The Brethren Are Not Always Right

With the recent handbook leak and everyone on social media sharing their two cents about not letting the children of gay couples get baptized, I’ve noticed I’ve been rolling my eyes a lot more frequently as I read my news feed. And honestly, I’m not that interested in this recent drama, so I’m not going to go into my opinion of this rule. But the thing that has bothered me is the responses of so many of my TBM friends saying stuff like “we need to trust the Lord’s time,” or “I follow the prophet who speaks directly to God and so I know this is what God wants,” or “I am just so grateful to be a part of a church that is led by a prophet of God who can receive revelation from God and not be influenced by what is popular.”

It makes me sad that I used to think these exact same things without ever questioning the brethren. The culture of the Mormon church is so much into hero worship of its leaders that so many people don’t even bother to think through issues for themselves. They rob themselves the opportunity of forming their own informed opinions. (I am generalizing here. I know a few church members who truly do wrestle with some of the policies and teachings of the church, but they are few and far between, in my experience.)

When I started to find out about some of the messy history of the church, I finally allowed myself to ask “what if the leaders were/are wrong?” I cannot express how freeing it was to simply allow that thought into my mind. One particular issue that I had always been uneasy about as a TBM was polygamy. I would explain it away by saying things like “I don’t know why the Lord commanded it, but it must have been important at the time because he would never let the prophet lead the church astray,” or “There are so many things that God comprehends that we cannot even begin to understand, and this is one of those things so I will just trust the Lord.” But at the same time, I remember telling my husband before we got married that I didn’t think I would be okay with practicing polygamy in the afterlife. The thought of eternal polygamy was very heartbreaking to me, but I sucked it up, and trusted that the Lord had a plan for me and I would follow it.

So when I read the stories about Joseph Smith’s polygamy, I was horribly conflicted. The prophet that I had been taught to revere and love and respect was not the man I had learned about in Sunday school. The two biggest issues I have with polygamy (there are way more than 2, but these are the ones that really make my blood boil!) are that Joseph kept a lot of it hidden from Emma, and that he claimed an angel with a sword threatened to destroy him if he didn’t marry certain women. I read many apologist essays on the topic of polygamy, but when I was all researched out, it came down to 2 conclusions:

Either Joseph Smith lied about the angel threatening his destruction or he was telling the truth.

If he lied, then that is not a man I want to have anything to do with. There is no excuse.

If he told the truth, then that is not a God I want to have anything to do with. There is no excuse.

To me, Mormon doctrines (past and present) about polygamy are a deal breaker. The prophet Joseph Smith was wrong. The prophets who have tried to cover it up are wrong. The prophets who defend it are wrong. I cannot hear (or read) someone say that they trust the prophet no matter what without feeling sick about polygamy. I want my friends and family who are still in the church to wake up and make their own decisions. Maybe they will decide that they agree with the decisions of the brethren and maybe they will disagree. But I just wish they felt free to disagree. As distressing as it has been to leave the church, it has been equally heartening to gain the liberation and confidence to form my own opinions about issues without guilt. And that is something I hope all members of the church can experience someday.

Tender Mercies

I woke up this morning to a beautiful blue sky. Birds were singing, the sun was shining and the dog was pawing at the back door to go outside.  I opened the door to let him do his business.  As I closed the door to get back to my morning routine, I caught a glimpse of something out of the corner of my eye.  It was my crème brulee torch, sitting outside next to the grill.  We had grilled out the night before and we sometimes use the torch to light the grill.  I subconsciously brushed it off and went about my morning, getting the kids cereal and milk, picking up messes that I had been too lazy to clean up the night before, and getting everyone ready to start the day.  I had a slightly uneasy feeling as I went about my chores and was prompted to look back outside.  When I did, I again saw the crème brulee torch, but this time, I felt strongly inspired to bring it inside right now instead of waiting until another time when it would be more convenient for me.  I followed the prompting.

I went about the rest of my morning, completely forgetting about the situation with the torch.  I loaded the kids up in the car and we went to the gym.  It wasn’t until we were headed home from the gym that I realized why God saw fit to intervene in my life this morning.  Seemingly out of nowhere, the heavens opened and the rains came down.  The rains came down hard.

Oh the peace and joy I felt at knowing the God was looking out for me.  I was so grateful that I had been in tune enough to feel His promptings this morning.  I know it was due to the fact that I had not let contention into our home this morning so I was able to be in touch with the spirit.  Now I won’t have to suffer from a soggy topped custardy treat.  We will be blessed to have the indulgent crunch of a flame-caramelized sugar crust on our crème brulee.  I will not have to worry about a torch that would have been ruined had I not been spiritually prepared to see the hand of the Lord in my daily life. And for that I am eternally grateful.  #tendermercies

Maybe I should go back to church next fast Sunday so I can let my light shine and inspire others to be amazing, just like me, so that God will sprinkle just a bit more privilege down on their lives, just as He did mine. 😉

Also, here is a recipe for the most amazing chocolate crème brulee EVER!  http://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/paula-deen/chocolate-creme-brulee-recipe.html#

We Need To Set Some Boundaries

It’s Saturday night, 9:30.  My husband is out of town on business.  My mother-in-law texts:  “Do you want me to pick up the kids in the morning and take them to church?  I thought you could use a break.”

As I read the text, I got a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach.

I’ve seen lots of exmos on the Internet talk about the need to set boundaries with their TBM family members.  I’ve read horror stories about TBM grandparents secretly having their grandkids baptized behind the parents’ backs or interrogate the kids to find out if their exmo parents drink alcohol or coffee or tea.  My story is not so dramatic (thank goodness!) but really got me thinking about the need to set some boundaries with our families.

A few months back we sat down with my husband’s parents and told them that we no longer believe the truth claims of the church.  They obviously knew something was up, but we finally told them what it was.  The awkward Sunday morning texts of “should we save you a seat?” have slowly tapered off since that conversation, but that just led to these new offers to take the kids for us.  Usually we have an excuse because we have planned something fun to do instead of church, but this time, I had no excuse.  I could make one up, but I didn’t want to lie.  The more I thought about how I wanted to respond, the more frustrated I got.  My response ended up being a simple “no, thanks.”

What I really wanted to say was “yes, I could use a break.  I could almost always use a break.  Can I take you up on your offer to help out sometime besides Sunday morning?  The kids are actually the main reason I don’t want to go to church.  I really don’t want them there.  I might not mind going to church myself every now and then if it wasn’t for the kids.  I miss my friends from church.  I miss the feeling of community.  I think maybe I could even find uplifting messages in the talks and lessons.  But I know how to separate the crazy stuff from the edifying stuff.  My kids aren’t capable of making that distinction yet.  I don’t want them sitting through primary being taught that they are better than everyone else just because they were born into a Mormon family.  I don’t want them taught that modesty is all about the length of a sleeve or a skirt or that their value lies in their ability to repress all things sexual.  I don’t want them to be taught obedience over critical thinking.  I don’t want them to be taught that their parents or their parents’ friends are bad people for drinking coffee, tea, or alcohol.  I don’t want them to be taught about a God who would never let a prophet lead the church astray and then never mention polygamy, polyandry, the priesthood ban, or sketchy banking schemes.  So, no, I don’t want you to pick up my kids and take them to church.  I know you mean well and you think you are being that praiseworthy grandmother who takes it upon herself to make sure that even though her child has strayed, she can at least make sure her grandchildren are raised in the church (you know the one…there’s at least one of these grandmothers in every ward).  Or maybe you just think its an easy time for you to watch the kids for me since most of that time they are in primary and you don’t even have to watch them yourself.  Whatever your motivations, please don’t ask anymore.  If I want the kids at church, I will bring them myself.  But don’t hold your breath.”

In defense of my mother-in-law, and for full disclosure, she does offer to help me out with the kids at other times too.  For the most part, we really enjoy living so close to them, but its definitely time to set some boundaries.

Changing Moralities: Did I Lose My Morals When I Lost My Religion?

I’ve been wrestling with my conscience lately and I’ve decided its time to hash out my feelings and thoughts in writing.  Throughout this whole journey of losing my faith and coming to terms with life outside of Mormonism writing has been my therapy.  For me, putting my thoughts on paper gives them credence.  It helps me solidify my views and helps me gain confidence that my opinions are valid.  So today I am tackling the extremely controversial topic of abortion.  

I think it is important to start with the disclaimer that I am not 100% set in my opinions on this topic, or really any topic for that matter.  One benefit of leaving religion is that you learn to be more open to being wrong.  I have not researched abortion at all so I’m going from my gut feelings right now.  There may be arguments that could still change my mind either way.

While I was a believing Mormon, and blindly agreed with any church teaching, I had no moral dilemmas when it came to the topic of abortion.  I was okay with it in cases of incest or rape or when the mother’s life was in danger, but otherwise I was completely against it.  When someone would argue that a woman should have the right to choose because it is her body I just fell back to the usual excuse of “unless she was raped, she should have made her choice before she had sex.”  I still agree with this partially.  I do believe that if you are not prepared to be responsible about sex, you shouldn’t be having it.  (But my opinion on the matter is not stopping anyone from having irresponsible sex…)  If you are irresponsible about sex, are you really going to be responsible about raising a child?  But the more I’ve thought about the whole abortion issue, the more I’ve realized that abortion is not all about irresponsibility like I had previously assumed.  In my mind, the only people having abortions were young, unwed, sexually promiscuous women.  And maybe that is the majority.  But its not the whole story.

I probably wouldn’t have given the issue too much more thought except that I just recently had my third child.  Having a third child was a big decision for me and my husband.  The hardest decision we had with our first two was when we wanted to have them.  We already knew we wanted at least 2 kids.  When the decision became not when to have another kid, but if we should have another kid, the narrative changed.  And when we no longer believed God wanted us to have lots of kids or that any pregnancy that might have happened was part of the divine plan for our family, the narrative drastically changed.

No more belief that there are spirits waiting to come to our family.  No more eternal family dynasties to be built.  No more prescribed stance on issues to keep me from thinking for myself.

So my husband and I finally decided that another child was something we actually did both want.  We were slightly hesitant, because as anyone with at least one child can relate to, we were still struggling to keep up with the kids we already had.

My first two pregnancies were fairly easy, but this last pregnancy was definitely the hardest. By the end of it, I undeniably appreciated the argument that a woman should have a choice about what she wants to put her body through more than I had before.  You see, even an “easy” pregnancy is not easy.  The physical and mental things a woman’s body goes through during and after pregnancy are not pleasant.  So when someone argues that a woman with an unwanted pregnancy should “just” carry the child and give it up for adoption, here’s what they should keep in mind: morning sickness (from nausea to vomiting to food aversions to smell aversions, etc), headaches, heartburn, sore back, sore feet, sore breasts, sore everything, exhaustion, constipation, gas and bloating, swelling everywhere, feet growing out of your shoes, acne, gagging when you brush your teeth or wear a shirt whose collar even brushes against your throat—these are totally normal and MILD side effects of pregnancy.  Then comes the labor and delivery.  I’m sure most people are familiar with the horror stories here, so I won’t go into the details.  But don’t forget the after-birth issues like post partum depression, breast engorgement and mastitis, bleeding for weeks and even months after delivery, stiches, hair loss, uncontrollable emotional outbursts, stretch marks, weight problems, more acne, more constipation, sore vagina and butt, etc.  9+ months is a long time to be miserable.  (I know it is not miserable for all women.  I know a few crazy ladies who say they love being pregnant.  But from my experience, that is the exception, not the rule!)

I knowingly chose to put myself through these things.  I knew it would be a huge sacrifice and I knew it would be worth it for my family.  But a woman who is not prepared to make this huge sacrifice should not be vilified.  It is not selfish or vain to say “no, I don’t want to have to go through that.”  I think women who do put their children up for adoption are true heroes.  But that doesn’t mean that the women who choose a different route are weaker or less brave or don’t care about others.  Having a say in what happens to you and your body is something that should be respected.  You should have a choice.

Next comes the argument of when does life begin.  As a Mormon, that was easy.  I believed in the pre-existence.  I believed that all people lived as spirits before being born into this world to receive a body.  There was no question in my mind that abortion meant you were killing a child.  A child that was meant to be a part of your life.  Without belief in the pre-existence, I don’t know when I think life begins.  From my experiences bearing children, here is how I personally see it. I didn’t feel anything for at least the first 5 weeks of pregnancy.  There could have been a baby growing or there could have been nothing.  I was not emotionally attached to anything more than the idea of a child.  Once I did feel something, it was not a child I felt.  It was nausea and headaches.  By this point, I had gone to the OB and had seen the initial ultrasound that yes, there was actually “something” growing inside me.  But with the first two kids, all I saw was a speck.  With my last child however, I had my first ultrasound at 11 weeks.  I was very surprised to see that the thing growing inside me actually looked like a baby already.  I never felt any of my children move until about 20 weeks.  So for me personally, I guess I feel like “life” started somewhere around 10 weeks.  But I had planned for and wanted these children, so I can’t say if I would feel differently if my pregnancies were not conceived under the same hopeful circumstances.

Then came the OB appointments were we needed to decide which tests we wanted to have done that could show certain genetic conditions.  I decided I didn’t want to know.  I really respect my husband supporting my decision on this.  I never really opened the topic up to much discussion, because honestly, I didn’t want to have to think about it or deal with the hard questions at the time.  In hindsight, I hate to think of the pain and internal struggle that less-than-ideal test results would have caused.  I have had the experience of knowing and loving children with severe disabilities.  But even in my ultra religious days I struggled with the idea that God would purposefully allow people to be born this way.  I’ve seen some of the struggles that their parents face and I can’t even imagine how hard that life would be.  Right now, as I am writing this, I feel extremely guilty.  I don’t want to even write the words.  But here goes.  If I had known I was carrying a child with a severe genetic disorder or birth defects, I would have very seriously considered terminating the pregnancy. (Please don’t hate me!)

The last experience that really caused me to question my stance on abortion is the experience that I am living right now.  Having three children has been a really hard change for me.  The thought of accidentally getting pregnant right now scares me to death.  Yes, we use birth control.  But the thought that we could be the .001% is enough to make me panicky.  So while I’m waking up at all hours of the night to feed my precious sweet baby who I love dearly, I’m wrestling with my opinions about abortion.  While I’m screaming at the other two children who I have loved and adored everyday of their lives to please, for the love of God, just do one thing I’ve asked them to do, I’m struggling with my morality.  While I’m listening to another mother say how she can’t imagine life without her new baby and I feel guilty because I can imagine my life with just 2 kids, I’m troubled about what my principles should be.  Raising children is hard.  More specifically, being a mother is hard.  Being the primary care giver for little humans who suck the energy out of you in direct correlation to the amount of joy they bring to your life is hard.  It is a lifetime commitment.  Every day.  You don’t get a day off.  Ever.  Even if you are not physically with your children, you worry about them, wonder about them, think about them, love them.  This is no small thing.  You should be able to choose this.

I guess the conclusion I’ve come to, for now, as I’ve guilted myself back and forth over my beliefs on abortion is this:

Politically, I am pro-choice.  Personally, I am conflicted.

When I came to the realization that I no longer believe in a higher power who is concerned with my moral choices, I was adamant that I would not be what my Mormon friends and family expect me to be: a person who wanted to “sin” and has left all morals behind.  I now consciously try to be a better person than I was before.  But I also try to think more critically and examine different points of view than I would have considered before.  My religious friends would probably read this and think I’ve lost my morals and turned into a baby-killing, ethically-delinquent sinner.  That is not me.  It has taken personal courage to allow myself this internal debate and I hope that can be respected.

To Tell or Not to Tell: Coming Out as a Nonbeliever to My Mom

About a month or so ago, my husband posted a link to my blog on reddit and I went from zero page views to hundreds of page views within a few hours. It was really exciting and intimidating all at the same time and somehow the adrenaline of that moment gave me the last push I needed to finally call my extremely devout Mormon Mom and tell her my story (well, not my whole story.  I’m not that brave/crazy!).

Over the past 3 years I played this conversation out in my head hundreds of times. I’ve written letters that never got sent, I’ve agonized over what to say, and anytime I saw “Mom” come up on my caller id my heart would start racing because what if this would be the time she would finally ask. I live a few hours from my parents and we only see each other a few times a year, but I knew she had noticed my lack of garments (even though I’ve been very careful about not being obvious about it) or at least suspected something was up. The anxiety I was loading on myself over this inevitable conversation was getting to be too much.

I am a list maker. If I know something needs to get done, I make a list and I have a very hard time having things on my list that are not crossed off. That’s how I get things done. Telling my mom about my nonbelief had been on my imaginary to do list for far too long, and for me, I felt like I needed to cross that off my list in order to move on with my life in a more healthy, less anxiety-filled way.

So I paced around the house with my phone in hand rehearsing phrases like “I just want you to know that this was not a decision I came to lightly”, and “I have never prayed and fasted more sincerely than I did after I came across these difficult things”, and anything else I could think of that would help her understand that I’m not just lazy. I kept rehearsing and pacing, stalling more and more as I psyched myself up to actually make the call. Finally I just closed my eyes and pushed call.

Unfortunately, the conversation went just as I expected it would. I said what I wanted to say, but I didn’t feel like she really heard me. She went on and on about how she had to study and pray a lot to get a testimony of Joseph Smith as if I hadn’t just told her that I did the same thing just with different results. She pulled the “I can’t help but feel like a failure” card and “this is so hard for me because I believe in eternity” and “are you still keeping the standards?” (btw, what does that even mean/matter as long as I’m still a good person…which I had to explain to her that I still am…). I told her I would answer any questions that she had, but I also would understand if she would rather not talk about it. I wish she didn’t actually take me up on the questions thing. When my mom asked me if I still believe in Heavenly Father and my real answer is “no” but I knew that would break her heart I ended up saying  “I don’t know, but I’m okay with not knowing.”  After lots of tears (mostly on her part) and mutual assurances that we still love each other (this should be a red flag about your religion if these assurances as necessary…), the call ended amicably with an unspoken deal to agree to disagree and pretend like nothing had changed–we don’t like to draw attention to anything awkward or unpleasant in my family.

Even though I had expected these responses all along and had braced myself for them, when I hung up the phone I was so angry with my mom. I was physically sick to my stomach and I definitely didn’t feel that weight lifted off my shoulders like I was hoping to feel. Isn’t everyone on the ex Mormon internet always so relieved to be open about finally being able to “live an authentic life”? The only relief I got was that I could finally cross this off of my to do list, but mostly, I just felt sick.

It’s a strange feeling to be so angry with someone and know you shouldn’t be. I was in her shoes once. I believed it all at one point. I can’t blame her for her reaction. In her mind, she no longer has the perfect family that she used to have, that she worked so hard for. She has done everything she was supposed to do. She dragged us all the church every week. We rarely missed FHE, family scripture study, or family prayers. She did it all by the book and I am the first one of her children to stop believing. But my lack of belief has no validity in her world. She cannot understand it. Its not her fault that she has been indoctrinated and programmed her whole life to feel this way. So why am I digging up all of these resentful and angry feelings towards her when I know its not her fault?

I don’t know if I’m glad I came out and told her the truth or not. Part of me wishes I had just left it unsaid and let her think what she wanted. Then I wouldn’t have to feel this anger towards her and then the guilt for being angry at her. But I’m also the kind of person that still cares what other people think of me, and I felt like I needed to let her know it wasn’t just me being lured away by an easier lifestyle. There was nothing easy about losing my belief in Mormonism and I want her to know that. I can’t take it back now, so I just have to hope that she heard me even a little bit and be thankful it wasn’t worse. It definitely could have been.

Truth

Truth is in the eye of the beholder. Ever since I was a young child I was taught to dedicate my life to the cause of truth. Truth would bring me happiness, freedom, and peace. It was not until my early thirties when I started to question the truths I had been taught my whole life that I realized the world is full of gray areas, not just the black and white I was taught as a child. This realization led me to search out truth with more fervor than ever before. Slowly, the fervor melted away into acceptance that I would not be able to find the truth I longed for, ready-made and waiting for me. I would have to create it myself.

I grew up in an extremely devout and conservative Mormon family. Heavenly Father was the source of all truth and we could learn this truth from the Book of Mormon and the prophets. Priesthood authority came straight from God and could be trusted to solve any troubles that came into my life according to Heavenly Father’s will. There was no need for me to question any of the truths taught in church or in our home. I trusted my parents and church leaders completely. Their authority in my life combined with my positive emotions and experiences associated with church were all the convincing I needed of the truthfulness of their teachings.

“True to the faith that our parents have cherished,

True to the truth for which martyrs have perished,

To God’s command,

Soul, heart, and hand,

Faithful and true we will ever stand.”

 I was born in the early 1980’s. My elementary school days were spent learning how to use the card catalog at the library. The ultimate source of academic truth was the set of World Book Encyclopedias. If you could not find the information you were searching for in one of the books in your local library, your textbooks, or the encyclopedia, you changed your research topic. For a young school kid, there was nowhere else to turn for information. Growing up, my family owned our own set of encyclopedias. They were prominently displayed on our entertainment center, a decorative collection, status symbol, and invaluable homework aid. On the shelf next to them sat our church books. All the information we could ever need was all neatly displayed in the heart of our home.

“Choose the right! Let no spirit of digression

Overcome you in the evil hour.

There’s the right and the wrong to ev’ry question;

Be safe thru inspiration’s pow’r.”

 My generation experienced the shift into the Information Age in a significant way. As technology evolved, so did our ways of finding information, and searching out truth. By my middle school years, the gold foil embellished encyclopedia set on our entertainment center had become outdated and purely decorative. We were originally taught to trust authority, mostly because we had no other options. But as more and more information became readily available to us, we were encouraged to question our sources and think more critically about the information we found.

I remember these latter lessons coming from two main sources; my high school and college writing classes and my church classes. The academic lessons cautioned against using information that was unverifiable and encouraged us to research the reliability of our sources while the religion classes warned against any religious information that did not come from the church’s official website or publishing company and outright taught us to never even consider any other sources as truthful.

“Yes, say, what is truth? ‘Tis the brightest prize

To which mortals or Gods can aspire.

Go search in the depths where it glittering lies,

Or ascend in pursuit to the loftiest skies:

‘Tis an aim for the noblest desire.”

As a faithful Mormon, coming across any Internet article on Mormonism caught my attention. Curiosity to see what my Mormon and non-Mormon friends might be reading about my religion, I was eager and excited to read them. That is, until I came across an article that contradicted many of the things I had been taught my whole life. At first, I turned to my religious teachings that warned me that these sources were not to be trusted. But the contradictions were so troubling that I returned to my academic teachings which encouraged further research to confirm my faith. Instead of the confirmation that the claims of this particular article were false, I found multiple sources that confirmed these troubling accusations. My life was thrown into total confusion. For the first time in 30 years I questioned the truths that had been deeply ingrained in me since my earliest memories. It was terrifying.

“Where can I turn for peace?

Where is my solace

When other sources cease to make me whole?

When with a wounded heart, anger, or malice,

I draw myself apart,

Searching my soul?”

This experience led me to deeply ponder the question of whether or not there is a source of universal truth—a source that could always be trusted. My first instincts were to turn to religion and God as this source of truth, as I had been taught my whole life. The problem with this perspective was that amid all the troubling accusations I had come across against my religion, I could no longer feel the emotional connection with the God I was taught to know. My trust in religious authority had been betrayed and not even God could help me reconcile this betrayal. With my faith on shaky ground, I could no longer justify my previously held convictions of truth.

“The Spirit whispers this to me and tells me it is true,

And tells me it is true.”

If personal religious convictions are evidence of truth, then who am I to say that my religious convictions were more true than those of someone of another faith? How could I know that my religious convictions were truth when extremist Muslims have been willing to give their lives in suicide missions for the cause of their own truth?

“Let us all press on in the work of the Lord,

That when life is o’er we may gain a reward;

In the fight for right let us wield a sword,

The mighty sword of truth.”

A Pentecostal experience of someone of a Christian faith may lead them to believe that they know God’s will just as strongly as the Muslim. A Christian and a Muslim’s beliefs about the will of God are completely conflicting in many cases but each strongly believe based on their own spiritual convictions that they know the truth. The contradictory nature of religious truth claims seemed to negate them all as reliable sources of truth.

“Thus on to eternal perfection

The honest and faithful will go,

While they who reject this glad message

Shall never such happiness know.”

Since religious authority and convictions could not be my source of universal truth, I turned to science and evidence to lead me to truth. However, scientific findings are constantly evolving as new discoveries, tests, experiments and studies are being conducted. Science has proven itself wrong uncountable times throughout the history of the world. This can make many people wary of scientific evidence and words like “truth,” “causation,” and “proof” are used extremely cautiously in this field. While my trust in scientific evidence has always been strong, I have found that in today’s age of information, even experts with the most respected credentials publish opposing scientific findings, and these opposing viewpoints are easy to find. It can be extremely time consuming to try to find the truth about such things as global warming, childhood vaccinations, or the efficacy of fad diets or pharmaceuticals, particularly if you have not been previously trained in these fields of study. Knowing which side of the argument is more trustworthy can be very difficult to decipher, especially if you start your research with preconceived views about the topic. Our tendency to follow our own confirmation biases can often diminish the reliability of our findings, making universal truth an unstable element of invention.

Without religious authority or scientific authority as reliable sources of truth, I turned to faith. My ideas on faith have evolved throughout my truth-seeking process. I refer to a secular view of faith here. I have come to see faith as the act of moving forward in life with confidence that comes from any source that resonates with your life. It is being willing to experiment and try something differently. It is to be actively progressive in your own life, seeking out your own truths based on the things that you value. Faith is choosing to listen to and trust yourself and those who make the most sense to you when you come across authoritative contradictions. It is living life the best way that you know how, even when these inconsistencies in truth confront you.

“Do what is right; let the consequence follow.

Battle for freedom in spirit and might;

And with stout hearts look ye forth till tomorrow.”

After much consideration, I came to the conclusion that there is no reliable source for universal truth, and therefore, no use for universal truth. If we choose to seek truth in our lives we have to be willing to make our own personal truths and recognize that others are entitled to make their own truths as well. What we hold true may not fit the paradigm of another’s truths and we need the humility to not put ourselves above others. Personal truth is the only truth that I believe will bring happiness, freedom and peace.

A Confession

Don’t get too excited pervs of the post Mormon internet out there, this confession will not be like that time the 16-year-old me told my 40-something-year-old bishop about how I let my boyfriend touch my boobs…again. I’m keeping that story in my back pocket for a juicier post.

Here’s my confession for today: I really like being a Mormon housewife. And I’m pretty damn good at it too.

When I stumbled upon Mormon feminism, I loved it. But I kinda felt like a fraud at first. You see, I am a stay-at-home mom of 3 kids (and I’m even homeschooling them just for extra supermom points). I love to cook. I enjoy sewing and crafting and watching HGTV until my eyes go numb from staring at the screen. I love hosting playdates with cute little themed snacks and crafts and I have planned (and am currently planning) kids birthday parties that rival the best pinterest party pins you’ve ever seen. I’m THAT Mormon woman. (Except that I wear a little less makeup and definitely do not have the trendily coiffed hair or perfectly jamberried nails so commonly seen in the Morridor. Oh, and I’m an atheist…) Anyway, I still love the ideas and opinions of the Mormon feminists, so I wore pants to church one day. I was a little nervous at first, but didn’t think too much of it. My TBM in-laws who are in our ward were probably mortified, but I did get a few comments from a couple girlfriends who told me I looked hot and applauded my progressiveness. However, while the one pair of pants I own that are nice enough for church do make my butt look super hot, I find that I genuinely prefer to wear a dress or skirt to church. I like to dress up and look girly. I’m striking out quickly as a feminist here. Luckily, I realized that I don’t need to feel embarrassed by my mad domestic skills to fit in with the feminists, but rather I should embrace what makes me who I am, and what makes me happy.

So here’s to the new feminism—being proud of who you are, even if it is the typical Mormon housewife, aka the arch-nemesis of the feminists.  Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go bake some cookies.