On the first Sunday of November, I went to church. Since the pandemic, after missing church for a year until the vaccine came out, I’ve gone once or twice a month, no more. My reasoning for each was, “It’s not my week.”
But this day, I had several good reasons to not go. I’d woken up two days earlier with back pain and it had gotten progressively worse in the last 24 hours. It was snowing hard when I left. It was testimony meeting, which never left me with a good feeling. But I went anyway, propelled by a need to go that I couldn’t place. To myself, I wondered if this was my last day.
Three days later, in the pre-dawn hours after the U.S. presidential election, I realized that it had been. I’d like to share with you that choice and the years-long wrestle with God that has preceded it.
Learning to trust myself
I’d woken at 2 a.m. Nov. 6 to news alerts that Trump had won. I curled up my on couch to study, then just cried and prayed—the kind of angry, emotional conversation with God that cuts through formality and politeness and is just raw, unfiltered rage. I don’t remember what preceded the realization that I could not go back to church, but in that moment, that reality was clear to me. When I said the words out loud, “I have to leave the church”—I immediately stopped crying and felt calmer.
The only words I had for that experience come from the church: revelation, inspiration, spiritual experience. After weeks of reflection and sitting with that choice, I now have others: trusting myself. Relying on my authority as an independent adult, a smart and thoughtful person and a child of God. (OK, some of the words still come from church. Since I have not left my belief in God, I’m fine with that.)
Was this the Spirit whispering to me that my choice was correct? Or was it my brain, after years of agonizing over the question, just relieved that it could finally rest? Was I just so exhausted from my Sisyphean journey of trying to reconcile the vast differences between what I saw and what I was told at church?
I don’t know, but I knew it was the right choice, one made not in a moment but through years of study, prayer, conversation, hard questions, tears and trying to imagine a future in the church and a future out of it, both of which seemed murky and frightening. My entire life I’ve been told to trust God. It took this long to realize that trusting God was not an excuse to not trust myself—that the God I know would never want me to ignore what is right and good for me.
Nobody is coming to save me
For years, I wondered why my shelf hadn’t broken. The stories of abuse of women and children, abuse of power, what tithing money was used for, the modern-day colonialism our missionary work represents, the treatment of LGBTQ members (and non-members), the lack of acknowledgement for harm done to women through polygamy and continued systemic inequality, to black people through the priesthood and temple ban, to Native American and Indigenous peoples through placement programs—all have bothered me intensely in recent years, and yet I couldn’t find it in myself to walk away. Even my experiences as a single woman who constantly heard messages, both spoken and unspoken, that I was not enough, that I did not belong, that I had failed in my purpose, didn’t make me leave. They made me angry, and they made every Sunday at church miserable and isolating. But they didn’t make me leave.
I had stopped paying tithing to the church more than two years ago after receiving my own revelation, I stopped wearing garments earlier this year, I hadn’t been to the temple in five years, I didn’t say “amen” after prayers addressed only to Heavenly Father—so, all prayers—and I listened carefully to talks and testimonies before I would say “amen” to them. I realized that I didn’t believe a majority of the words spoken from the pulpit.
Yet none of those things drove me to leave. I’ve realized since that I was trying to offload responsibility in some way—that I wanted an external factor to be the tipping point for my decision. I was waiting for The Big Bad Thing that would justify my decision—to those around me, yes, but even to myself. I knew many would still disagree with me, but I could point to The Big Bad Thing and say, “but look at that. How can I be OK with that? I had to leave.”
Abby Wambach, in a recent episode of “We Can Do Hard Things,” said it better than I can:
“There’s nobody coming to save you. … I have my experience, and I have to believe and understand my experience is holy in order to really want to take full responsibility for it because before I think I was just giving away responsibility, giving away my own life, giving away my own accountability. And there was something that shifted in me. … There is something magic in the surrender and the acceptance that nobody is coming to save us.”
There was no Big Bad Thing that broke my shelf. What came instead was that having a shelf was a choice. I didn’t have to keep those things that wounded me, that led me to question my worth, that made some people more important while telling others to be quiet. I could throw them out and fill my shelf with things that bring me joy. My shelf is filled with loving Heavenly Parents, feminism, truth and inspiration. It is filled with my morals and beliefs about the eternal value of all humans, of the Earth and her waters, trees and animals, of knowledge and learning and courage and compassion. It is filled with pictures of my dog, with mementos of my travels, with books and art and quotes from Ruth Bader Ginsburg and seven different Bible translations in four languages.
My shelf didn’t break, and neither did I. I feel whole for the first time in years. For so long I’d felt torn apart by my conflicting beliefs, by my membership in and love for an organization that did harm to me, by a church that had both beautiful, sacred ideas and ugly, destructive practices and beliefs.
Why I stayed
I have been thinking about why I held on for so long. I have mixed feelings about younger Heidi’s revelations and inspirations; it is not fair to myself to dismiss those spiritual experiences. I have had moments with divinity when I felt inspired, when I felt loved, when I felt guided and protected by a higher power. Those included moments when I decided to go on a mission and experiences on my mission, they include other leaps of faith and inspiration gained through study and prayer.
I also realize, as a member of a high-control religion, I have been taught my entire life the “correct” way to receive revelation, the feelings to look for and what they mean and that I can only trust myself and my feelings if I am doing what I’m supposed to and following the commandments. I’ve essentially been taught not to trust my true, authentic self. So it is hard, now, to know what is mine and what is the result of what I have been taught all these years.
I also held on because much of what the church purports to believe is beautiful. I love the idea of forever families. I love the existence of a God who encompasses all genders and all races, who sees and loves people for who they are, whose love is unconditional. I love the notion of an Atonement in which all sins can be forgiven. Personal revelation, agency, the knowledge of good and evil—there is so much beauty and love in these ideas. So much potential to become something more.
But the church does not always practice those things. In my experience, personal revelation is to confirm what’s been taught from the pulpit, agency has been subsumed by all the rules we must follow without question, forever families has a big “if no one breaks our rules” asterisks and forgiveness has a reprehensible “except for sexual sins which, because of prudish Great Awakening ideals, you cannot fully be forgiven from, the reminder that you’re impure will always be there” asterisk. So much harm has resulted from church teachings: the shunning of LGBTQ people, including money paid to lawyers to advocate against their rights in the highest courts; the excommunication of people who stood for something; the teachings that for years have kept women from recognizing their potential as full humans.
This has been discussed at length, but I keep coming back to Women on the Stand. Having women leaders on the stand cost nothing. It didn’t give women any additional power or authority, it didn’t give them decision-making authority, it didn’t offer additional speaking opportunities. All it did was make them more visible to their wards or stakes. And that was still too much. That is the meagerest of crumbs, and it was still too much. Other things were more important, but that one hurt. Rightly or wrongly, it felt intended to remind women of their place.
A benediction
Thank you for reading this far. Please know that I do not want to cause harm to anyone with my story. Many people who read this want to be in the church. There is nothing wrong with that; we are all on our journeys and have our own paths. So much good is found in community, and many, many people have found community in the LDS Church. What’s more, organizations are changed when people stay in them and make them better. May you find joy, inspiration, Christlike love and Christ in the church. Remember that you can trust yourself and your instincts—that Heavenly Mother and Heavenly Father trust you. I hope your voice is heard and valued, that you feel empowered to be loud, to take up space, to claim ownership of a church that is as much yours as it is any leader’s.
And those who are struggling–to stay in, to leave or anywhere in between–know that you are not alone. There is nothing wrong with you. There is community everywhere you look–here at The Exponent, the At Last She Said It podcast, the Pod Squad at We Can Do Hard Things, at the Faith Adjacent podcast. Questioning is part of your divine right. You deserve to feel safe in your relationship with divinity, not threatened or afraid. May you find the home and the peace that you seek. May you never stop seeking.
15 Responses
Thanks for sharing this, Heidi. I particularly love what you said here:
“What came instead was that having a shelf was a choice. I didn’t have to keep those things those things that wounded me, that led me to question my worth, that made some people more important while telling others to be quiet.”
I think you’re so spot on here. It’s a choice to decide to stay in the Church and just let the painful things pile up, rather than having a shelf full of good stuff like you describe. I think the shelf metaphor has been used so much that it can be easy to slip into thinking that of course you have to put painful things on a shelf and continue as before.
Your point about women on the stand also really resonates with me. Like you said, it’s really nothing, it changes nothing except giving women leaders a little more visibility. And yet still the Church put an end to it because GAs are just so deeply unwilling to allow for the possibility that women be seen as anything important in even the smallest way. It’s infuriating!
Thanks for your thoughts. The idea of the shelf is an interesting one–it definitely has value. There are so many things we mentally do this with–I like X, Y and Z about my job but not A, B and C, but I’m willing to put that aside because of other things. Or partners, or moves to new places–whatever. It’s not inherently bad. But I realized at one point that … virtually everything was on my shelf? And none of it was ever going to change. And it hurt. I suspect I would have ended up here eventually no matter what, but I wonder how different my journey would be if I didn’t put things on a shelf but just faced them head-on when they first became issues instead of trying to contort myself to make them work.
Good luck on your journey! I’m glad to know there are so many kindred spirits in the Exponent community.
Thank you for this. A sibling and I had a long talk the other day about why we stay and why we have been wondering whether to step away. We hold onto the basic gospel while shaking our heads at the institution’s actions in recent years. Who knows how long we can keep this up without a major shakeup?
It’s such a weird, uncomfortable space, isn’t it? Because no one is in quite the same space as anyone else, even if we’re having similar experiences. And it’s hard to know whether to keep going when we don’t know what’s coming. It’s possible that major shakeup could happen tomorrow, or later this year, or next year. Or it could be 50 years or 200 years or never. I loved the church for so long–I wanted to love it for longer. I still do love it in some ways and feel loyalty to it. It’s not something I’m able to just wash my hands of and walk away because it’s been such a huge part of my entire life up to this point.
Ah. So, so beautiful. Thank you for sharing your story and journey with us, Heidi. What an honor. I love the imagery of you claiming your shelf, you deciding what to put on it — it doesn’t have to be filled with histories and excuses and rules that cause you pain. What a powerful idea! Our shelves can be filled with profound beauty and meaning. Your words feel like a hug. Thank you.
Thank you, Lavender. Like so many of us at The Exponent, writing is how I process things. 🙂 My journey didn’t really feel complete to me until I put it into words–not that it’s complete now or will ever be complete, really. But I owed my self, which is trying to be authentic as I figure out who I am outside of a religion that has always told me who I am, to share this piece of myself.
Long time reader, new-ish commenter. Just wanted to say as I’ve followed your journey and writing ardently through the years that I so admire your thoughtfulness, articulateness, and vulnerability – here and elsewhere.
Your journey is a relatable one, down to the shelf items and revelations on garments and tithing that remain some of the most powerful experiences of my life. I was working for the church when I was grappling with many of the same things (it is really hard to write for the church when all you can write with confidence is “Jesus loves you”) and not much more. I remember working on a piece about a youth devotional where the speaker said something along the lines of, “You can’t trust the world, you can’t trust yourself,” and I remember thinking, “Well, of course I trust myself.” And, like you, while it’s a more complicated (and long) story than that, discovering I had my own authority was probably the quiet beginning of the end. Like you, there was no Big Bad Thing, but there were a lot of wounds. Thank you for sharing what’s probably the most relatable story I’ve read thus far on leaving.
I wish you all the best with navigating the world going forward. And I look forward to reading more from you!
I like the image of the generic “shelf” being the one in the closet. My white Rubbermaid whitewashed metal mesh “closet shelf” has 1 side of steel angle brackets and the other side has a bunch of square rubber fake-wood floor samples duct-taped together to form a cube that the shelf can lean on to function. And it “works” because I don’t actually look at what is stored there very often and I carefully balance each item that gets placed on that shelf (and deal with a higher level of cleanup).
But what I really care about is the “load bearing” shelving I have in my front room that carries the library books nestled in a visible place so that they don’t get lost, the entire collection of shoes (outgrown, mismatched, etc.) , the dish cloths, the cloth grocery bags (again visibility and aspirational use through visibility), the entire collection of random gloves/mittens and winter gear. It also contains the matches, the duct tape, the snow pants.
I don’t want a dusty front parlor shelf to dump everything I want to hide from. I want shelving that can “hold the loads” of my life that is a highly visible, highly personal, highly adaptive framework..
This was supposed to go under Kaylee’s comment:(
“The Shelf” in the metaphor is clearly the top shelf in a tucked away closet in a rarely used room. But there are much nicer kinds of shelves: ones for holding books and displaying treasures.
This is beautiful, thank you for writing this. I love the description of what you are carrying forward spiritually and the peace you found in making this decision. I’m seeking to let go of what doesn’t serve my spirituality and to focus more on the things that do.
Such an interesting point! It makes a lot of sense.
in response to what Marni said
I think something bigger is happening with regards to Christianity in general. Judeo Christian theology developed at a time when humans were more concerned with what happens after death as they died younger and far more often than modern humans. As a result the “Judeo Christian Ethic” is geared towards preparing for the next life. Today in. a western democracy one can reasonably expect to live until at least 70. So while of course we wonder about death I think our society is more concerned with having our lives mean something now. Traditional Christian doctrine (and I believe this includes the LDS Church) is not meeting our current spiritual needs. So of course we’re frustrated and disappointed. Every few millinea there is a major change in religious beliefs. I believe we are currently living at one of those pivot points.
Amen and amen!! I agree with and relate to all that you said. Thanks for saying it so well Heidi.