I would argue that all of these things play a part in making up who we are in both how we view ourselves and how others view us. But if you strip away the intangible and leave only that which cannot be seen, what is left? If you didn't see my body, and didn't hear my voice, couldn't see the color of my skin or my body type, how would you describe me? If all that was left of me was my thoughts, beliefs, consequences of my actions and decisions, the intangible me, who would I be? And if what you thought you knew about those things completely changed, would your feelings about me change, too?
We could dive very deep into a meaningful (and potentially heated) discussion trying to answer these questions, but today, I'm simply going to address the spiritual part of me. Spirituality is a sacred, personal part of who we are, and it looks different for everyone. Many people turn to religion to learn how to "feed" their spirits and find meaning and purpose for their lives. For many years I, too, spent the majority of my Sundays in church, both learning and teaching principles and doctrine of the LDS faith. You can probably guess by the title of this post where I am going with all of this. And believe me when I say this is an extremely difficult post to write, because I am going to be sharing the story of my spiritual journey, and how much it's changed over the past few years. Brace yourselves, and hang on tight...
I remember sitting in my bishop's office just after my 8th birthday, answering questions about my knowledge of Christ and the gospel. Typically this is a conversation held in private, just bishop and child, but if I remember correctly, my mom was there, too, because I remember clinging to her. I was confused, and didn't understand everything that was being asked of me. I knew this was a conversation in preparation for my baptism, but I wasn't entirely sure what that even was. Oh I knew what it looked like, but not what it meant. Unlike most of the other kids I went to church with, I wasn't raised in the church since birth. We started going when I was about 7 years old when my mom was newly married to my step-dad. I remember how uncomfortable I felt sitting among all those kids singing fun songs about Christ and following the prophet and lamanites from ancient history and families being together forever. I didn't know any of the songs or really have any idea what was going on, but over time, I learned the words and sang along, too. Before long, I had reached the age of accountability at the ripe old age of 8, and had the opportunity to be baptized. I remember very little about my baptism, sadly.
Over the next few years we attended church fairly regularly. I won't dive too deeply into personal family matters, but I will say that I often felt rather hypocritical going to church, learning about things we should and should not do, foods we shouldn't partake of, behaviors we shouldn't participate in. Many of these very things we were taught to avoid were right in my own home, and I was always very bothered by that. Sometimes I felt like everyone around us knew some of these things that I'm referring to, and I wanted to hide under a rock. I love my family dearly and this is not meant to be some exposé into our private family issues, but there were very definitely some issues there.
I will take a moment to say that for the most part, everyone was very kind to our family, and seemed to have our best interests at heart.
Into my teen years my participation in Wednesday night mutual activities was sparse, and I had almost zero interest in summer "girls camp." I went once or twice, but I hated it. I still felt like an imposter (though admittedly I really was never treated like one), and I always felt uncomfortable in super churchy situations.
Why? Why did I feel this way? I remember sitting in in fast and testimony meetings on the first Sunday of every month, and being envious of the absolute surety of the testimonies I heard from other members. I wanted so badly to feel exactly what they were feeling, and know without a shadow of a doubt that everything about the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints was true with every fiber of my being.
Eventually, still trying to sort out my beliefs and testimony I decided to get a patriarchal blessing. I prayed and fasted going into that day like I had been instructed to do and I had high hopes for what was to come. I was so excited to see what this blessing had in store for me. I knew that often times these blessings weren't super "specific," but by the time it was finished, I remember leaving the patriarchs house with my heart heavy in disappointment. I felt like very little of what was said had much to do with me. I felt like the patriarch struggled to connect spiritually and receive revelation for me, and he kind of stumbled through the blessing. In the end it felt very - superficial, and unfortunately, it was another blow to my fragile religious state.
And yet, I still did not give up on gaining a testimony of the church. During my teenage years I met a boy of the same faith I very much wanted to marry. I felt and still very much feel that we are soul mates, meant to be together and perhaps had always been together even before this life on earth. When we were 18 he decided to serve a mission for the church, and I very much did not want him to go. But, I knew that I had to let him go if we had a chance of being together. And so, for two long years he taught people about the church while I stayed home and worked and saved money for our future.
Not long after he returned home from his mission we were engaged, and shortly after that, we were married in the Boise LDS temple. During the time he was away, I fervently read scriptures and prayed, often begging God to help me develop a strong testimony of the church. I worried that when Matt got home he would be so spiritually far ahead of me that he might not want to be with me anymore. Luckily, that fear wasn't reality. I still worried about my shaky testimony. I begged and pleaded with God to help me find the way to an unwavering testimony. I knew with my temple wedding coming up I needed to be as spiritually ready as I could possibly be. I knew going into it that I didn't necessarily believe in some of the eternal principles of the temple (or at least that those principles were only reserved for worthy members of the LDS church). It didn't make sense in my mind that the blessings of the temple that I was promised weren't for every good person, LDS or not. The God I knew and the Jesus Christ I loved seemed different in my head and heart than what I was being told about them. Some things just weren't making sense. But still, I had a man I wanted to marry and a temple marriage was simply the next step in our lives.
Let me take a moment here to say that my struggle was NOT with my faith in Jesus Christ. I knew then as much as I still know today that Christ lives, and that he knows who I am and very much knows the struggles of my heart. I've never felt unworthy of his love or blessings because of my struggles. But I always felt like if I voiced those struggles or began to outwardly question many of the LDS teachings I didn't believe, that I would lose my worth in the eyes of the church; that I would lose respect of those whose faith in the church was unwavering. That I would potentially lose the love of the man I was marrying.
And so, I kept those struggles to myself, and continued to try to live the part that was expected in the church to try to become a great member with unwavering faith. Over the years I have had many callings in the church, most of which involved teaching the youth of the church. I was generally excited to receive these callings, because I felt like maybe teaching these kids the doctrine and principles of the church, I would strengthen my own testimony. I loved to teach those kids about Christ and how much he loves each and every one of us. But every time I had to teach something I didn't have a testimony of, I struggled. I would go into with a prayer and an open heart and once again beg God to finally reveal to me the truth of what I was teaching. I was always very careful to not let on to the kids that I didn't have a testimony of certain things, and if I had a co-teacher, I would usually try to find a way to have them teach that particular lesson. I didn't want to be a hypocrite, and I didn't want to feel like I was was being untrue to myself trying to teach something as truth when I didn't truly believe it myself.
For many years I continued on this way. I won't say that I never "felt the spirit" at church, because I did, and I did frequently. There is definitely truth in Christ for me. I even got up on occasion in fast and testimony meeting and professed my testimony and love for Jesus Christ and all he has done for me. Everything I said was true in my heart. For those of you at this point in my story remembering me in testimony meetings and that you felt the spirit when I shared my testimony - you're right. You did, because I did, and I never shared anything in those testimonies that I didn't absolutely know to be true. If you could go back and read transcripts of my words you would find that I was very careful in how I worded those moments, because I didn't want to say things that I didn't absolutely believe. Through all this time, I still tried and tried to gain a testimony of the parts i still never really believed. I went to church, fulfilled my callings the best I could, and still begged God to know the truth. One of the things we are promised if we remain worthy members of the church and follow the words of the prophets and magnify our callings and do all the things we are supposed to do, is that our testimonies will grow and truths will be revealed to us as found in Luke: “Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you.”—Luke 11:9 Well I knocked so long and with such vigor that the whole damn door nearly came off the hinges, but I never found the answer I so desperate sought. At least, the answer I kept receiving wasn't what I thought it would be.
I was disheartened by feeling like I wasn't finding the answers I had been looking for. As I became a mother, my quest to be a worthy member of the LDS church only increased as I wanted them to learn from birth about the church, hoping they would not struggle with their testimonies as I had. We blessed our babies, took them to church, and fulfilled all of our church callings. We occasionally went to the temple, but I disliked going because I never felt comfortable performing ordinances I did not 100% believe to be true.
As my children grew, my husband and I were both very literal when we told them that we wanted it to absolutely be their choice to be baptized in the church. I didn't ever want them to feel like they were being baptized because that's what every other 8 year old was doing and they were just going along with it. I told them they could wait to be baptized if they weren't absolutely sure about it. When Audrey turned 8, she was excited to be baptized, and I supported her. She could feel the love of Christ, and even told me that she felt "warm inside" when she was baptized.
The thing is, there is a lot of truth in the church, and that truth is in Christ. And Audrey could feel it. Christ's truth can be found in more than just LDS doctrine.
When Kellen's 8th birthday came around, we told him the same thing we told Audrey, that it truly was his choice. And he took it seriously, deciding to not get baptized. Unfortunately I was really worried what everyone would think about him and/or us. Because I went to church with really wonderful people, no one every pressured Kellen about it (at least to my knowledge), and I was thankful for that. And honestly, I was really proud of him for not just going along with what all the other 8 years were doing. He was truly making it his choice, and told me he might decide to get baptized when he was older. And I was okay with that.
Sometime around the time Camden was born (I can't remember if it was just before or just after), I was sitting by myself outside in the dark. There was supposed to be a meteor shower that night and I wanted to watch it. The kids were all in bed so it was nice and quiet. I remember looking up at the night sky and feeling very, very small, and also amazed that God thought he needed someone like me on the earth. It was this night while I was outside in the dark that I was overcome with one of the strongest impressions I have ever had. I won't go into detail about it, but believe me when I say it was not the answer I had been begging for, for so many long years.
And what I felt during that impression bothered me for a long time. I debated telling Matt about it for many months, but eventually I felt I needed to. I was not doing myself or my family any favors by continuing in a church that I didn't believe in, and that it was okay to make the very difficult decision to walk away.
When I shared this with Matt, I was extremely worried. Couples have divorced over things like this, and I didn't know how he would respond. I will not go into Matt's beliefs at all, because that's for him to share if he wishes and this is about my own spiritual journey, but I will say that I was surprised and relieved to find that we were actually on the same page about the church.
Walk away. Walk away. How does one simply walk away? Turns out, there's nothing simple about it. It's a journey plagued by doubt, discomfort, tears, and guilt. Oh, the guilt. It took nearly 5 years of preparing my heart to walk away from a church I had been a member of and fought to truly believe in for most of my life. I felt it was especially difficult to walk away because I no ill-feelings toward the church. My heart hadn't been hardened, I hadn't been offended or mistreated. I had only been shown kindness and made many meaningful friendships through the church. It truly is a community, and one that I could always rely on to help me through anything. The only thing they couldn't help me with? Forcing me to have the undeniable testimonies that so many of them carry with them.
I knew I could no longer play the part of someone I wasn't. I could no longer pretend to be "all-in" in the church. Was I a fraud? No, I tried, and I tried long and hard. I lived the life I was supposed to live as a member, read my scriptures, attended church, taught lessons, even paid my tithing for a while (another principle I really struggled with), and prayed hard to find everything to be true. But my heart wasn't all in, and eventually I knew it never would be. And that felt very, very sad.
Through the years I'd been taught that feelings like this were the work of Satan, that he was working hard to turn my heart from Christ so that I would be free to follow him. The thing is, nothing about the process was evil, none of it sinful. It was actually a slow, quiet organic progression of change over time. I didn't just wake up one day and decide that I would just stop going to church.
It's been a year now since I attended my last church meeting. The year has been hard, full of challenges and change. Not only did I leave a religion I've been a part of for most of my life, but my husband and I both changed jobs (me twice, technically), sold our home, moved towns, and started new chapter of our lives. I miss the familiarity of church, but I don't miss the longing I always felt, wanting to truly feel like I was in the right place. My brothers and sisters in the church would never have known, could never have known how I truly felt, because I didn't share the inner battle that waged for years and years within my heart. It was a silent, personal battle, and I eventually acquiesced to what I knew all along would happen.
To this day it hurts. I still try to hide the fact that I no longer am a part of the LDS faith from people, especially other members. When we moved into our new home, we requested to not be contacted by our new ward, a request they have respectfully accepted and left us alone. There are a very select few people who know about this difficult decision, though now there will be lots of you.
So, who am I after losing my religion? Who am I if I'm not living the gospel of the LDS faith to the best of my ability, because I no longer wrap my worth up in my adherence to the principles expected of me? Is my moral compass inter-woven into the teachings of the church, or do I have my own moral compass outside of those teachings? Finding my non-LDS self has been very confusing. Am I still me, whoever "me" is? And what about you - has your opinion of me changed by these revelations? Who am I to you now? I know many of you are reading this with shock and disappointment, thinking I would never be one of the ones to leave. What's changed?
Well actually, absolutely nothing about me has changed except what my Sundays look like, because the things I always believed to be true, my faith in Christ, my quest for peace and truth are all still intact. I still pray and meditate and always carry a prayer in my heart every single day. I seek peace and simplicity every day. Trying to mold myself into what I needed to be to be an all-in member of the church was too complicated for me. Whether I over thought it or under thought it I still don't know, during my struggle I lost sight of what I needed to feel spiritually connected. I have always had a sense of what my own truth is, and believe me when I say it really, really REALLY sucks that what I knew to be true didn't align with the religion I belonged to most of my life.
Maybe I won't always feel this way. Maybe someday I'll wake up and the testimony I always sought out will be hammered into my heart and not leave any room for doubt! This would truly be the answers to my prayers and struggles. But I don't think it will. My truth is way too simple for that. And after giving myself permission to untangle my worth from the the requirements of the LDS faith to be found worthy, I feel a freedom I have never experienced before. I'm still uncomfortable when people ask me if I'm a member of the church, because I don't know how to answer that. I have not, until now, shared any of this publicly. I haven' t been ready. But ready or not, here it is. my whole truth, the separation of myself from the church. I'll always be grateful to the church for accepting me with open arms and always treating me well, but I can no longer pretend to be a true believer when I never have been.
I hope this doesn't change your opinion of me too much. I'm still exactly the person I was before you read this, even though you didn't know this side of me. I've been writing this post in my head for a long time, and I'm finally feeling brave enough to share. I made sure my husband was ready for me to make this public too.
I feel closer to Christ and my own spirituality than I ever have. I have learned to pray and open my heart in a way I never have before. I'm still Kristina, God still knows my name and my heart. Matt is still my soul mate. I'll carry many of the lessons I learned from the LDS faith with me forever, but I will no longer claim to be an active member. Writing this is healing, in a way, because I'm not hiding behind the shadow of my secret any longer. And I didn't decide to write this to brag about my journey or try to turn the hearts of anyone, but I had a very strong impression a couple of weeks ago that I needed to write this not only for myself, but also for anyone who is struggling with their own faith. It's a very difficult journey, and it may not turn out the way you expected or even wanted, but give yourself permission to let go and just let it be. It's not worth beating ourselves up over. God is still there to love us and guide us even if we don't believe everything we are taught as truth, when we feel in our hearts that certain things are not true. Reach out to me for support - I'll be there for you.
And now I leave you with this parting thought:
"Who are you? This question is not as simple as it may seem. You may want to answer it with your name, but your name is just a label. You can change it without changing who you are. For that reason, your name cannot be your true self. Who are you, then, if not your name? You may want to point to yourself and say, "This is me," but is it really? You body can change as well. it is constantly aging, so what it is today is not what it was when you were five years old. It can also be changed in many ways, such as weight gain or loss, surgeries, injuries and so on. Therefore, your body is also not your true self. You may be temped to say that you are the mind inhabiting your body. This sounds reasonable at first, but then you realize the mind also changes. Like
your body, your mind today is not what it was a decade ago. you can change your mind about anything; it can also be changed by new information, education, environmental conditions and other external factors.
Thus, the question remains: Who are you?
You are that which never changes and never stops being you, no matter what other changes may be taking place. you are the eternal and constant you. you already know, at the core of your being, who you are, and yet it can never be described in words...just like the Tao." - Derek Lin
You be you, and find and live your own truth.
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