Advice to a friend going through a faith crisis

This week I have been thinking a lot about something a friend of mine texted me.

This friend has been going through her own faith transition out of the LDS faith, and like many people, she is finding it hard to navigate through a few particularly hard experiences and decisions in relation to this journey. She asked me if I would consider taking the time to write what I think about her question.

Let me share her exact words, because I think she said it perfectly. "I actually wondered if you would consider writing about or talking me through something I'm having a hard time with. The thing is, I believe the church isn't what it says it is and in many ways I don't want to be a part of it, but I'm having such a hard time letting go of the parts that I do enjoy and also knowing how everyone in the church, including family and friends, will then perceive me after I leave the church. I know it shouldn't matter, but it's so hard for me to have people think badly of me. How do you get over that? Any thoughts?"

I want to start off by saying that obviously, I am not a professional advice columnist (although, really...what credentials do most of them have? So maybe I am ha!), and for sure I am not a therapist. I am approaching this question simply as 1. a friend, and 2. a person who has experienced this myself. I feel it necessary to post such a disclaimer because who knows if I am even processing these experiences the "right way." All that I do know, is that if my perspective can help another person feeling the same way, then I think there is a lot of value in this practice of sharing.

I want to tell my friend right off the bat that what you are feeling is 110% normal. At least, for me it was. When I began to have issues with the church, I realized that in addition to all of the bad things that I was so happy to leave behind, there were quite a few positives that I was sad to lose as well. I felt torn. Some days I missed the surety that mormonism gave me about my place, my "mission" in life, and even how I could know if I was making the right decisions in my life (pray, feel the warm fuzzies). After leaving the church, my framework for life had suddenly been erased, and I felt disoriented and scared and happy and unsure. All of the feelings--good and bad.

The thing is, anyone that has practiced mormonism with any sort of devotion is bound to feel its loss keenly. Mormonism is not the sort of church that you just go to on Sunday, and then forget it the rest of the week. It is deeply, DEEPLY involved with your daily life. People have callings that can cost them hours upon hours a week in volunteer time. They have their youth in weekly activity groups and camps and youth trips. You may have a calling to a genealogy center, or a temple that requires several hours of your time even during working hours--and many times the temple may be over an hour away for some of these people. Once a week the members take turns cleaning the buildings. They help with bishop storehouse set ups and take downs and orders. They deliver meals to invalids, people with new babies, they move people in and out of their homes. They visit their assigned family every month to share a message. They attend meetings. OH THE MEETINGS. If you are not busy in mormonism, it is without a doubt because you are making a conscious choice to remain unbusy.

When you leave something that infiltrated every level of your life, sometimes you don't even realize how far it has reached until it is gone. It can be a startling realization. It was for me. I went from being a counselor in the Relief Society presidency and helping to take care of the needs of a congregation of women and their families to...nothing. I wasn't prepared for it, and it was difficult.

And again, because I had been a visible leader in the organization, my sudden leaving was regarded with a lot of speculation, a lot of gossip, and a lot of bewilderment. There were things that were said to me that were just plain and simple mean.

 Now that I have been out for several years, I look back on this level of involvement and it reminds me of a sort of insidious and pernicious plant. At first, you don't realize it's there (because it's sort of always been there),  over time it sort of seems to take over, until at long last, you suddenly realize it's everywhere, and everything else is being controlled and even choked by its presence.

When I was active, I wasn't fully aware of how much the LDS religion had taken things over and had begun to control many of my decisions. It was easy to go with the flow for many years. It was even nice to not to have to over-think things because I could trust that a prophet would never lead me astray. It felt good to think that there was a member of the Godhead that could help me pick the best possible choices for every major life decision--that way it didn't have to just fall to me, a fallible being. I had divine help at my beck and call 24/7! And when I felt alone and misunderstood and heartbroken in mormonism, I told myself that it was me, and it was Satan, and that all that I had to do was try harder, and I would be able to believe. I doubted myself, I saw myself as a sinner that was in constant need of correction. A loser that had to be beaten with perfectionism in order to be barely presentable. The Church fed me the hurt, and then told me it had the only prescription to heal me. 

I look back, and I feel so sad for myself. I feel sad to see how stuck I was in such a toxic and depressing cycle. I feel now that the things that I loved so much about the church were often the very things that they use to keep all people from thinking or questioning or asking hard questions. If I felt terrible about myself and my imperfections as a mother--the church would tell me that being a mother is the noblest calling.... and that I just need to do ALL that I can do, and God will make up the rest. It starts off as good news, with only a SMALL barbed hook at the end of the deal. Maybe your "issue" is that you're attracted to people of the same gender. They will tell you the awesome news: God loves you absolutely! Just one itty bitty footnote: He can't stand the way He made you. Please don't love anyone for your whole life. Or maybe you're the coffee drinker? You wear the short shorts? They will tell you that you are worth the world to an all-loving, all-wise God, and then make sure you know where you really stand if you break these seemingly inconsequential rules. No you can't achieve salvation unless you pay your 10%. There will be no temple ceremonies for you-- which are necessary to your eternal salvation--until you can prove your worth monetarily first. No, this is not like paid indulgences in the least. It's between you and God. But also your Bishop and tithing settlement. First there is the hurt, and then they forgive you. It's no wonder it scars you to take yourself out from such a damaging cycle.

I wish I could answer my friend in the perfect way. I wish I could take away the pain, the uncertainty. The truth is that this aspect, like all other's in a faith journey, is so individual. Some people do not feel betrayed. Some people don't miss a thing. Some people don't care about what people think about them. I was certainly not that person. I cared when my family said things to me. I cried. I doubted myself. Sometimes I still have those twinges, and I think that's only natural. You're breaking free from something that taught you how to live and think for your entire life. At the beginning of that journey, it looks frightening, sometimes because they tell you that it is scary and bad out there in the "lone and dreary world." You're now going to have to face it by the virtue of your own wits. There may not feel like there is a safety net to catch you when you fail anymore. Your mormon friends most certainly will think things about you. It's not hardly their fault--that's how they were taught. They were taught to view what you are doing with fear, with suspicion. Your breaking away scares them. It's ok.

When you learn something new, it requires a leap. In religion, it's a leap of faith. In life post-religion, I'm not entirely sure what it is--maybe a leap of a different kind of faith. Faith in the goodness of people, in the hope for the future, in your enjoyment of your present (which may be the only time we are actually promised, and which becomes all too real in the face of this journey). I know that it looks uncertain from your vantage point. I am not particularly wise nor necessarily much further along in the journey, but I can say that it gets better. It gets so much better. The fear will dissipate with each time you say the truth out loud. Maybe right now your truth is that you want to believe. If you want to believe, if it is what helps you to feel peace--don't throw it away! It's ok. Maybe you will miss the community and your friends too much, so you want to go but tune out the doctrine. That's another valid answer. And in the end if you decide that you are ready to move on--that will be ok too. What matters most at this point is what the truth looks and feels like to you. The rest of it, it will work itself out.  I've told you my impressions and experiences. I can't wait to see where your journey takes you my dear friend. Because I know it will all be ok. On the other side of the wilderness...or the dark night...whatever you want to call it, it's beautiful. It's a new day.

Blackbird singing in the dead of night
Take these broken wings and learn to fly
All your life
You were only waiting for this moment to arise

Blackbird singing in the dead of night
Take these sunken eyes and learn to see
All your life
You were only waiting for this moment to be free

Blackbird fly, blackbird fly
Into the light of the dark black night

Blackbird fly, blackbird fly
Into the light of the dark black night

Blackbird singing in the dead of night
Take these broken wings and learn to fly
All your life
You were only waiting for this moment to arise
You were only waiting for this moment to arise
You were only waiting for this moment to arise