Why I Don't Believe

It is with heavy consideration that I write this entry, with full knowledge that many family and friends who I care deeply for will read it and possibly be hurt by its content. My purpose is not to offend, but only to open up a discussion on the subject of disbelief, and more specifically my disbelief in the Mormon Church, the church that I was raised to believe is true.

I live in Utah, the “Mecca” of Mormonism, and therefore regularly run into people of faith, as well as people like me who were brought up in the faith but no longer hold it as truth, and probably some people in between. It is not that hard for an observant acquaintance to discern that I do not practice (or possibly was never involved in) the LDS church. Perhaps it’s my general aura, the way I talk, the fact that I’m not originally from Utah, or quite obviously, the tattoo on my right shoulder that gives me away. I do not mean to give off a negative, resentful vibe (although that sometimes does happen), but I also do not mean to be chipper and oblivious to the issues that I have with the church, or any organized religion for that matter. (I see all organized religion as self-serving.) I only wish to be pragmatic and perhaps slightly assertive in conversation about religion, mostly so that anyone engaged will know that I do in fact have an opinion.

My issues with the LDS church stem…gosh...how did it start? I can’t possibly pin down a moment when AHA! I realized it didn’t jive with my instincts, but suffice it to say that it’s been in the works for…a long, long time. I remember asking questions of my parents, bishop, and teachers, at an incredibly young age about the Church’s concepts of repentance and the Plan of Salvation and not feeling like I got adequate answers. I needed to know! It needed to make sense to me! I hated blindly accepting things as truth.

 As a fourteen-year old girl I was repeatedly sexually assaulted by a soon-to-be Melcheziedek priesthood holder (boy, 4 years my elder) and held that burning, scarring secret inside me for years, feeling extremely tainted all the while, already worthless in the eyes of my future spouse. I only spoke up when I learned that he was submitting his mission papers, because I was the only other person who knew his secret and I wanted to stop him in his charade of worthiness.

 When my high school sweetheart (of the Protestant religion) repeatedly shut down my attempts to convert him, I felt absolutely crushed. He was such a good person; I was convinced that he would make the best Mormon and that we would live happily ever after…if only he came around.  

Then I lived as an exchange student in Morocco at the ripe age of seventeen and took in a completely different culture that is just as entrenched in religion (Islam) as Utah is in Mormonism, and I fell in love with everything about it. Although LDS missionaries are not yet proselytizing in this area of the world, I realized when I came home that I didn’t want them to proselytize there, that a Morocco where the people celebrated Christmas and took the sacrament would wholly taint the culture and therefore my time abroad.

When I came back to the US and boasted of my experiences, highlighting the delicious mint tea that was perpetually ready to be served at any given moment in a Moroccan household, my dad convinced me to chat with the bishop about the ramifications of breaking the “Word of Wisdom.” I felt no guilt whatsoever for partaking in the cultural norm, but agreed to talk things over anyways, and was shocked when my bishop restricted me from taking the sacrament for 3 months in order to repent…repent for a sin that 1) in my circumstances I did not believe was sinning 2) I felt absolutely no guilt for, and otherwise considered myself to be an upstanding Mormon youth and 3) knew that there was much more “sinful” behavior happening around me that seemed almost condoned, if not ignored in the eyes of the same bishop. I was annoyed and very perplexed. The notion of “the Church is perfect, but the people aren’t” kept repeating itself in my head, but that still didn’t justify what had happened. My confusion surrounding the Church was warming to a slow boil and from that moment on, I was continually (albeit sometimes subconsciously) questioning my faith.

When I moved to Utah, the place that Mormons everywhere fantasize as “The Place Where You Get Asked out on a Date Every Night” and “The Place That Is Literally like EFY 24-7” (spoiler alert: neither claim is remotely true), I settled in uncomfortably to my new Singles Ward, painfully aware of the emphasis on marriage and finding your eternal companion. Okay, I get that that’s important, but what about the other trillion topics? Coming from a small-scale, close-knit family ward in Massachusetts, it was difficult for me to accept this new ward full of return missionaries (aka those guys I used to swoon over) and high maintenance future housewives of Draper. Back home on the East Coast, it takes a lot of effort to be a valiant Mormon. Just showing up to church proves that you not only are interested, but are sincerely vested in the quest to know religious truth. In Singles-Ward-Utah however, showing up to church means as little as wanting to flirt with someone.

I felt more than disappointed when I realized that what people said and did in college-town Utah were often two different things. The “Weekend Warrior,” someone who maintains an image of perfection, then goes out and does XYZ on their own time, deeply disturbed me. If you have a problem with keeping a commandment, why not just do your own thing, all the time? Why live a double life?

 It also felt surreal to be somewhere with billboards advertising “Deseret Book” and “Missionary Mall.” Was I dreaming? Did this really exist? It felt like some strange marketing ploy, catered EFD, Especially for the Devout.

I continued for over a year to put up my own façade, carefully designed to attract someone willing to hold thoughtful debates about topics that definitely included religion. I chased off multiple husband-prospects this way, and eventually found myself in a lack luster state of mind. I was single, and bored. Everyone around me had either gone off the deep end, or seemed constantly in a state of revelation, connecting every little moment in their life to a little miracle of faith or prayer. I couldn’t do it anymore. I’d heard too many stories about someone losing their keys, praying, and finding them. As my dad always says, “They’re always in the last place you look!” I lost my steam in the fall of 2009 and slowly stopped attending church.

I felt a sudden freedom, like, what am I to do with these extra 3 hours every week? It felt very strange, but welcome. When I made the decision to officially distance myself from the Church, I remember feeling washed in self-acceptance, like I was suddenly free to even think about things that had always disturbed me. Issues like polygamy, inconsistencies about Joseph Smith, Blacks and the Priesthood, and how LGBTQ people are treated in the Church were just some of the things I felt free to squander safely in my head. I never read or pursued anti-Mormon literature; I had experienced enough inconsistencies to not need to read explicit articles on the subject. I held a few hard feelings, particularly about being baptized at such a young age (8), definitely before I was able to think for myself. It felt twisted; part of me thought I’d been brainwashed, but another part of me knew that my parents had done their best with the knowledge that they had. If I’d been them, I would have done the same. This quickly absolved them from any bitterness I had in me.

Today, I don’t have a desire to find truth in religion. I honestly feel more content living life exactly how I am now than ever before. I still don’t have all of the answers, but that’s not the point. The point of life, as far as I’m concerned, is to live with compassion. I used to think I knew it all (where I came from, where I’m going etc.). I’m humbled to realize now that I don’t know everything, and that no one knows everything, and that’s okay. If anything, I would call myself Agnostic, but I prefer not to assign labels. All I know is that I’m happy, I’m content.

When people of the LDS faith figure out that I’ve distanced myself from it, they tend to tread extremely lightly, assuming that it’s taboo to even discuss the topic. It’s not. I actually enjoy talking about it; it helps me process my ever evolving story and I appreciate the chance to be candid to anyone with open ears. I get the feeling that a lot of people do not have as sure of footing in their faith as they put off, and therefore feel as though talking about disbelief will push them off the edge, in a direction they don’t want to go. I can respect that, but I would also challenge them to ask questions! Sometimes there won’t be an answer, and sometimes you might not like the answer, but (literally) for God’s sake, ask away!