natural homes for the critters. We hired several crews and recruited many volunteers over the next few years, who sprayed herbicide, removed invasive species, spread mulch and planted over 2500 native plants. I wanted so badly to succeed. I created spreadsheets and timelines and lists of contacts. I learned the names of all the plants and if they thrived in shade or sun. I gathered cuttings that only actually propagated about 30% of the time. I joined a community environment group. 

We even bought a damn tractor. 

The forest was a peaceful place for nature watching, meditation and walking, but I tell ya, restoring and healing that land was hard work. Much of the time it was two steps forward, one step back. I learned that:

• If you clear the ground of invasive species, but don’t immediately cover the ground afterwards with mulch, those invasives will grow back with a vengeance. 

• Some plants just get overtaken with weeds again, no matter how hard you try to protect them. 

• You shouldn’t go out into the forest during a windstorm.

• A tree that looks healthy on the outside can be completely hollow inside, and will fall during heavy winds.

• I didn’t have the energy to do the work alone. It’s ok to ask for help.

Despite the challenges, it was rewarding and exciting to contribute to the health of our community’s environment.  As The Forest became more healthy, we saw an increase in wildlife: owls, beavers (they LOVE the cherry, cottonwood and willow trees), foxes, coyotes, skunk, raccoons, moles, bees, ducks, hummingbirds, heron, and a variety of other birds. 

I learned on a more personal level that having a connection with Mother Earth is healing.  I think The Forest appreciated the work we were doing. I would talk to her sometimes, and asked her to work with me on this healing project. I gathered leaves, sticks, pinecones and blossoms to make earth mandalas. As I made ink from plants, bark, nuts and moss, I gained an appreciation for all that Mother Earth provides, for the colors and the magical chemical makeup of things. 

Before we moved out of the house, I said goodbye to The Forest, and hoped that the new owners would continue the restoration. 

The Allegory of the Olive Tree

When I studied the allegory of the olive tree recently, I thought of it also as a healing story. The original purpose of the allegory is to depict the scattering and gathering of the tribes of Israel. But I thought, this allegory is kind of like my forest project. And my own personal healing. From Jacob, chapter 5:

7. and we will pluck off those main branches which are beginning to wither away, and we will cast them into the fire that they may be burned.

Cutting down rotten branches = discarding the parts of my religious practice that were no longer healthy for me, as well as  lifetime of unhealthy ways of thinking about myself

8 And behold, saith the Lord of the vineyard, I take away many of these young and tender branches, and I will graft them whithersoever I will; and it mattereth not that if it so be that the root of this tree will perish, I may preserve the fruit thereof unto myself; wherefore, I will take these young and tender branches, and I will graft them whithersoever I will.

Searching for positive places outside of my comfort zone to nourish my spirit

10 And it came to pass that the servant of the Lord of the vineyard did according to the word of the Lord of the vineyard, and grafted in the branches of the wild olive tree.

Grafting in healthy branches = finding meaningful spiritual practices outside of the standard LDS practice, adding them to my foundation.

36 Nevertheless, I know that the roots are good, and for mine own purpose I have preserved them; and because of their much strength they have hitherto brought forth, from the wild branches, good fruit.

Preserving the roots = preserving and honoring my religious upbringing and spiritual foundation

47 But what could I have done more in my vineyard? Have I slackened mine hand, that I have not nourished it? Nay, I have nourished it, and I have digged about it, and I have pruned it, and I have dunged it; and I have stretched forth mine hand almost all the day long, and the end draweth nigh.

Working the vineyard again and again, nourishing, digging, pruning, etc…  = this healing work is hard. 

49 And it came to pass that the Lord of the vineyard said unto the servant: Let us go to and hew down the trees of the vineyard and cast them into the fire, that they shall not cumber the ground of my vineyard, for I have done all. What could I have done more for my vineyard?

Even the Lord of the vineyard got sick and tired of all the work, wondering if it was all for naught. And he was real about how hard it was to see all the damage.

74 And thus they labored, with all diligence, according to the commandments of the Lord of the vineyard, even until the bad had been cast away out of the vineyard, and the Lord had preserved unto himself that the trees had become again the natural fruit; and they became like unto one body; and the fruits were equal; and the Lord of the vineyard had preserved unto himself the natural fruit, which was most precious unto him from the beginning.

75 And it came to pass that when the Lord of the vineyard saw that his fruit was good, and that his vineyard was no more corrupt, he called up his servants, and said unto them: Behold, for this last time have we nourished my vineyard; and thou beholdest that I have done according to my will; and I have preserved the natural fruit, that it is good, even like as it was in the beginning. And blessed art thou; for because ye have been diligent in laboring with me in my vineyard, and have kept my commandments, and have brought unto me again the natural fruit, that my vineyard is no more corrupted, and the bad is cast away, behold ye shall have joy with me because of the fruit of my vineyard.

Ultimately, the purpose of this writing project is to heal, to harvest good, healthy fruit. To heal The Forest in me.

In this story, I am focusing on the spiritual healing path. It may not seem like healing when I am writing about all the hurt and anger, but it is a necessary part of the process. I need to be honest about it all. I must take a hard look at all my emotions, all experiences , and be completely honest about their effect on me, in order to truly heal - to free myself of the unhealthy, internalized religious beliefs that do not nurture me.

My healing is up to me. In regards to my spiritual trauma, I cannot expect the church to give that to me. Sometimes I think that if they would just apologize for all the crap, that it would make everything ok. But I can’t control their actions. I can only control mine. 

This whole process is complex: Writing about my religious trauma in the past, and then presently seeking healing from that trauma. Add on top of that the healing from the trauma of the end of my marriage and really taking a hard look at myself - my demons, limiting beliefs, self loathing, the things that hold me back from being my true self. It’s really hard. And uncomfortable. And humbling. 

Hell, no wonder I’m f**king exhausted.

It is all so intertwined. 

I just finished reading a book called The Healing Path: A Memoir and an Invitation by James Finley1. In my healing path, I have felt sure about this first part, about letting things out, being real about my experiences and feelings, but I have been unsure about where to go from here. Finley really helped me take a look at my trauma through a spiritual lens, to understand God’s presence throughout my life and to come to a clearer understanding of Jesus’ role in all this. 

Here are a few quotes that stood out to me. 

The task, it seems to me, is for us to continue to pass beyond immature understanding of spiritual matters formed in times of innocence and in times of trauma and abandonment by learning to cultivate more mature, reality-based ways of understanding the deep healing that spirituality brings into our lives. 

The spiritual depth dimensions of healing that I was seeking in my own therapy were waiting to be realized in my graced ability to see and accept the gift of my traumatized self, by which I had felt so ashamed and so burdened because of the suffering it had brought into my life…I am now inviting you to join me, whoever you might be, in exploring the ways in which the deep healing that occurred in this woman and also in me has the potential of occurring in each of us as we are interiorly healed and set free in seeing and accepting this gift of which we now speak. 

It is in experiencing and accepting how difficult it can be to free ourselves from our hurtful attitudes and ways of treating ourselves and others that we begin to understand that the healing path is not a linear process in which we can force our way beyond our wounded and wounding ways. Rather, it is a path along which we learn to circle back again and again to cultivate within ourselves a more merciful understanding of ourselves as we learn to see, love and respect the still-confused and wounded aspects of ourselves. Insofar as these wounded and wounding aspects of ourselves recognize that they are seen, loved and respected in such a merciful way, they can feel safe enough to release the pain they carry into the more healed and whole aspects of ourselves.

In Christ it is revealed that God does not withhold his love until we measure up to being the awake, caring and loving persons we are called to be. To the contrary, we see in Christ how God seeks us out, accesses us, and draws us in ever closer to God in the midst of our wayward ways, even as we continue to stumble and fall this way and that. And even as we continue to stumble, we discover that we are falling again and again into the depths of the merciful love of God, which is lifting us up and carrying us forward in unexplainable ways. 

I am being lifted up and carried forward in unexplainable ways. It is so mysterious, this healing. 

And then I had a major panic attack last Friday night. Two steps forward, one step back.

I continued living in a religious whiplash. One day I would find meaning in a Rilke poem, and the next, hear more about a damaging church policy. On Sunday I would feel the spirit among the kids in Primary, but be baffled by a General Conference talk. The distress was never caused by my ward members and friends, who are amazing, accepting and loving people. It was the stuff that came from the top, from men in suits who I had trusted my entire life. Each injury was another blow to my trust and faith in them. 

These church issues continued to put stress on my mixed-faith marriage. At that time, Josh was the only person I felt I could talk to about my spiritual anguish, so every time another upsetting church event happened, we would get into another emotionally charged discussion about it. 

With each discussion, Josh was not only angry about the topic at hand, but was infuriated at the church for harming me. He could see first hand my anguish, confusion, hurt and anger. He was completely baffled that I was staying. Josh had found the self-protective part of himself that wouldn’t tolerate the spiritual gaslighting and abuse. He left the church for his own well being. I couldn’t fathom calling them abusers. At first I tried to defend the leaders and give them the benefit of the doubt, but that grew tiring.

I was trying to hang on to the parts of church that I still found uplifting for me, while trying to be understanding of Josh’s feelings. I tried so hard. We made compromises: the missionaries could come for dinner, but not to share a message; our ministering brother could visit occasionally, but was asked not to talk about church stuff. We had already stopped paying tithing, focusing on contributing money to community organizations each month instead. 

In the first half of the year, the church made some positive announcements. Missionaries would be allowed to communicate with their families once a week via phone and video calls (That would’ve been amazing when I was a missionary) and the Salt Lake Temple would be under major renovations for the next four years.

But as usual, there were some doozies. 

In April, the church announced that it was reversing the “November Policy.” (mentioned in Chapter 6). Children of gay parents could now receive baby blessings and be baptized. The church would no longer consider people in same-sex marriages as apostates requiring church discipline (which is confusing because married gay couples are still getting excommunicated). The church said it was intended to "help affected families" and "to reduce the hate and contention so common today." 

Some members thought it was a sign of progress and hope, but many people felt that the pain and impact couldn’t be undone. President Nelson even held a special BYU devotional in September to explain that love was the motivation behind both the enacting and the rescinding of the policy. 

I was absolutely perplexed. I still don’t know what to think. Why would God inspire leaders to enact a harmful policy and then three years later change his mind? The pain that was caused because of the policy cannot be undone. 

In the April 2019 General Conference, President Nelson gave a talk titled “Come, Follow Me,1” that made me feel absolutely terrible and angry. Here I am, with an agnostic husband and children, believing that God will work out everything in the eternities, then President Nelson hits us with this. 

He explained that the Savior invites all to follow Him in being baptized and making covenants with God in the temple. He taught that those covenants are required if we want to make it to heaven with our families. He talked about how sad he is and how sad God is that good people decline Jesus’ invitation. 

(What??????????? They don’t decline Jesus’ invitation. They decline YOURS.)

“But they have chosen not to make covenants with God. They have not received the ordinances that will exalt them with their families and bind them together forever.”

“They need to understand that while there is a place for them hereafter—with wonderful men and women who also chose not to make covenants with God—that is not the place where families will be reunited and be given the privilege to live and progress forever. That is not the kingdom where they will experience the fullness of joy—of never-ending progression and happiness. Those consummate blessings can come only by living in an exalted celestial realm with God, our Eternal Father; His Son, Jesus Christ; and our wonderful, worthy, and qualified family members.”

“The Savior said, ‘In my Father’s house are many mansions.’ However, as you choose not to make covenants with God, you are settling for a most meager roof over your head throughout all eternity.”

A most meager roof. I honestly don’t even know what to say to that. I remember thinking, is he saying that because my husband is trying to find his own spiritual path, and because my kids are gay, that they won’t be in the top heaven with me? What???? As if I even deserve to be there just because I’m a cisgender straight woman who has checked some boxes? 

I shed a lot of tears and questioned a lot of things because of this talk. It put me in a state of despair and conflict for most of that year. 

First, I questioned my own reasoning for making those covenants and participating in those ordinances in the first place. 

Oh my gosh. I really thought I was qualifying myself to get into heaven. 

The crazy thing is, I used to believe this. That I was doing all the things to get into top tier heaven. And anyone who didn’t make those covenants? Poor them. They just don’t know better. They’re good people. They just aren’t going to have joyful lives and heavenly exaltation. If only they would accept the gospel. 

The absolute arrogance and condescendingness in this belief now astounds me. It makes me cringe.

This brought up a lot of questions for me about gospel ordinances and covenants with God. If the saving ordinances are so essential for our salvation, why would He make them available only in one church? In a predominately white, privileged culture? Out of reach? And then condemn the people who don’t receive them? It’s interesting for the church to say that God has this very special exclusive way to get into heaven, and by the way, we’re the only church that can provide that very special way. I’m not saying I don’t believe in the ordinances anymore, I just have a lot of questions. I question if all the ordinances are actually “saving ordinances.”

I now view my promises and ordinances with God not as qualifying, but my way of having a connection with God. Those things bring me close to him, or at least they should when they are not messed up by church shit. There is so much diversity in people’s experiences, religions, cultures, upbringing, education and influences, that of course there would be a million ways that people try to make sense of life and find a connection with God.  I happen to value and find meaning in the ordinances found in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints.

Secondly, I thought, President, are you saying that only Mormons, who make up a miniscule percentage of all the people who live on the earth, who have ever lived and will live on the earth, will be the only ones who deserve heaven?  I just can’t accept that. And I’m tired of us being so damn proud of ourselves that we assume we’re going to be in top heaven and so many won’t. I have had it with the speculating and judging who will go where in the next life. See Chapter 13 for my thoughts on that. 

Thirdly, no wonder there are families and individuals in total despair over their eternal salvation. When a person puts all their trust in the brethren and the church’s celestial formula, and it doesn’t work, it is devastating. We have a multitude of members who feel like failures, like God is punishing them and that their children are lost forever. It takes a real toll on the mental and spiritual health of our members, including myself and many of my friends. It is a serious problem. And I don’t think the answer is doubling down on doctrine. I feel like the answer is grace. 

It’s like we’re all forgetting Jesus’ role in all this. Forgetting grace. 

When I have prayed about my family, that my children will not receive the Priesthood, serve missions or receive the ordinances in the temple, I have never received an answer that doubles down on which kingdom they will qualify for. My answers and impressions continue to be all about loving my family and friends wherever they are on their life paths, and trusting that we will be together forever, believing in our Savior’s grace.

Also, where did the idea come from that we will be in the kingdom that we are comfortable with? Is that actual doctrine?

The church’s teachings about LGBTQ+ people continued to concern me. So the rising rebel in me loved attending the Pride Parade again in June. We found joy in celebrating Aster’s uniqueness, gender identity and beauty, as we did with the LGBTQ+ community.

We were thrilled when Aster joined Bridging Voices in September of 2019. Bridging Voices is an amazing choir for LGBTQ+ youth in the Portland Metro area. Similar to what Aster experienced at ACMA - they found their peeps - kind, fun, neuroqueer kids who need a safe space to express themselves. 

In August I went to my first Mama Dragons in-person meetup at Tualatin Park. Those mamas were the first people, not including Josh, that I could talk openly with about the blessings and challenges of parenting a queer child. Many had already experienced the challenges of their children coming out, learned how to support them and dealt with church conflict. They understood the intense stress that the church teachings and policies were for me and my family. Some had left the church because of that great conflict. These Mama Dragons strengthened my desire to be a fierce advocate for Aster.

When General Conference rolled around again in October, I decided not to listen to it for the sake of my own well being. I was growing weary of the emotional whiplash. I read summaries instead. It was wonderful to hear that girls and women could now be witnesses to living baptisms, baptisms for the dead and sealing ordinances in the temple. 

Sister Reyna Aburto’s (second counselor in the RS General Presidency) talk2 about mental health was powerful. I am so grateful that she talked about depression, anxiety and other emotional and mental disorders. She even talked about her father’s suicide and how healing came through talking about his death in appropriate ways. 

I am very interested in the intersection of high-demand religions and mental health disorders. More on that another time. 

Sister Aburto also reminded us that “thru cloud and sunshine” the Lord will abide with us. He came “to bind up the brokenhearted, … to comfort all that mourn; … to give unto them beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness.” Isaiah 61:1–3

President Dallin H. Oaks gave one talk in the Saturday morning session and another talk in the women’s session.

I appreciated his Saturday morning talk, titled “Trust in the Lord”3. He talked about how many members worry about who they will be with in the next life and what it’s like there. He said that we really don’t know that much about what it will be like, but we can trust in the Lord.

“For all questions about the spirit world, I suggest two answers. First, remember that God loves His children and will surely do what is best for each of us. Second, remember this familiar Bible teaching, which has been most helpful to me on a multitude of unanswered questions:

“Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding.

“In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths” (Proverbs 3:5–6).”

In President Oaks’ talk4 in the women’s session, he again emphasized the church’s position on gay marriage. I seriously cringe every time I hear him talk about this.

“The truth is, however, that in the beginning … marriage was ordained by God! And to this day it is defined by Him as being between a man and a woman. God has not changed His definition of marriage.”

“Because of God’s great love for all of His children, those lesser kingdoms are still more wonderful than mortals can comprehend.”

It was so difficult to listen to. I still do not know how to reconcile this. He says the law is unchangeable, etc… Yet, my child is one of the people outside of the binary. They desire to be authentically themselves, in a relationship with a person of their choosing, without worrying about their gender or sexual identity.  I have so many questions. Why would God create a beautiful heaven only to put it out of reach for most of His children?

How can “he inviteth them all to come unto him and partake of his goodness”5, and yet make it impossible for some to do so?

In the fall, I wrote this in one of my support forums:

“I am really struggling with how my church (LDS) leaders keep pounding the pulpit about “the gay agenda” and the definition of marriage and loving the sinner not the sin, etc... I want to stay an active member of my church because I do love the basic gospel principles, but there is such a disconnect when it comes to support and teachings for LGBTQ people. I just don’t get it. Why would God create so many gay people but at the same time ask his prophets to denounce gay marriage and make gay people feel less than?"

My head is so full of these contradictions and I’m trying to make sense of it. Thanks for reading. Just needed to let that out.”

A few days after general conference I went to the temple to pray about my concerns. 

What was I to do with my conflict with church teachings about LGBTQ+ people and my desire to support Aster? I wondered about the unexpected family life I had, outside the Mormon box. Is it because I failed to be exactly obedient? What does the future look like?

I turned to the scriptures and read in 2 Nephi, Chapter 10: 

20 And now, my beloved brethren, seeing that our merciful God has given us so great knowledge concerning these things, let us remember him, and lay aside our sins, and not hang down our heads, for we are not cast off; nevertheless, we have been driven out of the land of our inheritance; but we have been led to a better land, for the Lord has made the sea our path, and we are upon an isle of the sea.

21 But great are the promises of the Lord unto them who are upon the isles of the sea; wherefore as it says isles, there must needs be more than this, and they are inhabited also by our brethren.

22 For behold, the Lord God has led away from time to time from the house of Israel, according to his will and pleasure. And now behold, the Lord remembereth all them who have been broken off, wherefore he remembereth us also.

23 Therefore, cheer up your hearts, and remember that ye are free to act for yourselves—to choose the way of everlasting death or the way of eternal life.

24 Wherefore, my beloved brethren, reconcile yourselves to the will of God, and not to the will of the devil and the flesh; and remember, after ye are reconciled unto God, that it is only in and through the grace of God that ye are saved.

Even though we are not literally sailing the seas, I received the strong impression that God was saying that the sea is our path: sometimes calm, sometimes stormy, up and down and certainly not straight (pun intended). My family has been broken off from the mainstream church and He is leading us to a better land. He remembers us! His promises are great! I could cheer up my heart, reconcile myself to the will of God, and remember, most of all, that ‘it is only in and through the grace of God that [we] are saved.”

That answer to my prayers has been a great comfort to me. I believe it was from God. Although my mind sometimes goes back to despair and worry, I remember this guidance and it helps me to return to faith in God, His plan, and the grace of our Savior.

In December, Josh and I had another heated discussion. A former investment manager for the church reported to the IRS that the church had about $100 billion in investment accounts that were supposed to be for charitable purposes. The complaint accused the church of being in violation of federal tax laws, not using the money for charitable purposes, but to prop up businesses. 

100 billion dollars? I can’t even comprehend that amount of money. That report confirmed to Josh that the church was being intentionally deceptive and that the lack of financial transparency to the members is a questionable practice. We both had questions. Why ask people who can barely feed their families to pay their 10% tithing when the church obviously doesn’t need it? Can they be trusted with our donations? I have believed in the blessing of paying tithing, and I didn’t want to believe that tithing funds were misappropriated. I tried to defend the church, saying that they are just doing their best leading a world-wide religious institution. 

I don’t know if the church leaders truly understand how all of these things have affected marriages. A mixed-faith marriage can often be more than having differing views of faith. The trauma caused by the church affects marriages in a very direct and devastating way. The sexual shame trauma is one example. The incorrect and deceptive publishing of church history is another. The teachings about LGBTQ+ people is another.

It is very difficult to defend a church that my ex considers as his abusers. It has been absolutely crushing. And the church gaslighting. All this shit happens in the church, and then they shame members who can’t seem to stay in the boat and don’t have enough faith. I feel like they put being right, being the only true church, above the well being of the members. The impact of all this conflict and trauma is huge. It’s more than doubts. We can only take so much. I can only take so much. My marriage could only take so much. All of the hurt was affecting my emotional and mental health, and the health of my marriage.

Now, readers, you might think the following:

• Rachel is really off her rocker.

• Why did she believe that stuff in the first place?

• You choose to be offended. 

• You obviously don’t have enough faith.

• The devil has a hold on you.

• Why are you even staying? Just leave the church.

• Everybody knew all those alternative facts, you should have.

• Watch it, you are criticizing the leaders and that’s a no-no.

• The leaders are fallible.

• Those Mormons are weird.

Believe me, all those thoughts ran through my mind, too. 

I’d like to address a few of those things.

First, the leaders are fallible. They’re just men. Yeah, I know. But honestly, through my whole life, I thought that meant that they got mad at a ref once or cussed when they stubbed their toe or they put the tp roll on backwards. I didn’t think fallible meant keeping the truth from members and then gaslighting them. Or approving harmful church policies. I was taught that everything they said was from the mouth of God. Now, if that makes me naive and gullible, fine. We are taught over and over again that the prophets are called of God, that Jesus Christ leads the church, the only true church, through these righteous men. So yeah, I thought they were nearly perfect, and when I realized they weren’t, I was crushed.

Next, you choose to be offended. I reject that. It seems to me that to be hurt and offended is a normal human response. Someone I trusted said something that hurt me. Being hurt is not wrong or right. It just is. We feel. We hope. We trust, then sometimes people hurt us. 

As a faithful member for my whole life, I was terrified to tell anyone about my concerns. I really didn’t think that the church leaders acted out of malice. I didn’t want anger to engulf my life, but yet, there it was. I felt incredible shame for having doubts and questions and for being so affected by it all. I kept most of this to myself as I continued attending church and serving in the callings I loved.

It’s a strange thing to be writing about a painful spiritual transition while currently feeling deep in the mud of grief, pain, stress and depression. I put off writing this next chapter because my depression has been really heavy for a month and I just couldn’t bring myself to write. I’m finally feeling like I can write again. 

Along with other factors, the grief and heartbreak from my divorce is so overwhelming. I don’t know when or if it will ever go away. I know that healing takes time, but sometimes the anguish is suffocating. I’m not sure if I’m ready to write more about that. Maybe. For now, the saga of my spiritual storm continues, taking a look at the year 2019.

Confession: I never really got into the Come Follow Me curriculum. Gasp!

The use of the new curriculum started in January 2019 as a home-centered, Church-supported approach to gospel study. I tried and tried again to get in the habit of using the manual to guide me in my personal scripture study, but it just didn’t interest me. Not that I don’t have things to learn or principles to review, but I longed for something different to supplement my scripture reading. I was leaning towards a more expansive spirituality outside of the LDS narrative and culture, especially as I continued to feel hurt and gaslit by the church. 

I continued searching for materials, books and podcasts to expand my spiritual nourishment that year. At first I felt tinges of guilt for looking outside the church materials, but that didn’t last for long. Each resource, book, podcast and spiritual teacher brought me into that deepening, rounded spirituality that made sense for me. 

I read Siddartha by Herman Hesse1 for the first time and it really sparked something in me. I remember thinking, maybe this is the way it’s supposed to be. That we each have to have our own seeking, which includes sometimes going off the safe path, in order to learn the things we need to learn. That viewpoint is so different from what I’ve heard at church: hang on to the iron rod with all your might, and any time you are not following the church’s path with laser focus, we are being led by the devil. 

My therapist told me about On Being with Krista Tippett2, a podcast in which Krista has conversations with a variety of people about spirituality, social healing, wisdom and the human experience. She starts off each interview asking the guest to describe the religious or spiritual background of their childhood. I first listened to episodes with John O’Donohue, Joanna Macy and Wangari Maathai, and I was hooked. I still refer back to John’s episode called “The Inner Landscape of Beauty.”3

I read several of O’Donohue’s books: To Bless the Space Between Us; Walking in Wonder; Anam Cara.4

I think O’Donohue’s writings were some of the first ideas I read about embracing the mystery of life and spirituality, the unknown. That there is a kind of beautiful wonder in not knowing everything. I felt for the first time that I could let go of the pressure to have a rock solid testimony about every doctrine and aspect of the church. That pressure implies that you can only have a close relationship with God when you can stand at the pulpit and declare that you know with certainty that every doctrine and teaching of the church is true. 

I had a creative artistic burst that year, partly due to a new medication for narcolepsy that helped me have more wakeful hours in the day. I played with watercolor and ink, text and texture, landscapes, earth tones and meaningful quotes. I also embarked on a summer-long inkmaking adventure, making inks from plants and other natural materials in our forest. It helped me build a deeper connection with Mother Earth, Her beauty, and Her healing power.

In my artwork, I used quotes and poems from authors that I discovered: Rumi, Kahlil Gibran and John Muir.

I read Tao Teh Ching, by Laozi5, entranced by the teachings of becoming in harmony with Tao, the “Way.”

I discovered the Austrian poet Rainer Marie Rilke when Joanna Macy talked about translating a book of his poems. I related so much to his yearning for spiritual understanding and a relationship with God in The Book of Hours: Love Poems to God.6

I read writings from Thich Nhat Hahn, a Vietnamese Buddhist poet, monk and teacher. I learned a lot about suffering and Buddhist spiritual practices from his book, No Mud, No Lotus : the Art of Transforming Suffering.7 I am a perpetual complainer, catastrophic thinker and have a lifetime of believing suffering is a punishment from God. Thick Nhat Hahn’s writings helped me gain more understanding of suffering. Instead of shaming myself for feeling burdened or suffering, or thinking it is a punishment from God for not being perfect, I learned to acknowledge suffering as part of the human experience, to not fight against it so much, and to be present in my suffering. 

I often would feel very frustrated that when I asked Jesus to take away my suffering, my hardships, my pain, He didn’t. I thought I was doing something wrong. Shouldn’t I expect miracles from Him? But I began to see that Jesus is with us in our suffering more than he rescues us from it. 

I studied the words of Adyashanti in his books The Impact of Awakening8 and Falling Into Grace.9

I started listening to A Thoughtful Faith10 podcast, hosted by Dr. Gina Colvin. I was relieved that there were other Mormons in the world with questions, a variety of personal spiritual experiences, and who found themselves needing to let go of extreme orthodoxy. Her guests were faith leaders, theologians, creatives, thinkers and survivors of religious fundamentalism.

In November I found the website for The Center for Action and Contemplation11. It was cofounded by Richard Rohr, a Franciscan priest and internationally recognized author and spiritual leader. I signed up for the daily meditations and inspirational quotes, which didn’t always lead to meditation in the traditional way, but caused me to pause and be aware of myself and my breath. I have since read several of Rohr’s books; he is so wise and enlightening.

I enrolled in a class at the counseling center called Understanding your Inner Critic. It was a big step for me in understanding myself and my lifelong struggle with self loathing and self criticism. I learned so much, too much to write here, but one of the important realizations was that my inner critic developed in all her complexity to protect me. My brain did what she thought she was supposed to do. Protect and survive. In the class I was able to talk about the pain of carrying those critics around for so long. I feel that in the church we are taught that any critical or “bad” parts of ourselves are from the influence of the adversary. That is not helpful. It makes more sense that all the parts of us come from our circumstances, environment, self-beliefs, and life experiences.

I needed all this spiritual nourishment and connection with God, especially as I my marriage was strained by religious conflict and I continued to be hurt by the church.

It’s a strange thing to have a mix of highs and lows at Christmas. It’s a time of paradoxes: of joy and pain, peace and stress, comfort and scarcity, family and loneliness. As wonderful as it is to celebrate the birth of our Savior, the hard stuff doesn't just go away with a few Christmas songs and gifts. Sometimes I dream about Christmas in Genoa City. 

Yes, I’m talking about The Young & The Restless, aka Y&R, the soap opera my mom has watched for 50 years. Mom’s guilty pleasure. The daytime drama with the scandalous lives of Paul and Lauren, model-turned-lawyer Christine Blair, rock star Danny Romalotti, the matriarch Katherine Chancellor, playboy Brad Carlton, and of course, the passionate Nikki and Victor. 

I watched “the program” with my mom during the summers, winter vacations and on the days I was sick, home from school. I loved watching the Christmas episodes (the 4th of July episodes were also a favorite). All the bickering and backstabbing was put on pause as the glamorous people gathered around the tree with their rich families. They wore glittery sweaters and Santa hats and opened gifts, as if no affairs, kidnappings or hostile takeovers by Newman Enterprises ever happened that year. Inevitably there was a couple madly in love. I was fascinated by the picture perfect lives of the characters, their wealth and even the closeup camera shots of the tree lights. It was all so romantic and other-worldly. There was something so mesmerizing about watching a show that was so far from my own reality, even though my reality was pretty good.

So what I’m saying is that it would be really nice to have a soap opera Christmas, where all the hard stuff and drama is put on pause until at least January 2nd. But, alas, my holidays for the past few years have really hard and good.

Last Christmas was so painful. It was the first Christmas separated from Josh and I was a mess. I forced myself to decorate, but it was hard seeing some of the ornaments like “First Christmas 2001” and our matching stockings. I gave away a lot of decorations and kept the ones that were bearable and the kids liked. Also, the roof was leaking, I was disappointed with the co-parenting situation and I had several panic attacks the week of Christmas. Thank goodness for the small miracles and blessings that helped me get through the season: Phone calls with friends and family, shopping for new ornaments with a friend, thoughtful gifts dropped off, a generous neighbor who secured a tarp over the roof, Christmas Eve with friends-like-family and my kids doing the grocery shopping.

This holiday season is noticeably better than last year. I actually found joy in decorating, baking, singing Christmas songs and going to holiday parties. I even ran errands this week without having a panic attack. At the same time, I feel the sadness and grief of not having my sweetheart by my side like so many Christmases before. And again I am also surrounded by love and blessings.

The Christmas story is full of both hardship and peace. People in that country were stressed out about the census, taxes and Roman soldiers. Mary, at 9 months pregnant, had to ride a donkey on the trip to Bethlehem. Joseph and Mary had the hard stuff and at the same time some good. They found a place to stay. Jesus was born. A new star appeared.

If you’re having a hard time this Christmas, it’s okay. I’m not even going to tell you that all you have to do is look for the light, because that’s just annoying. However, I hope you do have some good, too. Even if it’s not a Genoa City Christmas.

Happy Holidays and Merry Christmas to all of you!

Love, Rachel

Bonus content: A non-soap opera bit of Christmas: My journal entry from December 13, 1979. (Age 8)

I had a Christmas play at school we had a neat play and saw people do their things too. I was Lady C and it was fun. Angi was the newspaper reporter and Sean was Man H and Reggie was Man R. And then there was ISTMAS. My mother came and watched me. I thought the hula dancers were funny. And the cools. And the singing and the Mexican singing and the Snoopy play. And mostly our play. It was called A New Angle on Christmas. We had treats after.

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