Posted by:
Raptor Jesus
(
)
Date: June 25, 2015 06:19PM
I had the chance to be with this writing group that was sponsored by a local university. This was a group of about 15 people led by a few professors. I didn't know everyone's story, but I was sure we had at least a few active Mormons - garments in the summer are easy to spot - and active RMs never shut up about their missions and how great they are.
We had a writing project to complete, and one of our pieces was going to be published in an anthology. We were given a central theme to work around.
I was nervous about the project simply because I'm working on something big right now - and I also wasn't sure about publishing something under the name that's on my birth certificate.
I had a few ideas about publishing something quick and safe. Something that would give me more time to write for my own project. But as time in the writing group went on, and publishing deadlines came closer and closer - I didn't want to write anything that was safe. It didn't feel real, and I didn't want my name attached to something without some weight behind it.
I talked to the professors about some concerns I had. I told them that one of my writing voices is sometimes described as "deeply offensive." I told them that I wasn't the one who was selecting the audience for this anthology - so I wasn't sure what to do with that. They laughed and mentioned that this was the first time someone came with that concern. They told me that I could write what I wanted, but that I may run into problems with profanity given the audience that the anthology goes to.
I had a few other ideas for a piece to publish that ended up being rejected by myself. They weren't anything I wanted to spend the time writing. I had one more idea and one more day before publishing.
I came home to drink and write myself into oblivion. But I couldn't even start writing my last idea. It wasn't good enough. I decided to scrap everything. I decided that if I was going to share a story to be published, I was going to share a story worth publishing.
I ended up writing a seven page paper condensing my life in Mormonism, my missionary experience, and my exit out of the church. In order to keep stupid people from instantly dismissing my story, I sanitized the paper from jokes and profanity.
I was respectful of the church. More respectful than it deserves. I highlighted my love for the church and willingness to serve and defend it.
Because that was true. But I also highlighted the times I got in trouble by the church for having questions.
I highlighted being told that the illness I suffered from as a missionary was my fault, and how often I was criticized and warned about Satan and his possessive qualities. And how often I was equated to Satan. And that church members told me not to tell my story.
Because that was true.
I didn't go into detail about researching my way out of the church and the specifics about that. Instead I reemphasized that this was a church that wouldn't/couldn't answer questions without making the questioning process a personal defect. I also said that what happened to me on my mission was considered abuse.
Because that's also true. I left it at that.
After we submitted our pieces to be published, we read them to each other. I was nervous. I told the group that I had written this story before, and published it in other formats, but never under this name.
I read the piece. It was difficult to get through. It sucked the air out of the room. The returned missionary sat in silence because she had to.
After sharing time was over, four people came up to me and said, "That's why I left the church too." They each told me a little bit about their exit stories. One involved a woman who after leaving the church had her mother try to get her own daughter's children away from her because this woman was suddenly, "unfit to raise children properly." I told this woman that I wished I hadn't heard her story before - but I had - from several different women. She was surprised. I told her, "there are a lot of us exmormons. And most of us have seemingly crazy stories until we hear a lot of them. And then nothing seems crazy - nothing seems outside the possibilities of the damage that the church can do."
Two of the professors demanded hugs from me, the others just were incredibly grateful I would write and share that.
Some of the group members left quickly without any words. Probably because I just shook up a giant can of Satan and sprayed it all over everyone.
Whatever.