Buckling Down or Under

So, we have a saying in our house when the stress builds up and the deadline is approaching. We say it's time to "buckle under." My husband said this a few years ago to a fellow PhD student who was preparing to take his oral exams--as words of encouragement. But my husband is good at getting common sayings wrong. I don't know for sure, but sometimes I think it's completely on purpose. In this case, of course he meant to say to his friend that it was time to "buckle down." It seems to me that when it's time to buckle down, it's usually a time I'm prone to buckle under as well.

That would be me right now. In my last semester of my graduate degree. Facing up to everything I didn't really learn over the past five years, but was supposed to. I'm about to buckle down and/or buckle under (is it possible to do both?). I know it will end. And I know that when it ends I will feel about 50% better about my life. But sometimes I'd just rather pass out under the pressure so I can no longer be responsible for what does or doesn't get done.

The parent-child relationship

I am writing a letter to my parents. I don't know if I will ever give it to them, but I think it's helping me to sort through my thoughts and feelings. Also, in writing things down with them in mind as the audience - when or if the conversation ever happens - I will have more context, words and coherent thoughts with which to talk about it.

The thing that started this letter to my parents is this: I had been talking to a friend recently about fear and the kinds of scenarios that might occur when you "come out" to your family. Her situation was a literal coming out, as in: she's gay. Mine is telling my family that I no longer believe many key Mormon doctrines. Hers actually took place a couple of months ago. Mine has not really happened yet. So this wise friend, in this conversation, asked me if I wanted to tell my family, and said that if I wanted to, then I should. If I didn't want to, then why bring it up just because it's heavy on my mind? How would it benefit either party? On this point, I wholly agree with her: if there is no need or desire to share, then don't.

After that conversation, I asked myself what I hadn't really asked myself before: did I want to tell my family?

One thing about my family is that we don't really talk very much about serious stuff. We love to hang out and goof around, but there is rarely any deep, sober discussion going on. I don't know if it's because we don't handle contention well, and so we avoid it in this way, or if it's just behavior patterns we have learned, or what. So the current state of my beliefs isn't a topic that will come up in general. I do want to say here that if the topic came up (and it has a couple of times - once with my sister and a few times with a particular sister-in-law), I would be open and honest about it.

I want to bring up another conversation that is somewhat related and is repeatedly on my mind. I was at the Exponent II retreat in Cape Cod this past fall at a panel regarding relationships with family members who have left the church. I found myself talking to someone privately after the discussion about being the family member who has "gone astray" and about my fears in telling my parents. She said something about how I was still in the child role in my relationship with them. I have thought about this a lot since and I'm not sure what to make of it.

But thinking about my relationship with my parents, and taking into account their feelings and also taking into account the many assumptions I have made about them which are not reliable (or necessarily logical), I decided that I genuinely did want to tell my parents - at least something, but probably not everything. As an act of trust. I trust them to handle it well. And it's the kind of thing I think they would want to know (this thought comes from imagining how I would feel as a parent of an adult child and how I hope they would feel they could be open with me about something so salient as this). On the other hand, I don't have any desire to tell my siblings or aunts or uncles or cousins, but I would tell them if they actually asked me about it.

Now I am composing a letter to my mom and dad. And it's harder than I thought. I am being bold but so careful in my wording. I am afraid like a child is afraid - of disappointing them, or worrying them. I am still a child. And I wonder if our relationship will ever change.

I mean, I think it will inevitably change, but in what ways will it change? Will that change happen only after we have had this conversation? Or not? Will it happen when our roles switch more dramatically - when they are aging and need physical care?

How have your relationships with your parents changed over the years? What occurrences or events do you attribute to these changes? Do you feel you have a child-parent relationship or more of an adult-adult relationship? Is the adult-adult relationship just a myth - or even desirable?

Letter to a new friend

I've recently written an email that I think could be a springboard for writing some sort of narrative about my faith. If you could let me know what you think is missing, or ask any questions you might have, it would be helpful to me. Here's the letter:

Growing up in the church, I felt like I always had to make sure I was saying and doing the right things. Looking back, I don't know why I felt that way except for fear of disappointing my parents, and perhaps fear of the consequences of life without the church - which I was taught meant pure misery. You had to be in or out. There is no gray, no in-between. But it's not like my parents were unbearably strict or extremely orthodox. My mom would (somewhat reluctantly) let me make my own choices as a teenager and my dad always portrayed an open-mindedness that sort of fueled my wonder and curiosity about life, the world, and everything. But I clung to the church and its teachings - because it was all I knew - it was everything and everywhere. It dictated my entire earthly existence and beyond. I knew exactly what I wanted from life. And so I did it all, without even thinking there were other options. I got married (at 21 because I knew I didn't want to go on a mission like all my siblings), finished my bachelors, and soon after realizing I didn't love having a job, had kids. Luckily for me, my spouse is a good person. And luckily for us, we love each other and we have gone through our anxieties and doubts over the church mostly together. In fact, I don't know that I would have examined my beliefs so closely except for him and his own "faith crisis."

So, why do we still go to church even though we don't believe most of the mormon doctrine and profoundly disagree with many policies/views the church maintains? I think mostly because of our families. 1) Because we have kids and we want them to be able to understand where their cousins, aunts & uncles, and grandparents are coming from, and we even want to give them the choice of accepting it for themselves or finding something else 2) Because it is so much a part of us, it is in our blood, it is our heritage (I am remembering something you said that night about defending mormons), we like mormons for the most part and feel like they are still our people, so to speak - it provides a nice network/community/support system 3) It gets the kids out of our hair for a couple or hours on the weekend, for free - I mean it - if we go to church on Sunday, I don't have to try and keep the boys from doing too much screen time (video games, tv, computer) or keep them from fighting with each other and most of the time while they are in primary, I just go out to the car to read instead of sitting in gospel doctrine and MAYBE go back in for relief society, but less and less these days because I come home with some anxiety when I realize how little I relate these days.

It's sometimes strange for me that my beliefs have changed. This doubt. And I'm just trying to become comfortable with uncertainty. But I am not too far removed from my past self, the believer. I clearly remember what kinds of thoughts I would have about non-members, non-believers, doctrines, "the spirit", the prophets, Jesus, ordinances & priesthood, word of wisdom. And it's kind of disturbing to me. How could I have changed so much? But also, how could I have believed those things and been so judgmental?

What I cling to now is my online community of edgy mormons or ex-mormons and I seek out friendships with those I discover are nearby. I want to find role models for staying that work for me. I don't know many intelligent, likable, strong women who stay in the church despite the parts they disagree with. Some of these women are friends, some are individuals I have run into at Mormon women's retreats. But they aren't in my ward or daily/weekly circle of friends (at least not anymore). When I interact with these women at the Exponent retreat or read their writing or about them, it makes me want to stay and have both, especially when I have been feeling down about finding a way to fit. I want to have the best of both worlds - the love and community of the church, but also have my own ideas about god and spirituality.

La Virgin

So today I lit a Virgin Mary candle. I'll tell you why.

First, I wouldn't have actually had the candle except for a new friend (a post-Mormon) brought it to me as a hostess gift when we had her family over for dinner. It was a whimsical gift. Without much significance between us except that (actually, I forgot the story she told me when she gave it to me - something about a giant Virgin candle). I like it. Jim hates it. Because it reminds him of his mission. Which is not a good thing in his mind. Anyway, because of his distaste, I keep it out of sight.

But today, Jim took the kids on an outing so I could get some work done, and I was all alone in the house. It was nice, but I was feeling stressed and panicky over the mere quantity of homework I have due very shortly. And there was a moment where I was crying because I no longer have the same old comfort in the form of a Dear-Heavenly-Father-help-me-do-this prayer for moments like that. I just can't do that sort of prayer anymore. So I thought maybe I should meditate, and take Jana's candle suggestion. I tidied up the room so I could feel calm and order in it. I got out The Virgin Mary candle, lit its new wick, and dimmed the lights. I sat probably for only 5 or 10 minutes thinking of the flame and the things I was happy about and the things I was hoping for. And it was just enough to get me calm, and ready to tackle the obstacles ahead. Then I put The Virgin away.

Thank you to Jim for taking the kids. Thank you to you readers for your comments, which are both useful and comforting. And thank you to Virgin Mary's light for guiding me from panic to calm.

On having a strong husband and other ramblings

One of my biggest fears surrounding my faith journey out of the church (doctrinally), is that I've just been following my husband. If you know Jim, you know that he is vocal and persuasive. He's a strong, dominant voice wherever he happens to be. And if I agree with an idea, I'll give it a try. In my experience, Jim's easy to agree with. On top of that, we talk about everything. We've always talked about everything. We are each others' constant sounding boards.

Now, it wasn't ALL his influence, to be sure. My Mormon study group friends and women's book group constantly left me with increasingly interesting questions to mull over.

(Does this post sound like I'm trying to convince myself of something?)

When I compare the follower-faith-journey-dilemma to my soda drinking habits, it makes me depressed. I honestly don't believe that I would drink diet coke every day if it weren't for Jim. I swear he started it. As soon as he had diet coke in the fridge on a regular basis (instead of that nasty code red mountain dew), I was doomed. I would have one occasionally. Then find myself, just because it was THERE, having one with my lunch every day. I would worry out loud about it and he would say that everyone needs a vice. It used to be that if it weren't already there, I wouldn't drink it. Now, if there isn't any left in the fridge, I'll be the one buying more! And I kind of hate that I do it. But it tastes so good to me.

But is that comparison even fair? I look at drinking lots of soda on a daily basis as an unhealthy practice - not good for people in general. But is leaving the religion (doctrinally, if not physically) you were raised in a bad thing? It probably seems like a bad thing according to your parents, and to those who fully believe. It is totally a bad thing according to the teachings of the institution itself. And when a Mormon has doubts about her doubts, her upbringing is so deeply ingrained that she thinks it's because she's slowly being led through the mists of darkness towards the great and spacious building.

The thing is, I like where I am, especially when I think of the person I was 8 years ago. Even though it is anxiety-producing place, often full of uncertainty. But still, I know what the course I've taken might look like from the outside. Like I'm blindly following my husband out - or like I'm following in a sort of passive way, to avoid marital conflict. That image really bothers me. And it makes me question my beliefs and decisions. I ask myself if that's what I'm doing. I imagine scenarios where I have changed my mind about things, and ask myself how I would feel NOT being on the same page as my husband in my beliefs.

There is just something in me that wishes I differed from Jim on more things, so I could feel more certain of my independence - in the direction of my spiritual path, and in making decisions that have to do with me alone. Or can any of my decisions really only have to do with me? I just wish it were easier for me to see the individuality and authenticity.

Going backwards

Sunday, before the bishop came over, I was already feeling weird about stuff. Weird because usually when I imagine myself trying to "go back" to believing things I used to be so sure about, I couldn't even conceive of it. But I don't know if my imagination was working overtime or what, because I kept picturing it throughout the afternoon. Or maybe I was just pinning down a memory of what I used to feel and think about spiritual things. But the thought would come to me: What if I decided I believe some of this religious stuff again? (key word: some) There are things I could never believe anymore, but could I believe enough to fit back into a rhetoric with God and Jesus in the center of my spirituality? And imagining this sort of thing was freaking me out. Because part of me doesn't believe that's possible. Part of me doesn't want it to be possible.

I wonder if my soul or spirit or some psychological part of me is yearning to have something back, even if it's just prayer revisited or some personally tailored ritual that will at least bring back some spirituality. Because that could be what I feel is really missing. I think I'm a lazy person. I know what is good for me and what I need to feel good most of the time, but don't want to put too much effort into anything that isn't exciting to me. The church made my spiritual life a given. It was already thought out and totally available to me like a to-do list and instructions; it was just a matter of fact. Now that I've let go of the church, I probably just need to get into gear and figure some spiritual things out for myself for once. And make time for them. Like meditating. It seems like a great option. I had a fantastic experience at the Sophia Gathering when (is it Judy?) played her flute while we meditated. But it's a lot like exercise to me (something I don't find very exciting so I don't find much time for). I think about it but rarely carve out time for it, let alone figure out some routinen that will work for me. Another thing I did a bit of lately (before classes started for me) was read Mary Oliver. When I look back on it, that seemed kind of like a spiritual boost. So, what are your suggestions? Experiences? Routines?


For the record, I feel good this morning. In fact, I haven't felt this good in the morning for a while. I didn't wake up with a headache and my mind seems unclouded. I wonder if some of that goodness has to do with letting myself write and connect this way. Thanks for reading.

A talk with the bishop

I never knew it would feel like this. Taking the path I've taken. I mean, when you imagine feelings it is not an accurate sort of thing because it is based on limited experiences. I talked to the bishop last night. Jim and I did together. He came over a little after 9:30pm and we had some small talk. Then, with some nervousness and sincerity, he asked us about our faith. Jim very eloquently told his story. I stumbled through unorganized pieces of a narrative I haven't really constructed. I wanted to be open and honest. I returned my questionable temple recommend to him partly with relief and partly with regret. Not that I ever want to go to the temple again - I think the regret had more to do with my getting it in the first place (was I dishonest because of the mental gymnastics I had to do in my interviews back in January?). I was uncomfortable. But I had no other desires than to make myself plain to him. No matter what it meant he would do or think about me. And now I feel more anxious. Which is not what I expected, but it is what it is and I must deal with it now. My secret doubts are no longer secret to my bishop.