It was the October 2018 General Conference when I went to church for the Relief Society broadcast and almost chose to never go back in that building.
The day had been like most General Conference Saturdays I’d experienced: my husband sat on the couch in the family room in front of the TV (dozing on and off through the speakers) while I puttered around the house getting caught up on laundry and other chores while listening to the talks (to each their own!). As I listened, I got more and more frustrated that there were absolutely no women’s voices. It’s usually bad, but that particular Saturday, of the 14 talks given, they didn’t even have 1 token female voice.
I was bored. I was hurt. I was angry.
That night was the RS General Broadcast and my stake was broadcasting it from the stake center and encouraging all women to attend and watch together. I donned my skirt and headed over to the church.
As I sat through the general RS meeting (of an organization that prides itself on being one of the largest women’s organization in the world), I watched MEN tell me that women are great leaders and teachers in the church and the family. The hypocrisy I felt was permeating the air. To me, they may as well have been saying phrases like, “We’re going to say you’re good teachers, but we definitely don’t want you teaching over the pulpit and we definitely need you to stay neatly within your own small spheres of influence.”
As I left the session, I was fighting back the tears. One of my best friends stopped me to chat. Just trying to make conversation, she said something benign about the meeting like, “Wasn’t that lovely?” I’m not sure what I muttered back to her, but I quickly excused myself, got in my car, and let the tears flow. When I got home, I said to my husband, “Does God really want me to raise my 2 little girls in such a sexist organization?” I kneeled down and asked God that same question. (why I chose to go back to church is likely a topic for another time)

My friend (like I said, she’s one of my best friends) later reached out to me and asked why I’d been upset (“I could tell something was off that night”). I told her all my feelings. She listened. She validated. And we noted how we each had different experiences while doing exactly the same thing – she happened to love the conference.
The understanding she offered me is a rare gem around church culture (no wonder we’re good friends!). So often I hear people trying to convince others that the way they feel about a particular topic/meeting/policy is the way that everyone *should* feel.
As if God speaks to each of his children in exactly the same way at exactly the same time.
But that’s not the way personal revelation works. We have to be able to accept that God has a personal relationship with each of us – and that means we’ll feel different things. And that’s not only okay, that’s how God intends it to happen. We’re each on our own spiritual journey. God is guiding each of us individually – so we’ll have different experiences doing the same things.
That means we may need to take a step of faith to truly believe that God has a different plan for each of us.
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Yeah. I remember that conference, and not fondly. It still hurts. That was the one where my nine-year-old figured out that men run the women’s organization. I didn’t figure that out until I was an adult serving in the Relief Society presidency and seeing that every blessed thing the RS does is “under the direction of the bishop”. The bishop is still listed first in the handbook under “Relief Society Leaders”.
I’m glad you had a friend who was willing to listen to you. A friend like that is the best thing ever!
Random question that just popped into my head: Is the bishop a member of the Relief Society? If ‘yes’ does he know it? If ‘no’ why is he in charge of it? Would we be very happy if someone who isn’t a member of the church was in charge of running the church?
“If ‘Yes” does he know it?”
I think the more important is what does he do with that knowledge?
{aside from tiptoe out of that corner}.
The most valuable conversations I have had with brethren in leadership revolved around them treating me as their intellectual equal and dumping “should” out of the window to be in my experience “with” me – not “presiding” over me and not “talking over” me.
The most awkward conversations I have had with brethren in leadership revolve around them being condescending towards me – to defend themselves against my point of view, and/or to “put me in my place” aka nudge me into “performing my gender” properly (whatever that looks like) so that they don’t feel so uncomfortable.
I came home from that conference and spent 2 hours alternating between tears and figuring out how to resign from the church.
I was at a point in my faith transition that I could not take on the responsibility of teaching my children the principles of the gospel because I didn’t believe in the foundational principles myself. I felt like there was a battle between personal authority to parent and this overwhelming external responsibility that I “magically” had the skills to handle (not).
I didn’t resign because my husband took on the responsibility for the “church teachings” side of it (under the “Proclamation of the Family – shifting responsibilities clause due to essentially a “spiritual disability”) and I focused on teaching them common values and community-building.
Kaylee and Amy –
I felt like the only person in the world who had the feelings I had at that conference. And here, 5 years later, I’m realizing that this conference is still burned in all of our brains. It definitely helps me feel less lonely.
Thank you for sharing!!
You are not alone in this:)
There are actually quite a few women who had these feelings. I was in an LDS women’s employment support Facebook group at the time and there were related threads that got a fair amount of air time even though it was peripherally related to church culture and working women.
It would not surprise me if it was part of the narrative of a lot of women who silently walked away on a variety of levels after this administration change of introducing “Come Follow Me” as a primary assignment given to women because of the stereotypes that “women nurture and teach inside the home” and “women get the work done in the church”.
The key is silently and individually. There wasn’t an explicit counter-statement or rebellion – just more “quiet quitting” on some level for some women. I also don’t think there are direct actions being measured – the assumption seemed to be that every family was handling it the best way possible for their circumstances (including not handling it), so it’s hard to tell what the impact of “Come Follow Me” was. There were probably a lot like me who held “teaching callings” while NOT running “Come Follow Me” in their homes.
It doesn’t help that “Come Follow Me” had been rolled out 12 months to 18 months before COVID hit – and COVID had a bigger impact on church attendance, church association, and the general perceived value of church.
I quit attending the RS broadcasts several years ago, and for the same reasons. They seemed to trot out Elder Uchtdorf to pat us on our pretty little heads and tell us that even when what we offer in service may seem small, it’s still important. “Dude, we don’t serve small,” I remember thinking. Then he’d go on to tell us stories about himself; being a pilot, being the German Air Force, being a GA, or how good his wife is at being a cook or a mother. His words were condescending, self-aggrandizing, and not worth my time. Now I take a quick peek at what is put into the conference Liahona and call it good. I don’t follow those men at the top, because I think that they aren’t good leaders for women. Or children, for that matter.
Yes, that particular session was the worst. I haven’t watched any since then. If I remember correctly, they were pleading with women to speak up and make their voices heard, while simultaneously highjacking the majority of the meeting.
You are not alone. It’s just maddening and a mockery of what it should be. And MEN need to hear from more women. Boys need to see women at the pulpit, women with power and authority. Their absence just perpetuates the patriarchy.
I just found out about this site, looking around for something other than ByCommonConsent—which is still great but seems to be less robust than it used to be. Anyway, my wife and I have three daughters, too. I don’t have anything to add other than to say thank you for sharing this and I’m listening.