I’m a lifelong member who was active his entire life until about a year ago. I'm a sixth generation Mormon, as is my wife. Her ancestors go back to Hiram, Ohio, while mine go back to Nauvoo. Our ancestors personally knew Joseph Smith and the Smith family. My wife’s ancestors are mentioned in the D&C, and a building at BYU is named after one of mine. We both served honorable missions, and were married in the temple. We were current recommend holders until January 2009. We have three young children, two with special needs. I never had a testimony of the three hour meeting block in regards to children with autism. I’ve always felt unisex cry rooms with flat screen TV’s in every meeting house would’ve been a better use of tithing funds, but that’s just me. Most of our Sundays were spent with much wailing and gnashing of teeth before, during and after church.

 

We tell people we stopped going to church for personal reasons. Truth be told, we basically lost faith in just about everything. Prop 8 didn't help. The church always seemed to be on the wrong side of history in regards to civil rights, and Prop 8 was no exception. We lost faith in the general leaders because of Prop 8. We lost faith in our local leaders when I reached out for spiritual help and was continually turned away. I lost faith in the concept of a lay ministry. I also came to the realization that bishops today do not receive the training they need to deal with the complexities of this life. We send missionaries to the MTC for training, but a bishop is sustained, set apart, given a handbook and the keys to the chapel and expected to lead an entire congregation. I fully admit that it’s a tough job. But I got the feeling that my bishop really didn’t care. Like the time I told him about how desperate I’d become – so desperate that I went to a store to buy buckshot to end my life. I didn’t want to tell him that, but I was grasping for anything. And he did absolutely nothing about it. I'd been out of work for a few years and we were on the verge of losing our home. My marriage was nearing a breaking point – the stress of lack of work and raising two autistics, it was hell. My bishop would listen to my sob stories (I would literally ball my eyes out in front of him while he sat there stone-faced). Then he’d offer some advice like, "I'd never be out of work for two and a half years. I'd be pushing a broom or something."Love and sympathy wasn't his strong suit. Then again, neither was follow-up.

 

We were a focus family in the ward, but I'm not quite sure what the focus was. The Relief Society president would ask my wife how we were doing in the halls at church. "Not good", was her honest reply. The RS pres would simply say, "I'll put your name in the temple." Don't bother. Our parents had our names revolving on the prayer roles of every temple west of the Rockies, and it never made a bit of difference whenever I had a job interview. Nor did it make a difference all the times they fasted or prayed for us. In the end it only proved one of two things: either God has a sick sense of humor, or all of this was utter crap.

 

My wife used to come home in tears after church. Sometimes we both would. We were working our souls out, and yet those blessings our family so desperately needed never came. We felt like lepers. No one wanted to talk to us, 'cause they didn't know what to say. But each week we went to church and performed our duties, believing it would make a difference in our lives and in the lives of our children. And each week we came home completely miserable.

 

Then, in November 2008, we asked to be released from our callings and to be left alone. I told the bishop we were taking a break from church. His sarcastic reply was, "And what are you hoping to gain by doing that?" I looked him square in the eye and said, “Peace of mind.” And peace of mind is what we've found.

 

It hasn't been easy, I will admit that. Our son turned eight and he didn't get baptized. I know this has hurt our parents a great deal. The church is everything to them. I know they're praying we'll leave this area so we can attend another ward. The problem is, there's more to this than just being offended by our local leaders. Yes, we were offended. Yes, we put our faith and trust in leaders to guide, support and love us. And what we got in return was the exact opposite. When I was at my lowest point, and I flew out to visit my parents to clear my mind, the bishop and Relief Society president called my wife (on the same day) to tell her that I had a mental disorder and needed to be diagnosed. Had my wife actually believed them, this could’ve been the final nail in the coffin of our marriage. For a church, which prides itself in protecting the family unit, this was beyond comprehension. The leaders in our ward failed us on every level, and then some.

 

We came to the realization that everything we believed in, and everything we were taught, and everything we heard in church or in conference, was total bullshit. You cannot call yourself Christian and treat people the way we were treated. You cannot claim to be called of God, or represent a higher power when you fail an endowed family of five and let them fall away into obscurity. I firmly believe that had I actually killed myself in August 2008, my wife would’ve had grounds to sue the church.

 

The church has always had a “what have you done for me lately” attitude with its members. All they care about is making sure you’re busy in some way or another – home teaching, visiting teaching, ward and stake callings, etc.  They lose sight of the families who go to church each week and who are silently struggling. They seem to care more about the less-actives than the families who are active. I’ve seen both sides now, and it pains me to think that I used to be one of those people who would knock on less-actives doors unannounced. Having experienced this now, it’s terribly rude, inconsiderate and intrusive.

 

I know I’m preaching to the choir, but here goes: People leave the church for specific reasons, and no person or thing will make them want to go back. Yes, we know where the chapel is. And we know when church starts. If we wanted to go, we’d go. And there isn’t a single activity or event that will bring us out of inactivity. You’d be better served watching over the families who are going to church, instead of only focusing on the less-active. The truth of the matter is, all of your reactivation efforts are really done in vain. It makes for an uncomfortable experience for everyone involved. And I’m sure the poor person who was forced to come see us, because it was their calling, has much better things to do on a week night – like spending time with their wife and kids.

 

Once we stopped going to church we felt a huge burden lifted from our shoulders. We discovered the joys of having a two day weekend. My head became clearer. My marriage felt stronger. Our prospects improved. Yeah, things still sucked, but at least they sucked on our terms. Life, it seemed, got better once I lost my faith.

 

I no longer have a testimony of the restored gospel. I always had issues with some aspects of church history, but I put them to bed and covered them with the blanket of faith. But once you lose faith, everything comes down like a house of cards. I’ve done a lot of research lately, and discovered many things I never knew in regards to Joseph Smith and the church. It’s a very lonely feeling to suddenly find yourself doubting your entire existence up to this point. I feel like I’ve lived a total fraud. People that I used to despise in church history suddenly appear in a different light. And the great prophet Joseph, whom I once loved with all my heart and soul, now appears to be the biggest con the world has ever known.

 

It’s a lonely feeling once you come to this realization. For thirty-eight years of my life I felt I was one of the chosen. Despite its faults, Mormonism did give me a sense of self-worth. I held the priesthood of God. I was the patriarch of my home. Now I’m just a guy with a wife, three kids and a mortgage. I don’t know who I am anymore. And that makes me really sad.

 

Yes, on the surface, if you believe the sanitized rhetoric the church shells out in the form of church history, Mormonism is amazing, even beautiful. But it’s not true. The stories are glorified, and the truth is stretched beyond recognition. And that’s what hurts. It hurts to think of the sacrifices my family, my parents and I’ve made for the gospel’s sake. And for what? Am I a better person for it? I used to think I was. Now I don’t know anymore.

 

I don’t think I can ever go back, knowing what I know now. I don’t think I could sit and be quiet during Sunday school, or priesthood meeting. What it really comes down to is this: I was at my lowest state of existence when I was the most active and faithful – and it almost killed me. Being away from it has made me alive again. Knowing this, why on earth would I ever want to go back?

  

I’m still finding out who I am. I don’t consider myself a Mormon anymore. I tell people I’m not practicing. However, I’m afraid of what it will do to my family if I have my name removed from the records. I jokingly told my father that I was considering converting to Judaism. If figured they couldn’t get mad since the Jews are still the chosen people. I just like Christmas and bacon too much to convert. I do have spiritual baggage. I don’t want to get involved in another church. I like having my Sundays open. And I like having more time with my wife and children. I just don’t know where that puts me in God’s eyes, or if he’s even there to begin with. For now, I’m just taking it one day at a time.