I was BIC and left the LDS church for good a little over ten years ago. At times, I still get blindsided by a flash of rage and resentment towards the church that consumed so much of my life and gave me so little. Have you heard the one about the square peg, round hole? That was me and TSCC from as far back as I can remember and thinking about the years I wasted trying to fit into the LDS mold of the perfect Mormon woman literally makes me nauseous.

Bear with me as I go back in time. Both of my parents were also BIC, I come from good old pioneer stock. My ancestors emigrated from Europe, crossed the plains, the whole bit.

My parents had their own issues long before I appeared on the scene. My paternal grandfather married a woman who converted for him, but in name only. She became an alcoholic and my Dad grew up as a child of an alcoholic, which all the typical behavioral results.

My maternal grandparents married in 1941 and my mom was born in August of 1942. Her father enlisted in the Navy and was sent to the Pacific for the duration of WWII after Pearl Harbor. Her mother, along with so many other women, went to work in a factory while the men were away at war, leaving my mother to be cared for by a variety of neighbors and relatives. One of these people sexually molested her from the time she was a toddler until she was about five, when my grandfather returned from the Pacific and they moved. In true LDS tradition and the cultural norms of the time, none of these issues were every acknowledged.

Skip forward 23 years. My mom was working as an airline stewardess, a job she absolutely adored when she met my dad at a singles dance in the city she was based at. She didn’t really like him much, but he was smitten with her and pursued her heavily for three months. Skipping to the point, she finally agreed to marry him because, here’s the kicker, he had prayed about it and received confirmation that they were to be married. After all, he was the priesthood holder, right? Sound like the foundation of a happy marriage to you?

So two extremely damaged individuals got married and proceeded to live a life of utter misery. All while bringing eight children into the world and presenting the façade of the perfect Mormon family. From the outside, we were the perfect family. Attractive, well behaved, intelligent. Inside, well, things were a little different. My dad traveled all the time for work and was rarely home. He really wasn’t much of a presence in our lives growing up at all.

My mom had developed what we now know is an Associative Personality Disorder in order to deal with the trauma of the sexual abuse she experienced as a small child. Although apparently there were indicators as she grew up, this didn’t become really obvious until she was subjected to the pressures of being, for all intents and purposes, a single parent in an unhappy marriage who had been forced (because it was what God wanted) to leave a job she loved in order to get married and have children. Her suppressed rage and inability to deal with reality was expressed by physically, verbally and mentally abusing her children. We, of course, didn’t know any different.

My earliest memories of her are of being afraid and trying to hide so she wouldn’t hurt me. As I got older and more siblings came along, I, and later my brother, became adept at taking the brunt of her anger to protect our younger siblings. My father was home only on weekends, usually two or sometimes three a month. When he did come home, he often arrived sometime Saturday and left again Sunday night, so we didn’t see much of him as children. We were expected though, to look like the perfect family at church. Since in our family independent thought or action was brutally punished, that is exactly what we did.

Needless to say, when I became a teenager I rebelled, big time. I had nothing to do with the church from the time I was fifteen until I was eighteen, when I went to BYU. Why BYU? Because I wanted desperately to leave home and my parents would only pay for college if I went to BYU. So I did. While there I was almost totally inactive, occasionally going to Sacrament meeting with a friend from the dorms when they bugged me about it, but never taking it seriously or going regularly. I started dating a guy I met shortly after school started and we became close, dating off and on until he left on his mission the end of our freshman year.

I transferred to BYU Hawaii halfway through sophomore year and loved it. It is a small school and for the first time I felt like I fit in to the Church, because I had a lot of friends (and lots of good looking guys!) in my student ward. Going to church was fun, but still not something I took seriously. I was at BYU Hawaii for three semesters, all the time writing faithfully and exchanging tapes with my boyfriend who was in France on his mission. He was due to come home in June and around January, in his tapes and letters, he started talking about how excited he was to see me and get on with life in a few months. I was looking forward to seeing him too.

In March though, he sent me a tape that talked about us getting married after he got home. I freaked out. I knew I was in love with him, but I also knew I wasn’t ready to get married. I was a basket case and I couldn’t figure out what to do. Looking back on it now, it makes me sick. It never even occurred to me that I had the right to say, “Sorry, I am just not ready to get married yet.” After all, he was a righteous priesthood holder, right? I had been told since I was tiny that my job was to marry a righteous priesthood holder, preferably a returned missionary, have children and take care of my home. This wasn’t what I wanted, but what else was I going to do?

For three days after I listened to that tape I hardly slept. I was so stressed out about what to do and what to say on the tape before I sent it back. I remember when IT happened. I was pacing my dorm at about two or three in the morning. I had a copy of Time Magazine sitting on my desk for my current events class and there was a picture of something from China on the cover. Suddenly, like a bolt of lightning, it hit me; I would go on a mission! After all, I would be 21 in a little over a month and no one could expect me to get married if I was going on a mission!

The very next day I went and talked to my Bishop and started filling out paperwork. I called my dad and told him I felt a “calling” to go on a mission. He did try to persuade me to wait a few months, but I was determined to be gone before Dave (the boyfriend) got home. I put in my papers and within three weeks after the semester ended, I was entering the MTC.

At the risk of sounding conceited, I was a rock star at the MTC. I am naturally outgoing and due to my childhood knew how to read people and adapt to their needs and moods really well. I was a pretty girl and people in general liked me.

I have a near photographic memory, so learning the discussions was cake. I was also heavily involved in Debate and Youth Government programs in high school and theatre in college, so I already knew how to be a persuasive speaker. Add that to the fantastic sales skills you learn at the MTC and I was constantly being recognized and applauded while I was there. I loved the MTC, everything came so easily to me and I was a star.

The only problem was the doubt hovering subconsciously about TSCC, but I brushed it aside and concentrated on learning how to be the best missionary I could be. After being subjected to the intense brainwashing program used at the MTC, I became convinced that I knew TSCC was true.

The first time I went to the Temple was literally two days before I went into the MTC. I was expecting this great spiritual experience and it totally freaked me out, I mean, it was weird in ways I cannot begin to describe. I went along with it though, believing it when people told me it would make more sense later and I had to have faith. It was my fault it hadn’t been a great spiritual experience. Going through the Temple again (you go every week in the MTC) it didn’t get any less weird and continued to totally freak me out every time. That too, I brushed aside and chose to believe I would in time have spiritual experiences in the Temple. After all, being in the Temple was the closest to the Celestial Kingdom we could get on Earth, right?

So, I was tearing it up in the MTC. The only problem was, I just couldn’t seem to gain a testimony of Joseph Smith being a prophet. Everyone said this was the most important thing and that once you knew Joseph Smith was a prophet, everything else fell into place. I prayed and prayed, fasted and prayed some more to get a testimony of Joseph Smith being a prophet of God because I knew I could not try to convert people to a faith I didn’t believe.

I had to go on a mission so I had to believe, I had to “know.” Finally, it was the night before I was due to leave the MTC. I was sitting on my bunk listening to my companion’s incredibly annoying church music tape (always hated those “LDS” bands). I was fasting again, hadn’t eaten for about two days and was faithfully studying the Book of Mormon and praying some more to “know,” when I somehow convinced myself that I was having a spiritual confirmation.

Honestly, there was a part of me that knew I was manufacturing this experience, I remember consciously choosing to shut that part down and go with it. I needed it. I needed that “knowledge” so I could be an effective missionary and lead people to salvation. That part I believed.

Thus commenced one of the most miserable years of my life, although I have to say I learned a lot during that year. I went into my mission with everything I had. I studied, I prayed, I went tracting, I taught discussions, I sang in Church, at Baptisms, you name it. I converted people and knowing that makes me shudder now. Knowing of people who converted because they liked me and I convinced them they were choosing God’s true church because I was and am a fantastic salesperson.

I was all about following the rules and getting baptisms. Then, somewhere between three and four months out, I got bit by a tick. I didn’t know it at the time, but I contracted Lyme’s disease. I got sicker and sicker but refused to stop. I finally saw a doctor at my companions’ insistence about ten and a half months into my mission. At that point it took all of my energy to get from the apartment to the car to the door of wherever we were going. I was throwing up every time I ate and had developed a terrible cough, had incessant headaches and a fever almost constantly. In spite of test after test, the doctors couldn’t figure out what was wrong with me. This was back when Lyme’s Disease was still new.

In another month and a half, I was out of the mission field and living at my Grandparents home. My parents had separated while I was on my mission and my dad wasn’t interested in taking care of me and my mom wasn’t capable of it. The rest of my siblings had been farmed out to various family members.

There are about six months from when I first went to the doctor on my mission that I just don’t remember. I don’t remember the flight back, I don’t remember much except snatches of time in the hospital. At some point after I was back they finally figured out what was wrong with me and started treatment. Unfortunately, Lyme’s disease needs to be treated immediately or it leaves you with permanent damage and I had already had it for at least eight months. It left me with a damaged heart, a compromised immune system, asthma, severe allergies to almost everything which I had never had before and muscle malfunction issues. All the blessings you get for serving a mission. Good stuff.

At any rate, once I recovered I started working, my dad wasn't paying for any more school. Initially I attended a singles ward, but once again never felt like I fit. Then my younger sister wrecked my car when I let her borrow it for a weekend.

I couldn’t afford to fix or replace it, so was dependant on other ward members giving me rides. I took the bus to work, but the buses didn’t run on Sundays. After a few weeks, the girl who was supposed to pick me up for church didn’t show up. I was tired of going to church and being ignored so I didn’t bother to contact her or anyone else and I just drifted back to inactivity. After a while I met the man who is now my husband, who was not a member of the church. We married and right after that he was transferred to a different state.

Everything went smoothly until I found out I was pregnant. I was terrified of being a mother, because of my childhood. I didn’t want to repeat the same patterns and somehow felt that since I was having a baby, I should get involved in church again. I also started therapy. About six month into my pregnancy, I went to church. That first time everyone was really nice and welcoming. This lasted throughout my pregnancy.

Once I had the baby though and lost my pregnancy weight, things changed. My husband had no interest in the church at all, never has and never will. He’s a pretty intelligent guy. He was, however, supportive of my efforts to be involved at church and never said a bad word about it.


I am a reasonably attractive woman, not fashion model gorgeous or anything but generally considered pretty. Once I was no longer pregnant some of the women in the ward started treating me strangely. It took me a while to realize that they acted as if I were a threat to their marriages. Apparently, since I was going to church alone and had a non-member husband, I must be after theirs.

I couldn’t believe what was happening. After all, I had a husband, who I loved; I wasn’t even remotely interested in anyone else, much less any of the husbands of these women, most of whom were major jerks. It hurt, but I tried not to let it bother me. It also hurt when people ignored my husband when he did show up with me to activities, threw parties and invited all the other couples our age I was friendly with at church except me and my husband. I was a regular visiting teacher, renewed my temple recommend and tried to feel the spirit when I went to the Temple, knowing that if I didn’t, it was my fault because I wasn’t faithful enough.

For the next ten years, I endured being treated as an outcast at church, while taking my kids every week. My husband was supportive and would go to social activities with me (where he was, without exception, ignored completely). I told myself over and over again, it’s not the people who matter, it’s about the Gospel. I filled calling after calling in Young Women’s, Relief Society, Primary. I did them well and faithfully. I had faith that someday my faithfulness would be rewarded. After all, living the Gospel is the only way to happiness, right?

I remember when the last straw broke. I had been serving as Primary President (not a small job!). I had recently returned to school. There, I had made friends who actually liked me, which was a refreshing change to being at church where I felt constantly judged and found wanting. Over the preceding ten years I had forgotten that I used to be social and well liked. I had become used to being treated differently because I had a non-member husband.

I knew, and do know, the Gospel according the The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. I have read all of the books of scripture used by the LDS Church multiple times (did I mention that I have a phenomenal memory?) as well as all the other accepted books, Jesus the Christ, A Marvelous Work & A Wonder, Lives of the Prophets, History of the Church, etc., plus many more.

There were always things in church doctrine and in church history I had problems with and questions about. The role of women in The Church, the stand on blacks and the Priesthood, views on homosexuality, polygamy, to name a few. There were also various inconsistencies across the standard works of The Church that bothered me. I listened to my Priesthood leaders and just put these discrepancies down to mistakes by men. The times I tried to ask questions in Gospel Doctrine, Relief Society or anywhere else, I was shut down and told that some things just had to be taken on faith; it would become clear over time. So, like a good Mormon girl, I ignored my doubts and questions and tried to have more faith and think less.

I tried a few times to talk to my Bishop about the challenges I was facing and how frustrated I felt. In return he patronizingly told me I shouldn’t be wasting my energy on school, after all, being a wife and mother and fulfilling my calling was what God wanted me to do. If I had enough faith, my husband would join the church and my life would be wonderful, in so many words. Needless to say, this did not make me feel better.

In addition to raising two children and going to school, I was spending every spare minute on Primary business. I was driving home from church one Sunday; I had been there, with two small children, diaper bags, Primary bag, snacks and all, for about eight hours that day. I was exhausted, I was miserable and I had a paper to write that night.

I felt like I would never, ever be faithful enough. I was not happy, not at all. Suddenly, it was as if someone slapped me in the face and said, “WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO YOURSELF?!! You do not have to be miserable, there is nothing wrong with you, life is supposed to be enjoyable at least part of the time and you deserve better than this!”

It was my epiphany. I did deserve better than that. I called the Bishop and resigned as Primary President. He wanted to come over and talk to me about it and I said no. I was firm, I told him there was too much going on in my life at the moment and I couldn’t do it anymore. That was the last Sunday I went to church. I was done.

It was interesting how once it became obvious I wasn’t going back, the way people from church treated me. In spite of all the negative experiences, there were people in the ward I had considered friends. I have one friend from church I still see regularly. Our friendship is not based on TSCC. The rest of them well, they just disappeared.

I still see people from church fairly often, at the grocery store, around town, once when I was summoned for jury duty. Almost without exception, all of these people, people I knew and worked with for years, pretend they don’t see me. I chose to leave the LDS church, so I am now invisible to the members of the church. It’s fine with me, obviously, these people were never really my friends and I am far better off without them. The friends I have now, actually like me for who I am.

It does still bother me sometimes, the years and energy I wasted trying so hard to live up to an impossible ideal I was brainwashed to believe was right, the ridiculous and demeaning ideal of womanhood set by a patriarchal charade of a church. I resent being brainwashed from infancy and the way it has affected my life. I still come up against issues stemming from that programming on occasion, but I am working through it, one thing at a time.

Definitely, I am better off without the church. I do consider myself a spiritual person, although I am almost fervently definitely anti-organized religion. I started my own business and I am working on my Masters in a subject I love.

I am at peace with who I am, what I do and with God. My family is happy; I have a wonderful husband who loves me and supports my choices. He is a terrific father and my children are almost all grown up. They are happy, intelligent, creative and wonderful people I am incredibly proud of.

I don’t hate the church, I still have family who are active members and if they are happy with it I am happy for them. I am, however, incredibly thankful TSCC is not governing my life anymore. When I look back on the years I spent living that way, it is as if everything is under a black haze. The sun finally came out and life is good.