I was raised in the LDS church, but not in an ideal LDS family. My parents were divorced, my siblings were inactive and my grandparents were staunchly anti-Mormon. I felt it was my duty to be the hero – the shining example of Mormon perfection that would ensure at least one strand of the family continued in the church. Because my father had quit believing in the religion, I cut all ties with him. My entire world was defined by, and lived within, the confines of Mormon doctrine. I adored intense personal study of doctrine. I reveled in the escape to a higher plane that doctrinal studies brought. I read the Book of Mormon and Doctrine & Covenants so many times I lost count, and committed many of the chapters to  memory. I searched the allowed histories of the church to truly understand the absolutes of doctrine. I used logical gymnastics to justify doctrinal changes and controversial teachings of past LDS prophets. And I kept myself away from anything that I knew I couldn’t justify (“Adam-God Doctrine? I’ll read up on that when I’m spiritually knowledgeable enough to understand the truth of it so I won’t fall prey to doubt”). I could logically justify Brigham Young’s racism – and even believed he was correct. I could logically justify current LDS gaycism – even though I had many dear (but obviously misled) gay male friends. I could even justify Joseph Smith’s penchant for sleeping with or attempting to sleep with virginal teenagers and his friends’ wives.

But there was something I couldn’t justify: me. In reality, I carried a huge burden of self-hatred for being so imperfect and being required to do so many things that were outside of my natural drive. I hated going to church. Even as a missionary (who LOVED being a missionary), I dreaded Sundays. I hated the idea of giving up personal career aspirations so that I could obediently submit my life and will to an honorable priesthood holder. I hated the idea of being a mother. Children overwhelmed me. I wanted to travel and learn and live and enjoy the world. But this was contrary to the life of an ideal LDS housewife.

In my mid twenties I had the opportunity to go work in Alaska. The town I worked in had a little Mormon branch, so it seemed like a great idea. And it was. For the first year I mostly surrounded myself with the Mormon kids in town. They were a close-knit group and I worked with several of them, so remaining in a bubble was easy. But then I got a new job where I was the only active Mormon. The only one. There were two inactive Mormon girls, but I was the only one who religiously went to church meetings and activities. This was new for me.

There was something else new to me. Several of my female coworkers were gay. I had known some rumored lesbians in Utah, but I had dutifully hated them and kept myself from being in their presence (Gay men were, to me, a different animal. Men, being ruled by testosterone, could easily mistake their sexual desires, so I could easily judge/forgive them and could always keep them at a carefully judged distance). But these girls were my immediate coworkers and I spent up to 16 hours a day with them. Plus, they were delightful human beings who always invited me to their shin-digs and never negatively judged me. I fell in love with these girls. I saw them as people. I saw their true goodness and light. I met and fell in love with their families and I saw how deeply they cared for their partners.

At 5:00am on my 30th birthday I hiked up a mountain and sat on the banks of my favorite glacial lake to think. I thought about my life and the people in it. I thought about the stable happiness and internal peace that my lesbian friends had – even though they were living contrary to the Plan of Happiness. I thought about all the things that had been required of me in my 20’s - my giant, unattainable burden: to be sweet, to be pretty, to be smart, to be thin, to be a marriage-worthy LDS woman – and I realized that I no longer had to be bound. For the first time in my life I thought, “What if I let it all go?”

And the world shifted.

I had never had a mega- super-spiritual experience before. I had felt a burning in my bosom when I heard tenets of truth, sure. But I had never seen angels or felt bowled over by a moment of pure revelation… until then. Sitting on the side of the lake, as soon as I thought, “What if I let it all go,” my mind and heart were flooded with images and emotions. It was as if the whole world opened up and I could see every corner of it. I was flooded with an intense peace and joy that I had never felt before. I felt a physical sensation of weight lifting from my frame. I felt open and unbound and free.

Over the next two years I began to allow myself to think critically. I allowed myself to see all sides of stories and arguments and beliefs. I began to see how small my world had been and how huge the possibilities really were for me. I also began to see how ridiculous my former beliefs were. I continued to study the LDS religion, but now I read unbridled by the need for logical gymnastics. I also allowed myself to read the forbidden histories of the church – the pre-changed doctrines, the now-denied words of LDS prophets. I began to look at the church from an outside perspective and could see the hate and oppression and unhappiness preached from the pulpit. It took two full years before I could say I was a former Mormon. It took five years to fully extricate myself from the guilt and fear of saying or believing anything negative about the church. Luckily for me, the church helped me completely cut ties by campaigning for Proposition 8 (Prop Hate) in California.

Today my family is closer than ever. I now need no distance between myself and my siblings or my father because of our differing beliefs. My sweet, patient, loving dad is so thrilled that I got out. I even love my LDS mother more than ever. I understand her better, and can truly comfort her when she needs it, rather than feeling a duty to solve her problems with doctrine.

I also love that I'm part of a giant human family. I love being a tiny, finite speck in an infinite universe. I adore reality and no longer desperately seek the supernatural to help me escape to a higher plane. The truth is, I no longer need the escape.