drjolly1
12th March 2005, 03:47 PM
I am so happy to find this web site and would like to introduce myself to you all. My name is Andy and I am 43 years old and live in the midwest. I was born and raised in a quasi-prominent, non-Utah Mormon family. I graduated from BYU, served a mission and left Mormonism in my mid-twenties. Below is a bio piece that I wrote a while back:
My Story
I grew up in the US in a happy, active and somewhat prominent Mormon family. My uncles and grandfather were regional leaders in the church and also presided over various foreign missions. I loved my religion very much and hoped one day to become a leader so that I could give what love I had to the members of the church. I attended BYU and served a mission in San Jose, CA. As a result of my experience as a missionary for the church, my entire life was changed.
As a new missionary I was full of fire. I was enthusiastic and very hard working. Eventually, I was very successful in my work, bringing lots of new members into the church and supervising and inspiring other missionaries. However, I had a few experiences that called into question much of what I thought I knew about myself. First, I discovered that much of my feelings of self-esteem and worthiness before God were dependent on my "success”. I found that if I failed in any small way to be the definition of a successful missionary, I felt tremendously low and worthless. I became known for working long hours and for pushing my companions too hard, ignoring their needs in an eager attempt to gain “success” and thereby soothe my feelings of inadequacy.
About six months into my mission one of my companions told me in very colorful language just what a self-centered jerk I was. To my credit, I recognized my behavior as extreme, did my best to be more sensitive to his needs, and began to ponder the source of my deep sense of inadequacy. Then, during the second year of my mission I was shook to my foundations by an emotional and sexual attraction to a wonderful companion. This awareness was surprising, as I had never been aware of any same-sex attraction before. I had a reasonable number of girlfriends prior to my mission and so thought of myself as completely straight. This same-sex attraction was so upsetting to me that I started to experience depression and mild panic attacks. I felt repulsed at my feelings and judged myself mercilessly. I was too ashamed to talk to anyone about it. I became less able to focus my mind clearly or to work as hard as I wanted. This led to more low feelings. I forced myself to continue to work but began an emotional downward spiral.
Although I finished my mission honorably and returned home to a hero's greeting, inside I felt extremely stressed, scared and hopeless. Within six months of my return, I ended my relationship with my previous girlfriend. I was deeply afraid of my sexual self and as a result repressed my desire. I had learned that sexual matters were infinitely shameful and, although I was in extreme pain and heartache, I felt reluctant to share my pains with anyone. I judged myself as defective and perverted. Although prior to my mission I was very popular and outgoing, now I became distant and solitary.
Over the next few years I constantly sought a way out of my inner dilemma. I focused on prayer, fasting and offerings, hoping that these would eventually bring me relief from my “confusion”. Eventually, I confessed my thoughts and desires to my Bishop. I requested and received special priesthood blessings. I told my parents of my suffering. Although sympathetic, they supported the idea of keeping to the churches teachings. No one could help me. I felt completely alone. I began to fight with contemplations of ending my life.
From that time on, I felt like a scarlet letter hung around me neck—a letter that no one but I could see. I could not forget a formative experience of my freshman year. John, my roommate and friend from back home, was caught with his boyfriend and kicked out of BYU. During that disturbing time, I had witnessed how my closest friend on the floor had reacted with fear and disgust to John's homosexuality. Now, years later and still at BYU, I feared the same response would be directed towards me. I just couldn't withstand that kind of rejection. So instead of telling my friend, I distanced myself from him. I know he must have felt hurt, but I could not risk his rejection of me. Life became isolated, lonely and painful in a way I never imagined.
Desperate for relief, I turned to psychology for answers and declared psychology as my undergraduate major. Later, I entered psychotherapy with one of my instructors at BYU. As I studied and reflected on what I was learning, I gradually began to question the teachings of the church regarding sexuality. I saw the possibility that it was not I who was flawed. I came to ask myself if it had been the horrible teachings on sexuality that I received from the church that were the cause of my depression and anxiety. The more I pondered this possibility the angrier I became. This anger eventually saved my life as it focused the shame and sickness away from me and onto the wrongful teachings of the church.
In counseling with my Bishop, I was told that depression was a problem in our ward. The Bishop asked me to teach a Sunday school class on the subject. I resisted him at first. Then he said he would let me teach whatever topic I wished. I decided on the topic of unconditional love and focused on nothing else. Each Sunday I asked the class to imagine Jesus’ reactions to today’s “sins”. As I did this I started to question the very idea of a punitive, restrictive, legalistic god. Very slowly, and in small steps, I began to accept the universal love that was epitomized by the example of Jesus. I was not alone in my fascination with this idea. My class was so full that semester that we had standing room only.
When the class ended, I told my Bishop that I needed to stop attending church. I told him that I believed my attendance was damaging me and that I believed my depression was being maintained and even worsened by the doctrines spoken from the pulpit, specifically, those that reinforced a shameful, fearful and guilt laden view of sexual expression. Interestingly, he did not attempt to dissuade me from my decision. He told me that he was sad to lose me. In the end, I felt some respect from him over my situation.
I stopped going to church when I graduated from BYU. In effect, I excommunicated myself. I walked away from my friends and my church because I felt totally unworthy and afraid of offending the "good" people I knew. At the same time, I was bitterly and deeply angry at the church. Yes, I hated myself, but I more than suspected the churches role in my self-contempt. I wrote a letter to the First Presidency in which I chastised them on their psychological abuse of the minds, hearts and bodies of the church membership. I got back a form letter.
Though I stopped going to church, I was filled with fear over this decision. I had never before made such a decision on my own behalf. From all I had been taught, I believed that I was choosing myself over God, over Truth, over absolute Commandment and at times I was filled with fear for my soul. I felt that I was saving myself but losing my spiritual home. I could not change my beliefs overnight. I suffered greatly because so much of me still clung to the idea that Mormonism was true and that the world offered nothing as hopeful as the teachings of the church and the brotherhood and sisterhood of it’s members.
The decision that I made to leave the church put me in an alien reality. The step I had taken was monumental. To me, I was defying all authority in heaven and on earth. I was endeavoring to trust my own eyes, my own ears, my own judgment, and my own bodily experiences as valid and worthy. I was shaking up my personal universe to the core.
In the immediate aftermath, I continued in lots of personal turmoil and emotional anguish. I spent many, many years alone and broken hearted. I felt lost to the world I had known. Nothing was easy. It took almost twenty more years for me to come to terms with the painful decision I made to leave my church. I studied, read, reflected, but continued to spend way too much time in my head, away from my feelings. The loss was just too great.
I often say that one usually can cry only after the accident, only after one is plucked from the freezing water. Once brought to shore, wrapped in blankets and sipping from a warm cup, the overwhelming fear and loss can finally erupt. So it has been with me. Recently, I have turned a corner. Perhaps time, aging and the union of friendship with a special, like-minded soul, has finally made for some warmth and safety. The ability to grieve finally arrived and it has begun to set my soul free.
Only from the shore can I look back at the stormy waters of my past and make any sense of it. I see that by quitting the church I was to affirm my own authority and my own right to exist as a mortal, sexual, and imperfect being. Through my actions I affirmed that I have a measure of authority and autonomy to determine for myself what is good and correct for my soul. I affirmed that I was not created evil, but had only came to think of myself as such because of the spiritual immaturity of my ecclesiastical leaders.
I had been taught that the body’s desires are sinful and to be resisted at all costs, even at the cost of one’s life. But the body is one’s life and there is no human life in separation from the body and no bliss or happiness in death. Joseph Campbell once said, pointing to himself, “these eyes are the eyes of the earth, this voice is the voice of the earth…” That my bodily flesh and all its feelings and desires are those of a good and wonderful creation is a revolution in thinking for me. I believe this is the transformation I have made.
I may never know the full truth, but I must gamble on my own judgment. Today I am choosing embodiment. I do the best I can to embrace my earthiness, mortality and deep humanity. I no longer focus on heaven or moralistic theologies. Today, I think more in terms of the heart—that quality of human experience that, when heeded, connects us to our deepest self and to our friends. In general, I no longer strive for perfection; instead I care for my soul.
Postscript:
I've never told a group of Mormons about this experience and thought it might be good from me to do so. Maybe some of you have had similar experiences. I'd be interested to hear about them.
Andy
My Story
I grew up in the US in a happy, active and somewhat prominent Mormon family. My uncles and grandfather were regional leaders in the church and also presided over various foreign missions. I loved my religion very much and hoped one day to become a leader so that I could give what love I had to the members of the church. I attended BYU and served a mission in San Jose, CA. As a result of my experience as a missionary for the church, my entire life was changed.
As a new missionary I was full of fire. I was enthusiastic and very hard working. Eventually, I was very successful in my work, bringing lots of new members into the church and supervising and inspiring other missionaries. However, I had a few experiences that called into question much of what I thought I knew about myself. First, I discovered that much of my feelings of self-esteem and worthiness before God were dependent on my "success”. I found that if I failed in any small way to be the definition of a successful missionary, I felt tremendously low and worthless. I became known for working long hours and for pushing my companions too hard, ignoring their needs in an eager attempt to gain “success” and thereby soothe my feelings of inadequacy.
About six months into my mission one of my companions told me in very colorful language just what a self-centered jerk I was. To my credit, I recognized my behavior as extreme, did my best to be more sensitive to his needs, and began to ponder the source of my deep sense of inadequacy. Then, during the second year of my mission I was shook to my foundations by an emotional and sexual attraction to a wonderful companion. This awareness was surprising, as I had never been aware of any same-sex attraction before. I had a reasonable number of girlfriends prior to my mission and so thought of myself as completely straight. This same-sex attraction was so upsetting to me that I started to experience depression and mild panic attacks. I felt repulsed at my feelings and judged myself mercilessly. I was too ashamed to talk to anyone about it. I became less able to focus my mind clearly or to work as hard as I wanted. This led to more low feelings. I forced myself to continue to work but began an emotional downward spiral.
Although I finished my mission honorably and returned home to a hero's greeting, inside I felt extremely stressed, scared and hopeless. Within six months of my return, I ended my relationship with my previous girlfriend. I was deeply afraid of my sexual self and as a result repressed my desire. I had learned that sexual matters were infinitely shameful and, although I was in extreme pain and heartache, I felt reluctant to share my pains with anyone. I judged myself as defective and perverted. Although prior to my mission I was very popular and outgoing, now I became distant and solitary.
Over the next few years I constantly sought a way out of my inner dilemma. I focused on prayer, fasting and offerings, hoping that these would eventually bring me relief from my “confusion”. Eventually, I confessed my thoughts and desires to my Bishop. I requested and received special priesthood blessings. I told my parents of my suffering. Although sympathetic, they supported the idea of keeping to the churches teachings. No one could help me. I felt completely alone. I began to fight with contemplations of ending my life.
From that time on, I felt like a scarlet letter hung around me neck—a letter that no one but I could see. I could not forget a formative experience of my freshman year. John, my roommate and friend from back home, was caught with his boyfriend and kicked out of BYU. During that disturbing time, I had witnessed how my closest friend on the floor had reacted with fear and disgust to John's homosexuality. Now, years later and still at BYU, I feared the same response would be directed towards me. I just couldn't withstand that kind of rejection. So instead of telling my friend, I distanced myself from him. I know he must have felt hurt, but I could not risk his rejection of me. Life became isolated, lonely and painful in a way I never imagined.
Desperate for relief, I turned to psychology for answers and declared psychology as my undergraduate major. Later, I entered psychotherapy with one of my instructors at BYU. As I studied and reflected on what I was learning, I gradually began to question the teachings of the church regarding sexuality. I saw the possibility that it was not I who was flawed. I came to ask myself if it had been the horrible teachings on sexuality that I received from the church that were the cause of my depression and anxiety. The more I pondered this possibility the angrier I became. This anger eventually saved my life as it focused the shame and sickness away from me and onto the wrongful teachings of the church.
In counseling with my Bishop, I was told that depression was a problem in our ward. The Bishop asked me to teach a Sunday school class on the subject. I resisted him at first. Then he said he would let me teach whatever topic I wished. I decided on the topic of unconditional love and focused on nothing else. Each Sunday I asked the class to imagine Jesus’ reactions to today’s “sins”. As I did this I started to question the very idea of a punitive, restrictive, legalistic god. Very slowly, and in small steps, I began to accept the universal love that was epitomized by the example of Jesus. I was not alone in my fascination with this idea. My class was so full that semester that we had standing room only.
When the class ended, I told my Bishop that I needed to stop attending church. I told him that I believed my attendance was damaging me and that I believed my depression was being maintained and even worsened by the doctrines spoken from the pulpit, specifically, those that reinforced a shameful, fearful and guilt laden view of sexual expression. Interestingly, he did not attempt to dissuade me from my decision. He told me that he was sad to lose me. In the end, I felt some respect from him over my situation.
I stopped going to church when I graduated from BYU. In effect, I excommunicated myself. I walked away from my friends and my church because I felt totally unworthy and afraid of offending the "good" people I knew. At the same time, I was bitterly and deeply angry at the church. Yes, I hated myself, but I more than suspected the churches role in my self-contempt. I wrote a letter to the First Presidency in which I chastised them on their psychological abuse of the minds, hearts and bodies of the church membership. I got back a form letter.
Though I stopped going to church, I was filled with fear over this decision. I had never before made such a decision on my own behalf. From all I had been taught, I believed that I was choosing myself over God, over Truth, over absolute Commandment and at times I was filled with fear for my soul. I felt that I was saving myself but losing my spiritual home. I could not change my beliefs overnight. I suffered greatly because so much of me still clung to the idea that Mormonism was true and that the world offered nothing as hopeful as the teachings of the church and the brotherhood and sisterhood of it’s members.
The decision that I made to leave the church put me in an alien reality. The step I had taken was monumental. To me, I was defying all authority in heaven and on earth. I was endeavoring to trust my own eyes, my own ears, my own judgment, and my own bodily experiences as valid and worthy. I was shaking up my personal universe to the core.
In the immediate aftermath, I continued in lots of personal turmoil and emotional anguish. I spent many, many years alone and broken hearted. I felt lost to the world I had known. Nothing was easy. It took almost twenty more years for me to come to terms with the painful decision I made to leave my church. I studied, read, reflected, but continued to spend way too much time in my head, away from my feelings. The loss was just too great.
I often say that one usually can cry only after the accident, only after one is plucked from the freezing water. Once brought to shore, wrapped in blankets and sipping from a warm cup, the overwhelming fear and loss can finally erupt. So it has been with me. Recently, I have turned a corner. Perhaps time, aging and the union of friendship with a special, like-minded soul, has finally made for some warmth and safety. The ability to grieve finally arrived and it has begun to set my soul free.
Only from the shore can I look back at the stormy waters of my past and make any sense of it. I see that by quitting the church I was to affirm my own authority and my own right to exist as a mortal, sexual, and imperfect being. Through my actions I affirmed that I have a measure of authority and autonomy to determine for myself what is good and correct for my soul. I affirmed that I was not created evil, but had only came to think of myself as such because of the spiritual immaturity of my ecclesiastical leaders.
I had been taught that the body’s desires are sinful and to be resisted at all costs, even at the cost of one’s life. But the body is one’s life and there is no human life in separation from the body and no bliss or happiness in death. Joseph Campbell once said, pointing to himself, “these eyes are the eyes of the earth, this voice is the voice of the earth…” That my bodily flesh and all its feelings and desires are those of a good and wonderful creation is a revolution in thinking for me. I believe this is the transformation I have made.
I may never know the full truth, but I must gamble on my own judgment. Today I am choosing embodiment. I do the best I can to embrace my earthiness, mortality and deep humanity. I no longer focus on heaven or moralistic theologies. Today, I think more in terms of the heart—that quality of human experience that, when heeded, connects us to our deepest self and to our friends. In general, I no longer strive for perfection; instead I care for my soul.
Postscript:
I've never told a group of Mormons about this experience and thought it might be good from me to do so. Maybe some of you have had similar experiences. I'd be interested to hear about them.
Andy