Aftermath

I remember the night I lost my testimony very clearly. It was a cold, clear night early in November. I wrapped myself in a blanket and stood outside on the balcony outside my apartment. I looked at the stars and cried-- there was nothing else that I could do. I don't know how long I stood there, reeling.

It was very late, and I had a class fairly early the next morning. I knew I was going to have to go back inside, brush my teeth, go to bed, and get up in the morning as if everything was the same. That night, I prayed like I'd never prayed before that I'd be able to make it all work, that I'd be able to understand, that the data would compute somehow. Of course it didn't. "Facts are stubborn things," as John Adams put it.

My early class was a religion class. It was surreal to sit there and know that since the last time I had sat in that chair, my world had turned 180 degrees. I knew that the implications of my conclusion could be devastating. I loved my college, and didn't want to leave it-- but now I was an outsider in my own culture. Everything I had been, everything I'd worked for and wanted, had gone up in smoke.

One of the clearest memories I have of that day is between two of my classes. I went into the restroom and just stood in one of the stalls, leaning my forehead against the cold, white tile of the wall. There were small, rectangular windows up near the ceiling. I looked up at the windows and tried to calm my reeling mind. I had a class in ten minutes, and I had to get it together. It felt like the world had come to an end, and yet the hundreds of people in the hallways and the classrooms and the bathrooms went on as if nothing had happened. I felt like a tiny, black, frightened, still dot in the midst of swirling white chaos.

By that evening I was desperate for someone to talk to-- not just to talk to, someone who would understand. I was still trying to convince myself that I could believe, but it was like trying to reconstruct a million pieces of shattered glass. It was impossible. None of the people I knew-- friends, family, classmates, roommates-- would be able to comprehend my situation or sympathize with it. I was afraid of being branded an apostate. I was worried that they would try to convince me otherwise. However much I wanted the truth to be otherwise, wanting didn't make it so-- I knew this acutely. I was in no emotional condition for intellectual sparring. I was spent.

In my desperation, I did something a bit foolish, but also the best thing I could have done at the time. I created an account on a website meant to offer support to people in my situation, and basically spewed my thoughts and fears onto the Internet for all to see. I was worried that the people on the website would try to push me away from the church, but at that time I basically just needed a shoulder to lean on. Surprisingly (to me), this website provided that shoulder. People responded with kindness and empathy and advice, not the pushing or judgement that I felt like every person in the whole world would give me if I shared my thoughts. I think I can safely say that these people, whom I will never meet in real life, gave me a life preserver when I was drowning. I learned that a change of world view is a survivable, and even a positive thing. There was still pain ahead of me, but the worst was over. I had lost my testimony, and I had survived.

Questions, Anti-Mormons, and Cognitive Dissonance

As I said before, I had very little exposure to "anti-Mormon" literature prior to college. My first real experience with anti-Mormons was in the first few weeks of my first semester.

While browsing YouTube one afternoon, I stumbled upon a "Banned Mormon Cartoon," which purported to expose some of the more controversial teachings of Mormonism, such as (among other things) the Curse of Cain doctrine and Adam-God theory, and the LDS belief that 1) God was once a man, and 2) we may become gods. I actually found the cartoon amusing in what I supposed to be its inaccuracy. It was amusing because some of its claims were, in fact, true, but most of them were patently ridiculous. I posted a comment on the video expressing this opinion, and almost immediately was rebuffed by former-Mormons armed with facts and references to Brigham Young's Journal of Discourses. I proceeded to argue with these comments, until I became so frustrated that I snapped off my computer in frustration and did not engage in the debate again.

While this incident did not really affect me in any way other than making me exceedingly frustrated, it marked the first in a series of incidents that would lead to my eventual loss of faith. Some weeks later, I got into a disagreement with my roommates on the subject of-- of all things-- nylon stockings. Apparently, a number of stake presidents had issued statements asking that all sisters wear nylons to church. I, personally, am not a fan of nylon stockings. They itch and scratch and are a pain to get on and off, and they get runs in them and are expensive to replace. I felt that if a stake president wanted to mandate that all women wear nylons, then he could wear them himself and see how he liked it. I voiced this sentiment, and the attitude of my roommates was that since a priesthood leader had given this directive, it must be inspired, and who was I to question it? After my roommates had gone to bed, I decided to look online to see if I could find anything about the legitimacy of priesthood leaders dictating feminine attire beyond modesty. I didn't find anything, but I did find several blogs, including Feminist Mormon Housewives, where other women voiced sentiments similar to mine. This led me to other discussions and articles about sexism in the LDS church. I don't remember precisely why this made me doubt the validity of the church, but it did. That night I wrote in my journal that "if the church is true, then I'll stick to it to the end. But if it's not, then shouldn't I look for what is?" I felt lost and sad, and didn't know what to do with the issue.

As the days went by, daily life and the routine of classes and homework pushed my concerns into the back of my mind. Not a few weeks later, however, a Google search in attempt to verify an LDS urban legend led me to a Christian site devoted to converting Mormons. The site listed a dozen or so things about the Mormon church that I had never heard, or had heard in the YouTube video but thought preposterous. However, I was easily able to verify that the Mormon church had taught such things as the Curse of Cain (the belief that blacks couldn't have the priesthood because they had been less valiant in the premortal life, and so were born into a line that was denied the priesthood) and the Adam-God doctrine (the belief that Adam was, in fact, God). I was confused and more than a little upset by this information. I emailed my Book of Mormon professor with my questions, in the hope that he would be able to shed some light on the subject. He was rather dismissive towards my findings, saying that anti-Mormons were always bringing up little things and blowing them out of proportion. They didn't seem little to me, though. If such things really had been taught as doctrine, and were later abandoned, what did that mean about the church? The thing about the LDS church is, it teaches that it is headed by a living prophet and always has been. Herein lies the conundrum: if Brigham Young taught one thing, and Spencer W. Kimball and Thomas S. Monson taught another, even opposite doctrine, which is the true prophet? One has to have been wrong. But the LDS church teaches that a prophet will never lead his people astray. How was I to reconcile this information? It was impossible.

As the days wore on, I forced myself not to think about these things. I started to feel physically ill when I did-- my heart rate sped up, I felt nauseated and clammy, it wasn't pleasant. This was making it difficult for me to focus on my studies, so I chose to "put it on the shelf," as Mormons say. I was willing to just stick with the LDS church in spite of my doubts, because I was sure that the problem was me, not them. I just wasn't smart enough to see how it all made sense. I was sure that if I just stayed true to the faith and endured to the end, the answer would make itself clear somehow.

The final straw came one Sunday night in early November. It's almost ironic how trivial that last straw was. I was up late, finishing up some homework that was due the next day. As was my habit, I checked my Facebook when I was finished, and saw that one of my friends was "attending National Hug a Mormon" day. I thought this was cute, and wondered if it really was a national holiday or just some dumb Facebook thing. So, naturally, I Googled it. As I browsed through the search results, I found more anti-Mormon information-- Joseph Smith's polygamy-- the Book of Abraham-- multiple accounts of the First Vision of Joseph Smith-- it seemed virtually endless. It all came crashing down on me; the last shreds of faith that I had been clinging to were destroyed. I felt so alone and helpless. The world was dark, everything had been destroyed, I was trapped, and there was no way out.

Prologue: Molly Mormon

I was born Mormon; it's that simple. Mormonism is what I was taught all my childhood, and I never questioned it.

Mormons are taught not to question. Oh, sure, leaders say that members ought to "gain their own testimony" and all that jazz, but in reality, members are discouraged from reading or watching anything not "faith-promoting." Any source of information which isn't openly pro-Mormon is labelled "anti-Mormon," even if it is in fact sympathetic to Mormonism, but is open about facts.

I was a very good Mormon. In Primary (the children's organization), I was a good little girl-- I memorized the Articles of Faith, paid attention in class, and I got baptized as soon as I turned eight. When I turned twelve, I joined Young Women, the LDS church's organization for teenage girls. I read my scriptures daily, attended all activities, did not date before 16, dressed modestly, earned my Young Women Medallion-- all of that. I had a very strong testimony. After high school, I applied and was accepted to one of the church's Brigham Young Universities.

As I was taught, I set my sights high. All I wanted out of life was a good Peter Priesthood who would take me to the temple to be married for time and all eternity, and with whom I would have five or six children. I never seriously considered what career I wanted, because working was plan B-- in case I didn't get married right away, or my husband got laid off or something. I planned on college, because the prophet had counseled women to get an education-- but never seriously planned on doing anything with my degree.

Growing up, I was exposed to very little literature that was "anti-Mormon." The closest I came was when, as a teenager, I stumbled upon a copy of Fawn Brodie's No Man Knows My History; the first non-hagiographic biography of Joseph Smith. What I read was very disturbing; Brodie painted a picture of Joseph Smith that did not at all resemble the picture that I had always been given-- namely, that of an honest, bright young man who was, like Samuel, called to be a prophet in his childhood. I did not get very far into Brodie's book before I had to give it up; reading it was too painful. In my mind, it was literally impossible that her account of Joseph Smith could be accurate. There was no question; she was either lying or misled. That was the end of that; the book was returned to the library, and I thought no more of the issue for the time being.

Growing up, I based much of my self-esteem on my... Mormon-ness, for lack of a better word. I played the piano and organ. I could be counted on to serve effectively in any number of church "callings." While I was assertive-- I made my voice heard when I objected to a certain activity or policy-- I never actually questioned the church itself. Any problems were the fault of the fallible humans running the program.

I was fascinated by the "Last Days" aspect of the LDS church. Mormons believe that the second coming of Jesus is very soon, and that it is being preceded by such things as war and natural disasters. In fact, there is a very specific sequence of events that is supposed to precede the coming of the Savior, particularly involving the Holy Land. I loved reading and discussing all this, and I was very excited for it to happen. I looked forward to being immortalized in the Millennium, and eventually becoming a goddess in my own right in the Celestial Kingdom.

As a teenager, I received what Mormons call a patriarchal blessing. That's where you visit an ordained patriarch, and he lays his hands on your head and gives you a blessing, wherein he tells you what types of blessings you may receive in this life and the next if you are true to the faith, what kinds of trials you may have to face, and such things (although the LDS church insists quite adamantly that these blessings are not any form of "fortune telling," but "pages from the book of possibilities").

My blessing was pretty generic, as these things go. It told me that I'd have the blessing of marrying in the temple and being a "mother in Zion." It mentioned missionary work, temple work, and homemaking. Later on, my blessing would become one of the hardest things for me to let go of.

It's sometimes difficult for non-Mormons to understand how difficult it is to lose one's faith in the Mormon religion. Mormonism promises literally everything-- that we have the opportunity to become gods and goddesses. The church was my primary social network. All my closest friends were members. My youth leaders were almost like relatives. All of them were depending on me to be true to the faith, and I let them down. I can't describe how hard it is to look back on the youth conferences where I sang, "Shall the youth of Zion falter in defending truth and right? While the enemy assaileth, shall we shrink or shun the fight? No! 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'll ever stand." The youth temple trips and girls' camp testimony meetings, where we promised each other that we'd be true to the faith, no matter what. I was so naive; I never imagined that there could be anything but Mormonism. It was my everything. Starting over after losing my religion was like literally picking up the shattered pieces of my life and rebuilding from the ground up. My self-esteem, my friends, my family, my future, my past, my present, my political views, all the happy memories of my youth and childhood were wrapped up in Mormonism. Losing that is truly devastating.