Like Mother Like Daughter

Forget that! Get her a taller pair of heels. Louboutin perhaps? No? I'll take them! 

B's and my dumb roommate dropped a glass on the floor the other day. Our floors are all tile, pretty hard tile at that. Maybe marble? Whatever type of tile they are, the glass shattered across the floor. He swept up the majority of it half-assedly.

A few days go by. I'm in the kitchen making dinner, barefoot. Shoes track in a shit load of sand and it's been pretty rainy the last few days. I step over to the stove and....."Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!"

Mixing dinner with profanity. I am a true lady.

B looked up from his studies, concerned.

"Got a piece of glass stuck in my fooooot. I need a warm tub of water. OW!"

I went to grab a broom so I could sweet the damn floor -- properly.

B stopped filling up a bowl of water. Took the broom out of my hand.

"Go sit down, Charlotte."

I glared.

"I've seen the crazy hobble before." he said.

Charlotte is my mother.

I sat down soaking my foot while B swept up and came over to look at the glass stuck in my heel.

"Wow, you really stomped on that. It's in there pretty deep. It's small, but sharp."

He went upstairs and came back with a glove on one hand, Neosporin and a bandaid in the other. He teased out the piece of glass. Blood slowly dripped into the rag he cleaned my foot off with. I howled, because I'm a baby like that and that piece of glass was in there deep. He told me he needed to cut off the little piece of skin covering the puncture so he could properly clean it. I refused. No way, Dr. B. And don't call me my mother ever again.

I realize it though. I get all upset about people cleaning things up half way and not doing a good enough job. I catch myself wanting B to stay out of the kitchen because That's MY space. I want to slaughter The Roommates for not putting away their motherfucking dishes OR emptying the dishwasher. Just because I'm the only woman in the house does not make me the damn maid. I want to put a sign above the sink saying WASH YOUR OWN DISHES.

To be fair, they aren't filthy pigs. There aren't flies floating around our garbage and everything is generally clean. But, if there are dishes in the sink, does anyone empty the clean dishwasher? No. They pile the dishes in the sink until I empty the dishwasher. B told me, "Stop doing their dishes, Emily"

"No! It won't fucking get down otherwise!"

He looked at me like he wished I wasn't Charlotte.

"It will get done."

Ahh. Good old fashioned gender roles. They exist and are perpetuated even without The Church. How much about women staying home and cooking and cleaning was engrained in us through The Church and how much did we learn from society? Both roommates are from very traditional families. J is Asian and A is from The South. B, well he puts his dishes in the dishwasher, Thank You Very Much. He takes out the trash. Sometimes he makes dinner. And he always helps clean up, even just a little bit. His mom worked his whole life and his dad stayed home. He's used to seeing his dad do the dishes.

My dad, I've seen him do the dishes maybe twice? He works hard for my mom to spend as much money as she does and let me tell you -- Charlotte is no saint.

I just wonder. Is it The Church? Society? Family? All three?

And how do I keep my kids from thinking Mama does the wash and Papa does the real work.

B and I have a unique situation. He goes to school all day long and studies. I write small posts for a blog back home and babysit every other day. I run the school's little Coffee Cart once a week. I definitely have more time on my hands. But, should that mean I clean up everyone's shit? I don't think so. I'll do B's laundry. I'm already doing my own. I'll make dinner, I need to eat too. B likes to help when he has the time. He always comes down and sits with me while I cook so I don't feel alone.

I don't want to be one of those women that treats their husbands like a mental retard when it comes to all things House Related. Is there a line that needs to be drawn? Is there a line? Should there be?


How do you handle these areas in your own relationships?

Did they differ once you were no longer a believer? Once you no longer bought into that 1950's Stereotype Bullshit?

Am I a little bit grouchy today?




-Emily





Yes. 

My New Best Friend is a Mormon?

When the spouse organization of B's medical school hooked me up with a sponsor, I was dismayed to find out the girl, Carolyn, was from Utah. I panicked. I agonized over what I would say to her once she asked if I was Mormon.

Would I say, I used to be? 
Would I say, My family is, but I'm not? 
Would I offend her?

I feel this need to proclaim to everyone: I am NOT Mormon. See, my Mormon background does not define me! Look, I'm from Utah and I'm not Mormon. Don't even THINK that I'm Mormon. I will impress you with my non-Mormon ways. 

Omigod!!Joseph'sMythProfitBookofMormonMusicalNPRDemocrat

IhateGlenBeck!AntiProp8ProChoice!HellShitDamnBooze!GoUtes!!

So when my sponsor invited me to go to the beach with her last week, I was a little nervous. I put on my bikini with pride, lathered up with sun screen (? Does sun screen "lather"?) and we headed out. Placed our towels on the sand and...Carolyn is wearing a bikini! I smiled. We started the typical Get-to-Know-You's. 

She asked, "What did your family think of you coming here?" 

I explained to her that they were very...conservative...and that they were pretty upset. That there was a little bit of drama. That my family hadn't really spoken to me in awhile. I mentioned they were Mormon.

She asked, "Are you Mormon at all?" 

I didn't skip a beat. 

No. 

She said, "Okay" and went on to talk about her frustrations with some of the Mormons on the island. She explained she hardly ever goes to church on the island. When she does, she stays for sacrament only. She doesn't think the Word of Wisdom is inspired. 

In fact, she couldn't even remember what it was called. 

"That thing. You know." 

"Uhhh? The Great Awakening? The Temperance Movement?" 

"No. No. That thing. No coffee and tea? If soda had been around then, for sure it would have been thrown in." 

"The Word of Wisdom?" 

"Yes. That. You know more than I do. You're a better Mormon than I am." 

I cringed at that one. But, she laughed and said she doesn't drink coffee or tea, but she wouldn't think twice if someone did. 

She's a convert. Maybe that's why she couldn't remember Word of Wisdom? 

She showed up to brunch wearing a swim suit under a sundress. I wonder if it's an excuse to not wear garments? 

I find it hard, even now, to throw off my judgements of Mormons. Tsk, Tsk. Where are your G's? You know better. 

Who cares? 

Am I better because I don't believe and therefore have no obligation? 

I find it interesting that although I don't believe the Mormons, I still judge like one. Categorizing those that are "better" Mormons than others. Hating the "good" Mormons and liking, but labeling, the "bad" Mormons. 

I snapped out of it, but I wish I didn't judge. 

In the meantime, I'm excited that my new Mormon friend is a "cool" Mormon. One of the least judgmental Mormons I've ever met. 

Thank God. 

- Emily

Lodestar

via

After hearing an interview on NPR (as if I listen to anything else) with Anne Zimmerman, the author of An Extravagant Hunger: The Passionate Years of MFK Fisher , I wanted to read something by MFK Fisher. She was a food writer and if there are two things I love -- other than sleeping -- it's writing and eating. 

In one of the pieces in MFK Fisher's book As They Were, she mentions a lodestar. 

Anything can be a lodestar in a person’s life...

It is fortunate to recognize lodestars as such. They light our paths, and shape us mysteriously, and in the process can teach true humility.

A lodestar is a guiding light, like the North Star. Something that directs you were to go, shaping your path. I got to thinking. 

I don't think I have a lodestar. As a Mormon, I might have read lodestar as "Holy Ghost" or "Book of Mormon," but now. Do I have a lodestar? Do I have a guiding influence? For me, one of the most frustrating -- and scary -- parts of leaving the church was the feeling of Holy-Shit-What-Do-I-Believe-What-Controls-My-Life-Now!???! 

I panicked after reading the lodestar. I've been feeling a little lost and chaotic after the excitement of moving here as become a little more day to day. I have to slow down and remind myself that I don't have to have everything figured out. Especially right now. If I can't quite figure out exactly how much food it take to feed only two people, I'm not the biggest domestic failure there ever was. If I have no idea how to get anywhere on this island other than the grocery store and the medical school, I'm not a lost moron with no sense of direction. I'm new to the island! If I try to drive B's jeep with the broken emergency brake and touchy clutch and...run it into a tree without even leaving the parking lot and a big, fat man laughs at me and shouts to B: "Better start praying!" I'm not a dumb girl who can't even figure out how to drive. I panicked! If the other spouse's don't "click" with me right away, it's not because I'm a social retard who can't figure out how to make friends. I just need to relax and smile and keep trying to make friends. 

I think the biggest reason behind my panic at not having that Lodestar in my life is I was taught (however explicitly or in-explicitly) to distrust my own thoughts. I was taught the ultimate Lodestar was in control and I, as a human, had no fucking clue what was going on. I was weak, I needed guidance, I couldn't trust my own thoughts without the approval of those in authority. I lived for that approval. In some ways, I still do. And it kills me. I long for approval, but at the same time, loathe it because of what it represents: I still don't trust my own instincts. How could they possibly be right? 

While writing this, I came to a sort of mini-realization: Fuck this. I'll be my own Lodestar. My own guiding light. I'm calling the shots here. I don't have everything figured out, but don't panic. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. 

Everything is going to be okay. De-programming and learning to trust yourself takes time. I sometimes feel like I'm not "recovering" as quickly as I should. The Church wasn't even that important to me until suddenly I had to evaluate it and then I realize how much it really did shape my thinking and EVERY SINGLE PART OF ME. 

I hate it. It's been almost two years and I still fucking hate it. 

Stop mindfucking me. Please. 

Just leave me alone. 

Let me be. 

Let me be me. 

Let me be my own Lodestar. 

- Emily

A Deleted Daughter

via

Yesterday, I emailed my family wishing them a happy Mother's Day. I asked them how their family party went and about the weather. It's sad that our interactions (or lack thereof as you'll see in a minute) revolve around asking about the weather. I let them know that I found a job as a tutor of two little boys and that B and I went to look at a puppy. 

It made me a little sad that I didn't feel like I could mention anything that I'm really feeling like,  

Oh hey guys, you'll never guess how many mosquito bites I have! 15! They absolutely feast on my legs during the night. It's so hot here, it's a little hard to sleep and I hear it's supposed to be getting hotter.  But, I wake up so excited every morning to start my day and do new things. I'm nervous about running the Coffee Cart all by myself tomorrow because I can't count change. I think it will be alright, I just wish I didn't have to wake up so early. 5:30 AM comes pretty early on island time. All the students and spouses are really nice, but I think some of the new ones don't like me because I'm only here for eight months and B is 4th semester. Plus, we live in a nice villa AND I've had no trouble (so far) adjusting to island life. They seem like they like B, but when I invite them to things, they don't really respond. Maybe that's just me being a little insecure about finally trying to be a little outgoing. I always feel like I say the wrong thing to people or worry that they don't really like me. I've made friends with the mom of the family I tutor. She's really fun and invites me to do a lot with their family. It makes me feel better (especially since you all basically ignore me now). I'm also going to go to lunch with my sponsor (who's from Utah!) on Friday. Even though she's Mormon, I think we'll really get a long. She seems really friendly and maybe a little lonely. It's nice to know there are Mormons I can be friends with. That's the great thing, I can be myself and not worry if people are judging me! It's an awesome feeling. B and I are going to pick up the puppy on Wednesday. It's the smartest and cutest little thing. J (B's dad) loves it just from looking at the pictures. 


Running a house is hard work. I never realized how much effort is put into keeping up with laundry, doing dishes and making everything look nice. I think I've been doing a pretty good job, but it's only the first week. Mom sure had given me some stiff competition. I think almost everyday how she gets done in one hour what takes me a whole week. 

B has come down with a bad cold. He's coughing and going crazy. It's been hard for him to study because all he wants to do is sleep. I've tried to get him whatever he needs and I feel bad he's so miserable. I hope he'll feel better soon so he can really get back to studying. 

Well, I hope you had a good Mother's Day. I wish we could talk. 

- Emily

None of that really matters because I found out (by checking the family email when nobody responded) that they've just been deleting my emails.

I knew they were mad but, do they really hate me that much? Email is for keeping in touch with that old aunt you don't even like. I can't Skype them because my dad "forgot" his Skype password and I knew if I called from Skype nobody would pick up. My island phone doesn't work internationally unless you want to pay out the ass. Again, I don't think they would even answer and I didn't want to risk that rejection. I don't think I could handle it, even if I did say I don't really care.

It still hurts. 

A very merry un-Mother's Day

via

It’s Mother’s Day today. I’m sure all the mothers at church enjoyed preparing Sacrament talks and cleaning up after the kids made them breakfast. Not to be cynical - but I am a little cynical - I’m really happy I’m not a mother today. Well, other than a potential mother to an adorable puppy named Emma and babysitter/tutor of two wild little boys.

I used to want kids early. Like, super early. Age 21 or 22 early.

The thought that I wanted to have probably 1 or 2 kids right now is a scary thought. I used to badger my boyfriend, “Please, we need to have kids right away! Perhaps by 23 or 24!”

Shit.

There is no way we could be living where we are and doing the things we’re doing:

copious amounts of writing, blogging, eating, cooking, friendmaking, puppy hunting and endless dishes, sweeping up sand ;) and laundry for me.

copious amounts of studying, reading, class, coffee, late nights and med. school stress for B.

if we had kids.

Maybe when I’m closer to 30. Med. school will be done. We’ll have gotten tons of crazy travel and adventures under our belt. I won’t feel like I’ve missed out on adventure. Not to say that kids aren’t an adventure. Oh my, they certainly are. Just not my type of adventure right now. It doesn’t help that my mom hasn’t spoken to me in weeks. I’m a little over it right now. I don’t have the energy to keep trying with people who, when I emailed them about Skyping told me they didn’t remember their Skype password. Hey Dad, you jailbroke your Iphone. I think you can figure out a mother (ha) f----ing Skype password. Or you know, create a new account? I’ll admit I haven’t tried extremely hard. And I don’t really care. At least not right now. Bad attitude, but I’m too excited about all the awesomeness on this island.

So, Happy Non-Mother’s Day to all of you out there. And Happy Mother’s Day to all those moms who work their asses off everyday. You’re strong women who do it all.

The Start of an Authentic Life

View from my Villa :)

Clearly the worst f----ing choice I've ever made :)

Want to know some other terrible things my "life of darkness and destruction" has brought to me?

• The sense of freedom that I can be whomever I choose 
• The self-confidence to rest assured with my life choices
• A kind and loving boyfriend/best friend who did the dishes tonight after I made dinner 
• A damn nice ocean front villa
• A sun tan
• A love of snorkeling 
• A freelance writing job 
• A raise
• Time to do whatever the hell I want
• Three nights straight of Happy Hour in the bar next door
• A puppy 
• LIFE 

It's good y'all. Start living it and try not to take advantage of it. 

- Emily

I really thought they might kidnap me

As I sit writing this, I have “run away” from my TBM family. After much thought ( a year!!), my boyfriend and I decided to move in together. I let my family know I was leaving.

All. Hell. Broke. Out.

My dad said he hadn’t felt this bad since his brother killed himself.

My mom said I didn’t give a rat’s ass about my family.

My sister said she wants nothing to do with me and pushed me into a marble countertop. This is the same sister who I slapped across the face for calling me a...skank I think it was, over my pin sized earring in the top of my ear.

I tried to talk to my parents about moving. After hiding out at my brother’s house, I decided to come home. Or I guess, what was once my home. My family continued to ask what the church had done that was so bad. What had The Church ever done to me?

Oh, let’s see….lied to me for 22 years?

Of course The Church didn’t lie. They didn’t lie because it’s true.

My dad (predictably) said: You have lost your conscious. You have lost your conscious and your morals. I can just tell by looking at you that you have lost ALL FEELING.

Hey dad? I haven’t been a virgin in YEARS. Way longer than I ever stopped going to church.

You might say, Emily! That’s WHY YOU STOPPED BEING MORMON!?

nope.

The Church rules are arbitrary. They mean nothing. Obeying or disobeying them has absolutely no basis. It’s like saying a United States citizen should go to a Canadian jail for not following the laws of Canada...while living in the United States. I don’t know. Maybe that is a bad example because the laws of Canada aren’t built on complete lies. But, I digress.

I’m tearing my family apart.

I made my gramma cry.

She compared me to my aunt who lives in a trailer park and never went to college. Not that I dislike those living in trailers. Rock on. There was an awesome trailer park where I went to college. Overlooked the ocean. Doesn’t sound half bad to me. At least my aunt GTFO of UT.

I tried to talk to my family. I told them I still wanted to talk to them. Visit them.

Well, I guess I can’t have my cake and eat it to.

I can’t do what they disagree with and expect them to support me.

And by support I mean talk to me. Ever.

I gathered together the money I owed my parents for the car I apparently no longer own, though my name is on the title. My parents put me on the title (they bought it), but apparently only those that are responsible (like my 16 year old self) can have a car.

I paid them for the phone my sister dunked in water and through across room when she read private messages to my boyfriend about how The Church is a cult.

My boyfriend told me not to worry because they are brainwashed.

Ah. Well. They didn’t take to kindly to that.

My mom yelled at me, “I hope you have a nice life.”

I was all I could do to keep from saying, “I hope I do too!!!!”

Both my parents screamed at me as I gathered my things.

I packed them (my things! Not my parents) into the car.

And I left.

If they weren’t so ridiculous, I might feel a little bad right now.

I’m sure it will come….- Emily

V is for...

Veritas: Truth

Truth Number One: My family asked me to house sit.
Truth Number Two: I rarely drink.
Truth Number Three: I'm a very small woman, not a full grown man.

Naturally, last night resulted in a lesson. Here is what I learned:

1. DO NOT go to the grocery store looking for booze just to prove to yourself that you can not, in fact, buy anything stronger than a beer in Utah grocery stores.
2. DO go to the State Liquor Store and giggle to yourself when you realize they actually are putting your white wine into a brown paper bag.
3. DO remember to buy a corkscrew. Save yourself another trip to the grocery store. Come on now, you really thought you would find one because "there are a lot of gadgets in those kitchen drawers."
4. DO NOT feel bad because the 17 year old ringing up your corkscrew looks at your like A corkscrew? Really? but at the same time won't make eye contact.
5. DO put on some classy music and make yourself some pasta.
6. DO NOT pour yourself another glass because, "What am I going to do with the rest of it?"
7. DO NOT pour yourself another glass because, "No, really. What am I going to do with the rest of it?"
8. DO try to eat that entire loaf of garlic bread. It's a great idea.
9. DO remember to turn off the stove. Also, clean up by covering the pot of noodles with saran wrap and put in the fridge. The entire pot. Yeah, that's right. You're smart!
10. DO NOT wake up totally miserable, feeling like you're going to die and Google: How to Get Rid of a Hangover.
11. DO drink a lot of water. Why weren't you doing this the night before? Oh, that's right. You were too busy drinking alcohol, dancing around your kitchen and laughing to yourself.
12. DO NOT put on sunglasses while driving to work thinking, "This must be what it feels like to be a Kardashian!" Are you STILL drunk?! (Answer: NO. I wouldn't drive if I was.)
13. DO NOT console yourself by deciding At Least Now I Can Blog About It.


In case you're wondering, the best cure for a hangover is to never drink. Thanks a lot about.com. You're a prude and nobody laughs at your jokes at dinner parties.

Also, there basically was no "rest of it."




- Emily

I have a dilemma

I know this doesn't start with a V. I interrupt my riff on the alphabet because:

1. I can't think of something that starts with V at the moment
2. I have a dilemma

I'm going to move in with my boyfriend. He lives in another country. Passport is in hand, birth cert obtained, new friends lined up, all manner of medications purchased.....

How do I tell my family? I live at home currently and I'm so grateful my parents allowed me to live with them. But, now it's time to move on. Grow up. Make my own way.

This isn't a fly-by-night discussion. I've been talking with my boyfriend about moving in together for a year and a half, but dealing with finding out the truth about TSCC and a subsequent eight month bout with depression last year AND telling my family where I stand with The Church, it just wasn't in the cards. I just wasn't able to deal with it. 

Nowadays, I'm healthy. I'm happy. I've worked out a job I can do online while out of the country. I'm stronger. I'm ready.

I just don't know how to break this news.


-Emily

U is for...

Utah:

I recently emailed the Spouse Club of my boyfriends medical school. I'd posted on their message board a few times asking various questions about moving to the area, documents that were needed etc. Through all these interactions, I've been vague about the state I'm from. I was looking forward to starting over without having to battle a stigma or explain myself. I emailed the organization about a sponsor (basically a girl in the club will email you answering any questions you have) and guess where my sponsor is from?

Utah.

The woman who emailed me was all excited that she had found someone "that [is] from Utah too!"

No!!!! How did they figure it out?

I scanned all my emails, posts etc.

Aha! The signature of my email.

Emily
Jack-of-All-Trades
Place Where I Work
UT

Fail.

I could never be a spy. I suck at covering my tracks!

Here's to hoping my buddy is normal!

I might have stalked her already on facebook.

And found that she is, in fact, Mormon.

Is it possible to ever escape!?

I've decided my new line is:

I'm from Utah. And not Mormon.

We'll see how it goes.

- Emily

S is for...

Sacrament Meeting

I went to Sacrament Meeting with my two little sisters and my dad on Sunday.  My dad is a member of the High Council. He is very righteous. He went straight from Ward Financial Clerk to High Councilman in a matter of years. For those that don’t know what a High Councilman is, I would relate it to...a vicar maybe? I’m not all that familiar with the hierarchy of other churches.  He’s a step above a pastor...he travels around to other Mormon churches in the area and goes to meetings from 6am to 6pm. It’s great. Point being, he is fairly important and extremely busy.

He spoke at a retirement home on this particular Sunday. The home has its own Sunday service.
My dad asked the residents to think of a time when they were most happy. What were they doing? How did they feel? He continued. It was probably when they were very closely following The Gospel. This interrupted my nice memory of lounging half-dressed, lightly salty in the mid-day heat of an Italian villa with my boyfriend; the sun cutting butter cream rays across our...Wait what? Church things? Sorry, young lovers.

Following The Gospel. He said when he was young, he married my Mom in the Temple, of course. There, there they made a promise to God. And to each other. He said he was happy then. They didn’t have much. But, they were very happy.

I told this story to my boyfriend yesterday. He’s a non-denom Christian. I wanted him to be upset. I wanted him to feel sad. Sad that my dad mentioned a promise to God as more important than anything else.

“I don’t know, Emily.” He said. A commitment to God is pretty important.”
 

“More than to each other? I think...I think I love you more.”
 

 “But, we won’t always be together.”
 

“You...you wouldn’t want to be with me?”
 

“We’ll be together. Just, not like we are now. Heaven isn’t exactly like Earth, Em. Or, is that what you think it’s like? Em? Honey? Is that what you think?”

I just left. (He lives in a different country, by the way. We were Skyping.)  I watched Say Yes to the Dress where the only thing that matters in a wedding is the damn Princess Dress. Eventually, I turned it off. One, I had a stomachache (may or may not be related). Two, it makes me sad. Mothers together helping pick out dresses. Some drama, but mostly excitement. Will I ever get that? Do I get a happy, wedding with the dress and the happy family?

My mom told me, “Don’t expect me to pay for your wedding if you don’t get married in the Temple.”

I don’t care if she pays for it. I’ll be old enough to pay for it myself, I’d prefer it. But, I want to celebrate with out my mom throwing out insults, my sister boycotting and my dad crying. Am I being a little over dramatic? Is it okay not to invite my family? I want to say Yes to a dress without it being covered by a damn green apron. I don’t want that to be the most important moment of my life. I don’t want a promise made to God in bakery costumes to be the best memory. I want to make happy memories long after that...and I guess I’m afraid if I don’t get the right beginning, I won’t.

- Emily

R is for...

Relatives:

 image source

A few months ago, my parents locked me in the car and drove around until I told them why I would not agree to hold a Primary calling.  (For the record, I live with my parents, though I have a degree and am saving up to move out.)

My dad, who at the time was the Ward Clerk, called me at work and asked if I would consider a Primary calling.  I said, "No, thanks."  Next thing I know, my mom calls me up demanding to know why I refused a calling.  I tell her I don't want to talk about, please don't call me at work and hassle me.  The answer is no.  Thanks for thinking of me, but no.  No. No. 

She continues to force the issue.  I keep saying nonono.  I don't want to talk about it.  Please don't call me up at work.  Please just drop it.  She calls me selfish.  Calls me rude.  Eventually hangs up with the request we go to dinner later. 

Now I know I'm in for it.  I panic.  But, like a fugitive running from the law, I'm also a little relieved.  I could finally express myself.  My thoughts.  I'd been depressed, almost suicidal for ninth months.  I was slowly climbing out of the deep, dark chasm.  The grand cave of depression and despair, hatred guilt and grief dripping from the ceiling, running in rivulets down the walls, carving deep scars.  I saw the tiny pin-pricks of light one afternoon and crawled towards them.  I didn't need this. shit.  pulling me back in.  I was ready.

We went to dinner, acted like nothing was wrong.  Like we all didn't know the dynamite that was about to explode.  My mom brought it up of course.  The quick questions darting out of her mouth like black, winged bats.  Tiny darts of accusation.  What's the matter with you? 

I kept repeating, I don't want to talk about it.  I don't want to talk about it. 

I got up and walked out. 

We drove around my neighborhood.  Their questions came at me like I knew they would.  You're lying.  You're faking.  You've been listening to other people.  You've been reading anti-Mormon books.  You think you can just be a good person!?  What do you know?  You're 22.  You haven't really thought about anything, you just don't want to do the hard thing.  This is just so easy for you to turn your back on. You're selfish.  You're unapproachable.  The whole family thinks they can't even interact with you. 

What part of this is supposed to be EASY!!???  I screamed at them.  I was almost suicidal FOR NINE MONTHS.  I asked you to go to a doctor over and over again and you wouldn't take me.  You know what you did?  You offered to give me a blessing!  I didn't need that.  I needed HELP.  You. didn't. help.

I think that's what hurt the most.  Two of my relatives suffer(ed) from depression.  My dad's brother shot himself in the head.  My cousin tried to hang himself.

But I, I tried to take the easy way out. 

My mother accused me of lying.  If my father wouldn't take me to a doctor, why didn't I ask her? 

Why would I mom? 

So you could accuse me of lying again? 

Poor Mormons.  Their families are forever so they can deal with bullshit for eternity. 

And I'm the dishonest one who can't think for herself. 


- Emily

If you could change one thing that happened last year what would it be?

I told my parents I prayed about it and my non-member boyfriend (whom I love dearly) and I couldn't get married. Note to self: keep some things quiet.

Ask me anything

P is for..

Apologies.  I had surgery this past week.  Don't think you all wanted to be subjected to my drug induced ramblings.  Though, I did schedule a return doctor's visit and remember to put it in my Blackberry calendar with the correct time, doctor's name and address while completely high on dental surgery drugs.  We now to return to our regularly scheduled posts.


 Polygamy...Priesthood:

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My ancestors were polygamists.  Family legend states the beloved apostle kept one wife in favor and the other far away, barely visited.  

I was exposed to a distaste and a disgust for polygamy early on.  My mother defiantly stated she didn't care if God himself came down and told her to practice polygamy, she was not going to do it.  I agreed.  Why should I have to share my husband?  As a Mormon woman, you spend your whole 20 years life looking for your Eternal Companion, and then you were expected to share?  Not okay.  

"Good thing we don't do that any more,"  I told my boyfriend B.  

He paused.  "You sure?" 

I stared at him.  "Of course.  You'll get excommunicated if you do nowadays." 

"But," he said slowly.  "What about in Heaven?  Can't a man be "sealed" to more than one wife?  And a woman can't be "sealed" to more than one man?  What would you call that?"  He wondered. 

I became upset.  This was one of the final straws.  A pin in a lock sliding into place.   

What the hell was it?

Eternal polygamy?  I railed against my Return Missionary friend.  "What the hell?  I've been tricked! How could I not have known?  How could I not put the pieces together?  Was I blind?  Was I stupid?  Explain it to me,"  I demanded.  "Explain this bullshit to me."

He  calmly quoted from Section 132.  

"Really convenient,"  I spat.  "Make Emma look like the bad one.  The Evil Woman.  Practice polygamy or be damned."

"Emily,"  RM said.  "In the next life, we won't care.  Why does it even matter?  Why does it bother you?  It's not that important."  

"I care.  It's important to me.  This is bullshit (clearly my word of choice).  I care now and I sure as hell would care then.  I would never just "get over it."  And to say, "Oh, no!  We don't do that."  Is a lie.  It's a lie and you damn well know it."

Needless to say, this friend and I don't talk anymore.  After I found out about Dusting the Feet, I attacked him.  His missionary "Priesthood Power" was a symbol of everything wrong with the Church.  Polygamy.  Lies.  Orwellian Ministry of Truth like historical revisions.  

I guess the only time I will accept polygamy is in my beer.

O is for...

Open:

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One closely related word, xenophobia. 

Fear of strangers.  Fear of outsiders.  Fear of difference.  The opposite of open. 

I grew up in The Bubble.  Suburban life.  Three siblings.  Mom.  Dad.  3.8 GPA.  28 ACT.  

I dated a non-Mormon at 16 after my Mormon boyfriend broke up with me over MSN.  I cried a few tears and asked the dark-haired, brown-eyed Persian boy (exotic for Utah!) I liked since sixth grade to the Christmas Dance.  He said yes and came with me and all of my friends.  My friends had been championing us to date since we were 12.  I was pretty excited.  

The two of us were awkward, as all 16 year old are.  We spent many hours "hanging out" at the local grocery store with out two groups of friends.  These two groups mostly glared at each other.  "Seriously, why are we heeeeeeeere?"  my friends whined the way only 16 year old females can.  Why did I always have to date the boys with weird friends?  Apparently our couple-dom was cute only in theory.  

My friends weren't the only ones a little chagrined at the developing relationship.  I snuggled up to my brown-eyed boy one winter evening to discuss The S-E-X.

N is for...

Never-Mo:

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B, my boyfriend, is known in Post-Mormon communities as a “Never-Mo.” 

A Never-Mormon.

Every Mormon parents' worst nightmare or greatest conquest.

These “Never-Mos” are either a missionary opportunity for conversion or an everlasting disappointment. 

Happily, B falls into the latter category, though I worry frequently for his sanity.  Does he really know what he's gotten himself into?  

I tell him, "Now, we are always going to be the different ones.  We'll be the Not Good Enough Ones.  You're going to be a doctor.  Still not Good Enough.  You're loving and kind.  Still not Good Enough.  You care for me.  Take care of me.  Respect me.  Encourage me.  Love me.  Not Good Enough."  

I don't think he realizes how deep the ties of Mormonism go.  

The ties are like the blackberry bushes I dug up for my mom one summer.  At first glance, the branches are spindly.  The leaves are tender and full of deep purple berries.  Look deeper, the thorns.  Deeper still, the roots tangle around each other.  Gnarled.  Suffocating.  Mangled.  Choking out anything else struggling to live.

I pulled up that blackberry bush entirely.  

But year after year, it returns. 

M is for...MORE

Marriage:

Continued....read the past entries on this topic here or here.

Because of the exclusive nature of the rituals associated with a Mormon marriage and family
unit, Mormons believe they have exclusive rights to the reunion of loved ones after death. Post-
Mormon used Bena explains, “My [Mormon] wife didn't get this concept. She was under the
impression that Mormons have corned the market on eternal families.” This is not an uncommon view.
Forum member Whitters relates, “I'm dating a Non-Mormon. My dad asked me, 'Doesn't [Boyfriend] want to be with his family forever?' I stared at him blankly. 'Dad. He does. You don't understand. The
Church believes they have this exclusive belief in families. All Christians believe they will be with
their family. All of them.'” Bena agress, “I told my wife many religions believe in being with their
families in heaven. I'm so arrogant. I'm amazed I used to believe this stuff. I guess they feel they have
a monopoly because they have to pay to get in.”

This “stuff” is the very cause of friction between both sides of the story. The cause of silence on both ends of the wide canyon. Members refuse to acknowledge the view of the non-believing loved ones because of how strongly they believe “this stuff,” this Plan. Though not a member of the Post-Mormon forum, resigned member Tyler comments, “I have resigned. My sister refuses to talk to me because I have ruined her Eternal family.That doesn't make sense to me. Why hate me in this life because she believes she wont see me in the
next? To me, this is all I have.” Post-Mormon user Whoa has a similar feeling, “I really don't want to
deal with the same shit for Eternity as I do now.”

At the heart of this issue are ultimately two sides of very hurt people pleading for the other side
to see their view. The exclusivity of Mormon families that “allows” family members to potentially be
with their families forever is the very same force that destroys them and divides them, an omnipotent
hand tearing at the hearts of all. This hand pulls the strings that keeps the Mormon view forever
focused on their Forever Families instead of the Here and Now.

L is for...

Losing:

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Some time after my 21st birthday, well after my boyfriend and I have discussed religion as he
researched a paper on Mormons for his history class, I consider his words: “You know B.H. Roberts
didn't believe in the Book of Mormon?” No. I didn't know that. How could I have known? I read and
read and read and read. I want to believe, but I feel like I'm playing a losing hand. In a few months, I
feel like an R.E.M. song.

Cliched.  I know.  

What songs do you feel perfectly document your life? 

G is for...

 Ganesha

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Ganesha is the elephant Hindu god of overcoming obstacles. He is said to bless new opportunities and is prayed to before the start of a new journey. I find this symbol, for that's what it is to me, quite appropriate for a journey of lost faith and self-discovery. On my trip to India, a purchased a marble statue of Ganesha. While I don't necessarily believe in Ganesha's ability to help me overcome the obstacles of my eminent ostracization from my family, Ganesha provides perspective. A new way of thinking. He was also murdered by his father. At least I don't have to worry about that...

C is for...

My goodness...it seems as if this blog has gotten off to a rather rocky start.  Shall my New Year's Resolution be to update this blog more frequently?  Yes!  I feel rather badly that I have neglected it!  I hope that in the coming year, my thoughts help those on their journey,  whether it is a resignation from Mormonism or perhaps a greater understanding of us so called "apostates."  Please feel free to share your thoughts.  

 But, enough with the apologies!  Onto why you really come here...because you like what I write, right?  



C(hoose) T(he) R(ight)

The mantra of the Church, especially for young children (and adults still treated as Emotional Adolescents), is Choose the Right.  Not right over left.  The right choice.  The right attitude.  The right behavior.  The right dress.  The right appearance.  The right friends.  The right people to date.  The right husband.  The right place.  The right time.  The right answer.  This usually means following the Church prescribed path. Didn't get the Already-Set-Forth-Answer?  Well you, my friends, are wrong.  You aren't trying hard enough.  You don't have enough desire.  And you certainly don't have enough faith.  Keep trying until you get the Right Answer.  We all know what it is.  We know.  We know because we have felt it.  And we can not deny what we feel.  We know because Prophets have spoken.  And we can not deny the Prophets.  But mostly, we know because we feel.  We prayed and we know what we felt. 

When I was eight, I was given a ring with the initials CTR inscribed on a tiny gold shield.  An expensive ring.  Not one of those cheap, silver-and-green deals you got in Primary.  The ones that inevitably turned your finger beautiful shades of green (as the cheap sterling silver wore off) AND purple (as it cut off your circulation).  

While playing at the playground one afternoon, the ring slipped off my finger and down into the grains of sand below. Tears filled my eyes. I knew my ring would never be seen again. My eight-year-old heart was broken. Acting as only a good eight-year-old could, I quickly said a small prayer, praying that my ring would be found.  The Primary president recently discussed in Sharing Time the importance of prayer.  I was eager to have a prayerful experience of my own.  

A few minutes later, my cousin scooped up a handful of sand, rays of sun glinting off a fleck of gold. A magpie couldn't have found my ring faster. 

Months ago, as a 22 year-old young woman, I prayed.  I prayed and I felt nothing.  I felt nothing until I sat alone in a room full of pictures of Christ.  It dawned on me.  The thought.  The clearest feeling:  What if it isn't true?

I can not deny what I felt.  The peace.   
 

Years after the gold ring was found, I told my boyfriend I was no longer obligated to choose anything as my CTR ring had long since slid into the murky bottom of a lake, winking at me as it drown.