Personal Progress Stories: “My Journey is Not About Me Leaving; It’s About Me Finding”

A note from Bekah: LT and I got to live with Steph and her husband from the end of 2018 to the end of 2019. The first time we met was at a Harry Potter themed Halloween party at their Harry Potter themed house, and after LT and I crushed the HP trivia competition, it became clear that all four of us were destined to be friends. Steph and I especially discovered unique commonalities. We were both scrupulously obedient, born-in-the-church mormon girls who married young—our stories echoed each other’s, interplaying in ways she and I could and would discuss for hours.

Why “Personal Progress Stories”: Personal Progress is a program that all young mormon girls begin at the age of 12 to prepare them to become devout mormon wives and mothers. I’m coopting the term here to describe the once-mormon girl’s unique experience of continuing to progress outside of the prescribed program. Each of our stories echo and differ in endlessly fascinating and perfectly valid ways and I’m creating this sub-category to be a platform for those stories. My very first post on this blog described my own story. This post spotlights Steph’s in her own words.

Years ago I used to imagine people searching through my Facebook or Instagram account looking for clues that I was falling off the straight and narrow path (becoming inactive in the Mormon church) as I dropped little easter eggs of my inactivity. I would feel elated as I would post a little more skin, shopping on Sundays, a hint at my tattoos, suspicious drinks in my hand, mild swear words, then a lot more skin and a lot more swear words.   

My journey out of the church was slow, but deliberate. Yes, I am out of the church. Hell, I don’t even identify with the church anymore. And yes, I am very happy about it. I am not shy about this information in person, but this is the first time I’ve publicly discussed it.  

Let me set the tone of this message right: my journey is not about me leaving; it is about me finding. 

When I was a teenager, I was anorexic, suffocated by OCD, riddled with anxiety and of course the occasional panic attack. In summary, I was mentally fucked. I went to therapy, which helped me overcome my anorexia and I went from 80 pounds to 105 pounds. Sadly, my anxiety and OCD moved from food to the church and anything connected to it. I got married to my husband, Trevor, with the idea that he needed to be a “perfect priesthood holder.” I had to go through my religious compulsions every night before I went to bed (reciting certain prayers, reading a chapter out of the Book of Mormon, reading a conference talk from the Ensign, and writing in my journal…. Every. Single. Night.). I poured over religious materials, desperate for relief. Guess what, that made it worse. I also attacked Trevor frequently for not doing the same compulsions as me since I didn’t see them as compulsions. I did not make any connection between my mental issues and the church. It was supposed to be my saving grace, right? Well thank god (figuratively, I am agnostic now) that Trevor knew what was up with me.

It started with me working nights as a registered nurse. I would get off at 6:00 am and be expected to go to church from 9:00 am to noon, then somehow go back to sleep and be back to work at 6:00 pm. At the time, sleep deprivation made my anxiety even worse. Trevor would tuck me into bed and essentially say I couldn’t go to church. He would sleep next to me because if he was up, I would be up. And I loved this. I absolutely loved it. I started working every weekend just so I was justified in skipping church.   

The next few years, Trevor and I made choices together that previously had been “hard nos.” Yet, each step away from the rules/guidelines liberated me. I started to feel happiness. True, undeniable happiness. At first, I fought it. I remembered being told that one would not feel happiness without being part of the church. A couple times, I told Trevor we needed to give the church another shot. The guilt from being raised that I would never have real happiness without the church is what made me think this. The first time we walked into the building and I was flooded with anxiety. The same feeling I had felt so many times before, but thought was normal. We sat in the foyer and I started crying. Once again, Trevor knew the problem and we left. Another time, I was home visiting my parents. My Mom wanted everyone at church to see me. I showered and was about to put on my dusty Sunday clothes and that same wave of anxiety overtook me. I lay on the floor, naked, crying, and shaking until I realized that I was a grown adult and could skip church. I wanted to make my Mom happy, but also knew she would not want me at church at the expense of my mental health. 

Today, I identify as many things. A wife, fur mommy, fitness addict, and lover of life. My eyes have been opened. Everyone has a unique story that deserves love and empathy. We are all on this earth trying to figure shit out. I still respect Christianity, the Mormon church and its members. Most of my family are actively involved and love it. But they have also not judged me and given me only love in my transition. I have a firm belief that each person needs to find what makes them happy and run with it. I have found what makes me happy and wish that upon everyone on this earth.