Post 4: What?! You were raised Mormon?

Post 4: These posts began with a challenge to myself. I said that I owned my sh*t, that I own all the pieces of my past that have shaped me. So prove it. It’s easy to own it within yourself (or think you have); it’s easy to share these things with people you know love you unconditionally, who accept you for who you are. I feel (for me) that in order to truly own it, I have to be able to say it (without fear of judgement). But I’m not a f*cking robot; of course that pukey feeling still exists. Since I know what’s to come and since for the most part I have dealt with these things, it’s important to go back to the beginning. You know, share some background information. Something I hid more than my age was the fact I was raised Mormon. I’m am going to preface this post by saying these are my thoughts, beliefs, and experiences. I don’t speak for anyone else or for anyone else’s religious beliefs or experiences. From as early on as I can clearly remember, which would be elementary age ish, I remember being ashamed (yes, very strong word) of being Mormon. I can tell you from about that early on it didn’t jibe with who I thought I was, although I wouldn’t have been able to reconcile that at that time. How do I know this? I remember the comments and looks when I told my friends which church we went to. Yikes, talk about judgement. I doubt at that age they would have really known what that meant, but they thought it was different or weird, which in turn made me feel different or weird. And since most of us are just trying to fit in, it’s not something I wanted to be. I remember being at church -- I was about 10 or 11 years old -- and talking about something to do with alcohol and smoking and how these things were “bad,” and we shouldn’t associate with people who do them, we shouldn’t be in places where they exist. Avoid at all cost. “Hmmm,” I thought, “My dad does both of those things.” (My dad and his family were not Mormon) I couldn’t figure out how I was to on one hand avoid these “bad things” that make people “bad” and still love my dad. My view of religion is sort of this blind acceptance of what is “fact.” You get taught something by someone who has more “power” or authority than you, and you are to accept it and follow it without waiver. In fact to question it is a “sin.” Now I don’t know about your church or your religion, but mine talked a lot about accepting people, not gossiping, not judging, you know, “love one another,” but I remember hearing comments being made about “those people” and their “bad choices” or actions. Okay, noted. IF I do something bad, I am bad. If I do everything I’m told to do, I am good. And if I am “good enough,” I will go to heaven. Got it. Easy peasy (at the age of 7 when life is pretty straightforward). I remember recognizing the way people would justify things that were considered “bad.” (I quote that word because I dislike it. What is bad? Seems subjective to whomever is giving their opinion). Here’s a fun example: coffee and tea were “bad,” but I watched “good” Mormons drink copious amounts Diet Coke. I don’t know what the hell is in tea or coffee that’s not in Diet Coke that makes it so bad. I remember feeling from a very early age the disparity between men and women. I remember what was deemed “okay” for women to do, what their role was and all the “powerful” possibilities for men. I remember feeling that there was an imbalance of power, yet I didn’t really understand what made us so different. I realize that all these people were human, which is to say “imperfect,” and many would argue “this isn’t what the religion teaches.” At the age of 15, while I was “rebelling,” I stopped going to church. Plus I was doing all those things that were considered “bad;” therefore, I probably shouldn’t go anyway. My “badness” might rub off on the others. 😉 I stopped going and started questioning things, much to the dismay of my mother. I certainly didn’t share with anyone going forward my religious upbringing. Today, I don’t talk about it at all. While it is part of my past, I “own” it and it shaped who I am and what I believe, but that’s where it ends. In fact, I would say that it likely did more damage to how I feel about myself than it did good. I believe I can have a relationship with God in whatever form works for me, decided by me. I do not need to go to church or belong to any one religion. I believe life isn’t black and white but multiple shades of grey. I believe you can make mistakes and not end up in hell even if you don’t repent to whatever man is in power at the time. 😉 And if I’m wrong, that’s okay; I’m willing to pay the price. This was my inspiration this morning: Brave by Sara Bareilles

Feb 25, 2020, 11:21 AM