Guest Post by Jaime Clemmer, is a graduate of BYU with a degree in Psychology and Women’s Studies. She does research and training on the domestic and sexual violence cases for the Supreme Court of Virginia and is the author of Heartbroken, but not Broken. Her website is heart broken, but not broken.

I got a text from my very atheist friend, “You are the number 1 ‘New Releases’ in Mormonism! Congrats!” I couldn’t believe it. I know, it’s not the New York Times Bestseller’s list, but it was “a” number one, so I was elated. For perspective, I remember when I first got word my book was going to be published and I was in the living room talking to my teenage children. “What should I set my goal to be in regards to how many books I hope to sell?” “Maybe a thousand,” said one of them. “Within five years, maybe?,” said the other. (If you ever feel inflated and need to have a reality check, sit down with teenagers and young adults. If you don’t have any, I am happy to loan mine out.) My goal was set, 1,000 books within 5 years. So here I am, three days after the release of my book and I have my own, albeit very specific, number one ranking, feeling very accomplished.

And very exposed.

I am also the Ward Communications Specialist, a nebulous calling extended right after we moved into our new ward during the quarantine. The Bishopric wasn’t sure what to do with me when we moved in, but since I was the only person who ever commented on the ward social media account, I think he thought I was a computer whiz.

Knowing hardly anyone in the ward, I would post about random things I read about in our locality that would possibly keep our interest and engagement via social media, since we weren’t meeting in person and ward unity seemed to be at a low across the country. Home sacrament meetings will do that do a Church. Well, without knowing it, I stepped in “it” big-time. I posted about the decision to change the local elementary school name from a name that honored a slave owner to, well, anything else. The decision had been made by the local school board and the chance to vote on the new name was up for debated. I posted the importance of getting involved civically and casting your vote for the new local elementary school.

Bullied by someone in the ward who did not know me to take the “political post” down, I didn’t budge. I responded that the LDS church has a history of encouraging civic involvement, the decision was already made to make the change, and this was just a chance to use your voice in selecting the new name. Didn’t matter. Said bully threatened to go “inactive” if the post wasn’t taken down. I didn’t back down but posted I regretted his decision, but the post would stay.

Until two hours later. The call from the Bishop came. Take the post down. I have wondered if no one had responded to the post if I still would have been told to take the post down. What makes something political? And who gets to decide what is political?

And what does that have to do with my book release?

I was so excited for the book to be released this week and then I realized, after this strange social media interaction, that there are people like this bully in my ward who do not know me, who will judge me when they read my book. People who will read my very personal, very raw, very uncensored book about the death of my son Sawyer, the aftermath of his death, and the struggle to keep my faith in my excruciatingly painful grief journey, and they will judge me. Members of my ward who couldn’t pick me out of a line up, but who will read about how I refer to myself as a *wait for it* feminist (I used the actual word!), about my anger with God and my inability to see His purpose in “allowing” my son to die, and they will judge me and my faithful/faithlessness.

And yet somehow, my friends and co-workers with no formal faith culture, no belief in God at all, offer me a grace and judgment free space that many members of my ward won’t afford me. The disconnect strikes a chord in my that makes me feel uncomfortable with where I typically turn for alliances. I don’t understand the disconnect, but instead of trying to reconcile it, I guess I will just go pop open a can of Dr. Pepper & Cream Soda and celebrate my #1 status and sit in the space I am offered.