I wish I could tell you how painful, meaningful, liberating, traumatizing, shocking, unexpected, life-altering it has been to lose my belief in the Mormon church and its gospel. I wish you wanted to know, more than you feared knowing. I wish you cared more about me, your living, breathing, providing, imperfect husband, son, brother, and father more than you cared about protecting your belief system. I do wish this, but I do not blame you or judge you as bad or wrong for not wanting to know more. Because I was in the exact same mental place for over 40 years of my life. I had been taught to protect my beliefs and fear those that might ruin them, and that is exactly what I did. So I understand why you don't want me to talk about the most deeply and broadly traumatizing and impactful event of my life...
...but it has made me a stranger, at best, and a threat at worse, in my own home and to my own family.
So instead I will write it here, a place you might never come, in words you might never see. I'll do this because I need to express my heart rather than hold it inside as it hurts and trembles and shakes and rebuilds and transforms into something new and wonderful that continues to grow more than ever before in my life.
I am not going to talk about the church issues here (I've done that elsewhere), this is about me.
You see, when my dad died when I was a boy of 11 years old it changed EVERYTHING for me. Reality itself changed in ways that then I didn't understand and I continually discover even now as I walk the days of a middle-aged man. One of the most significant things this event did to me is sear into my soul the doctrine that IF I ever wanted to see my dad again, I MUST be a faithful Mormon boy.
Deep down, in places I never talked to anyone about, I never truly felt that Mormonism was in harmony with my authentic self, my true self. I knew that who I really was was irreverent, sensual, romantic, juvenile, adventurous, edgy, non-conformist, passionate, artistic, deep-thinker and more... (but I did know I was a good person who wanted to bless the lives of others.) I learned to associate most of these parts of me with the natural man which I had been taught was an enemy to God. In one half of my heart I deeply loved this authentic me and knew this was the very best part of me; and in the other half of my heart I learned to despise this part of me. I knew that if I didn't keep this part of me quiet and locked up it would ensure that I never ever got to see my dad again.
Despite that conflict in my soul. Mormonism was true and I dedicated my life to doing my best to live as a diligent and worthy priesthood man should live. At times in my life, which I will talk about a bit more in a moment, this independent energy in my soul would come out and create a big mess for me in my life and hurt and disappoint deeply those I loved.
Most of my life I have been successful at living the Mormon gospel. I faltered at the end of high-school and did was normal 17 yr old non-Mormon boys and girls do; I explored my sexuality. I now know this is a normal, natural, healthy, and wonderful part of maturing into adulthood and finding yourself and connecting deeply with the someone you care for and to whom you are attracted; but at the time, it was that for only a moment and then quickly thereafter it was a source of deep self-loathing to the point of self-hatred and suicidal thoughts. This was not because I felt or experience it to be wrong or bad, no, my experience was beautiful and magical as I discovered part of life and living with someone who I loved. But afterwards as I sat inside the ideas and doctrine which I had been given my whole life, I knew without any doubt that I had deeply disappointed every Mormon I knew, including my dad, my mom, and God Almighty the creator of the universe. I knew I was as terrible as a human being could be without murdering someone. The weight of that belief caused me horrific pain and I hated myself with all the energy of soul and wished I had never been born. I nearly killed myself that year and the only reason I didn't go through with it is because I knew I would then see my dad's face. My deeply disappointed dad's face as his son came to the after-life an utter failure in every meaningful way.
I went through the repentance process for a year. Deeply humiliated and self-loathing throughout. I didn't talk to any of my friends about my hidden pain. I lowered my shoulder and got through the shame of not taking sacrament and things like that...
I went on a mission and for 18 months I killed it. I was an outstanding missionary.
Just before I left, I masturbated for the first time and the self-loathing continued, but I hoped that because I genuinely believed that, despite my horrible sins, I was a good person. I was a good friend. I helped many in need through a student-counselling program called Natural Helpers to which I had been voted in by my classmates, and other good attributes that I knew I had. I tried to believe that these good parts of me were justification enough that even someone like me with these few but terrible sins could and should go out and try to help people by telling them about Jesus. I wanted to be the kind of person I had been taught Jesus would be proud of, and the kind of son my dad would actually want to see again after I died. So I made a personal covenant with God (I called it a covenant so it would carry as much weight as possible.) I promised God that if I ever masturbated again, that he could send me to the lowest kingdom of glory, the Terrestrial, forever. That's how badly I wanted to be good in the eyes of God, and my mom, and my dad.
As you can guess, I didn't last long. Within a few weeks, I failed again, and this time I had broken a covenant. I wanted to leave my mission and disappear forever into the shadows of the world. Never be seen again by anyone I would ever know. I was doomed to the lowest kingdom so what difference did it make what else I did on this earth? None. I again hated myself with all the energy of my soul. I am a deeply contemplative, emotional, passionate, thoughtful soul so when I despised myself, it was a TREMENDOUS amount of self loathing to bear and it caused me a great deal of emotional damage which I am now, in mid-life, learning to heal.
I spoke to my mission president and confessed, told him of my covenant and how I was now doomed and so it didn't make sense for me to stay a missionary. Grateful, he told me that's not how it works. I couldn't just make up my own covenant like that, and to just try to not do it again and get back to missionary work. I was relieved.
I went on to serve my mission exceptionally well for 18 months. I worked hard. I was a trainer, a district leader, a zone leader, and I baptized something like 30-40 people who I dearly loved. However, one night a single sister in our ward came to our apartment, I answered the door, my companion was asleep. There was a connection, an attraction, between this woman and I, and I stepped out the door and went with her and spent the night with her doing what normal 20 yr old young men do. It was, in the moment, a beautiful experience and I did not feel guilt, or shame, or sorrow. I felt the incredible beauty of two human beings that wanted to be close and share themselves with each other. The days that followed however, were pure and utter hell inside my soul as once again I realized the absolute and utter disappointment and condemnation of my actions in the eyes of God.
I was dis-fellowshipped and sent home in total disgrace.
I seriously contemplated for a long long time not making my connecting flight in Chicago and instead walking out into the city night to disappear among the homeless to never be heard from again. I believe the reason I didn't is because I knew I had to repent, face the music and the shame, and try once again for my salvation although at this point it seemed like it would be pretty unlikely that I would ever be Celestial Kingdom material. I was pretty sure that even my best efforts were going to keep letting me down and that I would likely never see my dad again except on the occasion when he chose to come down to my level and visit. I imagined those visits would likely be a horrible and eternal reminder of how I had let him down.
That was not the end of my serving diligently and faithfully for years and years even decades at a time, accepting every calling, many of leadership, to then again mess up, face the shame that followed, and fight my way back to good standing with the church. I had faith. I had tremendous faith. I HAD to in order to fight the personal wars of hell to demonstrate it and keep coming back from my sins.
...and then... as cited in my other posts...
I learned that the church and the gospel are built on lies.
I couldn't believe it. There are no words for the magnitude of loss I feel by this betrayal. My whole life, killing myself to live inauthentically, hating and silencing the authentic me, the boy I really actually loved as the best version of me, the one that had all the life, creativity, the one that could grow wings and fly where no one else has before, this boy I never let grow, I kept chained and silenced under the me that was trying to be a peter priesthood and do what I had been taught since I could crawl.
The loss felt infinite, and on most days still does.
And, dear family, I can't tell you about it, I can't explain my hurt, I can't warn you away from the same fate, I can't cry with you... you won't have any idea what my tears mean because you don't want to know. You don't want to know me.
You say you love me. But the words ring empty in my ears because THE most significant, painful, formative, shocking, and abusive event in my life you don't want to know about or understand and this even is still ongoing. I am trying my very best to get over it, past it, on to a better more positive vision for my life and future but it will take me more years to get there.
And I am going on that journey alone.
I don't know what to do.
And if we can't talk... perhaps there is nothing that can be done.
