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

               

Grief

They say that when you are about to die, your life flashes before your eyes.  I suppose I’ve been lucky enough to never have any experience enabling me to prove or disprove that theory.  I can say however, that something similar, yet profoundly different, happens when you lose a loved one. 

                I wish I could see a scan of my brain; one taken since my dad passed away.  I’m guessing it would have flashes of color, bright and intense, around whatever part or parts of the brain focuses on family, loved ones, memories, and loss.  I’m guessing there would be a bunch of synapses lighting up, signaling that something has happened.  Something out of the ordinary and all together painful.  They flash memories of the loved one; perhaps for comfort, or merely to release pain.  For me, it is both.

                Everything is in overdrive.  Everything I see, everything I hear, reminds me of my dad.  I find myself constantly saying to people; “My dad would have loved that,” or, “My dad used to say this,” or, “My dad once did this.”  I wonder if I am beginning to annoy people, or seem like a woman obsessed.  Would they care, would they understand that I am mourning?  Is it something they too need to experience before they can listen with an understanding ear?

                Each night, I lay in bed, and memories are particularly potent.  Times I had not thought of since they happened, but that were locked away in the secret parts of my brain.  Seemingly insignificant.  The time my dad took us to a carpet store, and we ran around, hiding behind large rolls of carpet.  I remember imagining the owners of the store were in the mafia, and used the store as a front for more sinister plots.  I was sure if I looked hard enough, I would see some feet poking out of one of the many rugs lined up against the wall.  Eventually, I fell asleep, nestled by a sibling; only to be woken by my dad, headed to the next home building store.

                That memory leads me to the next, a string of quick images: my father and us kids playing baseball in the back yard of our newly built home, my father admonishing us to look out the window on our many trips, my father feeding us delicious little treats he brought home from work.  Every memory makes me smile, and makes me hurt.  Why do they have to come so hard and so fast?  Is this how grieving always is?  Will the intensity of the memories eventually fade into a more palatable and less emotional ride? 

                I find myself angry at everything.  Everyone.  I hate this, or that.  I hate that I hate this or that.  I’m angry that I’m angry.  It is an irritating Merry Go Round that I both want to escape and hang tightly to.  I’m afraid that if I let go, I may have to feel something less controllable than the anger I am used to.  Something deeper and more frightening than just wanting to sock someone in the face.  This terrifies me.  Is this normal?  Will I ever get past it?  Do I even want to?

                Throughout my studies I have learned plenty on the cycle of grief.  Although it explained to those reading that the cycle doesn’t always play out in order, or for specific periods of time, it annoys me that I am not able to control my grief; to plan for the next stage, and to know where I am.  How rude of the brain to play tricks on us and make us believe we are moving past grief, only to remember the time that dad took us to help families after a flood in a neighboring town.  How we learned that he was in fact, a charitable person, and that he worked hard until the job was done.

                Losing a parent is a new thing for me, just as it is for everyone who finds themselves a semi-orphan.  I can unequivocally say that I don’t love all new experiences.  I don’t enjoy searching for meaning in something as painful as this.  But it is apparently what I am supposed to be doing.  So eventually, when I stop wanting to hurt people and start wanting to heal, I’ll get started on that.  Not today.  Maybe not even this month.  Some day.

                For now, I’m left with those flashing brain synapses.  I, along with my family, am left with the memories of the dad and husband we loved so much.  As annoying and irritating as he could be sometimes.  We are left wondering if we did the right things for him; if we loved him as much as we could have.  Did we give enough of ourselves so that he had the very best life he could have had in his short 60 years?  We weren’t ready for him to go, but was he?  Was he satisfied with what we were able to offer him?  I hope so. 

                Grief is a flowing, ever changing life form of its own.  It apologizes to no one, and leaves no one behind.  Perhaps this is a lesson to be learned.  No one escapes it.  Everyone suffers.  And, if we allow ourselves, everyone’s wounds scar over.  Not gone, but healed sufficiently enough for us to be compassionate to others suffering, and to remember our past. 

Heavenly Mother, Are You Really There?

Heavenly Mother,

I thought I'd talk to you for a change.  I mean, if you are real, and are the counterpart to Heavenly Father, I'm thinking you do most of the nurturing anyway.  Most likely Dad is up there managing the business side; if gender roles are to be believed.  So you are the one who sends us good feelings and stuff.  Right? 

Mom, I don't even know if you really are there.  And if you are, is it in the way that Mormon Doctrine teaches, or is it in the way I want to believe?  Should I be talking to my Heavenly Mothers instead of just you?  I don't like that idea.  Does that make me bad?  I want to believe it is just you up there kickin it with Dad, creating worlds and children and whatever else you Celestial beings do.  Imagining you up there with a bunch of other women, being subservient to Dad, really turns me off the idea of Celestial life. 

Mom, I'm going through a faith crisis, which is something you already know; that is, if you are even there.  I love so much of the teachings of my religion.  But there are so many things that make me balk.  I know I don't understand even the smallest portion of how the universe works, but you'd think anything that hurts another wouldn't be right.  And thus, my struggle. 

Why is it that no one ever talks about you?  Is it because you are more than one person?  Do church leaders mask the idea of you because they don't want people to know that there are thousands of Heavenly Mothers to our one Father?  Do we really not speak of you out of respect?  It seems more disrespectful to me.  If I were never mentioned, asked for help, or thanked, I'd be pretty miffed.  Are you so much more advanced than I?  I mean, I'm sure you are, but doesn't it make you just a tiny, teensy bit irritated?  Its cool if it doesn't, but if you went through the pain and suffering a mother goes through, I think you are entitled to a little praise now and then.  Or gratitude, if praise is too arrogant sounding. 

Mom, I hope you are there.  Believing in you (as in one person) makes me happy.  Who doesn't like the idea of one big happy family?  Of course, I'd be happy with two dads, or two moms.  But not one Dad to a bunch of moms.   Doesn't seem right to have to share.  Maybe Dad drives you nuts, and you are happy to send him off on his merry way?  I've heard that logic before.  And while it is good for a chuckle, I can't imagine anyone really feeling that way.  Is it so hard to be loyal to only one person?  Sure, I know you know my past.  So you know I'm not perfect.  But I'm not trying to get with thousands of dudes in the name of religion either.  I'm not sure we really need that many more people to populate worlds.  I mean, take your time.  You've got ETERNITY.  No need to rush, or bring other women into it. 

Anywho.....  I've got to get about the business of my own mothering.  Thanks for letting me brush some ideas past you.  You've been a great listener.....  which anyone who may or may not exist usually is, but you know what I mean. 

Love,
Laura

Dear Grandpa

The following is the exact letter I just sent to my maternal grandpa, Elder M. Russell Ballard of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles.

Dear Grandpa,

I hope all is well with you and Grandma.  I wanted to say that I am sorry if anything I said was hurtful to you.  I didn't mean for it to be, though I can understand if you are upset. 

Right now I have no testimony of the gospel.  It frightens me to say that I don't even know the place that Jesus Christ plays in my life anymore.  But that doesn't mean that I am no longer a good person.  In fact, I may be a better person out of the church than I ever was in it. 

Thankfully, I've had a group of wonderful people enter into my life since I did the Mormon Stories interview.  Yes, most of them are people who have left the church.  These people have surrounded me with love; while those who professed to be my friends dropped me out of their lives.  It has been such an enriching experience to get to know these people.  They come from various backgrounds, with many different ideas and questions.  I feel like that black and white thinking I have had my entire life has vanished.  And I am so grateful.  It is dangerous, and in the case of those struggling, with homosexuality or other issues, it can be deadly.

Grandpa, I am sad that people who leave the church are treated so badly.  I know there are no people teaching members to be unkind to those who have left the church, but there are people teaching that we have been misled by Satan.  You may agree with this, but I see it as problematic.  We are considered less than with this way of thinking.  If you leave, you are less valiant, less strong, less spiritual.  You are easily led astray by others and value your own knowledge above that of the Lord's.  I can only speak for me, but I can say that I am more humble now than I was before.  I'm more open to the idea that I can be wrong.  I'm also more open to the idea that it is okay to be wrong.  I believe that if there is a God, He would rather have us question, and learn as much as possible, before we come to any conclusions. 

Aren't we taught to seek things out in our mind, before we make a choice?  How can anyone truly say that they have a knowledge, when in my experience, LDS members (including myself) are some of the most ignorant people in the world regarding their own history?  How does this not bother you?  I believe a true test of faith is to know as much as humanly possible, then act accordingly. 

I understand that you may not want to respond.  In my mind I see you sitting there, shaking your head at my foolishness, or my "rebellious phase."  I hope you are not, because it is so hurtful to be seen as someone who doesn't think things through, when I am in the process of trying to do exactly that.  I'm still Laura.  I'm still the same girl who looks up to you and who LOVES you dearly.  I'm still that same girl who wants to do what you tell me.  I wish it were still so simple for me to do exactly that.

There is nothing more I would love than to believe 100% in the LDS church again.  I think many members who have left would agree with me.  It is SO MUCH EASIER to stay in the church than to leave it.  We leave behind family, friends, and our heritage.  We don't do it just because we are "feeling rebellious" or "in a phase".  We do it because we are following the dictates of our own conscience.  We are trying to form our own thinking patterns, and reconcile our own beliefs with what we see in the world.  So please, do not write us off so quickly with the blanket of, "These are the last days, and even the very elect will fall away."  That is inappropriately simplifying a very complicated process. 

I suppose I am reaching out for understanding.  I'm not asking for a sign, or for you to convince me of the truth.  I would certainly be open to any thoughts or ideas that I may not have had, as well as any enlightenment you would want to share. 

I love you, always and forever and no matter what.

Love,
Laura

Could It Be Me?

I'm sitting here with tears running down my face.

I suppose I write when I'm trying to focus something in my mind.  To clear a muddled head.

Right now it is cloudy with pain.  Not my pain, but the pain of others.


My faith journey has taken me to a dark place.  This is not something I'm experiencing because of a lack of religion in my life; this dark place is being explored BECAUSE of religion.

I strongly dislike sad movies.  One of the best movies ever made is one I hate; because it is so sad.  "Life Is Beautiful".  Great, amazing, fabulous film.  I hate it.  It makes me feel.  I don't enjoy feeling sadness; or having my paradigm shifted in ways that feel uncomfortable.  But I NEED those experiences, as much as I hate them.

I just finished watching a documentary about Jonestown (watch it on Netflix: Jonestown: Paradise Lost).  Here is a super quick synapsis of what it was about:

               "Jonestown" was the informal name for the Peoples Temple Agricultural Project formed by     the Peoples Temple, an American religious organization under the leadership of Jim Jones, in northwestern Guyana. It became internationally notorious when on November 18, 1978, over 900 people died in the remote commune, at the nearby airstrip in Port Kaituma, and in Georgetown, Guyana's capital city. The name of the settlement became synonymous with the incidents at those locations.
A total of 909 Americans^[1] died in Jonestown, all but two from apparent cyanide poisoning, in an event termed "revolutionary suicide" by Jones and some members on an audio tape of the event and in prior discussions. The poisonings in Jonestown followed the murder of five others by Temple members at Port Kaituma, including United States Congressman Leo Ryan. Four other Temple members died in Georgetown at Jones' command.



Depressing right?   But Oh!  The lessons to be learned from this!  At the end of the documentary, the son of Jim Jones, who was away during the mass suicides/murders gives powerful advice.  He says, "Do not separate yourself from the lessons to be learned in this tragedy.  Do not judge those who took the poison.  They are people, just like you and me, who were proving their loyalty to not only their prophet Jim Jones, but to each other."

When Steven Jones said this, I got chills.  I immediately thought, could this be me?

The reason for the chills?  The answer was YES.

My religion had my promise to give everything I own, including my life, if it were asked for.  Though somewhat uncomfortable with this, I felt that God would never ask me to do these things unless it were for my salvation.  I never hesitated to promise this time and time again.  If God wished it, it was right.  My Prophet would never ask something of me that was not right.

The people in Jonestown also felt this.

How many times have I asked myself why I was not more faithful?  How many times have I said that I would fix whatever it was about myself that needed to be fixed in order to be worthy of God?  How deep was my faith in what I was doing?  Would I have laid down my life for the cause, along with the lives of my children?

These are TERRIFYING questions to ask.  Because I do not know the answer.  Was my faith ever so strong that I could willingly kill myself or others?  Could I possibly imagine a time in a place like Utah, where people would die for the cause?

I get it.  It seems far fetched.  Dramatic even.  But it is utterly and terrifyingly possible.  And I want no part of it.

This is why I am in a dark place.  Luckily, I am never one to stay there longer than necessary. (Thank you medication!)  I will go make myself a cheese sandwich and watch a mindless comedy once this is over.  But I will not forget what happened at Jonestown.  I will not forget that people kill every day in the name of religion.  I will not forget that people are shunned, hated, and treated terribly for what people believe to be God's purposes.  This I will not forget.

To me, God is love.  God is everything wonderful, and nothing that would ever hurt another.  Nor would God ever condone slander, hatred, or murder.  I truly believe that God wants us to be happy.  ALL of us.  Not just a select few who are named "worthy".  This is my God.  I am finding Him/Her/It in this journey.  And what a journey it is turning out to be.

To Those Who Question

I had the opportunity this week to do an interview with John Dehlin and Mormon Stories.  I've had some time to ponder what has happened since, and I wanted to voice a few thoughts I've had. 

First of all:

THANK YOU! 

Thank you to all of those who reached out.  I am so sincerely touched by the wonderful people who have said a kind word.  It is always astounding to me how much a kind word can brighten a life.  I've felt my life brighten immensely. 

I've also felt a few stings and wounds.  I'd like to address those who are upset, hurt, or distrustful.  Here are a few points I'd like to highlight.

1.  I understand how someone could think I was taking advantage of my Grandfather's calling in the church.  This is not so.  My entire life has been entangled with his calling.  I just wanted to share my story.  I hope that you can come to see that my intentions were not to spill dirty secrets about the church and its leaders.  Not only do I not know any dirty secrets, I never would want to hurt another person.  Ever.

2.  I've been accused of being classless for "airing dirty laundry".  This in particular stung.  It has been spoken of many times in my life.  Always a HUGE no-no.  Do not share things that are unpleasant.  This is disloyal and inappropriate.  Do not air your dirty laundry for all to know.  It is not anyone's business.  So yes, I can  understand why people would think this.  My family is incredibly upset with me for this reason.  But I seek healing; not just for myself but for others who may hear my story, both in and out of the church.  Silence is deadly in so many cases.  Listening to someone say, "I've been there too" can sometimes be a powerful tool in finding your inner peace.  This was my only intent.  Not to hurt, but to heal.  I believe that somewhere down the line this will help my family too.  I want them to feel like they can be more open about their feelings, shortcomings, and hopes for the future.  I love them.  I wish them the very best life can offer. 

3.  It was hard to hear hurtful comments about being a mentally ill adulteress.  Yes, all of that is true.  But I've said it before and will say it again; I am more than the sum of my parts.  Everyone who has ever made a mistake, and everyone who lives with an illness of any kind, knows that they are not the mistake; not the illness.  It is a part of us, but does not act for us.  It is woven within our life; it is not our life.   There is no pride in my sin; but no shame in my illness.  These extremely personal problems were shared as an attempt to show everyone it is okay to make mistakes or to acknowledge illness.  We just need to learn how to cope in a way that is uplifting to others and ourselves. 

4. Perhaps the most difficult criticism to hear was that I am insincere.  When I hear something unpleasant about myself, I look deep down and see if there is any truth.  This time, there is none.  Everything I said was 100% honest.  My hopes and dreams aren't all that complicated.  I just want happiness for myself and others.  I hope to help people throughout this journey we call life.  Because I know people have helped me.

In closing, I want to say thank you again.  Being thrust into a spotlight was not easy for me.  I've never liked being the center of attention.  But I've been so grateful for the kind words that have eased the pain of the hurtful ones.  I'm still figuring out life.  Thank you for accepting me as I am.

Love,
Laura Roper Andreasen

Similarities between Rape and Mormon Culture

I recognize that this article will upset people.  While it does concern me that reading this might provoke feelings in others that are uncomfortable, I hope it will spark conversation and dialog about the real problems in similarity between Mormon Culture and rape.  Yes, it is scary.  But, to steal a much beloved Mormon saying, "You can do hard things!"

If you immediately want to tell me I have no right to compare rape and Mormon culture because I don't know rape, you are wrong.  I do.  First hand.  Those gory details are not for this article; but are part of my life story; part of my "rough stone rolling". 

Recently I started speaking out in church.  It has felt wonderful, and terrible all at once.  I've questioned the ideas of what I've termed "Mormon Thinking", and laughed at a lot of our cultural superstitions.  I've also spoken out about how I dislike our disgust of people's pain and suffering.  The stories that make people human are also the most uncomfortable to hear.  This makes them the most important for us to hear. 

My predisposition to anxiety and depression was made worse by being a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.  My constant worry about being better, doing better, and vanquishing the "natural man" inside of me led to anguish.  When I attempted to voice these feelings of genuine pain, they were squashed.  On the spot.  Obviously, I wasn't praying/reading the scriptures/fasting etc. enough.  It was my lack of spirituality that caused the pain, not the actions of others.  Not the culture of silence.

Being abused or raped is wrapped in silence.  You are often told no one will believe you, so what is the point of saying anything at all?  You often BELIEVE no one will believe you.  You know it is not safe to speak out.  You will lose everything.  You could lose your job, your home, your social circle, your friends, your family, your spouse.  People will think less of or differently about you. 

Now take out "rape" in the above paragraph and insert "questioning the church". 

Being a questioner in the church is wrapped in silence.  You are often told no one will believe you, so what is the point of saying anything at all?  You often BELIEVE no one will believe you.  You know it is not safe to speak out.  You will lose everything.  You could lose your job, your home, your social circle, your friends, your family, your spouse.  People will think less of or differently about you.

Does this hit home? 

It did for me. 

When I went through a disciplinary counsel, I was told to erase all social media posts I may have written about my "sin" and the process of my church discipline.  This bothered me.  How does healing happen in silence?  Isn't the point of therapy to speak through our sorrows in order to understand a higher truth?  To get deeper, closer, and more precise on the path to finding peace?  Why was I being told (not asked) to be quiet?  Was the Church afraid of something? 

I brushed it off.  I've been a church apologist for years.  I served a mission and had a lot of practice brushing off unpleasant ideas with the sweep of "lack of understanding of a higher doctrine."  It bothered me, though I was more inclined to believe that my feelings of uncertainty were in regards to my lack of faith.  Blaming the victim perhaps?

Rape blames the victim.  You were dressed inappropriately.  You were leading him/her on.  You were in the wrong place at the wrong time.  You shouldn't have done this, or that, or been here, or there. 

The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints often employs this same thinking pattern.  Do not get me wrong.  I do not believe most members do it on purpose.  I believe it is just so deeply ingrained into each of us that we cannot see it until it is pointed out to us. 

An example:  A friend of mine left the church.  She then was severely abused by her active Mormon husband.  I heard whispers of, "It must be hard for him to live with an apostate."  "She just lost the spirit."  You'd better believe I listened hard for those "What a horrible thing.  He should be in jail" whispers.  Those didn't happen. 

Another example:  A young LDS girl was pressured into having sex with her active LDS boyfriend.  I heard lots of "She's always been an immodest dresser" and "Boys will be boys."  Yes, in the church, boys will be boys and girls will be ostracized. 

Speak out about things you do not like?  You are immediately labeled, just as many rape victims are.  "Apostate" gets tossed out there a lot.  As my previous article mentioned, people can get scriptural in their labels:  "Tares", "Korihor", and "doubting Thomas" are just a few.  You are told you are murmuring, fighting against God, and that you lack understanding.  Just as rape is condescending, so too can the people labeling you be. 

Rape is about Control. 

I worked as a Victim Advocate for a Police Department.  It was often drilled into us that rape was about control, not about sex.  We were taught that abusers thrive on bullying others into doing their will.  The sense of power is so rewarding they cannot let it go, and will do anything to continue to feel it. 

WARNING:  Many of you will not like this.  

I believe the LDS church thrives because of control. 

As always, I do not believe 98% of the members feel this way, or make the connection.  Up until I sent in my resignation letter, I did not either. 

Do you want to be with your family forever?  Give us money, time, and energy.  Do you want to reach the highest level of Heaven?  Do not laugh loudly, speak badly of the Lord's anointed, or follow others who do.  Do you want happiness?  Do not shop on Sunday, eat certain foods, or watch certain movies.  You find great freedom in obedience to God.  And them's the rules kids. 

I have been afraid my entire life of saying no.  I've been afraid to say no.  If I say I can't physically or emotionally handle a calling, I'm losing blessings.  If I ask a question, I'm afraid I'll be accused of apostasy.  If I listen to someone's story and feel sympathetic to it, I'm letting Satan in to my heart and mind. 

These are scary things.  These are things I spent years hiding from.  As a child, I was always worried I was letting Satan in.  Satan!  The Devil!  That is TERRIFYING to a child.  I was being terrified because I was afraid to say no to a calling?  I was being scared into submission because I wasn't comfortable opening up with other church members about my doubts?  This is control.  The sneakiest, most subtle form.

I'm not asking anyone to do anything.  Just consider this.  Consider this as you sit and listen to the lessons on Sunday.  Ask yourself if you feel comfortable questioning, or if you fear it.  Allow yourself a moment to examine your feelings about the Church.  If it makes you utterly happy, then be in it!  If it brings you pain, suffering and anxiety, examine why, and act according to the dictates of your own conscience. 

You are smart, wonderful, and worthy, JUST AS YOU ARE.  You can be happy.  And you can be as LOUD as you need to be.

Coming Out: Me

I sincerely believe we all have a Coming Out.

A time when we tell those we love the most; those who have the ability to hurt us the most, that we are SOMETHING other than they want/believe/hope us to be.

I've been trying to tell those I love for years that I am not what they want me to be.

I've watched as they laughed it off as "Laura just being Laura."

I've cried as they labled me a "rebel" an "apostate" or as "confused".

Each time, I was, in my own small way, speaking my truth.

Begging for love.

Pleading, "Can you just love me for who I am?  Flaws and all?

So here I am, coming out with an attempt to be clear on a topic that isn't at all clear.  ME.

I'm coming out as someone who is open minded.

I accept that I don't know all the answers.  I realize that I may be wrong on SO MANY THINGS!  I leave a spot of my life open for change, for understanding, and for acceptance.  I will listen to all sides, and err on the side of kindness.  Believe in me.  As I am. 

I'm coming out as a questioning Mormon.

I love The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints.  I've been a member all my life.  But I also question it.  I question the amount of love and acceptance in it.  I question some of the regulations.  And I admit that being a member of this church as been both a wonderful blessing and a cause of much self harm.  Being a member has not always been beautiful.  It has been painful.  It has caused me to feel horrible about myself on occasion.  It has led me to be confused on the true nature of God, when I thought it was supposed to teach me about God's Love.  So yes, I question it.  I don't agree immediately to all things "Mormon".  I take my time.  I have my feelings.  I research it out in my mind and in my heart, and I act accordingly.  And I have hope that some day, I will completely understand it.  Trust in me: As is.

I'm coming out as someone who has tattoos and piercings.  

It makes me laugh that out of all of the things I've done to disappoint people, this is so high on the list.  I'm sorry if these actions are hurtful to others.  I'm tired of being told how I should look.  I have never understood how people body shamed me so often under the guise of "caring".  If you care, let me be the big girl I am.  Let me make my own well-thought out decisions.  I'm not getting tattoos of things that don't mean anything to me.  They are important to me.  That is all that should matter to you.  Me: as I am.

I'm coming out as someone who is okay with being imperfect.

This has taken me a long time.  For years and years I fought this.  I wanted to be perfect.  I suppose I still do.  But I'm okay with NOT being perfect, and I'm okay with taking my time to do so.  I'm not saying that I am giving up on improvement.  I'm saying that I'm going to be kinder with myself in the process.  I'm not going to drag myself down anymore.  I'm going to build myself up.  I cannot believe it has taken me so long to realize I have to be my own ADVOCATE.  So that is what I'm going to be.  Accept me: as I am.

I'm coming out as someone who rejects the labels you put upon me.

I suppose my family knows this better than anyone.  I HATE HATE HATE when people classify me.  I cannot stand when people call me a rebel, an apostate, flighty, liberal, crazy, etc.  I was CONSTANTLY told these things by people.  Most of them were forced upon me by educators and people in the church.  This was and is incredibly painful.  Being told you are a pain in the ass because you are struggling to understand, or being told you have an attitude problem for asking a simple question, is wrong.  It is WRONG.  I refuse to do that to my children.  I don't know why anyone would do that to another HUMAN being.  My son and I are both on the Autism Spectrum.  I refuse to define either of us by that.  While I will tell people we are on the spectrum in order to foster better understanding, I also tell my son he cannot use that as an excuse.  We don't want to be labeled disabled for being differently-abled.  We just want to be loved: as is.

I'm coming out as someone who suffers from and takes medication for anxiety and depression.

On this, I have relatively little to say.  Every action I do is NOT caused by anxiety or depression.  Some are affected by it, but if you write off my feelings as part of my mental illness, you are losing a lot in translation.  I am MORE than the sum of my parts.  If you do not know what it is like to suffer, you do not know Christ.  Please do not tell me how to better manage my anxiety or depression.  It has been my co-pilot for years.  We know how to work together.  Just love us.  As is.

I'm coming out as ME.

I am Laura Roper Andreasen.  I have made mistakes.  I have loved deeply, been hurt deeply, and cried mightily.  I have watched my testimony grow through the mistakes I have made, and through suffering.  I have watched myself fall from great spiritual heights to the bottom of the pit.  I have fought with those I love; sometimes due to not having a control on my anxiety, and sometimes because I was just being a douche.  I say things like "douche" and don't really feel bad about it.  I sometimes make jokes that other people don't appreciate.  I still think I'm funny.  I LOVE my children more than life itself.  I would kill for them.  I am the BEST mother they could have, because I am THEIR mother.  They love me.  JUST AS I AM.  They are the only ones I have felt accept me totally, completely, and irrevocably.  For that, they have my undying loyalty, my oath to do everything I can for them, and my absolute devotion.

I hope that this helps some of you who are trying to get a read on me.  I often feel like people don't ever seek out the real me.  They want an easy to categorize version of a complex person.  I can only be what I am.  But trust me when I say, that is enough.  I am enough.  As is. 

3 Myths about the "Tares"

Recently I had to laugh about being referred to as a "tare".  Not sure what that is referring to? 

Matthew 13:24----  Look it up.  But in case you don't want to, it is a parable Jesus told about a farmer who found out an enemy had sown tares (or weeds) along next to his wheat.  He goes to to parallel the wheat and the tares to people or to the righteous and unrighteous things of the world, and how the farmer and his laborers need to separate it for the good of the wheat. 

Yes, this is total layman's terms here.  Being called a tare was amusing, but also disconcerning.  Why on earth would someone think they had the right to classify another individual? 

I read blog after blog after blog about how people are overreacting, how those who are opposed are unfaithful, or wavering.  One in particular was rather insulting.  It listed several "Myths about the Handbook Change."  It was derogatory and simplifying of the people who are upset by the change.  So here is a short but sweet (or not so sweet) rebuttal.  I'm too tired to go into every little sticking point, so I just chose four of the biggest ones.  Take it or leave it.  You may be sick of the drama. 

Myth #1

People who disagree with the changes in the Handbook are less faithful than those who follow without question.

Ummmm.....  Oh this one drives me nuts.  I've heard it over and over and over.  It is so sickeningly rude I can't stop shaking my head.  Let me just say, No.  No.  No.  How is it unfaithful to have serious doubts about things?  How is it unfaithful to want to know why?  Yes, we understand that God works in mysterious ways.  But that doesn't negate the hurt people feel, nor the problems we may have with our conscience for blindly agreeing to go along with it.  We are people of faith.  No one should ever feel they can determine someone's faith by their doubts.  No one should tell us to leave if we don't like it.  No one should compare us to weeds.  A lesson in compassion may be in order here. 

Myth #2

The changes to the handbook do not require children to reject their parents. 

Right, because you don't need to physically say, "I reject you" to disavow and renounce the sins of your parents... who you love... So sure, you don't have to say you reject them, but what are you feeling?  What are they feeling?  You are feeling like you are rejecting them.  They are feeling rejected.  I don't understand why people seem to completely disregard the feelings of those who will be in this situation.  We are not protecting any family by forcing them to call their parents sinners.  Love the sinner, hate the sin, but tell the sinner you disagree and renounce his or her decisions.  Yep, pretty clear.  Not.

Myth #3

It doesn't hurt you personally.

I have to share this quote from the post I recently read about what he thinks regarding this. 

"If someone talks about how this hurts them, they may sincerely think that, but it is also political theater, a learned response from mimicking the rhetorical style of those who’ve had so much political success on this issue.
Now let’s be clear, many people are feeling pain because of this decision, especially those whom the policy directly affects or who have family members this affects. The myth is that our personal emotional response should change Church policy.
Sharing feelings on this issue as though they affect the rightness or wrongness of the policy is a logical fallacy. This comes under the category of argumentum ad passiones. While you may feel whatever you want about this policy change, your feelings do not affect whether or not this change was correct. When people talk about their pain as a way of ending a conversation it is little more than emotional manipulation."  Christopher D. Cunningham

I guess I didn't realize all of us who profess to have feelings on the matter are just trying to manipulate others.  How fiendishly tricky of us!  Who knew we had it in us?  Apparently Mr. Cunningham did.  And once again, No.  Just No.

Myth #4

It is simple.  It is black and white.  Either you believe the church is true or you don't.

One thing I have learned in my years is that NOTHING is ever "simple".  NOTHING is ever black and white.  There are a million shades in between those polar opposites.  A million circumstances that create complex and confusing situations.  A million reasons to look at an issue from a million different angles. 

There is no harm in trying to understand something now, rather than waiting for more guidance in the future.  You may choose to accept changes, but you still want answers.  You still want to learn more. 

Admittedly at one point in my life (before I experienced real pain and real LIFE) I struggled with this.  I was always taught that things were right or wrong.  No in-between.  I struggled with this until I learned that while I DO believe in right and wrong, (though Christopher Cunningham would disagree, telling me I don't) I think there are so many reasons, feelings, and thoughts that go behind every action it would be foolish to paint everyone and everything with the same color.  The same is true here.  We can't claim that because we know ONE gay person who is okay with this that ALL gay people are.  It is dangerous to categorize everyone together.  These people understand that their children are all different, so how is it that ALL gay people are the same? 

There is always so much more to say at a moment like this.  I, for one, am burned out.  By nature I am not an argumentative person.  I'm an empathetic person.  (Just look at my tattoos for proof).  I dislike contention and bickering.  I'm almost always the person to say, "Let's agree to disagree."  But it is nice to find a voice, however small and insignificant to the world.  So hear is my voice saying, "Love One Another."

A Moment Like Eve's

Have you ever had a moment in life, a moment so surreal, that you KNEW it changed the way you viewed the world? 

It doesn't have to be big.  It could be a peaceful sunrise, a day at the beach, or a baby's first smile.

For me, it seems to be steps in the dark.

Let me explain.

My entire life seems to be one questionable decision after another.  I suppose when they handed out the ability to learn from other people's life lessons, I was off chasing a butterfly. 

I cannot seem to hear something and learn from it.  I have to see, feel, taste, smell, and LIVE each experience myself.  I've written about a few of them here on this blog.  A few of the more serious sins, and a few of the smaller cultural no-nos. 

Today I want to tell you of an experience I had learning a little more about the heart of people. 

All my life I was taught that it is BAD to be a "rebel".  Satan's followers were "rebels".  Rebels were apostates.  You had to be VERY careful about what you said and did, or you were following the path to hell. 

Sounds pretty ridiculous as I write it, but I think this is something many LDS families teach their children. 

A lot of hurt and anguish were caused by this.  I was abused because I was too rigidly following these guidelines for my life.  I was called an apostate for asking honest questions, told I had a bad attitude for sharing my opinions, and called a rebel when I was just being me. 

Not long ago, I got my nose pierced.  It was something I always wanted to do, so I did it.  When I showed my face at church, the Bishop of my ward sarcastically said, "Oh, every Mormon who thinks they are a rebel pierces their nose." 

"Um, what?" 

I was once again, in my thirties, being called a rebel.  I sure didn't feel like one.  I was at church, wasn't I?  I wasn't trying to make some grand statement, wasn't trying to cause a scene.  I just quietly sat in my seat and felt more like my authentic self.  I am, after all, someone who likes piercings. 

I eventually felt enough pressure to remove it.  I was okay with this, as I continually fiddled with it anyway so I always looked like I was picking my nose. :)  But it bothered me that I was perceived as being rebellious to God. 

Fastforward a few more years and a few SERIOUS sins later.  I've since gained a groundbreaking territory in my understanding of myself.  I decided to get a tattoo.  So, I did. 

I chose a semi colon.  A reminder to all those who suffer with mental illness, myself included, that they are loved, and their story is not over.  It was a physical reminder of mental scars, but also of hope.  It means something real to me. 

I decided on another tattoo.  Something near and dear to my heart. 

I chose an Autism Awareness theme.  My son and I both have ASD (Autism Spectrum Disorder).  We also both have serious anxiety and ADHD.  To me this represents the love I have for all people with Autism, as well as other disabilities.  It represents my love for people.  And the puzzle pieces feel like me.  Like once I figure out how my life fits together, it will be shaped by love. 

While I was at the tattoo parlor, I had a bit of a revelation.  I realized how my whole life I had thought of people with tattoos and piercings a certain way.  I thought life had made them hard; unapproachable.  I thought (and this seems silly now) that they were a bit scary, and probably mean.  As I sat talking to the most tattooed man I had ever seen, and he told me his story, I suddenly got it. 

I felt like Eve.  In my own small way, I understood how she must have felt after eating the fruit.  She new full and well what she was doing was perhaps not the right way to go about the plan, but after she made that decision, knowledge was found. 

This tattooed man was, no joke, the KINDEST man I had ever met.  And boy did he know suffering.  Many of his tattoos spoke of tragedy, of hurt, and of the amazing life he led.  I sat back in awe, knowing that my perspective on things had changed immensely.  I saw then how I can use my tattoos for good, in a culture that sees them as blatant disobedience. 

God knows our hearts.  He knows who is doing things out of rebellion, and He knows who is doing things because they are searching.  Perhaps it is not the way He would chose for us to find our way, but I believe He understands. 

Many of you may be wondering why I chose to disobey the rules for piercings and tattoos.  Some of you are probably giving me a hard time right now.  That is okay.  I don't expect everyone to understand.  I only hope that you will learn to love those as they are.  This is my movement.  If I'm rebelling against anything, it is against hate, hurt, and not being true to yourself.  I'm working on being me: A New Kind Of Mormon. 

Why My Perfect Man is a Circus Peanut

It seems like everything these days is all doom and gloom, death and destruction.  Life can get pretty depressing, and I'm here to lighten it up for a moment or two.  Lighten it up with the talk of my true love.  The love I've had since I was born.  The passionate, all encompassing love... of candy.

I know you, dear reader, are shaking your head over my claims to have loved candy from the moment of birth.  I say to you, not ONLY did I love it from birth, but from the womb.  Because, like me, my mom has a bit of, nay, a GINORMOUS sweet tooth.  This is why, when I claim to have loved candy before I understood love, I tell the truth.

As always, I must put in the obnoxious but necessary disclaimer that I love my husband and my children.... blah blah blah... etc....  but really, in those special moments, I may love candy just a little bit more.

Most people who know me know that I have "a problem".  They also know that I embrace my problem like a lover.  My problem is also my solution.  My candy is my true love.

Nah bro, you're taking up valuable candy real estate.  Shove off and leave me and the candy alone.  We need to "get to know each other".... wink wink.  ;)

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^I'm a kidnappers dream come true....^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

When friends come over to my home, they often comment on how many candy dishes I have out.  I've finally begun to realize that having 5 candy dishes may be just a tad bit strange.  But to me, it is love.  It is how I show you that my home is your home.  By allowing my candy to be your candy. See?!  If, by chance, you are not a candy person, I will still like you, but you will probably not be welcomed into my tribe.

Before my taste-buds matured and began to appreciate the finer delicacies like cookies and cakes and pies, good ole candy was my friend.  My compadre.  My family.  It made me feel happy.  It looked happy.  Heck, it tasted like happy.  I started out with a simple love of chocolate.  Hershey's bars and Rolos, Milky Ways and 3 Musketeers.  All so delightfully chocolatey.

Eventually, I moved on to the more complex forms of candy, such as Circus Peanuts, Bunny Basket Eggs, and Valentine Conversation Hearts.  Yes, I hear you mocking my favorites.  "Ewww," you say.  "How can you eat that?  It is pure sugar!"  And your point is??

Candy, my friends, never lets you down.  I know some of you may be health-nuts who claim candy will let you down.  It will make you fat and give you cavities.  I say it is just proving once and for all that it loves you.  It will NEVER leave your side.  Or butt.  Or thighs.  The love is so strong you are literally BECOMING ONE with candy.  Is there a stronger bond?  I say no.  A million times no!

Candy is the ultimate companion.  I can do all my hobbies with candy.  We bathe together, read together, watch Netflix in binges together, knit together.... that's about it really... (come on now, did you really think a person who loves candy as much as I do has a hobby of rock climbing or weight lifting?)  We spend all our most precious moments together.  Often, I wake up in a puddle of sugar-laced drool after a candy induced nap, and I KNOW more than I know anything, that life is beautiful.

Yep, me and Candy have a beautiful thing.  Our love goes beyond what I have with the average mortal.  It is the first thing on my mind in the morning, and the last thing on my breath at night.  It is the "badonka" to my "donk", and the Kermit to my Miss Piggy.  If anyone EVER, and I mean EVER.... gets between me and my candy, I will find them, and I will kill them.  I have that "particular set of skills".  And hey, if homicidal rage over candy means I've got a problem, then I've got a problem.  But I think we've already established that.  Happy Eating!