Don't get me wrong, that doesn't always happen. Sometimes my posts are misinterpreted. Sometimes they just don't resonate with people. I'm a writer, sure. I'm not a perfect one though. Some thoughts are well-received while others get buried in the sand. That's totally fine. Even though I know not every post will be a winner or the popular opinion, I still write because I need to give freedom to my thoughts. So I put pen to paper or....fingers to keys?
I publicly announced my departure from the LDS church a couple weeks ago. That was so hard, and as much as some people believe I was seeking attention, I didn't want to do it. I told the people who needed to be told and went on with my life chock full of pull-ups and messes. I knew people would talk about me behind my back, and honestly, I didn't really pay any mind to it because it wasn't directly affecting me.
Until it did.
See, gossip fuels certain feelings within us, so we feel the need to address that with the person at the heart of the gossip. This time it was me. I started getting some unsolicited messages that meant well, but deep down I had this pit in my stomach, this crippling anxiety just eating away at the very core of who I am: a thinker, a feeler. I was hurting that somebody felt they could simply remind me of something I had never forgotten, sending messages like "Happy General Conference Day!" when they knew I was disaffected from the church at the time.
I had let that go. I tried to just live my life the best I saw fit without the intention of ever coming out of the spiritual closet. I thought the gossip would stick to a small circle, but just as a wildfire does when left unaddressed, it spread.
That hurt too. Spirituality is such a personal thing; it's an experience that doesn't need to be shared with everyone. When someone divulged something I feel is so deeply personal in my own life to others, it pained me. It was painful to get more messages from people under the guise of following the spirit when I know there was talk. It was even more painful to have assumptions made about why I had left.
It had to be politics. It had to be the desire to do things contrary to church rules. It had to be that someone said something offensive. It had to be this, this, this.
Nobody asked. They just threw assumption after assumption in my face.
"Where do you get your information?" when I had said nothing about history. "Politics hardly ever bring the spirit" when I had said nothing about my political views regarding my faith.
What's sadder? I knew it was coming. I knew because I did this to others. I sent texts telling people not to jump ship, to think about what they are doing and what they are giving up, to consider the eternities. I might even go so far as to say I deserved all this.
But it still hurt. It caused me more anguish thinking of all the people who believe I am now someone to be fixed, saved, changed, altered. I am different to them. My identity has shattered not only as it pertains to the church but also people.
The consideration one makes to leave the church is not taken lightly. It rips them right open. It is disruptive and destructive, not because the person still believes what they were taught is true, but because who they are has so often been associated with being a Latter-day Saint. When that is ripped away, so is their identity.
There is this false idea in the culture of church that leaving is more convenient, that staying is harder, but it simply isn't true. For me, leaving was harder. Acknowledging my doubts was harder. Knowing that I once believed and decided to walk away was harder. Telling my family was harder. Hearing them cry was harder. Getting text message after text message was harder. Feeling like a project was harder, and it still remains that way.
Leaving is not easy, and I would never romanticize it as such.
The pain I already feel in addition to countless others who have chosen this road is exacerbated when someone says we should just go quietly. No need to announce it.
Sure, there isn't a guideline that I needed to post on social media, but it wasn't for them. It was for me. I felt I needed to share so I could put all the conversations about me behind me and make room for another chapter.
It isn't fair to expect a person to harbor any secret as it pertains to church or any other facet of life. When someone tells you to just keep it to yourself, more problems arise than are spared.
We weren't built to keep things in. We were made to speak.
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