My high-wire act “The Mormon Feminist”

Features gravity-defying techniques,

Feats of balance, 

Stupendous juggling,

And mental gymnastics.

Astonishing many; delighting few; 

Spreading worry, false hope, and bravado

Where’er I go!

_

My first step on the wire proves tepid and tenuous

With each slip of my faith,

Every trip of my hope,

I slip safely into the net of my upbringing

And bounce back to try again

Amidst cheers, jeers, and “I told you so’s.”

As long as I keep my wire to regulation height,

Only pushing the safety boundaries occasionally,

Then deftly managing criticism or concern

Over any skill or attempt deemed 

Too bold,

Too proud,

Too forceful,

Or too loud,

With a return to my patriarchy-approved act,

I can remain in the show.

_

I headline as faithful and confident;

An expert in my trade

Of perfectly balancing “modern woman”

And “strong LDS woman.”

For awhile, my belief in my own creation

And my ability to transform religion,

Tame patriarchy, 

And maintain perfect balance

Propels and sustains me.

_

Soon, however, performing the same tricks

With little, real, visible change or significance

Leads me to try new, more daring feats.

I take more risks on the wire,

Pushing boundaries, 

But this time expecting them to adapt, improve, and accept

Instead of me conforming and accepting.

I maintain a faltering balance, falling more often,

and relying heavily on hope,

Despite so often enduring

Back-handed compliments, censure, warnings, self-doubt,

Direct criticism, gaslighting, and shaming.

_

When the net of community, certainty, and optimism

Begins to weaken beneath me,

Strings of doubt beginning to form,

Holes of hurt and shame spreading,

Seams of belief in change from within

Slowly, achingingly unraveling,

My balancing act weakens too.

_

Oddly enough, my hope proves my downfall.

_

All my life, Mormonism told me I could turn to God directly;

Receive my own revelation;

Ask in faith

And receive an answer.

I’d know truth by a burning in my bosom,

A warmth in my tummy,

A peace in my heart.

So I ask.

_

Each time, God says, “Yes,”

the Church and its representatives say, “No.”

Each “no” comes with more censure, warnings, suspicion, fear, and shame.

I begin to ask, “What do I have if I cannot trust

My own conscience,

Personal revelation, 

My belief that advocating for change makes a difference,

Even when it comes at a great cost?”

With each “no,”

Each devastating policy change,

Each crumb to make peace,

My balancing act

Diminishes me, breaks my spirit, and scars my soul.

How much of myself will I continue to sacrifice

To stay on this wire;

To maintain the act?

Life off of the wire is full of hazards, too.

I’ve heard the warnings all my life.

I hear them now.

But life on the wire

Could never sustain or fulfill me,

Only leave me wrestling with anger, fear, and hurt

I could no longer disguise beneath a bright smile, carefully applied make-up, 

Clever come-backs, or silence.

I lost my top billing over time, 

But that is okay.

My act never mattered anyway.

The circus remains the same; 

With or without me.