Seeing Red, or Anything to Protect the Kids

Content / Trigger warning: This post contains descriptions of child abuse. It also includes photos, which I've gone to great lengths to cover so they are not immediately visible to try to minimize any negative impact. You will have to click and hold on any of the pictures to see the photo content.

This post is going to suck. It's hard and emotional to write this and I've avoided it for almost two months because I'm just...dreading it. I'm still dreading it, even as I write this.

So, Brett and I moved to a split custody schedule right around Halloween 2016. It was...tough, but it was more or less working. In June of 2017, I interviewed for and was offered a job with a new company. I was ecstatic! It was closer to home, and while it paid less, offered a ton of opportunities for advancement and came with some pretty amazing benefits. I accepted the position, with a start date of June 19, 2017. (Knowing my start date has allowed me to keep track of the dates involved in this with a surprising amount of accuracy given the amount of time that's elapsed.)

Tuesday June 13th. Brett had had the kids overnight and dropped them off at daycare that day. Shortly after my shift started, I got a phone call from the nurse at Parkway's Early Childhood Center where David was doing half days (the other half being at our regular daycare facility) according to his IEP. She asked about a mark on David's face that hadn't been there the day before. I told her that David had been with his dad the night before and provided her with his phone number so she could call him. As soon as I got off the phone with her, I called Brett myself to ask him about it. He told me that one of the cats had scratched David's face and there was a rash, like an allergic reaction. I accepted his explanation and told him to expect the nurse's phone call.

I was surprised when a while later, I got a phone call from a Child Services worker who went by CJ. He explained there had been a report filed about the mark on David. I told him what I'd told the nurse, that the kids had been with Brett. We set up a home visit for later that week, and he went to Brett's for a home visit that night. Everything seemed more or less okay. The daycare sent me a picture of David a little later that day.

I was pretty floored, but I assumed that Child Services would do their job (error #1 on my part). I got the kids back Wednesday after work. The four of us were eating dinner and as I brought David something he'd asked for, I saw it up close for the first time, in good light, and my jaw hit the floor.

As I stared at this huge mark on the side of his face, all I could think was, "Oh my God, that looks like a handprint." The palm covers the majority of his cheek, the thumb extending along the jawline. There's a slight gap to the right of his eye in a sort of diagonal direction that looks like it would account for the joints right where the fingers meet the hand, with the fingers then extending up into the hairline. I asked David what had happened, and he just looked at me before quietly saying, "He did it." Amy immediately jumped in with "Monte scratched him, Dad said Monte scratched him!" I thanked them both and we proceeded with dinner.

Later that evening when I was putting the kids to bed, I asked David again. What happened, buddy? He hesitated. "Monte scratched me." David, that's not a scratch on your face. What happened? He hesitated again. "He did it." Who did it? "Daddy did it." Silence from me. How the hell was I supposed to respond to that??

Once I saw it, though, I couldn't un-see it. But I justified the hell out of it. I had to be imagining it. Brett would NEVER do that. It was just not possible. It had to have been an accident. It just...just no. I refused to believe what was in front of my face. When CJ came for my home visit that Friday, I flat out told him that I firmly believed Brett would never harm one of our children and there had to be an explanation.

One of the questions that did come up in that visit was if Brett should still have the kids that weekend as previously scheduled. I very directly asked CJ if it should still be allowed or if he recommended I keep the kids. His response was that he saw no reason to keep the kids from their father, so I unquestioningly went along with it. Error #2.

Sunday evening, June 18th, I got a call from Brett around 7pm. One of my partners at the time was over and heard my half of the conversation as Brett told me he'd "noticed" a bruise on David's hand and wrist that he wasn't sure what caused it, but guessed he'd hit it on something at the park earlier that day. I felt pretty panicky, and asked him to make sure he documented it and sent me a picture since we were technically still under investigation by CS. He responded that David was asleep and he didn't want to wake him. I shrugged it off and we hung up, but I just had this sinking feeling as I sat outside on the porch. I texted him, insisting that he really needed to take a picture, and that even though it seemed kinda silly, he should really take David in to the pediatrician Monday morning just to cover our collective rear ends. He refused to take David to the doctor, but about 45 minutes later texted me a picture saying it had taken him that long because David was still awake and he didn't want to keep him up.

Because of the flash from Brett's camera phone, it's a bit difficult to see the extent of this, and I don't have a digital copy of the one they ended up taking later. But there was clear bruising and a great deal of swelling to the radial side of his right hand and wrist.

I was shocked. I had photographic evidence of 2 different incidents in less than a week of David turning up with mysterious, unexplained bruises while at his dad's. I tried to swallow the lump in my throat, and dialed the number for CJ's cell phone. I explained what Brett had told me and our interaction on the phone, the odd and directly conflicting reasons for not sending me a picture, and then...the picture he finally texted me. I told him that I still didn't want to think the worst, but that I was definitely concerned. He asked me to text him the picture, and I did. He immediately told me that he'd have to talk with his supervisor, but that I should be prepared because they may need me to take David to the hospital on Monday just to get checked out and to document the marks.

The next day, Monday, was my very first day of my new job. Training isn't really enjoyable for any job, I think, but I was excited about the newness of the material.

Around 10am, I got my first call from CJ telling me he was talking with his supervisor, that they were definitely concerned, and that I should be on standby for further instructions. I told him I would do whatever they needed me to. Around 11am, I got my second call from him, telling me that they were extremely concerned, and that I needed to either take David to one of a couple hospitals immediately, or they would send an ambulance for him. I agreed to pick him up and take him to Cardinal Glennon (one of 2 area children's hospitals with a team that specializes in suspected abuse cases). We hung up.

I nervously approached my trainer, who I'd known for all of 3 hours, and told him that there was an emergency and I needed to take my son to the hospital. Honestly, I half expected to be told not to bother coming back. Instead, he just looked at me expectantly and asked, "Why are we still talking about this?? Go take care of your son! We'll see you tomorrow or whenever you get back. Go." I legit ran out of the building and sped to the daycare, explaining to David that with his owies the past few days we just wanted to make sure he was okay, so we were going to go see some special doctors. He was pretty nonplussed and went along with it. Olivia remained there at the daycare and Amy was at summer camp at the nearby YMCA.

While I took David to the ER at Cardinal Glennon, CJ took a police officer (or two?) to go talk to Amy about what had happened.  He had asked me during one of our phone calls if I thought she would tell the truth when asked about the incident. I thought for a minute and responded that in all honesty, if she thought she was going to get someone she cared about in trouble, she would probably lie. I'd seen it many times before with her siblings. I told him that generally, when she was clearly trying to feed me a line, I would remind her that it's important to be truthful and that she won't get in trouble for telling the truth. According to his report, she was definitely being rather fanciful at first. He eventually asked her if she knew the difference between a lie and the truth, and she said yes and then told him she'd been lying. When asked for the truth, she told him that David had gotten in trouble and was supposed to be sitting on the couch, but that he wasn't listening, Dad got mad, and then hit him. She mimicked the motion of hitting someone, and pointed to her wrist when asked where David was hit.

At the ER, we were quickly checked in. A doctor and a couple of nurses came in and talked to us, taking a number of pictures to document the marks on David. As part of their protocol for suspected abuse cases, they had David and I talk separately with a specially trained social worker. After the discussions we had, CJ called again, asking me to bring David to the University City Police Department to talk with the officers there.

By this point, Brett had evidently called the daycare to check on David, only to be told he wasn't there. (I had been advised not to tell Brett I'd taken him to the hospital.) He repeatedly berated and threatened me for taking David, and threatened me with legal action if I didn't tell him where we were and give him access to David. I was advised not to disclose where we were, so I told him that David was safe, I was getting him checked out, and that I was complying with requests from Child Services. David and I met with a detective from UCPD. We talked for a while and they eventually took me into a legit interrogation room (scary cement, video recorders, the whole terrifying nine yards) and asked me a bunch of questions and took a statement.

It was incredibly intimidating. I maintained that I had a hard time believing Brett would intentionally harm one of our kids, that he had never been physically abusive with me or the kids while we'd been together, and that while he certainly had a temper and could be physically intimidating, he had never laid a hand on any of us. I just...didn't know how else to explain the marks on David. The cognitive dissonance was very strong. I just could not reconcile my knowledge of who Brett was with the idea of him hurting David. That was not the Brett I knew. That wasn't the man I married, or the man I had children with. Someone (can't remember who, there were 3 or 4 people in and out) pointed out that, well, he wasn't the man I married anymore. How well did I know him at this point?

And that really floored me. Because, well...yeah. The man I married and had children with would never have cheated on me, would never have walked away from our family. And yet he had. How well did I really know him anymore? It had been over 2 years since we'd separated. I grudgingly admitted that while I didn't want to believe it, I didn't have a better explanation, and that I was genuinely concerned for the kids, particularly for David. I had to explain that while we'd been separated for quite some time, we did not have a legally binding custody arrangement. That worried both the detective and CJ. CJ had already spoken with Brett and told him that they were putting in place a "safety plan" that specifically said I should have custody of the children until they concluded their investigation. The detective recommended under the circumstances that I file an order of protection on behalf of the children. I balked at that. I knew what a restraining order was. It sounded incredibly harsh, but they explained that it was really the only thing at that point that would give me grounds to do what I needed to in order to protect the kids.(Side note: Brett was asked to come down and answer questions just like I had. It was only after his refusal that the detective advised me to file the order. When he eventually did go, many days later, the police documented that he was belligerent and evasive, and tried to get a warrant to arrest him for abusing David.)

So I filed it. We scrambled to complete the paperwork and fax it to the court before 5pm. A judge signed the ex parte order (temporary/emergency order) and set a court date. I had immediate, full custody of the kids until further notice.

I was a mess. My world was crashing down around me. All I could think was, No. No no no no no. Not this. Not him. Not my child.

I'm not an idiot. I know there are all sorts of statistics on the cycle of abuse. The abused often becomes the abuser. And I had been so terrified of that for so long that despite desperately wanting to be a mother, I seriously considered not having kids. I was terrified that, regardless of the years of therapy, somehow I would continue the cycle. When I decided to go ahead and to trust that I could be a good parent, I swore to myself that I would be the mother I should have had.

I would be the mother I should have had.

I would fight for my children. Boldly. Aggressively. Unceasingly. I would protect them at any and all cost, against anyone I needed to. And yeah, maybe I would fail, but it would not be for lack of trying, and there wouldn't be a soul alive who could look at it and think I should've done more.

And so as I sat there in the police station, all I could think was, no. Not this time. NOT MY CHILD.

And I signed the paperwork for the order of protection.

Next: The Circus Begins, or I'm Really Tired of Going to Court

The Waiting Game, or the Roller Coaster

Content warning: brief mention of sex, infidelity, brief language

Brett moved out and moved in with his mistress, opting to move into a one-bedroom apartment with her that meant he couldn't really have the kids overnight regularly. He'd take them on occasion but by and large, I began functioning as a full time parent.

It bears pointing out that as soon as I had discovered Brett's infidelity, I started working part time at a local movie theater (having been out of the work force for 5 years and needing some money coming in, in addition to school). In August of that year, on Amy's birthday, I started working full time for Cigna as a customer service rep. I did not return to school. I stayed at Cigna for just shy of 2 years.

Man, divorces are EXPENSIVE. Brett and I by that point both acknowledged the need for a divorce but neither of us had the money to actually hire an attorney. He continued his relationship with Kathryn. I eventually started dating that winter.

Co-parenting with Brett has been a roller coaster from day 1. Some times we'd be getting along well and work together fairly seamlessly. Other times, we were very much at odds and arguments were plenty and plenty ugly.

We had agreed at one point that the other co-parent would get to meet any partners prior to them being introduced to the kids. That meant meeting Kathryn. I specifically requested that we meet for drinks because honestly, I needed some alcohol to be able to deal with actually being face to face with that woman.

This was during one of the better times between Brett and I, and was before I started dating. He and I had actually slept together a few times since splitting up, and he had been very candid (and rather proud) about having had unprotected sex with several women off Tinder. While with Kathryn. After leaving me for her. And still sleeping with me.

Kathryn and I met and talked over drinks. We asked each other a few questions. Eventually she flat out asked me if I thought he would cheat again. I practically spit out my drink, but considered carefully. There was no way she would believe me if I told her. I would just be the vindictive, petty ex-wife trying to ruin their relationship...or whatever.

So instead I told her, "Absolutely, 100%, if he hasn't already. You should really get tested." To which she responded, "Why, do you have something?"

Oooooh, the nerves of that woman. I don't remember exactly what I said to that, but it was to the effect of, no, but I don't know where he's been since me.

After I began dating my first girlfriend, several months into our relationship he finally met her. After that I stopped really caring about his approval, to be honest, because I'm poly and have more partners to coordinate, and it just didn't make sense. Besides, I wasn't the one who'd taken up with another person while we were still together.

There were many incidents during this time that just enraged me. One of the most vivid is Mothers' Day of 2016. I had the kids. We'd had kind of a crazy day, and ran to Schnucks so I could pick up some sushi for dinner because dammit, it was my day and I wanted sushi. As soon as we pulled into the parking lot, both girls started vomiting in the back of the car. Come to find out, they'd gotten into the bottle of kids' multivitamins and eaten an unknown number of them. We bolted for home and I called poison control, who told me to take them to the ER immediately since the vitamins had iron in them. I did, calling Brett on the way to let him know I had it handled. I declined an offer from one of my partners to come with me, as I wasn't sure if Brett was going to show up and I didn't want to cause any issues.

Sure enough, he showed up about half an hour later WITH KATHRYN. On Mothers' Day. He brought her with him into the exam room with our children, and she had the gall to actually attempt to parent David right in front of me. Suffice it to say there were many, many daggers being glared in their general direction that night.

A little while later, she was headed to McDonald's to grab food for her and Brett. They asked if I wanted anything and I asked for a Dr. Pepper. After she left, my phone went off and I saw I had a text from Brett...clearly mistakenly sent to me instead of Kathryn. He relayed his food order and added, "And a Dr. Pepper for Cunty." I flipped my shit and replied that "Cunty" didn't need anything after all, thanks so much. Kathryn responded that I didn't have a leg to stand on in regard to name-calling. They weren't fond of my tendency to refer to her interchangeably as Brett's mistress or his whore. Whore may have been inaccurate, but last time I checked, a woman having an affair with a married man is called a mistress.

I know this post is all over the place. Those couple of years were just...chaotic. At the very end of October 2016, Brett and Kathryn finally moved into a 2-bedroom place and he and I agreed on a 50-50 custody split while still not having anything formalized or on record with the court. Brett was paying the daycare fees, but nothing else. The eye of the hurricane lasted about 8 months before disaster struck again.

Next: Seeing Red, or Anything to Protect the Kids

A Request and an Ultimatum

Content warning: brief language, infidelity

These are getting more difficult to write. Part of it is because I try not to think about this too much, and part of it is that it is so emotionally draining to relive this. I know it's important, and I know it helps to bleed off some of the poison, so to speak, but it is painful. Painful and exhausting.

Brett ended up checking into an extended stay motel for a week. A few days after the confrontation, he asked me to come talk, so I went to his hotel. He tearfully begged me to consider reconciliation, that he didn't want a divorce.

I was honestly pretty shocked by that. Here was the man who had been threatening me with divorce since I'd stated my loss of belief in Mormonism, literally for months. And now that I'd caught him, he wanted me to stay???

But...part of me didn't want to lose him. He was my husband! I loved him. He was the father of my children. I had made a covenant, even if he'd broken it, and even if I didn't believe in "The Church" anymore, I had made promises before God.

So I said yes, with a but.

Yes, BUT:

• He would arrange marriage counseling for us immediately as well as child care. He would tell me when and where I needed to be, and I would be there.
• He would confess to the bishop (since he still professed to be Mormon at that point in time) and go through the required repentance process no matter what it involved.
• He would immediately cut ties with any other women he was seeing and focus on our marriage.

No exceptions. No excuses. No additional chances. He agreed. After the week was up, I let him come back to the house. He slept on the couch. We tried to make it work, and we even slept together a few times.

But counseling never happened. A single appointment was set up, which he cancelled the day of.

He did not go speak to the bishop. I actually reached out to our bishop, who I knew was a good man and would listen and help me regardless of my beliefs. I was very up front with him about my reasons for leaving the church and my determination not to go back. I explained what had happened with Brett. I believe he called Brett into a meeting, but the Stake President refused to hold a disciplinary counsel, stating that when Brett decided to come back to church, they would have one then. So he again avoided accountability for his actions.

Brett began spending a lot of time with a classmate from the university named Kathryn Bewig. There were a lot of "study sessions". I wasn't an idiot. It became pretty clear very quickly that they were in a relationship. I actually texted her one day, thinking that maybe she didn't realize he had a family since the other women obviously hadn't known.

Oh no. She knew. She chose to pursue him anyway, and responded to my message that IF we ended up getting back together, THEN she would back off.

I went on a trip to Utah to see friends with Olivia, who was about 9 months old at the time and still nursing. My neighbors across the street reported that they'd seen a woman at the house more than once while I was gone.

I had the kids on Mothers' Day. A friend reported that they'd run into Brett at the grocery store that day with a woman matching Kathryn's description.

Amy had been asked to be a flower girl at Brett's cousin's wedding at the beginning of May that year. We'd agreed before all this...ridiculousness...had happened. I didn't want to pull her out, and I sure as hell wasn't going to miss it.

So, in the most awkward of awkward situations, Brett and the kids and I all drove out together to Pittsburgh. We shared a hotel room, each of us taking a separate bed with one of the two older kids while Livvie's pack and play was in the middle space. 

The wedding was beautiful. A lot of family was there, including Brett's older sister and her family, and Brett's parents. Between the ceremony and the reception, a bunch of us were taking pictures. Heather was taking some pictures of Brett and the kids and I (much to my discomfort). I smiled and played family. I remember vividly Brett putting his arm around my waist at one point, and there's a picture Heather managed to snap in the moment that I reacted as I very quietly growled at him to move his hand and not touch me again. He complied.

The older two kids went back to Ohio with their grandparents, and Brett and I drove home with Olivia. The drive took half of eternity, filled mostly with awkward silences until we finally had The Talk. 

The Very Awkward Talk, in which I pointed out he'd done none of the things I'd told him needed to happen if we were to reconcile. I pointedly mentioned his relationship with Kathryn, and told him that if he was still serious about reconciling, that he needed to commit right then to breaking up with her as soon as we got home. His response?

"It's not fair to me to have to end things with her, because then if you and I still don't work out, I've lost both of you."

I'm pretty sure my jaw dropped before I could collect myself and then affirm that if he was unwilling to break things off with Kathryn, then I was done with the charade and would look to move forward with the divorce. I don't remember much conversation in the car after that.

He was sleeping on the couch one afternoon, and his phone was going off like crazy. I picked it up. He still hadn't put any sort of code on it, so I opened it and read his messages. It was Kathryn, worried that he was going to leave her for me.

His response?

"Why would I leave the one person who makes me happy for the person who makes me the most miserable?"

I saw red. I gently woke him by chucking his phone at his head and telling him to get the fuck out of my house right now, and not to come back. He ended up staying with some friends of ours with whom we'd been out of touch for a while. I'm still not really sure what he told them. Being Mormon, I have a hard time believing they'd support him if they knew what he'd done, but...stranger things have happened.

Next: The Waiting Game, or the Roller Coaster

The Confrontation, or Hi Wes, I'm Lily

This post has been really hard to write and I've been procrastinating it intentionally. Again, the memory is a bit fuzzy but this is as accurate as I can remember it.

My friends and I walked into the restaurant/bar. The way it's set up, there's a main hallway you walk into. On the left are several smallish banquet rooms you can reserve, and on the right is a gigantic open room where the bar is. Lots of small tables around, a dance floor (I think). I remember there was a live band playing that night and it was LOUD.

We walked into the room and started looking around, making our way across the room. About halfway across, I saw him. He hadn't seen us yet. The girls peeled off and headed over by the bar while I continued toward him. I was maybe 10 feet away when he finally saw me and froze, wide-eyed. I took a deep breath, walked straight up to him, stuck out my hand, and said:

"Hi Wes, I'm Lily," and shook his hand. He recovered quickly and said something like, "I figured."

He was sitting in a chair against the wall. I sat next to him rather than across from him, a) so I could hear him better, and b) because I was afraid he would take off otherwise, and with me next to him he was trapped. I mostly remember my half of the conversation because I'd rehearsed what I was going to say so many times, and honestly he didn't say much at all. Here's an approximation of the conversation:

Me: I'm guessing you know why I'm here.
Brett: Yeah.
Me: And that you're totally busted.
Brett: Yeah.
Me: Do you have anything to say for yourself?
Brett: (silence)
Me: Actually, I really don't care what you have to say at this point. I told you when we were talking about getting married that the only reasons I would ever divorce you were for abuse or infidelity.
Brett: (silence)
Me: (pausing, as a waitress comes over to ask if I want anything. I ordered a Coke.) Okay, well, here's what's going to happen. There is a bag in your trunk with some of your things. Do not come home tonight. You are no longer welcome in my home. In the morning as soon as the bank opens, on the advice of an attorney I am going to go withdraw half the funds and open an account of my own. I will be filing for divorce. Do you have any questions?
Brett: Uh....no.
Me: (I'm pretty sure I made some parting shot but I honestly don't remember what it was.)

I'm fairly certain there was more to it, but it was not a long conversation. Maybe 10 minutes? Afterward, I got up and walked away. Chin up, no crying, no looking back. The girls joined me as we walked back across the room. About halfway across, one of the girls noticed that Brett had gotten up and gone into the hallway, looking like he was going to try to cut us off at the door to the outside. They planted themselves in front of me like a shield and just kept walking, glaring daggers at Brett who was waiting at the door, and we walked out without a word. I wonder sometimes what he was planning to say or do, but I guess it's irrelevant at this point.

We got in the car and left. The girls drove us to Dairy Queen and we got ice cream to take home.

Back home, where my other friend had been waiting with my sleeping children. We got inside and started eating the ice cream, and I just...lost it. I fell apart. I had worked so hard to stay composed through that whole ordeal, to not show weakness. To not let him see how completely he had broken me.

And he had. In a matter of months, I'd birthed a child, admitted that my shelf had broken and I wanted out of the Mormon church, found out my supposedly devout Mormon husband had been cheating on me for months, and accepted the fact that divorce was happening. That my marriage was over.

I felt shattered, and raw, and completely adrift. I cried and I raged. He started texting me. It was a heated exchange since he apparently had found his voice now that we weren't face to face. I don't remember what was said, I just remember being so enraged with him and what he was saying. I know I was playing fast and loose with the f-word, but that's really all I remember.

At some point in the night after getting home, I logged back into his Kik account and messaged the girl he was supposed to be meeting that night. I very frankly told her who I was, that he had been lying to her, that I had busted him. I sent several pictures of us as a family to prove that what I was saying was the truth. She was instantly apologetic and answered a bunch of questions I had for her. I didn't blame her. I knew (obviously) that he was going under a fake name and passing himself off as single and childless (while using pictures I'd taken of him outside the home we shared).

Eventually everyone left. I went in and climbed into our bed and sobbed until I was too exhausted to stay awake anymore.

Next: A Request and an Ultimatum

The Phone, or Going Undercover

Content warning: infidelity/adultery (non-graphic), language

My marriage was on pretty rocky ground. I was unhappy. Brett was unhappy. We weren't communicating well. But every relationship goes through hard times, and I assumed this would be no different. That we would find a way to work through it, and come out the other side stronger.

I have a pretty wide network of online friends, largely due to mommy groups and groups on Facebook designed to provide community for people questioning Mormonism and transitioning out of the church. Many of these people, despite their importance to me, I've never actually met in person. Doesn't make our friendship any less real, it just shifts how we honor that.

I used to spend a lot (a LOT) of time on my phone messaging people. It annoyed the crap out of Brett. We'd be sitting in bed watching Netflix and my phone would start dinging, and you could just feel his irritation rising. I made a conscious effort to put my phone down while spending time together so he could see that my focus was on us.

One night (February 25, 2015 if you're curious), as we were sitting in bed watching Netflix per usual, we were partway through a show when it struck me that...Brett had been on his phone an awful lot. Like..a LOT, a lot. That was never his thing, it was mine. And suddenly, he's messaging someone pretty constantly. At one point in the evening, I semi-casually glanced over to try to see what he was doing on his phone. He moved it, with just enough time for me to realize I didn't recognize the app he was using but not enough time to see what he was messaging. I was confused and puzzled.

After a while, he fell asleep as I continued to watch Netflix. I couldn't sleep. I had this horrible gut feeling that I just couldn't shake. So, I picked up his phone off the bed and took both his and mine into the bathroom and locked the door. Neither of our phones were password protected (and we'd shared the passwords for all our email accounts with each other long before).

As I started poking around on his phone, I came across an app called Kik that I'd never seen before. I opened it and started reading through some of his messages, instantly seeing the chat he'd been on all night.

I was shocked and horrified as I scrolled through hours of messages between my husband and another woman, messages that were very explicitly sexual in nature and included a number of photos exchanged between them. They talked about meeting up after Brett's hockey game later that week. I was shaking as I used my phone to take pictures of the messages on his screen, not wanting to risk him finding any screenshots later on. I still have those pictures.

The rest of that night is kind of a blur. I know I didn't sleep. I remember texting my best friends from high school at some point, just utterly blindsided and completely in shock. I know at some point I put his phone back. He got up the next morning for work or school, noticing that I looked pretty rough. I told him I hadn't really slept much, which isn't terribly uncommon for me. He left.

I spent the day systematically logging into his various email accounts trying to figure out what email he was using. I knew there had to be more going on. I almost didn't find it and was getting somewhat frustrated, until I remembered the email he'd told me about creating back when he was in a punk band in high school. I logged in, and there it was.

Months worth of message notifications from dating websites, primarily Plenty of Fish (under a fake name, Wes). An account on RedTube, which I found out is a porn site. Emails he'd exchanged with women, dating back to the beginning of December 2014 that seemed to start in the middle of an exchange and indicated it had been going on for a while.

I couldn't believe it. I sure as hell didn't want to believe it. I was completely devastated. And then I was angry. How DARE he? Not only was he not being supportive as I struggled through one of the most difficult experiences of my life, but he was cheating? And had been, for months! Olivia was THREE MONTHS OLD when he started all of this, at least from what I could tell. Who knows how long it had actually been going on??

When Brett and I had talked about getting married, I told him very straightforwardly there were only 2 things I would ever divorce him for: abuse, and infidelity. And as I sat there with my jaw on the floor staring this in the face, I knew that was it. The timeline of the next part gets pretty fuzzy for me, as it all happened within a couple of days, so things may be a little out of order but this is how I remember them in more or less the order they happened.

So, I signed up for an account on Plenty of Fish. Fake name. Fake picture. Short bio, with pieces I knew would draw his attention, like my love of hockey. Within a few hours, he had messaged my fake account (Lily). This part gets kind of confusing so I'm going to refer to the fake accounts by their fake names.

Wes and Lily chatted back and forth for a bit. In the meantime, I arranged a free consult with an attorney. Wes pretty quickly brought up the idea of meeting Lily, and I figured a confrontation in public was the safest thing for everyone involved. I went to my consultation and explained my situation to the attorney, who was very nice and supportive and applauded my plan to confront him in a public place.

Just before Brett got off work on the 27th, Wes messaged Lily explaining that he had plans after his hockey game the next night (which I knew since I'd read his messages about meeting another woman), but that he would love to meet up with me before his game, he just needed to check something. Almost immediately I got a phone call from Brett, letting me know he was on his way home. Oh, and he knew I was exhausted since I hadn't slept the night or two before, so why didn't I just plan to take some Nyquil tomorrow night when the kids went to bed, and he'd just leave early to go watch the game before his?

I agreed it was a perfect idea and we hung up. Wes then messaged Lily, confirming he was free before his game and suggesting a specific bar/restaurant to meet at, which was only 10 or so minutes from the house.

I reached out to friends. 2 of my friends from high school were going to go with me, to drive so I didn't have to and to provide moral support. A friend from church would stay at the house with the kids while I was gone.

There was a brief moment that night when I thought he might've figured it out. I'd forgotten to turn off the notifications on my app, and so my phone beeped right when he sent a message, a couple of times, but I played it off and he didn't try to change plans.

The next night, he got ready for his game. I went to the bathroom and swished with Nyquil so he'd smell it on me, confirming with my friends that they were waiting around the corner out of sight. He kissed me goodnight and left.

I sprang up out of bed, fired off quick texts to my friends, changed, and started throwing clothes into a duffel for him. One of my friends upon her arrival saw me putting Brett's temple garments in the bag and pointed out the irony of making sure to include those when I was busting him for adultery. The irony wasn't lost on me.

We drove over to the restaurant, finding a parking spot just a couple of spaces away from Brett's car. I used my spare key to pop the trunk and stuck the overnight bag in next to his hockey equipment, and then the three of us headed inside.

Next: The Confrontation, or Hi Wes, I'm Lily

The Broken Shelf, or the Beginning of the End

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

Lifting the Veil

I've lived under a veil of silence for over 4 years. I was so determined for so long to keep it to myself. To not "air dirty laundry" or drag his name through the mud. But I can't do it anymore. I have to be able to talk about it, to acknowledge the hell that has been my life for the past few years.

Over the next few weeks, I'll be going through the details of what's happened. I'll do so with as much clarity as I can, as accurately as I can remember. A lot of the little pieces are burned into my memory, to be honest.

It's going to be painful. And maybe it'll be hard to read, I don't know. If anyone even reads it. That's not the important part. The important thing is for me to go through this, to feel the emotions I need to feel. To be angry, to grieve, to feel regret and guilt, and to begin to heal. It's time to lift the veil.

Part 1: The Broken Shelf, or the Beginning of the End

Too much silence.

In the wake of the mass shooting in Orlando, my heart is shattered. So much death. So much loss. So many vibrant lives ripped apart because of hate. So much pain. So many tears. So much fear, especially in the LGBTQ+ community.

MY community.

I've debated sharing this since I heard about the murders. I am terrified of what outcome it could have for me. I feel a small amount of guilt at the possibility this could take attention off the horrors experienced by the Latinx LGBTQ community in Orlando. But I also know that I can't wake up another day and look at myself in the mirror and pretend it doesn't affect me and remain silent. Pretend it doesn't scare me. Pretend I don't fear for my friends and loved ones who are LGBTQ, and yes, for myself.

I'm bisexual.

I knew something was different about me before I really knew what it was. I knew I found girls attractive as well as boys. I had my first girl crush in high school. She was pretty, and sweet, and funny, with a phenomenal smile that lit up her whole face. We both had boyfriends. I pushed the feelings aside, because being attracted to someone of the same gender was SO not okay. I was Mormon, after all, and good Mormon girls were NOT gay.

I went to college. I dropped out of college. I moved in with my boyfriend. I formed a massive crush on a coworker. She was sarcastic and witty and had the cutest laugh. It was the first time I really admitted to myself that yes, I definitely liked both men and women.

I moved home and threw myself out of an abusive relationship and deep into the Mormon church. The first girl I kissed became a mark of shame and guilt. I had let Satan win. I was a horrible, awful, sinful person. I punished myself for weeks. I was sure God couldn't possibly forgive me for being such a disgusting person.

Then I met Brett and fell in love. I assumed (and hoped fervently) that being in love with and married to a cisgender heterosexual man would "cure" me. I don't remember if there was a point at which I admitted to Brett that I was also attracted to women, or if I was open about it from the beginning. He knew about my college fling, I know that. But I threw myself into wifehood and motherhood and stuffed all those feelings back down, as deep as I could.

Then the implosion started. And I began to realize that maybe, just maybe, I wasn't a horrible, awful, evil person for being attracted to women. I was still terrified. The implosion continued. I left the church. Brett left. And in my sudden, desperate, aching need to just stop pretending in all aspects of my life, I took a risk.

I acknowledged my sexuality. I accepted that it's okay. That it doesn't make me any less (or more!) of a person.

I started dating a woman. And she is beautiful and amazing and sweet and strong and one of the best, kindest people I know, and I am completely head over heels for her.

I am bisexual. And the LGBTQ+ community--MY COMMUNITY-- is hurting right now. Pray if you will. But act. Because prayers are not going to stop more people from being killed. Prayers aren't going to bring back the dead. Prayers aren't going to comfort the families of these beautiful people as they cry over empty chairs.

Act.

Because next time, it could be me. It could be my friends. 20 years from now, for all I know, it could be my child.

Stop with the useless platitudes and ACT.

...And then my life imploded.

I haven't blogged in nearly a year. It's been too depressing. Too real. Too....everything. There's so much going on in my life, much of which I'm just not comfortable sharing. Various people and situations pressuring me in ways I don't like and don't wish to encourage.

I still don't like talking to people about all of this. It's too draining. I have to deal with this massive pile of crap every moment of my life. Why on earth would I want to dump that on someone else? Or relive it yet again through a conversation? It's exhausting and lonely and I just don't have the energy to care. Yes, that means many of my relationships have suffered. Most. But really, if I'm being honest with myself, if I dread talking to someone about any details of my life, how much of a relationship was it in the first place?

Things changed when Brett and I separated. A lot. And I'm sure part of that is because it came so closely on the heels of my departure from the church. But it's difficult to have people in your life go from talking regularly, to less regularly, to not even mentioning when they're going to be in town anymore. To finding out about visits via a friend who reads a family member's blog. And feeling the pain of being left out and left behind, and yet at the same time feeling relief that you don't have to try to play happy family, or arrange schedules, or bargain to get people to come up to see you, or pretend that things are okay when they are so very, very far from it.

A lot of changes were negative. Especially at first. There was loss. Oh so much loss. Family. Friends. People I thought cared. People I realized I didn't miss. People whose company I ached for. Being ripped away from my children and forced to work full time when I had no desire to do so. Missing so many of the "firsts" for Olivia who will almost certainly be my last child. Anger and bitterness and loneliness and pain and loss and regret and pessimism. Wishing I had never met the man who so completely shattered my heart and my life. Wishing we hadn't had children so young because then maybe, just maybe, this mess would be easier. Thanking every star in the heavens that I did and we did because at least, out of this hell, I have three beautiful children to light up my life.

And then positive changes. Finding a decent job that I actually like (most of the time) and realizing I can help people. Learning to co-parent with Brett, and letting go of (most of) my bitterness toward him and his girlfriend. Loving my children. Realizing that I am a hell of a woman, that I am strong, that I am independent, and that I CAN do this. That I can rely on myself. That I am smart and can figure things out on my own. That sometimes I do mess up, and that's okay. Because in the end, I at least will have loved fiercely. I will have done everything in my power to become a better person. I will have followed the path my feet found, unashamed. I will have taught my children that life is a beautiful, crazy, delicate, indomitable thing that is to be LIVED. Not feared. To live with our eyes wide open, to seek, to discover, to question, to fall, to rise, to give, to receive, to love. To be true to ourselves, whatever that self may be. Whatever it may become.

Yes, my life has imploded. It is nothing like what I ever expected it to be. There has been such utter destruction of my way of life. My worldview. My everything.

But I'm a phoenix. I always have been. And when my world burns to embers around me, I rise from the ashes again, a new creature. I am. And I will be.

Quicksand

I haven't blogged in a while. Obviously. Because I've been keeping a secret, and I don't know how to blog without talking about what's impacting my life right now. And that secret has just been eating away at me. For months now.

Anyone who has access to my Facebook page (or knows someone who does) has likely noticed a couple of recent status updates in which I alluded to some rather serious problems in my marriage. I've declined to talk about it publicly and even to most people privately. I've been intentionally vague and occasionally even deceptive about the status of my relationship with Brett.

Why? Too many reasons to count. One, because it's personal and my marriage is nobody's business. Two, because I care about Brett and don't want to drag his name through the mud. Three, because Brett doesn't want to share the information either.

But it's gnawing on me. And I can't do it anymore.

Brett and I are separated. We will be getting a divorce. No, it's not because I left the church. It's not because of any choice I made. No, reconciliation at this point is not possible. And no, I will not give details.

In many ways, I'm still in shock. I'm still processing that yes, this actually is happening to me. It's not some horrible nightmare I'm going to wake up from. I'm dealing not only with the cold reality of a failed marriage, but also the terrifying future of being a 28-year-old single mother to 3 children. I have no degree yet. I have no relevant or recent work history. I have no idea what I'm doing. And I am terrified. The idea of being alone for years to come is incredibly scary to me. Of co-parenting with Brett, but not having someone WITH me as backup. Of facing life and its many challenges alone. Especially when this comes so closely on the heels of my faith transition when I've lost so many friends, friends who made up the bulk of my support system. The awkwardness now present in my relationship with my in-laws--because while I adore them, Brett is their son and their priority (and understandably so).

I feel like I'm sinking. I'm stuck. I have no idea how to move on from here. This isn't something you're taught to have a contingency plan for. It's not something you learn to prepare for. So I do all the reading I can, love my kids, and hope that I don't screw them up too badly.

Yes, I've withdrawn a great deal the past few months. I return phone calls and emails even less than I used to (which is saying something). Because I'm in survival mode. It's not even day to day right now, sometimes it's hour to hour. Because I don't want to pretend to be happy, but I certainly don't want to discuss my private life with anyone but a very few trusted friends. Because I'm so wrapped up in trying to figure out how to keep a roof over my kids' heads and gas in the car to go to my crappy job that I can't really think of anything else. Because I am so completely, utterly, painfully lonely.

I know people insist I'm not alone. But aren't I? Friends and family and support groups and who knows what else are great. But they're not HERE. Not with me, in my home. There's no one here when it's the end of the day and I'm so emotionally exhausted from trying to be both parents that I just can't function anymore. There's no one here to hold me in the wee hours of the morning when I'm sobbing about losing the one person I thought would always be with me. And in those moments, those hours, I am frighteningly alone.

Some people ask about my relationship with God. I don't really know how to address that, other than to say that...we're not really on speaking terms right now. Because I'm angry. With Brett, yes, of course. But with God, too. Because for years I did all the "right" stuff. Brett and I were sealed for time and eternity. I tried so hard to believe the gospel and practice it. And my life is falling apart anyway. I feel abandoned. I feel set aside. I feel...insignificant. Ignored. Not exactly conducive to having fuzzy warm feelings about God.

I don't really know what else to say. I know I'm rambling. My life sucks right now. Yes, I need love and support and I welcome that. Pray for us if that's your thing. Please be sensitive. Now is not the time to inundate me with scriptures and Ensign articles. Or stories of marriages working out in the end. And be sensitive of Brett's needs, too. Yes, I'm angry and disappointed and completely crushed. But I still care about him, and he is the father of my children. I won't badmouth him, and I don't want others to, either. He's in a rough place right now and needs love and support as much as I do.

FAQ; Or, What those "scary" Ex-Mormons want you to know

Whew. Posting that last post was awfully scary. Thanks to all those (especially family and close friends) who responded with love and understanding. Honestly, that was the hardest part about "going public". I was terrified to lose more friends and family, and I'm incredibly grateful that didn't happen.

Since my announcement of my departure from the LDS church, I've had some genuine questions, mostly from my family but also from a few friends. I figured this was a good opportunity to address those questions here, before addressing some broader issues. This post will be a little lengthy, but please read to the end. It's worth it.

1. Are you having your name removed from the records?

Short answer, yes with a but; I have not at this time sent in my letter of resignation from the church but will be doing so at some point in the fairly near future. I've talked with my bishop via email and he is aware of my feelings and my situation, and quite honestly, I have enough going on right now that the actual letter is not anywhere near the top of my priority list.

2. Is Brett also leaving or is he still a member?

As of right now, Brett is still a member and does not share my perspective.

3. What church are you attending now?

I am not currently attending a church, nor do I plan to at the moment. I still have a lot of personal faith issues to work out before I even venture toward organized religion/a particular denomination again.

4. So...what do you believe?

Short answer: I'm not sure. I'm working through that at the moment.

5. Does this mean you're anti-Mormon?

No! I do not personally believe much of the doctrine. It simply doesn't work for me. There are aspects of it that greatly bother me. But that doesn't mean others can't find peace and happiness in it. I think this is the hardest thing for people inside the church to understand. Just because I don't believe and don't want to be affiliated with the church, doesn't mean I'm going to start attacking their beliefs and tearing them down. Your path is yours, and my path is mine. And I am okay with that. I will, on occasion, voice my opinion when something occurs in the church. I try to maintain a respectful attitude when I do so, but I am done being silent.


Recently in a Facebook support group (for those doubting/transitioning out of/trying to stay in/completely out of the LDS church), I asked the other people in the group the following question:

What do you wish people knew when you left the church?

"We aren't deceived, and we don't forget everything we knew about the church. Many of us had a testimony and understand the doctrine. And many of us respect Mormons and love them, but we have issues with the church as an organization." ~Desiree Casperson

"I do have morals, I have values, I care about my family, my fellow humans. I still bake and occasionally make some crafty thing. I'm still nice. I don't lack anything--I'm not a "non," not a subset of what you are. My beliefs and yours are no longer identical, but I have beliefs and I hold them as dear to me as you hold yours. Oh. . .and I'm not going to hell, outer darkness, the terrestrial kingdom or any such place once I shed this mortal coil. So, not to worry." ~Teri Lyn

"I'm not hurting my kids by leaving. I'm leaving to protect them."

"I'm no different. I'm still the same person." ~Rachel Flynn

"I want them to understand how difficult the process was and how painful it was. There were times I wished that I wouldn't have found out what I did. I tried so hard to just continue on, but it was killing me to do so. I didn't make my decision lightly and much thought, prayer/meditation went into my decision. I feel like I am the same person and I have become even more loving and compassionate."

"It doesn't mean that I judge people who haven't left as being idiots or as being deceived--all I really hope is that they won't judge me as being that way. Can't we just all get along?!" ~Kirsti Miller

"Leaving ISN'T the easier choice. But due to matters of integrity, leaving was the RIGHT choice. I was Mormon because I believed it was the truth. When I discovered it wasn't, I couldn't stay." ~TC

"My kids are still safe for your kids to play with. Just because we chose not to attend church doesn't mean we are bad people or that my kids are going to teach your kids bad things. In fact, just because we quit going to church doesn't mean I quit teaching values."

"I still love Mormons and truly believe they are some of the kindest people I know. I can respect that we agree to disagree. Oh, and I'm not out spouting anti- Mormon stuff to everyone I meet." ~Sarah Elzinga

"My leaving was not a choice I came to lightly. I was aware of what the church teaches are the eternal consequences of my actions, even though I disagree with such teachings. Furthermore, if the church is working for you, I wish you all the best. Please understand that I continue to occasionally have anger towards the church because it has caused me harm and it continues to harm many that I care about. My vocality has little to do with your position or belief in the church, but I do understand how it may feel otherwise. I object to abuse suffered there, just as I object to abuse suffered in many other establishments and dynamics.

Also: I am not broken. I do not need to be saved. I realize this may be hard to accept from point of beliefs in Mormonism and Christianity. This also doesn't mean I think myself perfect, but rather I see my mistakes as part of the learning process of what it means to be human." ~Lindsay Butler

"That I'm not fake happy. There are different ways for different people to be happy. I didn't stop going to church because it was easy or because I'm lazy. I didn't stop attending church because I got offended. I am still the same person I was before." ~Melissa Blair

Not all those who wander are lost

My deep love of and admiration for JRR Tolkien is no secret. I've been fairly obsessed with him for years now (and could tell plenty of stories all about my extreme nerdiness!). One of my favorite things about his writings is that he includes so much poetry/music (which sadly was not translated into the movies, for the most part). My personal favorite is the poem about Aragorn in Gandalf's letter to Frodo, which he receives at Bree at the beginning of his journey. The most well-known line of this is, "Not all those who wander are lost." It's been on my mind a lot lately as I've been navigating a long and very scary personal journey.

Most definitions of 'wander' include references to aimlessness. Lack of purpose. Idleness. Carelessness. These definitions don't fit with my "wandering" (although they may describe this blog post).

Over the past couple of years, I've been more vocal about my uneasiness with certain things in the Mormon church. First was my vocal support of marriage equality, and then my participation in the Ordain Women movement. Many family and friends saw these actions as some horrible choices that were going to lead me away from the church. I lost friends. Many friends. It brought a lot of pain with it, but it was still the right choice for me.

In truth, Ordain Women has not led me away from the church. Ordain Women is the reason I was able to stay for as long as I did. It allowed me to hold out hope that maybe, just maybe, the institution I'd been raised in and had played such a large part in my life could change for the better. It helped me see that you could be faithful without agreeing with every single thing the church and its leader do or say. That there is a spectrum of belief, and that that's okay.

But it's not.

Or it is, but it's not okay to talk about it. Or it's okay to talk about it, but not in public. Or it's okay to talk about it in public, but not if other people might agree with you. Or if you do it in the wrong tone. Despite President Uchtdorf's assurances that "There is room for you," there just isn't.

I have made the decision to leave the LDS church.

I cannot remain a member of the church and be authentic about who I am and what I believe (or don't). I have worn a mask for too long already, and it is exhausting. My reasons for leaving are deeply personal and I don't really care to go into all of them in a blog post. Suffice it to say that in addition to have some major problems with the inequality in the church, there is a lot of doctrine that I either don't believe or don't agree with. If you would like to have a personal, mature discussion about it, I am willing to discuss it with you. But I will not allow myself to be attacked.

It's common for members of the church to assume people leave for one of several reasons. 1) I must have committed some horrible sin. 2) I WANT to sin and don't want to be disciplined for it. 3) I don't know the doctrine well enough. 4) I haven't tried hard enough to gain and strengthen a testimony. 5) I was offended by someone. 6) I read anti-Mormon literature.

All those "reasons" are untrue. I have not "sinned". I have studied the scriptures and the gospel for over two decades. I have read the scriptures faithfully. I have fasted and prayed. Having not received the witness I was promised, I continued operating based on Alma 32:27: "But behold, if ye will awake and arouse your faculties, even to an experiment upon my words, and exercise a particle of faith, yea, even if ye can no more than desire to believe, let this desire work in you, even until ye believe in a manner that ye can give place for a portion of my words."

So I did. I wanted to believe. I wanted it so badly. I wanted a witness. I wanted a testimony. I believed Boyd K. Packer's words that, "A testimony is to be found in the bearing of it!" I have functioned for over 2 decades based on these things. If I just keep trying. If I just keep bearing my testimony. If I just keep attending the temple. Maybe if I fast more often. Maybe if I pay more tithing. Maybe I'm not devoted enough in my calling. But nothing helped. Nothing I tried led me to that "witness".

Many would point to things I've read and cry anti-Mormon literature. Nearly everything I've read, every disturbing discovery I've made regarding the church's history and that of Joseph Smith, has been admitted by the church and can be found in the new essays in the Gospel Topics portion of the church's website. So unless the church is now posting anti-Mormon literature on their own website, that argument is fallacious.

Here's the IMPORTANT part:

I'm still me.

Who I am has not changed. I'm still a wife, a mother, a sister, a daughter, a burn survivor, a student, a reader, a writer. I still love meeting people, throwing parties, baking cakes, hanging out with friends, watching hockey, and jamming in the car (yes, even to Let it Go). I'm still a nerd. I still snort a little when I laugh really hard. I still cry. I still dream.

While I have left the church, this doesn't mean I'm now an anti-Mormon. The church doesn't work for me. But I also recognize that many people, including many closest to me, find meaning, comfort, and peace within the institution. While I disagree with many things the church does, I strive (with varying degrees of success) to voice my opinions without bashing the church or those who believe in it. That will not change. I won't attack people for their beliefs, just as I expect (and demand) not to be attacked for mine.

Not all those who wander are lost. I'm not lost. While I have "wandered" away from the church, I am not lost. My departure is no one's fault. I'm not seeking to take anyone with me. I'm not suddenly some wicked, sinful person who should be kept away from anyone faithful for fear I'm going to..I don't know, eat babies or something. "Infect" people. Lead others "astray". Be a "bad influence". I'm not suddenly amoral.

I'm still me.

I'm finally me.

The Adventures of Yellow

Amy has a security blanket she calls Yellow. Yellow was a gift from her Aunt Nancy when Amy was born. It's not fancy (or glittery, thank goodness!), but Amy formed an early attachment to it and it's become her comfort object. You've probably noticed it in many photos, because Yellow is pretty much always present at home. (Yellow is not allowed in public, except for rare occasions when he has to stay in the car.)

Yellow's been around for 4 years. And in 4 years, Yellow has been THRASHED. He's faded from numerous washings, stretched out, and Amy began chewing on his corners a few months back, so there are now actual holes in a couple of the corners.

To put it bluntly, Yellow was gross. He doesn't look as bad in this picture as he actually looked in real life. (In case you're wondering, Amy is the one who determined Yellow is a boy. No idea why, but whatever. She's insistent.)

So, Brett and I have been working on her for several days now about letting us "help" Yellow. A replacement blanket was out of the question. Identical fabric is nowhere to be found (believe me, I looked), and there was no way a "different" Yellow was going to fly. So, we finally managed to talk her into letting me add some "fancy" fabric to Yellow. Once she agreed, yesterday, we wasted no time. We went to Joann Fabrics (my favorite store in the entire world). Amy even got to bring Yellow in so he could "help" pick out fabric. We got some cute purple polka dot flannel, yellow minky fabric for the back, and yellow satin blanket binding.

Once we got home, the kids went to bed. We'd told Amy she could take Yellow to bed one last time, and that after she was asleep, Daddy would come get Yellow so I could help him grow. About an hour later, Brett snagged Yellow from her room and I got to work.

I really wish I'd taken photos of my different steps. But I didn't. I was a woman on a mission, and that mission could not be interrupted for pictures. I took Yellow apart and then cut Yellow slightly smaller to try to square him off. Then I added a purple border with the flannel I'd bought. In hindsight, I totally did it the hard way, but I like the way it looks. Then I attached the minky to the back, sewing along 3 sides and most of the fourth. Turned it right side out, sewed up the hole I'd left, and attached the satin binding.

It sounds simple.

It wasn't.

For interested parties, minky fabric is a NIGHTMARE to work with. Seriously. Worse than the fabric I picked for Livvie's blessing dress. It's slippery AND it stretches. A lot. So you have to pin like crazy, and hope you didn't screw something up. Well, I did. On 2 different sides. So I seam ripped. And resewed. And realized I'd done it right the first time. So I seam ripped. And resewed more carefully.

Instead of doing straight blocks of purple fabric, for some psychotic reason I decided I wanted the purple to have diagonal corners. I seriously did not even think of doing straight edges until I was writing this post. I have no idea why. Suffice it to say while it wasn't the most difficult, it was tricky to get things to line up.

The satin binding was honestly the easiest part. I've only done blanket binding one other time, and I struggled with the corners. So, before doing this blanket, I looked up some tutorials on Pinterest. Lifesavers. That binding flew on, and my corners look decent.

So, here's the front of Yellow after his growth spurt:

Not the greatest picture, and it's taking Amy some time to warm up to "big" Yellow. She started crying this morning that she wanted tiny Yellow back. Yikes. Little too late, kid. Fortunately, Brett talked her down and she seems to be accepting big Yellow a little better now.

And yes, I stayed up all night sewing this blanket. I was still awake at 7:15am to give it to her.

Totally worth it.

Photos and Catfish

It just occurred to me that some people might be wondering why, suddenly, my blog URL is on every (new) picture I'm posting. Yes, it's obnoxious. Yes, it's a lot more work.

I've been seeing/hearing a lot lately about catfishing on the internet. In addition to dating sites/facebook, it's also really prevalent on parenting-themed message boards. I've seen catfish uncovered, and I've even been accused once of being one, which was infuriating to me.

Basically, a person will pull photos off the web and pretend the photos are theirs. I've seen an entire LIFE created around another person's photos. Convincingly, for a time. Often these catfish use the photos to create stories and generate sympathy for themselves, sometimes leading to actual monetary benefit from donations from concerned strangers who don't know any better.

So, I've started adding text to my photos. It's annoying (certainly to me, since I have to edit each individual picture). It means you can't download pretty, clean pictures for your personal use. It also means my family will be more difficult to take advantage of if someone were to try. So...yeah.

If you want a specific picture or pictures to download and print off, just let me know. I'm happy to email photos.

Olivia's Baby Blessing

Usually in the LDS church, a baby blessing is performed for an infant. They're surrounded by a group of men (generally male relatives of the family and close friends) who help hold the baby, and the baby is given a name and a blessing. This is usually done in the congregation the baby and her parents live in, but can be done elsewhere. Since we were going to be together with Brett's family, we opted to do the blessing at their home on Thanksgiving. Brett, Barry, Bodie, and Gary participated in the blessing while the rest of us (including Brandon and his family via Skype) observed.

It is culturally traditional (though in no way required) for the baby to be dressed in white. (Yeah, I know "culturally traditional" is kind of redundant.) I've been on a sewing kick lately, and I really wanted to make Livvie's dress myself. It was definitely difficult, but there were only a few minor hiccups that I overcame pretty readily. In the end, I'm extremely pleased with the result. I love how it turned out. The "bling" on her sash is a pin I purchased, and I also purchased her headband.

And for some reason, I'm only now realizing we didn't do pictures with everyone. So, um...sorry guys. I feel like a complete schmuck now. That was not intentional.

Kids at Play (COSI Edition)

Thanksgiving this year was special for us. The Sunday before, Barry & Barbara came through St. Louis on their way home. They brought one of the Kansas cousins, and picked up Amy and David for a fun few days with Grama and Papa before the holiday. Barry and Barbara do this pretty regularly for their grandkids, especially during the summer, but this was Amy & David's first time with them. Apparently they did quite well, and they look forward to a special "vacation" in Ohio again soon!

After an incredibly productive 2.5 days with only one child, Brett, Livvie, and I drove up to Ohio on Wednesday. And we weren't the only ones! Both of Brett's siblings living stateside (Brandon and Co. are in China for 2 years) also came to Ohio for Thanksgiving. We haven't all gotten together in a LONG time, so it was really special! We even got to Skype with Brandon and his family on Thanksgiving, which was the next best thing to them actually being present.

One of the fun things we did with everyone was to go to the COSI museum in Columbus, OH. It's an interactive science-y thing. For St. Louisans, think a combination of the Science Center and the Magic House with a little dash of the City Museum.