This was the year for ripping off the band-aid despite a couple surgeries and physical discomfort that I fiercely deny every day and mask with Jedi mind tricks, one gram of Tylenol and weekly NSAID injections. I would participate in a classroom structure to change my faith. Status quo did not feel right anymore. For two decades, I knew what I wanted but did not actually follow through. Oddly, there were enough catalysts to push the chemical reagents into a reaction but I never did it.
The intent behind this post is not persuasive—instead, honesty and possibly personally cathartic. For a litany of reasons, I did not agree with Mormon doctrine. Any time I asked controversial questions, the answers were inconsistent with anything I read. I did not understand the justification for polygamy. The Christlike intent for love for LGBTQ folks felt much differently after 2015. (I am straight, but so many of my friends are not.) Finally, "agency" or freedom to choose seemed like a big mosh pit of irony as the entire community expects, encourages, and nags a person to go to church multiple times a week. While, in retrospect, I was enough—I was not for that particular group. This schematic seemed more like survival of the fittest, community exclusion (shunning based on the content in the five-o-clock meetings), coldly administrative with total respect and authority given to exalted mortals.
While I was "practicing" as what is called a jack Mormon (we aren't supposed to judge) but it happens. I prayed for intercession to Mary. Every time I did that, my prayers were answered. There was a point, toward the end where I was giving it one last shot. In that shot or last ditched effort, where I paid the widow's pence for tithing. The amount of money was thousands of dollars. At the time, I lived off of my savings. I ran my budget down to nothing and had the awesome privilege of navigating and actively participating in public welfare. Mentally, I could not reconcile any of this. Promises were broken and there were quid pro quo expectations and behind door experiences that were very uncomfortable. There were apologies, but my bad experiences went on for so long that I had to leave.
Every day, I felt depressed, a little angry, but mostly depressed and betrayed. Nothing was ever mentioned in my Mormon patriarchal blessing that guided me on how to handle the extreme set of circumstances I found myself in. To top all of that off, I lived in an apartment where I did not feel safe for years.
Nothing felt safe. It was time to make every micro measurement of my life safe. My health declined under the amount of stress I felt.
1. I had my name removed from the LDS church records. Not everyone was mean, but so many were and I could not stay for that reason and doctrinal reasons.
2. I completed RCIA with a very good person. We will be life-long friends. The RCIA director made accommodations for my inability to sit for a sustained length of time. Often, I stood or did cool hippie yoga moves when I really wanted to hang like a bat.
3. I love getting hugs now. I went through a long period where human touch was violently uncomfortable as previously, they felt disingenuous and in one case, they felt evil.
4. Saying "No" and walking away is a regular habit. My friends have helped me with this.
5. I got months of therapy to sort out how to recover from unsettled weirdness.
6. I recognize that I am not such an independent agent and know how to ask for help and have safe people to ask.
I am weary about volunteering and cannot do so right now. Although I've converted and will stay Catholic I am solidly creeped out by retreats, unsolicited feedback, captive audience speeches and evangelism. I do not think I can be considered religious, but rather spiritual. I am definitely not a strict rules person.
Mary is dear to me. She helped me through Hell. I have a whole collection of rosaries that I love. One is under my flat pillow.
No comments:
Post a Comment