My Exit.

 

There came a moment when I knew I had to walk away.  

For months, even years, I tried to make it all work.  I continued going to church, I continued fulfilling my calling.  I continued teaching lessons to the Young Women, but I would always heavily edit them so that I wasn't teaching anything I now understood to be untrue or inaccurate.  I continued wearing my garments.  I even went to the temple for a family wedding.  I did the things.  Said the things.  Wore the things.  

Until I couldn't anymore.  I recall sitting in a Sunday school meeting and the topic of gay marriage came up.  There was no ugliness spoken, but the message was crystal clear: it's wrong, and families must be protected from the sin of same-sex marriage.  I was sitting there, thinking of my son, and thinking, "They are talking about MY KID.  I am sitting here, in this pew, and they are talking about how my kid does not have the same right they have - to love and companionship and intimacy and family. WHY am I sitting here listening to this?'   I started crying.  A kind sister put her hand on my back and asked if she had said something that hurt my feelings.  I didn't know how to say, "This whole church has hurt my feelings".  

Things changed after that.  I could not sit in those pews anymore. It was silent consent and I could not consent any longer. 

Telling Dave. 

The hardest part of leaving the LDS church for me was telling Dave.  I will fully concede that I hit him from left field with the news.  I had been quietly reading and researching and stewing and my testimony was falling apart slowly and silently.  Maybe I kept quiet in hopes that I could just hold it together, fake it till I made it.  More likely, I kept it quiet because I was afraid of what telling him might mean for us.  Divorce was not a crazy thought to entertain; it would have been a completely understandable and reasonable thing to do in the church - divorce your spouse for leaving.  I knew the stakes were high.  I waited until he was out of town in June, 2017.  Yeah.  That's how brave I am.  I waited until he was on a business trip to Arizona and I sent him an e-mail.  I wanted to be able to say all the things I was feeling and say them eloquently without any interruption and without the emotions that definitely would have accompanied a face-to-face discussion.  I told him I had serious doubts, and I apologized profusely - again and again.  I remember hitting 'send' on that e-mail and feeling like I had crossed a bridge that I could not go back across. I felt both relieved and terrified at the same time. 

He never replied to the e-mail.  He concluded his trip and came home and all was normal.  No mention of my e-mail.  So I asked if he had received it...and the conversation began.  I don't want to speak for Dave here.  I will simply say that my news was met with disappointment and concern.  I expected that.  Over the next several months, the conversation usually started with encouragement from him to do things that would strengthen my testimony and ended with me pushing back and apologizing for 'breaking our deal'.  Dave had a fair argument.  When we met and married, there was an understanding that we would remain faithful members of the church and raise our kids in it, unified.  Now, here I was, backing out of that deal, with at least 2 kids still left at home to raise together, ununified.  

We reached multiple impasses.  We tried not to talk about it much because it was never a pleasant conversation.  Occasionally, an issue would be bothering me so much that I would say something about it and to his credit, Dave listened, but never fully agreed.  Eventually, we stopped talking about it.  There were a lot of quiet car rides because I would be deep in thought about something and he would ask what I was thinking and I lied.  "Nothing".  Silence pervaded a lot of moments that should have been filled with open, honest communication.  But that is the heavy price one pays for leaving the church.  

A lot of silence. 

Telling my kids.

I don't remember specifically telling my kids. When I asked my youngest if I sat her down and had a conversation with her, she says I did not.  While this may not have been the best move overall, I can see why I handled it that way.  I was out.  Dave was in.  And our kids were still at that age where our actions and words could actually influence them.  If I were to sit down and tell them that I no longer believed, that felt like giving them a pass to stop going to church altogether.  How would that have made Dave feel? He would have felt like I was pulling them away.  He may have felt left out.  In truth, I didn't know how it would make him feel, but I didn't want to do anything more to disappoint or hurt him.  So - I just kind of faded away at church.  Went less, did less, said less.  They got the picture. 

Telling my parents.

I mentally left the church in June of 2017.  I probably physically stayed until 2019.  My Dad passed away in August of 2018.  As far as he knew, I was always going and remained faithful.  Had he hung on for another year or two, I would have found the courage to tell him.  But in 2018, my exit was still in progress and he was in frail health and I had not told anyone but Dave.  I wasn't ready to share. 

My mom passed away in 2021.  Her health after my dad died was precarious to say the least.  She spent months in the ICU following a serious bowel obstruction and as soon as she was getting better, COVID hit and we did not see much of each other.  When COVID restrictions were lifting and we were gathering more as a family, my sister who took care of my mom asked me not to share my news with her.  She thought it would upset her and she would ruminate over it.  So, I didn't.  I kept it to myself when we got together.  

Until I didn't.  

On one of my visits, my mom straight out asked me, "Are you still going to church?"  I could not lie to my mom.  I had just watched her fight her way back from the brink of death...twice.  I was not going to lie to her.  I told her I was not attending.  She immediately looked forlorn.  Now, you have to know my mom to appreciate this.  But upon learning that I was not attending church, her brow immediately furrowed, her shoulders slumped, she rubbed her hands together and she bit her lip and she said, "Oh" in the saddest, most tragic way you can imagine.  My heart sank.  She had other kids that had left the church, of course, but I think she had put a lot of eggs in my basket, and in my younger brother's.  We were in.  We did all the things.  And now I didn't anymore.  We had a very honest discussion about why I left, but I definitely took care to not diminish HER faith.  I could have told her all the truth claims I had researched and found to be inaccurate or false.  I did not want that.  I spoke to her in terms that I knew she would understand.  I talked about family.  By this time, my son had been out and with his partner for a while.  She loved him deeply.  Unconditionally.  I told her, "The church doesn't work for my family, Mom.  It doesn't work for my kids.  My son deserves love and happiness and companionship and family - just like we do.  We want that for him and we know you want that for him. And the church would deny him that. If he lives a life true to himself, he is a sinner.  That does not work for me.  I choose my son."  She was quiet.  She nodded her head.  She was still so sad, but she understood.  She would have done the same, I think, if she were in the same situation.  She would have always chosen her kids. 

She did ruminate over it for a while, according to my sisters.  And she asked me a few times following that discussion, "So...you REALLY don't go to church anymore?  Like not at all?"  And we would rehash the initial conversation for a bit.  

But she never said she was disappointed in me.  She never said I had made the wrong choice.  She never made me feel like a bad person for believing differently.  And she was willing to talk to me about my choice.  I will always be thankful for that.  

Telling extended family.

Once I was not really attending like I used to and holding callings and wearing garments, I felt a responsibility to tell the people closest to me.  Some may say that was unnecessary.  But I had shared much of my life with these people and it felt right to share this.  In sharing, I did not want to diminish their belief or faith, so I kept it pretty simple.  Something to the effect of "hey guys, I'm leaving the church, just doesn't work for me anymore, still love you all, still striving to be a good human...yada, yada."  I sent one message to my own siblings and then another to Dave's sisters, figuring the news would filter to the rest of the clan through them.  

From my own siblings, I was met with a degree of astonishment.  In good humor, I had been dubbed something of a 'golden child' in terms of being a faithful Mormon.  And now I wasn't.  After the shock wore off, I was met with open arms and complete love...and a lot of questions.  "What happened?!"  That was a loaded question.  And I would spend the following years answering it. 

Dave's sisters were equally loving and understanding.  Kind words, continual love - but no questions.  At the time, they were mostly all still in.  And as I have come to learn, faithful members are not terribly interested in the 'why' behind leaving. 

Telling my ward.

There is no formal process for telling your home ward about your departure.  You kind of just stop going.  In my case, I went to my bishop and told him my testimony was failing.  Again, not a lot of detail. This conversation was more along the lines of "I had a lot of questions and doubts and began looking for answers, only to find answers that were problematic.  I can no longer, in good conscience, continue to lead and teach the Young Women (I was 1st counselor at the time)...yada, yada."   For his part, my bishop was kind and understanding.  He shared how he struggled with some Old Testament stories and how wrathful God could be, but he chose faith instead of doubt.  He asked me if we could run through the temple recommend questions to see where I was at, and I told him essentially not to bother...I would barely be able to answer the first one in the affirmative.  So, he spared me that.  He then asked for my temple recommend.  I did not have it on me at the time but I mailed it to him soon after our meeting.  He thanked me for the service I had provided the ward, which was nice.  And that was that.  I was released from my calling. 

Upon learning of my requested release, the YW president that I had served years with came by the house.  She said she was so sad to see me going and fished a little for a reason.  I was not about to dump my journey onto her - again, mostly out of a desire to essentially not shit on her beliefs.  I explained that I had a lot of doubts and questions and I just wasn't able to serve the YW as was expected.  She said she loved me.  She said she was there for me.  She put her hand on my arm.  Then she left.  And that was really the last time I have had any meaningful conversation with her.  

I had many other acquaintances and friends in the ward.  I had lived and served with these people for 14 years.  My ministering sisters never asked where I was or why I had left.  The countless women I had served with in callings over the years never asked me where I was or why I had left.  This marks the beginning of the long silence to follow.  To this day, if I run into someone from the ward, someone I once would have called a friend, it is all smiles and sunshine.  There is no mention of my absence, no mention of church, no mention of the ink now displayed on my body.  Just smiles and kindness.  I guess that's okay.  I'm not being shunned.  I'm just not a 'member' of that community anymore.  

COVID

As I mentioned, I continued attending church to some lesser degree until 2019.  I would go to sacrament meeting with my family and I would bow out of Relief Society.  Some of the most unkind things I have ever heard at church have come out of the mouths of those pious women.  Intolerance and disdain disguised as righteous love and obedience.  COVID hit in early 2020 and soon, the world was shut down.  Everything was upside down.  Our business was closed for 8 weeks.  Our kids came home because schools were closed.  It was like living in a Twilight Zone episode.  Much to the dismay of the church, people stopped meeting in person for worship services.  I never returned to church after that.  I think churches were 'closed' for over a year, maybe even longer.  COVID made it easy to wipe my slate clean and just never go back.  I removed my name from the records.  That was a good day.  I wish I had known that my last time in a sacrament meeting would be the last time.  But as it is, I walked out of those doors years ago and I have not returned. 

My resignation.

I resigned from the church, officially, in mid 2020.  I had told myself I would wait until Dallin H. Oaks was made prophet, sort of as a protest against his harmful rhetoric surrounding queer people and my general distaste for all that he represented.  In the end, I could not wait.  

Journal entry, June 3, 2020:

"I am officially resigning and removing my name from the records of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints.  And I will tell you why.  Well, actually, there isn't enough paper in this book to tell you why - but I will tell you what straw broke the camel's back. It was racism.

"Russell M. Nelson, current prophet and president of the LDS church, came out with a statement about love and tolerance.  He condemned racism in all it's forms.  Yet, he himself has counseled against mixed-race marriages.  He condemns discrimination vehemently, but doesn't acknowledge the racist history of the church.  No leader does.  No apologies have ever been issued to the black people that were wronged from 1852-1978.  

"I can no longer count myself among these people with these principles.  There are 100 reasons why I don't want to be counted as a member of this organization.  This is the one that prompted me to print up the papers, get them notarized, and mail them in.  

"I have told no one.  I decided that this is a journey I have been on alone.  Since walking away, not one [faithful] person has asked about my reasons, or my feelings, or my beliefs - they have let me walk it on my own.  So I will finish the journey on my own."

A lot of people leave the church and don't bother to remove their name from the record.  I would daresay the majority do this.  I think people need to do what feels right to them.  I did what felt right to me.  I did not want to be counted among the members that were silently consenting to the doctrine I believed to be untrue and the policies I believed to be unjust and harmful.  

The day I decided to do the deed was a liberating day.  I told no one.  No one.  This was me, making a huge decision, for me.  I did not need to consult anyone or ask anyone.  This was MY name and I could do what I wanted with it.  I printed out the form from quitmormon.org and filled it out.  It required a notary, so I went down to the UPS store and had the form notarized.  The notary pulled out the ledger and started filling in the required information.  

"What is this letter for?"  

"I'm resigning from my church."

Notary pauses and looks up at me.

"You have to resign from your church with a notarized letter?"

"I do."

"That is crazy."

"Yes. Yes, it is."

They finished filling out the paperwork and signatures were applied, and the form was left with UPS to mail.  The notary that was helping me was a member of the LGBTQ+ community.  I was wearing my "Love Wins" t-shirt with rainbows.  Before I left, they said, "I really love your shirt."  In that moment, I KNEW I had done the right thing.  I was leaving behind an organization that would NOT have said that to me, an organization that would have condemned the human that just helped me leave.  I walked out of that door, with a weight lifted from me and a smile on my face.  It was a good day.  

I didn't share the news for a while.  It felt like a very personal choice and one that I was proud of making on my own; I didn't want to hear criticism or judgement or disappointment from others.  I wanted to revel in it for a while.  I ended up telling Dave one week later.  He was disappointed, mostly because I didn't consult him or warn him.  But what would he have said?  He would have discouraged me from doing it.  He would have voiced his disappointment.  At that time in my life, it would have been more of the same lecturing and I knew it.  As it is, it was all just delayed one week.  But by then, it had been done and could not be undone. 

I cannot stress this enough.  At the time, I was on my own on this journey.  I had voices in podcasts and books and online that gave me support, but I had no support in my marriage.  I could not have the deep conversations, I could not talk about my feelings openly, I could not have meaningful discussions - yet, when it came to removing my name, it was somehow suddenly someone else's business?!  

No.  I had decided that if I was being left alone in my struggle, then I would be left alone in my solution.  

It was a 'moment' for me.  A taste of the autonomy that had been lacking almost my entire life.  

And I liked it.