Friday, October 19, 2012

Grieving The Loss Of Community And Trust


                I lost my faith when I was sixteen.  I lived in secret for a full year, afraid of the consequences of leaving.  When I did muster the courage to leave Mormonism, the fall-out was even worse than I feared.  The activities and obligations of Mormonism are all-consuming; between the restrictions that publicly marked me as Mormon and the time-intensive church activities, Mormonism was an identity, a community, and a way of life.  Where I grew up, Mormons were a minority; at school, I was the non-drinking, non-swearing Mormon girl who woke up at 5:30 every morning to attend an early-morning seminary class.
                Then I left and the community I was raised in crumbled around me.  I grew up with Mormons; they were my family friends, my school-mates and comrades.  I saw them on a daily or weekly basis; we shared the common bond of being a minority group.  I knew that leaving would cause a rift but little did I know just how much.  My conversations with people I had known for a lifetime suddenly became missionary-based.  In spite of a lifetime of faithful church attendance – and being respected as a good teenager – the conversations became about assessing my level of knowledge and my worthiness.  The perception is that members only leave because they are sinful, prideful, deluded by Satan, or ignorant of the Gospel.  After leaving, the questions I was asked indicated that members were trying to assess which category I fit into.  I was never asked my reasons for leaving; I was merely asked to come back into the fold.  
                Sometimes I miss being a part of a community.  Mormonism, for all of its flaws, has the benefit of being a strong community.  Members look after each other; if someone is in trouble, people will volunteer their time and effort to help out.  When my brother was building a house, the missionaries and members were there every Saturday, volunteering their time to help out.  I have seen my brothers volunteer their time to help members move.  I have a lot of respect for the hard-work and dedication of Mormons. 
But leaving – and dealing with the associated consequences – has left me with a slew of trust issues.  I never dreamed that I would lose lifelong relationships so quickly after leaving.  I never dreamed that the people who had known me a life-time would make such quick assumptions about my character, simply because I left.  I never dreamed that I would lose the respect of my parents so quickly, in spite of an abundance of evidence that indicated I was a good kid.  Mormonism is an all-consuming identity; you are either all-in or all-out.  Issues are phrased in black and white – you are either pro-Mormon or anti-Mormon.  By crossing that divide, I was forced to abandon Mormonism altogether.  This experience has left me skittish about communities at large.  Perhaps this fear is logical.  Perhaps it isn’t.  Either way, the fear is still there. 
There is a grieving process associated with losing a community.  At first I was angry.  On some level, I still am, as Mormon teachings have an “us versus them” mentality that makes interfaith relationships tricky, if not impossible.  But most of all, I am sad.  I am sad that I no longer have anything in common with the people I grew up with.  I grieve that there is a divide between us that I cannot cross.  

11 comments:

  1. Wow! You put this so well. I know where you're coming from. Even after leaving a couple decades ago, I still have a hard time committing to a group or community more than half way.

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    1. Thank you Laura - I'm glad that I could help put into words what so many of us have gone through.

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  2. What makes me most sad is that you didn't lose any more than they did. You are a wonderful woman, who I am proud to call my friend. They not only lost you, they are losing the chance know lots of really wonderful people.

    Even without leaving the church, I have lost most of the people my age, as well as my siblings, that I grew up with. I wouldn't change the decisions I made, to tell the truth and keep telling it, but sometimes living as you honestly are, means being a little lonely.

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    1. You know, it's still a source of pain and I think some part of me will always wonder if it was just me that caused the rift.

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  3. It saddens me that they could only see you as an apostate, rather than a friend. If Mormons can't be friends or loving kinfolk with someone who is different from them, they are shallow people indeed. I hope that you find a truly welcoming community someday, one that values you for who you are.

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    1. It is sad - and it was so confusing when I left.

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  4. I am sorry for the realities around this loss. I think your courage in being who you are, creating a space for your voice, digging down for what is real within you - these things create a space for dialogue that can begin to bridge some of the "us versus them." I suppose that sense of "all or nothing" is inevitable for groups with a history of persecution. It's time for the Mormon community to move beyond persecution mentality. I'm sorry you are in this lonely place, and I thank you for continuing to speak up. People are listening, more than you might think.

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    1. Maybe the biggest lessons that way we, as parents, teach our children is how to be inclusive. . I think Kathy, (my mom) was the biggest contributor to my being an open and loving person. She not only set a good example, she also said "Yes," everytime I wanted to learn more about other religions and cultures. She never told me to exclude anyone from being my friend, if I wanted them as my friend.

      I also learned, by watching her, that Mormons and non-Mormons could have deep, lasting, supportive and loving friendships. Mostly she loved me and told me I was lovable, at times when lots of people I knew at church didn't feel that way. That support made me believe I could find new and deeper friendships. I don't know if there is a way to change the general culture of the church, without changing the culture in Mormon communities and families. I am so grateful that my mom had enough confidence in her own testimony that she believed I wouldn't lose mine if I was educated about other faiths and other religions.

      I am also grateful that she taught about all of my non-Mormon ancestors, who did remarkable things, each generation, to travel across oceans and prairies, during times when that was not easy. When you have a deep and abiding respect for people who loved their children enough, to want to give them a better life, you start looking for friends who also want to make hard choices, because those choices are the right thing to do. People who leave the church because it is just to hard to do what they know is the right thing to do, I don't have a lot of respect for, (and that us true for any religion) but people who leave because they believe that leaving is the hard, but right thing to do, have my deepest respect. It is hard not to want to be friends with someone you both respect and like. (I don't like every post-Mormon person I respect, but I would guess I am more likely to respect and like someone than for the opposite to be true.

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  5. this is what i've been juggling with: oh the power of exclusivity, no? i'm playing trickster, able to morph into whomever or whatever. when my mormon lady peers glance for garment lines through my clothes i shrug and say, "too much laundry," with a sheepish grin. i'm straddling the fence...i don't feel the need to attend the temple any longer. i'm past the defiant place, just happy to worship with whomever, at any religious house, for i do admire devotion. something just feels freer in me, and i am able to attend, and keep all of my secrets to myself with a smile, and nod along happily. i don't really feel like being ostracized. so therefore i don't really feel the need to be honest with my current mormon community. ta da! xoxo

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    1. Hi Dolly Anna - it's really nice to hear from you. :) It sounds like you are developing a pretty healthy attitude about this.

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    2. Thank you for painting a perfect picture of what I am afraid of loosing. Leaving is stepping into the void of where the Church previously occupied, it permeates everything. I can no longer lie about who I am, my life, or what I do and do not believe.

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