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
Friday, August 23, 2019
Tuesday, August 20, 2019
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
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
Monday, August 19, 2019
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
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
Tuesday, June 14, 2016
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.
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.
Tuesday, May 24, 2016
...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.
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.
Monday, June 15, 2015
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.
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.
Monday, April 20, 2015
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.
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
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