Recovering from Mormonism

Sometimes people ask if I’m “ex-Mormon.” I have some strong feelings about that moniker and about the community that is most visible around it, particularly ex-Mormon men who haven’t done any work in deconstructing their patriarchal mindset and privileges. So I keep looking for other ways to describe myself. I love many individual Mormons. I think most Mormons are kind people who are made worse by a terrible institution and by terrible leaders. I know many Mormons who are trying to make things better from within (something I tried to do for some years until I couldn’t anymore).

Am I still Mormon? I was raised Mormon. I lived a very devout Mormon life for nearly fifty years. I attended church every weekend. I served in a weekly calling. I paid tithing (until 2015). I devoted a good portion of my artistic talent to the project of depicting Mormonism in a fair and perhaps even a kind light. Plenty of ex-Mormons say they can’t read my books because they’re triggering because I don’t shout at Mormonism enough. I loved Mormonism so much. I defended it so many times. I believed in it literally for decades, and even when I didn’t believe in it literally anymore, I believed in the foundation of goodness and the community.

These days, I try to avoid a lot of Mormon things. I don’t listen to Mormon or ex-Mormon podcasts very much (that used to be an obsessive habit). I definitely don’t listen to General Conference. I avoid Mormon social media accounts because it just makes me sigh and shake my head. I tried to make things better, but I don’t think it can be done. I don’t think so because every generation, a new group of (largely women) stands up to make things better. They get chewed up and spit out by the patriarchy and then erased, so that the next generation thinks that they’re the first ones.

In the end, I don’t really want to spend time and energy trying to talk people out of Mormonism. Though that’s not because I don’t care. I just don’t think it’s a useful expenditure of my energy. If people are ready to leave, they know my story and they know they can trust me to listen. If they want to stay, I don’t necessarily support that. I mean, I’m glad there are people in the church who are safe spaces for LGBT kids and adults. But also, I worry for the mental health of people who are on a path I’m on. But they get to choose for themselves what they believe is a good use of their time.

A friend recently suggested she was a “survivor of Mormonism.” I tried that out for a bit, but then rejected it. Sadly, I am not a survivor of Mormonism. I didn’t survive it. I got several limbs hacked off in the process and have a massive traumatic brain injury that I will suffer with the rest of my life. I’m not “out” of Mormonism. I do constantly find myself wondering if this or that deep part of me is Mormon or if it’s me. Do I think of myself primarily as a mother because of them or because of me? Does it matter? Can I change it if I want to? Probably not.

I think what might be a better term is “Recovering from Mormonism.” Yes, like an addict. I am addicted to Mormonism. I loved it so much. I loved the hit of superiority it gave me. I loved feeling like I was connected to God and to other Mormons. I loved sacrificing for the greater good. I loved the idea that all my pain meant something and that it would be worth it. I loved the idea of being part of a grand pattern, a great plan of happiness for all people. I am tempted to go back. Often. Especially on holidays when I know my favorite songs will be sung. I am tempted to go back and have visiting teachers come. And also I’m aware that giving into these temptations would likely be very bad for me. Because I already left and came back once. I already know I can’t stay anymore.

I know, but I’m still addicted to it. And always will be.