Lodestar

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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

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

R is for...

Relatives:

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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

Q is for...

Quiet: 

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I’m getting frustrated.  

I wonder if anyone else feels this way.  The struggle between wanting to stay true to yourself and staying true to your family.  Do you remain quietly sitting in silence, respecting your family’s wishes, silently drifting like a specter through the hallways of your home?  Do you speak up when your family insists that teachings you find offensive and false and true and right?  Do you question your parent’s teachings to your teenage siblings or do you respect your parent’s wishes and right to teach their children all sorts of....beliefs.  

When my little sister asks me, “Aren’t black people cursed because of Cain? Isn’t that why they have black skin?”  I scoff and mumble something about melanin.  “You know.  It makes you darker.”  

“But, the Bible...I heard...”

“It’s melanin.  When your skin is in the sun, it produces more melanin...so...” I trail off.  Like I’ve mentioned before, science is not my strongest point.  I like it but, damn.  Tenth grade biology was a long time ago.  My teacher kept a dead fetus in a jar.  A floating, shriveled baby.  It scared us all into submission.  No wonder the basics of life science escape me now.  

I wonder:  is it easier to remain wrapped in the snug folds of Mormonism because it doesn’t require much thought?  I mean, relatively speaking.  I will be the first to admit, I didn’t think much.  The world around me?  Who cares? The Book of Mormon?  True?  If you say so.  Granted, I was 15 and what teenager isn’t completely self-absorbed?  

I did the whole EFY thing.  The Girls Camp Testiphony.  Everyone cried at the mere mention of Joseph Smith.  But I...stayed quiet.  Sure, the songs were nice.  Sure, Sarah cried her eyes out because she shared the prophet’s birthday. I stayed quiet.  I liked learning about Jesus.  I could get behind his Love Everyone message.  I read the Bible.  I wept openly when I read in John where Jesus tells his disciples, “You are my friends.” I felt Jesus was my friend...or could have been.  He was all about love.  And I wanted to be loved.  Those words made me feel secure.  Just the idea that someone taught that kind of love rocked my selfish, teenage brain.  Like those Relief Society sisters who set up their tablecloths and flowers proclaiming, “ I know this lesson was for me.”, I felt moved.  Certain that somehow, John had me in mind when inscribing those words.  

A few years later, my mom decided it was time to get my Patriarchal Blessing.  Patriarchal Blessing? Sure.  The day dawned.  I’d lost my recommend.  My parent were fighting with me.  My dad briefly considered canceling the whole thing.  But, we went anyways.  I met with the Patriarch.  A tall, old man with white hair.  We went to his house.  Chatted about...what I don’t recall.  Sat in his living room.  I nervously sat in a chair as he placed his hands on my head...

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.