Content warning: Mormonism, faith crisis, brief non-graphic mention of abusive relationship
Also, this is really long.
There's a phrase used largely amongst ex-Mormons when talking about the journey away from the church. "My shelf broke." I don't honestly remember where it came from, but the general idea is that every doubt you have about the church, or any question you have about church history or policies or doctrine, you put up on your "shelf". Like sticking something random from the house up on the closet shelf when you don't know what to do with it. Out of sight, out of mind.
Eventually, the shelf gets crowded. Multiple contradictory versions of the First Vision. The number of hoaxes church leaders have fallen for. Joseph Smith producing the Book of Mormon using a peep stone in a hat. Polygamy. Polyandry. Young girls and women being forced into plural marriage by spiritual threats. Men being sent away on missions for the church to free up their wives. Brigham Young. Blacks and the priesthood/temple ordinances. Women and the priesthood. The current treatment of LGBT people. The persecution and excommunication of people for daring to question the status quo. The complete absence of Heavenly Mother as anything other than an acknowledged baby factory. The disturbing nature of temple ceremonies, where you are required to agree to and make sacred covenants with no prior knowledge of what you'll be agreeing to. The subjugation of women to their husbands. The veiling of women's faces in the presence of God, because only a man is worthy to be face-to-face with deity.
The list goes on...and on, and on, and on. (See https://cesletter.org for some really well-thought-out questions regarding the Mormon faith.)
And eventually the shelf breaks.
Unpacking my faith crisis and subsequent departure from Mormonism has been problematic. For a while (see earlier posts on this blog), it was easier to dismiss it. Easier to convince myself that I never really believed it. But I did, at least for a while. Certainly I did growing up. I believed it and I defended it. My faith suffered a pretty crushing blow when Heather had her accident, one thing in a very long line of tragedies and traumas my family and the people I loved had endured. When Mom and Heather got back from the rehab center in Atlanta, my relationship with Mom was extremely rocky. She asked me to move out after graduation, and although I initially protested, I eventually agreed because I felt very much unwanted. Having it suggested repeatedly has a way of getting me to take a hint.
I went to college. I stayed in touch with the church out of obligation but wasn't active and wasn't really interested. I met someone and got involved in what turned out to be a very abusive relationship. The plus side? I withdrew further from the church and discovered I was drawn to paganism. I began studying it and searching for a group near me, but without a vehicle, was unable to really participate.
The relationship continued to devolve. I wasn't aware of how bad things had gotten until it got physical a few times. An argument in the Walmart parking lot I tried to walk away from, only to be grabbed by the hair and yanked back. My arm twisted to give leverage to push me into a wall. Not taking "no" for an answer. Eventually, my oldest sister and her family came down to visit and Miriam very tearfully expressed her concern, giving me a information she'd put together for an event about the types of abuse in relationships. As I looked over the packet, I was horrified to realize that I could check off just about everything on the list. They offered to move me home, and a few weeks later, my brother-in-law returned to do just that. I fled the relationship, and when I returned home, allowed myself to be convinced that I'd been in an abusive relationship not because I'd fallen for an abusive asshole, but because I had left the church.
Yeah. The abuse I suffered was because I had not been faithful. I believed that. I bought it completely, and threw myself back into Mormonism because how else was I supposed to prevent it from happening again?
A few months later, I met Brett at the singles' ward at church. We hadn't even known each other for a year when we got married, but hey, that's what Mormons do, right?? I was going to be the most faithful, most devout Mormon because that was how my family would get to heaven together and I wouldn't get hurt again. I brought 2 children into the world after a 2-year struggle with infertility. I made the decision to go back to school only to be told by my mother that by doing so, I was following Satan's plan. I lost a pregnancy. I lost a second pregnancy, my Hannah Noelle. I had started to question things. I got involved with movements within the church, including the Ordain Women movement. I tried to remain faithful while working to improve things from within, but the more I saw, the more questions I had, the fewer answers were given. I got pregnant again, and began to open up to Brett about my doubts and concerns, very carefully at first, and eventually less carefully.
The arguments started. Olivia was born. She was blessed (as is tradition in Mormonism) at Brett's parents' house, surrounded by the boys and men of the family. I vividly remember asking to move closer to the circle because Brett spoke very softly and I wanted to hear, and my father-in-law responding that I could get closer "but don't even think that you get to stand in the circle".
After that (end of November/beginning of December 2014), I was up front with Brett that I no longer believed it, and that I wanted to leave the church. His immediate response was that he would have to divorce me, because "I just don't see how I can be with someone and raise kids with someone whose values are so different from mine."
I begged for my marriage. I pleaded with him. I offered compromise after compromise. I would continue to attend church with him and the kids. I would continue to raise our children in the church. I would continue to teach them the tenets of a religion I no longer believed. I would do whatever it took to protect my marriage. But the arguments continued. Brett and I went out for his birthday in January 2015, and had a lovely time, only to end up in a massive argument afterwards at home that again surrounded him divorcing me for my loss of faith. I left the house to take a drive, calling my friend Melissa in such hysterics she couldn't understand me through my sobbing.
The constant arguing took a severe toll on our marriage. While much of what caused the end of our marriage I place solely at Brett's feet, this is one thing I can't deny joint responsibility for. Yes, he could've handled it better, but I could have too. I was so focused on my own worldview crumbling around me that I didn't think much about what it was doing to his. It was terrifying and overwhelming for me. But now, I imagine he was probably feeling some of the same things as the circumstances of our marriage shifted, and he had no control over it. I wish I had been more understanding and supportive of him, just as much as I wish he'd been more understanding and supportive of me.
Next: The Phone, or Going Undercover
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