I grew up in Orem, Utah. My family was entirely inactive LDS, though my mother had a few “faithful” moments where she dragged me and my two brothers to church with her. I had no understanding of the church when I was baptized shortly before my 9th birthday. My biggest concern that day was the fact I had neglected to bring another pair of underwear for use after my, rather soggy, admittance into Mormonism.
During Jr. High I realized that if I was to “fit in” I was going to have to play the part of a faithful member of the church. I attacked the part with zeal. I was determined to catch up in my “spiritual” knowledge, as I was embarrassingly lacking in the basics. I studied the scriptures rabidly, I attended every meeting I caught word of, I suffered through Young Women's activities, and started compiling a pile of “inspirational” quotes I could pull out at a moment's notice. Everyone soon forgot my initial ignorance of what a “Knee fight” was, and began showering me with praise for my extensive knowledge of the gospel. I finally fit in.
I kept up this routine all through High School. All of my hard won friends were to attend Ricks College and I was determined to follow suit. And after that, of course, BYU.
Somewhere between teaching gospel doctrine class and singing in sacrament meeting I convinced myself that it was REAL. I was solidly, completely, unquestionably TBM.
I turned twenty-one, and I felt that something was lacking in my life, I needed something more than just school and work. One day I was driving down the road and the thought occurred to me “I should go on a mission!” That night I went to the bishop's office. He gave me the papers, which I had filled out and turned in within a week. Two weeks later I had my call. And less than a month after that I was walking away from my sobbing parents into the MTC.
My doubts began when I went to the temple to receive my endowments. It seemed completely irrational to me. None of what they were doing seemed in compliance with what I had studied all those years. Why was I never told that I would be sequestered with women, who performed Priesthood blessings on me while I was nigh naked? Why was the pinnacle of my religion a SECRET HANDSHAKE? I was dumbfounded. Had it not been for my two best friends with me that day I would have walked out. But I convinced myself that if they believed it then it must be true! I was somehow lacking in understanding, and that if I wanted it enough my eyes would be opened and it would all make sense.
I had not been in the MTC long when I concluded that my decision to serve a mission had been too hastily made. I wanted to go home. I was no longer certain that I wanted to share this now bizarre religion with others. My teachers and bishop took turns trying to convince me that I wanted to serve a mission, and that I was just scared. When that argument did not win me over I was sent to a room with the mandate to pray and ponder until I decided I should go. After several hours, and no apparent answer to my pleas, I figured I was going to have to agree to go since there seemed to be no other option.
I worked hard as a missionary. I was obedient to a fault. But I struggled. I was not seeing a great deal of success, and the more good and decent “non-members” I met the less convinced I became of my need to convert them. I expressed my desire to go home to my Mission President during every interview over that year and a half. Each time I was exposed to an onslaught of personal attacks and solemn condemnations of my “pride”. I walked away each time feeling like a failure, but with a desire to overcome my weaknesses and prove myself worthy.
When I returned home I was sure that I was done with the church. I had every intention of becoming happily inactive and living in peace with my shortcomings. Of course, the church had other plans. I was sent off to a Singles Ward, and quickly given a calling. I resigned myself to a life long commitment to an organization which racked me with guilt and conflict.
One day I heard that a former high school classmate, TJ, was coming home from his mission. He was coming home early. Knowing how cruel members can be to those who fail to “return with honor”, I took it upon myself to make sure that he felt accepted and befriended on his return. He interpreted my friendship as romantic interest, and despite my better judgment, I began dating him.
Looking back on it now, I am ashamed that I fell for such obvious manipulation. TJ took full advantage of my susceptibility to guilt, and my dedication to the church to convince me to stay with him. I believe he was intentionally “too” physical with me so that after the obligatory confession to the bishop, I would be shamed into marriage. It worked.
TJ took no time at all to express to me how I completely failed to meet his expectations. After taking my virginity on the first night of our Honeymoon he rolled off me and announced, “It wasn't as good as I thought it would be.” Then he demanded I clean up and get dressed. I was mortified.
Things did not get better. He was more interested in computer games and pornography than he was in me. Whenever we had an argument about it he would always make himself the victim, and I was the insensitive, judgmental, controlling wife. Two months into our marriage I found out he was fooling around with an ex-girlfriend, six months after that I found out he had an active profile on a dating website. We had moved because of his job and I had no friends, no job, no family near by (but I had been forbidden to talk to them of our marital struggles anyway). I was given an “allowance” to buy groceries, and he had spent all the money in my savings account as soon as he had access to it. I was depressed and alone, but felt obligated to honor my promise to love and honor this man who was feeding me nothing but guilt and lies. I felt entirely worthless and suicide was a daily thought.
Eventually, despite TJ's lectures about it being weak of me, I went to a doctor to seek medication for depression. That conversation was one of the most enlightening of my life. During that brief exchange I suddenly saw what was going on. I realized that he was emotionally abusive, manipulative, and controlling and that I didn't need any medication. I needed a divorce.
I packed up the few meager belongings that my husband (who ardently professed his continued love for me) would let me take. Looking at the list drawn up for the divorce papers, as to how our possessions were split up, still makes me laugh. I believe there were five items listed under my name. He even kept my cat.
Although I was virtually penniless, returning to a job I loathed, and facing the implications of being a divorced woman in the church, I was happier than I had been in years. I moved in with my brother, and attended church with his wonderful wife. The ward embraced me with overwhelming friendship and acceptance, and those nasty rumors I assumed would be spread about me were never circulated.
Then one day I sat unsuspectingly in Relief Society, listening to the bishop preach about the evils of MySpace of all things. And I saw it. Somewhere inside me I finally realized what was going on. The church was emotionally abusive, manipulative and controlling and it was feeding me nothing but guilt and lies. I didn't need to subject myself to it any longer. I had already learned that lesson once with TJ. I didn't need to give it a moments thought. I walked out of church that day and I've never gone back.
Having now researched the church's unsavory hidden past, I am only more confident that I made the right decision. And following the hateful, bigoted position the church took with Proposition 8, I decided I no longer wanted to be associated with that organization, even in name. I sent my resignation to the church, and now I am officially no longer a member.
I only regret not having left sooner.