Life Since Mormon Stories

                  

                

                  It's been two years since my episode of Mormon Stories.  A lot has changed in my life since then, and I've definitely had to grow a thicker skin. I thought you may be interested in what is happening with me since those 4 hours of interview hit the air.

                    The biggest change was with my Father.  If you read any of my most recent posts, you know he developed a rare form of cancer and died in March of 2016.  When I heard he was sick I flew out to Utah to be with him.  I was with him 24/7 until he passed away.  He hadn't spoken to me since the interview, but funnily enough, knowing you are about to die changes people.  He told me I hurt a lot of people with my interview, and perhaps I did.  It was certainly never my intention, nor has hurting people ever been.  He cried, something I had never seen him do, and begged me to come back to the church.  I was stuck.  How do I be true to myself and yet let him die in peace?  I promised him I would figure my life out.  I'm still trying.
                    Not long after he died I separated from my husband.  I'm sure the internet trolls are full of "I knew its" right about now.  Hate to break it to you, but everyone could see that one coming.  He was abusive and together we were not cohesive.  Perhaps it was because I cheated on him, but the marriage had been dead long before that.  Either way it was for the best.
                    With divorce comes the long battle of child custody.  I fought for them until I ran out of money, which didn't take all that long because lawyers cost around $350 an hour in these parts.  And, if I am being honest, I knew that all I had was a few dusty college degrees and little work experience, other than being a stay at home mom for 10 years.  Unfortunately no one seems to think that is worth anything when looking to hire you.  I conceded to my ex, and we share custody 60/40 and I pay him child support. I see my kids as often as I can and, with no guilt, enjoy the time I don't.
                    I got a job as a detention officer for a local sheriff's department, and while I was there I met my current boyfriend.  I've discovered how off kilter my marriage truly was, and how a woman should be treated.   He helps me see things with a fresh perspective, and I love him for it.  The best part is he doesn't really understand all the workings of Mormon culture, so he can't get caught up in it.
                  I never did fully resign.  I don't know what happened to my paperwork, and I stopped caring.  That is what I like the most about having left the church.  I truly left it.  I still know a bit about what is going on within the church, but for the most part, I don't care.  I'm free.  It doesn't matter to me if I have a paper stating my name isn't on record anymore.  What matters to me is that I'm happy, and that is all I ever wanted, simple as that may seem.
                  Because I'm not perfect, I want to say a few words to the harsh critics, those who have never met me, but who felt the need to say hurtful remarks on the internet.  I've never understood why someone would feel the need to go and say hateful things anonymously.  Say it to my face, and let me explain to you the true story behind your misguided perceptions. 
                For the most part, I don't care if people label me as having "mental issues."  It is a stupid label, and one that only harms people.  We ALL have mental issues at some point in time.  If I seemed unstable, I'd ask you to step inside my life for a moment.  I had a lot going on, and I wasn't afraid to show it.  I'm HUMAN.  I struggle.  Life can be hard.  Abraham Lincoln once said, "He has the right to criticize who has the heart to help."  I love that quote!  Those of us who want to criticize better be ready to step out from behind our keyboards and help.  I hate knowing that suicide is on the rise, often because of internet bullies feeling the need to hurt someone senselessly.  Kindness matters.  To me, if you have never struggled with anxiety or depression, your opinion on someone who does holds little value.  What you do with that opinion does. 
               It was pointed out that I'm no one special, just someone related to a Mormon Apostle.  I don't refute that.  I'm pretty average.  But I also want other average people like me to know it is okay to be vulnerable.  You don't need to be a scholar or someone "significant" in the church for your story to matter.  People may put you down, and say your story isn't important, but they are wrong.  It is the average person that holds any society together.  You have more influence than you know. 
                I was told I am not a good "exmo".  I had to laugh because I don't buy into that at all.  I am who I am.  I never wanted to be the face of a movement, just to be left alone.  I don't need to attack the church, but I can talk about things and try to make them better from whatever situation I'm in.  This is what I hope others like me can do.  Don't get caught up in "exmormon" culture.  It is just another stress you don't need.  Just be happy.  Have courage to stand up when things are wrong, and above all, treat others with kindness and respect, no matter who they are.
                My grandpa and I still have the same relationship we always did.  Mostly one that is a complex mixture of love and misunderstanding.  I still think he believes 100% in what he does.  I love him.  I defend him.  He's a great guy, albeit imperfect.  I just want him to be happy.
                I stand by everything I said in my interview.  I know a lot more about the history of the Mormon church, as well as the inner workings, but it doesn't change my statements.  Is the Mormon church true?  I don't know.  Is any religion?  I don't know.  I'm open to all possibilities.  I'm just not going to waste one more minute of my life being unhappy over them.  I wish the same for you.  Take care and let your story be heard, YOU matter! 

Dear Ex-Husband

All of us, at one time or another, want to write a letter to someone out there who irritates the hell out of us.  Recently, I just got tired of holding all my feelings in, and I penned this letter to my ex.


Dear Ex-Husband,

I ascertain from your last text message that you are angry at me for dropping the kids off an hour early.  I sincerely apologize for ruining that last hour of peace, so that you can finish watching "The Game."  Except, I don't really feel bad.  In fact, there is something satisfying about seeing you get what you fought so damn hard for in court.  You get the kids the majority of the time.  You get a portion of each and every one of my paychecks, and you get to look like a long-suffering abused single father.  It must be so grand.

Remember when you told me you wanted a divorce, merely days after my father died?  Remember how, when I was LITERALLY locked away getting "treatment" for depression after the loss of my father, you unenrolled the children from school in Texas, and took them to live in California without my consent?  I don't suppose you have any idea of the heartbreak and anguish that caused, but it was indescribable.    

Perhaps you recall telling CPS that I was an unfit mother due to depression?  Maybe you forgot to tell them I had JUST LOST MY DAD.  So I was under investigation before I even knew it.  And, in any future job interview for my field of Law Enforcement, this would be an absolute red flag, and could hinder my ability to work.

Speaking of work, boy was it a surprise to go back to work after losing my dad, to be taken out of the classroom by the Principal, and asked to leave.  Turns out you had gone to the school when you took the children, and told them I was unfit.  I guess you didn't think about how this newly single and now jobless woman was going to give you money for child support. 

I turned to my friend to find that you had turned her against me as well.  I never did find out what you told her, but she sent me a text telling me to never contact her again.  I hear you two still hang out occasionally.   I hope you have fun. 

Here's the thing.  I don't feel bad about returning the kids early.  I'm not a babysitter.  You wanted to be the primary caregiver, and guess what?  I ran out of money fighting you.  So you got it!  Remember when I stayed at home for 9 years to raise our kids?  Remember how you would leave, for months at a time, and I had no other choice but to just deal with what came along?  You couldn't have forgotten, could you, that you left me pregnant and with a six month old baby for a year?  You gave me no support then, so you should be grateful for what you get now. 

You know I love our children.  But I'm done sacrificing my life for YOU.  I'll always be available to my kids.  I'm an amazing mother.  Even CPS thinks so, no thanks to you.  But you are right.  I am a terrible wife; at least for you.  You need someone to do everything you want, and to forget about her life dreams and aspirations.  I'll admit I was a great wife for many years.  I chose to be a stay at home wife and mother, because I thought I was supposed to.  Even if I didn't want to.  If I ever choose to marry again, I'll be an even better wife to someone else.  Because that man will encourage me to live my dreams. 

I'm sorry about that extra hour you had to parent.  But you've got an established career, making great money.  I'm 34, just starting my career.  Getting paid much less than my education warrants, all because of my lack of experience.  I don't hear any apologies coming from those lips of yours, so I'm going to go ahead and assume you don't give a damn. 

And so, dear ex-husband, I wish you the best.  I look forward to watching you wish you hadn't tried to ruin my life.  It's okay though.  I might actually need to THANK YOU.  I'm loving life.  I've got a bachelorette pad.  I go on dates with REALLY hot guys, and I don't need a damn thing from you.  So, as much as I loathe saying it, thank you.  Your douche-baggery has been a wonderful thing. 

My 33rd Year

              About a month before my birthday each year, I start shamelessly plugging my birthday.  I begin telling anyone and everyone who will listen about February 21^st, the day the world became a better place.  The day a legend was born. 

                I also begin thinking a lot about the previous year.  Was it a good year?  Did I accomplish anything special?  Did I become a better person?  Did I learn anything valuable?  Hopefully, the answer to these questions is yes.  More often than not, the answer eludes me.  Yes, I always learn valuable lessons; and while I hope that I became a better person, I find myself occupied with all the things I need to change that I didn’t notice before.  That happens with improvements.  You fix something, it looks amazing, and you discover you have a million other things that are falling apart and need repair. 

                My 33^rd year was surprising to say the least.  I can honestly say that it started off all wrong.  On my 33^rd birthday, my father was in the hospital, and I was pretty sure he would not be getting any better.  I spent that birthday thinking of him.  I had visited him the week before, and was horrified to see that he looked 25 years older than he had the last time I had seen him.  Cancer will do that to you.  So I started my 33^rd year with a feeling of dread. 

                On March 22^nd, after a few weeks of caring for my father at home, he finally died.  Death did not come easily for him.  He wanted it to.  He even apologized for not being able to die faster.  It did not come easily for him, and it was even harder on the rest of us. 

                Watching him die did something to me.  It broke me.  Damaged me.  I felt that I was no longer even remotely the same person I had been.  I was torn, and I was angry.  Incredibly angry.  I was also sure that I needed to hold that emotion in.  I am, after all, a parent.  And I needed to parent. 

                In April, not even a month after he died, I lost all sense of who I was.  As much as I hate the term, I suppose you could say I had a breakdown.  I shattered into a million pieces, and didn’t even want to try to put them back together again.  Life was too hard, and I didn’t have the energy to deal with it anymore. 

In the beginning months of being 33, not only did I lose myself, I lost my marriage, my best female friend, and custody of my children.  I lost my job, my self-worth, and my religion.  I lost my sense of security, my ability to make good relationship choices, and my desire to love again.  I became absolutely sure that the whole, “better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all” was a gigantic bunch of crap.  Because no love seemed worth the absolute devastation of losing it. 

April passed, horrible and lonely.  I attempted to hold myself together, just enough to survive.  May and June got a little better.  Time does that.  Funny how it never seems like it could be true, and then it is.  Time is the scab covering a fresh wound; and eventually the scar of where the wound used to be. 

Both July and August brought new heartbreak of a different variety.  Luckily, I let time work its magic there too.  September through November I kept myself too busy to do much deep thinking.  And December became something better.  More hopeful.  Beautiful.

It is January now, almost a month before I turn 34.  I am a slightly better, more self-aware version of myself.  I am telling myself that my 34^th year will be wonderful.  But even as I’m doing so, I know that life is full of surprises, and many of them are not all that great.  There is no way to get through this life but to pick yourself up and muddle through it.  Maybe even have a little happiness along the way.    34 years is an accomplishment.  I made it through multiple things this year that could have killed me.  That tried to kill me.  But I made it.  I’m still breathing.  And damn if I’m not proud of that 33^rd year. 

I hope that this year brings me the ability to love again.  Not to just love, but to love better, truer, and with more unbridled joy.  I hope that this year brings me the ability to be kinder, more empathetic, and to positively affect the lives of others who may need to be lifted up.  I hope that I can appreciate my family and friends more deeply, and take the time to tell them how I feel.  So here’s to my birthday, and the start of another chapter in the legend of Laura.

All my love,

Laura