Walking into Metal Chairs

by Karina

audio

Let me share an old Young Women’s activity that I went to when I was a Beehive.

The activity setup was about discernment: identifying the right voices and listening to the Holy Ghost. A maze of folding chairs was set up in the cultural hall, and the point was to navigate the maze from one side to the other. You would wait outside the door, a leader would put a blindfold on you, and then open the door for you and guide you gently to enter. Once inside, directions were shouted to you by the YW president (who I didn’t really click with) and a member of the Bishopric.

At the time, there had been a lot of lessons on priesthood, so I thought the answer was to follow the directions from the bishopric counselor. I thought this had to be an activity to reinforce those lessons. I started to follow the directions from the man, and I felt like I was going in the correct direction, but I kept walking into the folding chair obstacles and I thought it was my fault. It was never fully direct contact at the beginning, but more like when you cut a corner really quickly and get a sharp counter top edge right in your side.

Over and over again, I was clipping these folding chairs with my foot, my knee, and then finally I was fully stepping forward into these chairs over and over again. I realized I was at a dead end. So, my assumption was incorrect, and I had chosen the wrong voice to follow. This activity was not about listening to the priesthood or to the Holy Ghost or to God as male voices. I don’t think that it was thought about that deeply. I did begin listening to the directions from the YW president and was able to navigate the maze and back out to the hall.

Recently, I experienced internal moments of intense, hopeful personal growth, followed by frustration from external sources that felt like two hard-won steps forward, and then getting hit by a car and dragged 50 feet back. As I was trying to process these heavy feelings, this memory from the cultural hall suddenly popped into my mind. Stewing on it over the past couple of days, I realized a painful truth: I have again been walking into folding chairs for a very long time.

On a drive early this morning, on my own, I was ruminating on this past again and snapped! I shouted at myself in the car saying, “Enough! No More Reliving the Yuck! What would you re-craft this memory to be instead!?!”

So, here is what I would re-craft, recreate, and replace that Beehive experience to be for my thirteen-year-old self.

I can’t change how the leaders did the activity and I would probably still do everything the same up to the point where I realized that I was at a dead end. And then, I would stop, take a deep breath, and take off the blindfold. I would realize that I don’t need to strain to hear outside voices in order to get directions or instructions telling me what to do. I have all the information and context I need through my own senses, physical and metaphysical, to take the first step in front of me and then trust myself to continue to evaluate what to do next.

I HAVE ALL THE INFORMATION AND CONTEXT I NEED THROUGH MY OWN SENSES, PHYSICAL AND METAPHYSICAL TO TRUST MYSELF.

The maze hasn’t changed, and the room is still loud with competing opinions on how I should move through it. But the blindfold is off. I no longer need to bruise myself against obstacles just to prove I am listening. I am responsible for my own choices, and I am the one who needs to make them. The real dead end wasn’t the maze itself—it was the belief that someone else held the map to my life.

Breathe

by Carri

Naked, exposed, 
no shelter but the cascade of scalding water.
But here I stand, In a shower of realization. 
Truth, in glistening drops, 
bounce and trickle all the way down.

Breathe

I am afraid, 
afraid that you won’t love this version of me, 
afraid you will only judge and judge and judge.
And when I’m afraid, I retreat.
And when I retreat, you feel unloved and abandoned.
And then you are afraid, 
and you don’t have words to express that fear.
The flood of anger, blame, and judgment
swirl about my feet.

Breathe

We both recall how you took my hand, 
led me from who I was to a new me,
the me who clothed my nakedness with Love and Spirit. 
Yes, for a season, certainty held me, 
Wrapped me up safely, and perhaps too tightly. 
“Conform; don’t grow more than this.”

Breathe

But life and growth are inseparable, 
and maybe pain, too. 
Naked again, 
perched atop this tattered cocoon, 
and stretching cramped wings, 
still trailing shame and fear,
I breathe in freedom, expansion, and hope. 

Breathe

The woman, the girl, the child, the infant, 
All I have ever been, all still there inside me—
Some so obedient, so compliant—
But this season, this me, 
She is beautiful, and intricate, and new, 
With unfamiliar colors and patterns. 
If she surprises me, why would she not surprise you?
Where I find newness and growth, 
Like nectar, like air,
Perhaps you feel only the loss of that earlier me. 
The one you chose. 
The one you know. 

Breathe

It’s still me in here.
I’m still me, and I’m still here. 
And I want you to see me. 
I crave your love and acceptance, 
but I feel from you only what I fear:
Disappointment, judgment, resignation.
Do you see? 
Not standing in my way doesn’t feel the same as love, 
Not the same as acceptance. 

Breathe

I want to bridge this gap in hope,
No sting of disregard, of otherness, 
From the very one with whom I should be one. 
Growth is painful—
Sweet, bitter, beautiful, painful growth— 
But here I stand, 
On the eve of something,
On the morn of something.
Mourning something.
Wings untested, 
Waiting.

Breathe

The Night Hike

by Kristine Napper

Before I can tell this story from Girls Camp 1997, I have to

acknowledge that every adult involved genuinely loved us and believed they were doing something good. With that caveat on the record, I take you back to a Wednesday evening in the woods…

Gathered in the camp’s amphitheater, we’d been singing silly songs and performing skits. With the sun about to set, the stake president took the stage. We assumed he was going to kick off the annual night hike. The year before, we’d pretended to be the children of Israel following Moses through the wilderness, with lots of costumed visitors and immersive activities along the way. We were excited to see what this year’s theme would be.

Instead, the stake president told us gravely, “I’m sorry, but we need to delay the night hike. We’ve received word there are unauthorized guests on the premises. Until we get the all-clear, nobody should be crossing the grounds. Just head back to your ward’s tents, and sit tight.”

(Spoiler: This was a lie; the night hike had already begun. It’s obvious now when I’m telling the story, but I was an innocent barely 13-year old in an innocent decade to be a child. At no point in this story will my young self suspect she’s in a simulation.)

We all went back to our campsites and gathered around the fire. It was getting dark, and we were getting nervous. We didn’t know what “unauthorized visitors” meant, but it didn’t take us long to start freaking each other out with what it could mean. I tried to keep my own voice calm, but only because the girl sitting next to me had grabbed an axe from the woodpile, and I was afraid she’d take a wild swing if startled.

I’m not sure how long we waited, but I know it was completely dark when we heard the junior staff running down the dirt paths. The ones from our ward stopped and shouted at us, “We’re evacuating the camp! You can bring one personal belonging, but we need to get out of here now!”

Pandemonium. Girls ran every which way, grabbing stuff and screaming at each other. A few of the most practical girls carried flashlights, while others snatched their journal or snack stash. The one girl clung tightly to her ax. My own fight-or-flight system was entirely focused on fleeing the danger, so I stayed empty handed. Nothing I’d brought to camp seemed even a little bit important. Somebody, presumably an adult leader, put out the fire.

We followed the junior staffers through the dark forest, quickly losing any sense of where we were. I use a power wheelchair, and I normally move slower in the outdoors because the bumpy terrain is rough on my body. That night, I didn’t care how bumpy it was. I was racing along as fast as the rest of the crowd.

Until a leader stopped me. I was told the others were taking a route that wasn’t wheelchair accessible, and I’d have to go a different way. I didn’t ask questions. My mind was only repeating let’s go, let’s go, let’s go. I followed whoever they told me to follow, and a small group went with me. I remember a ward leader, the stake president, and Axe Girl in that group.

Now separate from the main group, we heard gunshots in the distance. My heart was racing faster than it ever has before or since. Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go. We couldn’t move fast enough for me. New thoughts started crowding my brain, like Where is my dad?? He was a camp dad that year. Why hadn’t he come and found me? If he wasn’t with me, protecting me, was he ok? More gunshots. Crying, holding back screams, trying not to make noise.

We emerged from the path we’d been following through the woods into an open field. The gunshots sounded closer. It was pitch black except for the lantern we carried. “They’re going to see us!” I whisper-screamed. I thought I heard men’s voices shouting in the distance, something about getting those Mormon girls. We tore across the field, an easy target. Ax Girl and I sobbed hysterically. I kept repeating under my breath, “Heavenly Father, please keep us safe, please, please, keep us safe, Heavenly Father, please…”

We continued like this on another path through the woods, and the next thing I remember is arriving in a clearing where the rest of the girls were gathered. White lights were strung around the area, and an adult was addressing the group.

Jesus taught through stories, healings, lectures, discussions, example, and probably more, but never through manipulation. It takes faith to let our young loved ones walk their own spiritual journey and discover their own truths, and it is our job to offer guidance.

At this point, we were supposed to understand that the whole situation was staged and there was never any danger. I don’t know how long everyone else had been in this meeting spot calming down, but I was too deep in panic to connect the dots right away. It looked to me like a space that had been prepared for the real night hike, and now we were using it to gather, load the cars, and escape. Some of the other girls were still as distraught as I was. Others were acting calm. A few were giggling. It was so confusing. Why are we standing around? We need to go!

Slowly, my amygdala ceded control to the reasonable parts of my brain, and I was able to hear the camp director talking about our pioneer ancestors who’d been chased out of their homes by violent mobs. This was supposed to help us understand the Mormon pioneers. We had never been in real danger. The gunshots were firecrackers. The voices were the camp dads. My dad hadn’t rushed to save me because he was busy scaring me.

They sent us back to our ward campsites, which looked like a tornado had passed through. As we cleaned up and relit the fire, we were instructed to hold testimony meetings.

Tears kept flowing as we sat in a circle, taking our turn to talk about what a spiritual moment we were having. We needed to explain the feelings that overwhelmed us, and we needed this to be the positive experience Girls Camp was supposed to be, so we scrambled for the words to make it so.

It’s been almost 30 years now, and writing this story still makes me shaky and tense. A family member who doesn’t know what I’m writing just passed by and asked if I’m ok; apparently I don’t look it. Every time there’s a mass shooting in the news, I flash back to being shot at while carrying the only light source across an open field. I’ve never actually been shot at, so I don’t feel like I’m allowed to claim an experience that’s real for other people. But at the same time, my nervous system believes it was real. There was no blood, no injuries, no loss of life. Everything was fine. But it didn’t feel fine. It still doesn’t.

To his credit, the stake president apologized for the part he played in the deception. He belatedly realized that he had given the Young Women reason to lose trust in our leaders, and he wished he hadn’t done it. A few parents in the stake were vocally upset about the whole ordeal, but only a few. Mostly I heard sympathy expressed to “the poor camp director” who cried when she got negative feedback.

At the time, I said everything I was expected to say about how much I learned and was touched by the Spirit. But I quietly felt conflicted. As an adult, at least I can say that I’m no longer conflicted. The whole activity was a terrible idea. It was well-intended by faithful and loving leaders, but somebody should have realized early in the planning process that it was a terrible idea.

At the most basic level, I can’t believe nobody considered the “what ifs.” Convince hundreds of teenage girls that they’re in mortal danger and send them running through dark woods. Some grab weapons. Some panic. It’s a miracle no one was seriously hurt.

We didn’t just learn about trauma that night; we experienced it. Trauma rewires the brain and continues to live in the body, especially if there’s no support afterward to help with healing. Nobody encouraged us to process our trauma. Just the opposite, we were immediately led through denying anything traumatic had taken place. We were expected to express gratitude and speak positively about the whole experience.

Everybody responds to experiences differently, and I’m sure plenty of girls left the night without any lasting scars. But I can’t be the only one who permanently lost some degree of my sense of safety. I now lived in a world where life could turn upside down or even end in an instant; a world where the adults who’d always represented protection and truth might lie to me. I recognize these are lessons everyone has to learn eventually, and it’s a privilege to avoid it in early childhood. But I believe in letting the cruel world teach its cruel lessons in its own time. It’s our job as loving adults to be sources of kindness and safety in kids’ lives, not the intentional source of pain. In other words, trauma will touch us all in some shape or form, but we should never manufacture trauma to teach a lesson.

I’m afraid this night at Girls Camp embodied one of the most toxic patterns of our religious culture—spiritual manipulation. The whole event stirred up overwhelming emotions and lots of crying. We’d been trained our whole lives to associate big feelings and tears with spiritual experiences. The lesson was heavily reinforced that night. We felt outsized emotions that most of us had never felt before, and were told it was the Spirit. We cried, and were brought into a testimony circle. How were we supposed to learn to listen to our bodies’ danger signals, when they’d been identified as spiritual? How were we supposed to trust our spiritual intuition, when emotions and spirit were indistinguishable?

If this piece makes it to any of the people who helped lead my Girls Camp in 1997, I hope they know I have nothing but love for them. I also hope that with time, we’ve all gained more wisdom. As we teach the next generations of children and youth, let’s keep referring back to Jesus Christ, the Master Teacher. He never needed tricks, manipulation, or gotchas to teach powerful lessons that resonate through the centuries. He calmed the storm to ease His disciples’ fears, but He didn’t create the storm. He was asleep when it started; it was a natural phenomenon. Jesus taught through stories, healings, lectures, discussions, example, and probably more, but never through manipulation. It takes faith to let our young loved ones walk their own spiritual journey and discover their own truths, and it is our job to offer guidance. Teaching without overstepping is a tricky balance, but Christ has set the example for us to follow.

The Prayer After the Prayer

by A.L. Call

Only after I kneeled
And said the opening dear,
Remembered to start with thanks
Before asking for needs
Never forgetting to dot my thys
And cross my thees
And close in His name
Amen

Could I crawl into the lap of my bed
And wrap my blanket tight in a hug
And feel the weight of the day
Be soothed by the tears on my pillow
It was really hard, I’d cry.
Where did I go wrong?
How am I going to do this?
Is this all there is?
Is it enough?
Am I enough?

Then an inner peace
Would caress my wounds
And heal my sorrows
My burdens lifted and set aside
And love would cradle me to sleep
Singing me the lullaby
Of the worth of my soul

The first was a formal letter.
A once drafted letter
Which I copied and pasted
And copied and pasted.
Someone else’s prayer.

The second is a visit with a friend
Where I don’t have to hide
But can share, listen, confide.
When I tossed out the one
The other was still there.

From a listener:

Hi,

I was listening to your book yesterday. I’m not at the end yet, but the chapter I was on talked about talking out loud at church about things not working for you. I tried that about 2 years ago and it didn’t go well. It was the first Sunday of the month. We had all received an email from a young man serving a mission in which a man in Oklahoma who was a native American wanted to join the church. First he smoked. He switched to vaping, but they had to tell him that that too was forbidden. Secondly, in their tradition, they smoke a peace pipe and they take one inhale and pass it around. He would have to give up that ceremony to be initiated into the church. My heart broke for him. I got up and shared that. I was crying. No one should be turned away who wants to join. Jesus wouldn’t turn someone away and say, “Go fix yourself and when you’re nice and clean, come back.” In addition, on that very week we were reading Galatians which says that no man is righteous enough to save himself. We are saved by grace and our good works are insufficient. (Paraphrasing!) I suggested that we should lower the standards for baptism but for those wishing to go to the temple and who’ve been around for a while, then impose these standards. How is it reasonable for someone to fix themselves without the support of the church? And when you get baptized, the Holy Ghost is your constant companion. So before you have the help of the Holy Ghost you need to fix yourself first. If we could fix ourselves, then what would we need with the church and God? (I joined the church 11 years ago, so it wasn’t that long ago that I went through having to reorganize my life into a tiny box to be acceptable to the church to get baptized.) In addition, I pointed out that the word “Unworthy” in the dictionary means “worthless; of no value.” We ought to use a different word, like not qualified, etc. It is brutal to say that to someone who is being turned away and told that their sins are too awful for them to associate with us or be in the temple. I know, because it happened to me. But when a person is in a situation to not pass the inspection, sometimes they are in a fragile place. I was. I was a single mother with 3 kids with no family and no friend. We were having a financial hardship. Then I found the church and was so happy. Then I was denied a temple recommend and found to be “unworthy.” I was excluded from events. It was humiliating. I was already fragile. I cried and wailed for months. My daughters and some other people saw the pain I was in and never wanted to have a part of the church. Doing this to me did nothing to make the church attractive to other investigators.

The result of sharing this? A lady came up on stage and interrupted me and reminded me that the purpose of this time is to share my testimony of Jesus Christ. So I concluded with, my testimony of Jesus is that he would never turn away one of his lambs who wanted to come to him and say, “Go fix yourself first and then come back.” As I spoke I saw a stone-faced crowd. No one had anything to say to me afterwards. I cried the rest of the hour as I was so distraught over the man being rejected. The bishop recommended I speak with the missionary when he returned. Other members told me that “unworthy” doesn’t mean “worthless” even though that is what the dictionary means. They didn’t know what it did mean. When I was found unworthy I was told I couldn’t go to the temple cause my presence would cause the Holy Spirit to leave the temple and my presence there would ruin the experience for everyone in the building at that time. Wow, I’m pretty powerful. We have a suicide epidemic that even the US government recognizes. They call it “suicide alley,” the corridor west of the Rockies—Idaho, Utah and Arizona. Their suicide rate is 2 1/2 times higher than the rest of the country. I would propose it is this use of the word “unworthy.” The Bible says, “worthy is the lamb” in Revelation. It is the only place where worthy is used, as best as I know. Men were righteous, but not worthy, in the days of old. They could call us “unrighteous.” Or even straight up sinners. But being told you are worthless and of no value is hurtful beyond measure, when your family members will not get saved and be in the same heaven as you. Or the reverse, they will get saved and you won’t get to the right heaven. Your golden ticket into heaven is what will make it possible to be united with your family and the bishop, one man’s opinion, keeps you in eternal outer darkness or some lower heaven. There is no appellate court. If you disagree, only his opinion counts. I told him I am worthy, but he disagreed and informed me that I had unholy thoughts. The Bible says, no man knows the thoughts of another man. But this man did! My daughter’s name is Daniella. The meaning of Daniel is “God is my Judge.” Well, the bishop is my judge. And isn’t Satan’s sin wanting to be like God, or have his power? So, isn’t the bishop doing the same thing as Satan? How could someone detest me so much as to wish me into outer darkness or a lower heaven and never to be reunited with my family? When I show up, tithe, help others. Yet he condemns me to who knows where but somewhere bad. How could anyone have such hate in their heart to do that to another?

Here’s another question that hasn’t been answered adequately. Genesis 1-3 We made man in OUR own image. Male and Female WE created them. From there we know that God was male and female and they together created Adam and Eve. So how is it that in the temple ceremony, the mother isn’t there participating in the creation of man? How is it Father and Son are doing it all together and the Mother isn’t even there at all. The ceremony goes against Genesis. Am I the only one who sees this?

One of the core issues that bothers me is that no one has an opinion about anything. They see nothing wrong with the word “unworthy.” They think it’s great that this man won’t get baptized. I guess they’ve never been on the receiving end of the rejection. I had a concern about why women couldn’t be witnesses in the temple. Oh, no no no, women can’t be. We don’t have the priesthood. No, no no. They like it that way. Then suddenly women can be witnesses and isn’t that great! Well, pick one. It’s great or it’s wrong. I see many things change. Prior to the change I said to the lady missionaries, wouldn’t you like to wear pants during the week? Oh, no. It is such a privilege to make this small sacrifice for the Savior and the building up of the kingdom for Christ. Then they make the change and they wear pants. What happened to building up the kingdom. Remember, it could only be accomplished in a dress? You loved wearing a dress? And now they are so happy for the change when a short time ago they defended the practice and loved it. Why can’t anyone have an opinion. Something as small as changing a light bulb. I said, wouldn’t it be great to get recessed lights instead of fluorescent? No takers. But if we got them, they would then think it was great. How can I be around people with no thoughts in their brain? It makes me crazy. I beg them to name one thing they don’t like, but are willing to go along with cause those are the rules. They can’t think of one. I’m like, how about new light bulbs? How about women being able to give a blessing for healing? They are just silent. Have they never thought about it? How do they have college degrees but no ability to have rational thinking? And I wind up castigated ever so gently. We are to show support and not be contentious. We must obey when we don’t understand. But what happened to democracy? And everyone’s opinion mattering? And trying to make a place better for having been there?

So I’ve been beaten down to showing up, like you, but keeping my mouth shut. No one wants to hear my opinion. My daughter too is gay. I think most families have a gay in there somewhere. And if not gay, some other thing that is unacceptable to the church. But they deny it. They don’t know a single gay person. Well shame on you. You have to be so holy to be acceptable in the temple that you can’t associate with the homeless, the prisoners and the gays. Only from a sanitary manner. Ok, it’s not always like that, but sometimes. One day on a Sunday morning after the coldest rainiest night, a lady read a fictional story about a little girl who froze to death. Everyone was in tears. I said, isn’t it interesting that this was read today. Last night surely many people in Los Angeles froze to death. When people are wet and the temps are below 40°, some people freeze to death. Their response? “That’s not true.” I don’t know how to help people who just want to live in a fantasy world of rose colored glasses. It is scientific. Street people die. I personally know of 3. And the quick and simple answer, instead of feeling the pain of someone dying is, “That’s not true.” I said, well, what do you think they do? “They go inside somewhere.” Did you provide shelter to anyone last night? “No.” Then where do you think they go? “The government has somewhere.” All 70,000 were housed? Impossible. Why do they fight me? They could just say, “That’s a tragedy.”

So I enjoy the friendship and activities. I believe in some of it. I like most of the lessons. But I have learned to keep my mouth shut or I will be publicly rebuked. Sometimes someone has quietly shared a hurtful story, but mostly I have learned to keep my mouth shut or I will not be welcome. So, when you encourage us to share, I have learned that this is not a safe place in which to do that. I really hate that part of the church. And, in fact, my attendance has been sloppy this year and I stopped tithing. The magic is gone. I no longer aim for a temple recommend.

—Cathy Williams

Hi,

I just was listening to your Episode 235 and there are several things that stuck out to me.

I am a mom of a young woman. She’s 14. Every path that she’s been told will lead to success is probably not there. Nursing, education, computer science, science at all—these are paths that are traditionally held out. Doctors. Lawyers. But the costs of education are so high. She’s an athlete. She’s trusting in her athletics to cover her schooling so that she can get a degree in the first place.

She’s getting the same messages her aunts got. I was never a YW. I’m a convert. And I always grew up with the idea that I will work and have a career. Being a mother was never ever on my radar. And being a mother isn’t on her radar. She pushed back in seminary when they said the equivalent of priesthood for women is motherhood. She asked what happens if she can’t physically have kids? Or if she can’t afford them. What happens if things don’t work out. Is she less? And why is her spirituality tied to something about her body? Isn’t she worth more than that. And I guess she inspired a revolt because I got the joy of meeting with the seminary teachers.

I’m shocked at how resilient these girls are. And how willing they are to take their friendships from seminary and all into the real world and rely on those. They have hope. They have amazing ideas. And they do not let adults squash on them at all. But the messages they’re getting are still the same ones her aunts got. It is just not the same world, but it is the same messages.

At some point the church is going to have to adapt or they will lose all the young women. She knows several gay young women who are in seminary because they believe, but who have plans to leave the church because the church can’t accept them. She’s decided that she won’t continue when she’s on her own either because the church lacks the flexibility or general desire to change with and support the youth as they are experiencing the world, and relies on the “older” times instead of leaning into what they are going through now.

Just wanted to throw all that into your discussions. Again, I love your podcast. But the church is going to lose them all.

—Natasha Wunderlich

I just finished listening to episode 170 and 171, and one part stood out to me. Susan and Cynthia and C.A. Larson were talking about how in the Bible it says that our sins will be shouted from the rooftops and how terrifying that was to learn and think about as children and youth in the church.

I’m currently reading books about the Bible and am taking a break from attending church meetings—though I still consider myself to be a faithful member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I discovered, to my horror, that only 8 of the 27 books in the New Testament can be traced back to their authors. And that the apostles never ever claimed to have written a Bible, or even wrote records for that matter. Almost every biblical scholar through the years has agreed that the Bible is a compilation of copies written decades AFTER Jesus had already been crucified. Luke was not written by the apostle Luke. Matthew was not written by Matthew. The apostles were illiterate and simple fisherman, how could they have kept records? They didn’t. Rich gentiles from the other side of the country heard accounts of Jesus, years after his passing, and wrote them down. It is horrifying to me that I never knew this. And while I know the Bible is flawed and has always contradicted itself at times, why was I never taught this?? All of these biblical teachings that were held against me and made me feel little, small, and worthless…and only one apostle can be traced to being a TINY part of it. Here I was thinking I was receiving everything I should know on how to repent and live my life along with the Book of Mormon.

I remember that verse about sins being shouted from the rooftops terrifying me as well, and I’m 26! Times are not changing quickly and neither are the lessons the church is choosing to emphasize. I can only hope that my daughter does not have to listen to these same teachings based on copies of copies of copies of rich men and who knows how many different accounts and eyewitnesses they used to write the Bible. Or I don’t know what I will do about my attendance in the church. I don’t want her to be afraid of my heavenly parents like I was and am.

—Olivia Muller

Sources : Jesus, Interrupted by Bart D. Ehrman.

Contributors:

Karina

Carri

I’m a communications professional who is still working to claim my voice in my own life. I both joined the LDS church and became a wife at 18. After 30 years all in, I’ve been navigating the journey toward differentiation and the 2nd half of life for about the past 10 years. I’m a mother to three amazing humans, and I find my joy in family, words, ideas, mountains, stars, and green things growing.

Kristine Napper

I am a lifelong reader, writer, wheelchair user, and taco aficionado. Born and raised in Washington, now living in Oregon, I have a a very Northwest soul. I teach 7th grade social studies. I also spoke at TEDxPortland and wrote, “A Kids Book About Disability.”

A.L. Call

Share At Last She Said It

Thanks for supporting Say More and ALSSI. Have something to say? Join the conversation: Send us a voicemail, start a chat thread, or write a piece for a future issue!

say it

chat it

chat it

by Susan Hinckley

My mom was curious about people.

Whether she knew you well or was meeting you for the first time, she’d ask, “Tell me about a day in your life. What does that look like?” She asked questions, and listened to their answers. She wanted to know, what is it like to be you?

You may have heard me say the ALSSI project has felt like the most meaningful work I’ve ever done. What I mean is I’ve experienced more concentrated personal growth in the past decade than I can remember at any other period. I’ve learned it’s a privilege to sit with women of diverse ages and experiences, to be offered so many sacred stories to hold.

Cynthia and I recently finished our CAC Living School study. Richard Rohr introduced me to Archimedes’ idea:

The yearlong course left me with a feeling that I am at the beginning of the work I want to do, not the end of it. In many ways, our podcast marked the culmination of one specific growth spurt in my life; to maintain my growing edge, it must also be the beginning of another.

Sometimes things conspire to get our attention, so I’ll also tell you that while recording our podcast conversation with Jenny Richards, I had what I can only describe as an experience. Her story of suddenly knowing—in the middle of the night—what she was supposed to do, was hypnotic for me. Or maybe electric? Whatever that feeling was, as she spoke I suddenly “knew” what I needed to do.

So of course I set to work formulating a thousand arguments against it.

Enter Richard Rohr—he’s managed to throw a whole toolbox of the best possible wrenches into my life over the years. This time, several months after the experience with Jenny, he set me on a search for what Archimedes’ words might mean in my own life. Before the CAC afterglow wore off, I wanted to take a concrete step. I set aside my thousand well-crafted arguments—

and enrolled in Spiritual Director training.

Now I always wanted to be the Mormon Anne Lamott, but the one thing I knew was that Mormons absolutely did not want an Anne Lamott. An irreverent writer chronicling her spiritual life that absolutely refuses to stay within the lines? (We’re good, thanks!)

But as I think about that, it occurs to me the only thing members of my church might want even less is a spiritual director. Someone who will light a candle, sit down and invite you to unpack even the murkiest corners of your heart with no judgment (and no testifying, GC talks, or Liahona articles) whatsoever? (Hard pass.)

Well, here’s the report from my first weekend of classes: five minutes in, I was blindsided by my own bawling. I thought, what is happening?!, then immediately knew I was feeling The Big Yes.

My church may not want spiritual directors, and its members may not know what to do with one, but no matter. It isn’t my certainty about where a road leads that makes it worth following.

I don’t know much about spiritual direction yet, but so far I’ve learned it basically boils down to one thing: holy listening.

And if there’s one thing I’ve often not felt as a Latter-day Saint woman, it’s that I’m being listened to. I could explain, but I bet I don’t need to.

Holy listening is described as:

It’s Jesus-listening. Think about the ratio of questions he asked to questions he answered. I believe the disparity between those two numbers is meant to get our attention: Asking and listening must be key to loving and understanding others. My mom knew something.

The holy listening of spiritual direction holds space for people to meet God, right in their own stories. It’s not about “directing” at all, but rather accompanying. In this practice there are always 3 chairs: one for the director, one for you, and one for the Spirit.

Now I might get a bishop who’s a great listener—maybe even a natural, intuitive spiritual director. In an interview, I would generally assume the Spirit to be present and active. But there’s a power differential that, for many members, privileges his inspiration over mine. His office makes him the official Spirit channel, because God is in the priesthood, and that mantle never rests on me.

Only once in my life did a bishop approach giving me a calling through curiosity about what it was like to be me. As a result, it became clear to him the calling was not a good fit at the time. I felt seen. Little wonder that remains my favorite interaction with a leader.

For most of my church life, I haven’t observed or experienced much holy listening among members. If someone raises an idea in a lesson—or even just a conversation—that’s (ahem) not on the approved list, how often are they met with, “Will you please say more?” Which explains why, when something thorny or even just complicated weighs on my soul or psyche, it can feel easier to keep it to myself.

And now we’re really getting to the point of this long introduction: Is anybody listening? How about asking? I mean up there, in the velvet chairs.

I’ll just say it: holy listening on the part of the church organization? Zip. Zero. Nada. At least it feels that way where I’m sitting. I know, it’s anthropomorphizing to suggest an organization could listen, but let me explain.

It’s never a 3-chair conversation: the Spirit is not assumed to be, first and foremost, on the members’ side in our church, but resides (along with the power) with whatever authority is speaking. Any disagreement I may feel, anything that hurts me, any offense I may take, will rest solely on me to resolve, and the Spirit won’t take my side.

There’s no 3rd chair needed when the Spirit is in the leader’s pocket.

If this sounds overly cynical, or even bitter, well—I’m feeling both those things. A few weeks ago, we had a pod conversation with Dr. Jana Riess about women leaving the Church. We wanted to put our heads together to explore and give airtime to some possible reasons behind the statistics. We pulled our ideas for that discussion from a pile of data: Our data was anecdotal, the result of years of messages from/conversations with women that have so often left us saying, “the women are not okay,” and Jana’s data was research data.

Recently I saw someone share that episode on her personal social media, where it was immediately batted back at her with an all-caps reply about the number of converts, punctuated with 3 words: STOP BEING NEGATIVE. I was sad, but not surprised. As I said, I don’t expect a lot of holy listening among members.

But I’ve been flummoxed—I don’t know a better word for it—by the Church’s response to the same data we referenced in that podcast. First, I saw a Church Newsroom post pushing back with:

“Across the globe, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is experiencing a season of spiritual vitality and growth. Official Church records show consistent worldwide increases in both membership and participation. We are encouraged by increased participation among our children, youth and young adults in the United States over the past decade.”

Then, the Deseret News published an article that, in my opinion, went way over the top trying to convince me all is well in Zion, especially for women. Apparently we have more marriage, more babies, less divorce, more overall happiness, and strong testimonies of every blessed thing (they were careful to include the priesthood).

In other words, who cares about that little statistic about young women leaving?

These rosy press releases may accurately describe membership trends overall—I am not privy to their sources. But I am allowed to raise questions when spin conflicts with the reports I receive from women themselves.

The source of my flummox-ment is not an organizational tap-dance around numbers. It’s that, in a church where we’re supposed to care about each other’s spiritual well-being, in the weeks since these stats about young women leaving came out I haven’t detected any official acknowledgment that there might be a problem.

No curiosity (no soul-searching about how we might improve).

No empathy (no sorrow expressed for the pain of others).

No focus groups (maybe there are, but then I wish someone would contact a few of the women of this community with an invitation—seems like it would be a good place to pick up participants).

I don’t think the Church is indifferent to any of the things we talked about with Jana Riess. I don’t think leaders are blind to women’s experiences. Blind-spotted, yes—we all have those. But these are well-educated men who can read statistics and project future impacts. And I think they care as disciples, not just on the level of running a business. But whether or not they do hardly matters, because a total lack of curiosity on the part of the organization—and many of its members—reads as not-caring. It’s a real, “don’t let the door hit you on the way out” vibe.

As a Latter-day Saint woman, have you ever been asked by curious Church leaders, “Tell us about a Sunday in your life—what is it like to be you?” I haven’t.

Is there any conversational room with 3 chairs in it, where I could sit with Church leadership, and they might engage in a little holy listening to some of what I have witnessed, felt, or experienced in 63 years of Latter-day Saint woman-ness? I’m not unique—setting aside my own experience, what about the thousands of messages from other LDS women?

Is there space for holy listening between members and leaders, where the Spirit can move freely on every side—soothing, inspiring, guiding questions, helping us glimpse each other’s hearts?

There’s some real pain among the women of this church. There just is. Not all women, but any is too many within the body of Christ. I can’t think of a justification for arguing with others’ pain.

We’re not alone in having our questions and concerns glossed over or waved off, but I’m focusing on women because Cynthia and I see and hear about it every day. Witnessing this pain is what fuels my desire to improve my skills now: I want to companion people in their spiritual lives with better language, but mostly with holier listening. I want to know what it’s like to be you … and you, and you. As a professed follower of Jesus, I want others to feel God’s love, not indifference.

I want to carry three metaphorical chairs with me wherever I go, creating a space where people feel safe to sit down. I believe any chance of finding God in our lives must reside in our own story.

I remember when Cynthia and I were interviewed on Richard Ostler’s podcast, and he asked us, “Does anyone from Salt Lake ever reach out to you to say thank you?” Then the 3 of us laughed—REALLY laughed—because of course not (they don’t thank him either, incidentally, and I believe they couldn’t thank him enough). Not that we want thanking, but in having our conversations and creating safe space for members to ask their own soul questions, set down hard things, and get curious about one another’s experiences, we’re doing work we wish the Church would do. It would help, and I know this because so many of you tell us every day that it does.

I believe every person—in or out of our church, and every other—longs for holy listening, and I’m counting on that being a skill that can be learned. Anyway, I’ll spend the next two years trying.

Susan Hinckley

Share At Last She Said It

Thanks for supporting ALSSI. We need your voice! Record a voicemail, start a chat thread … or write a piece for a future Say More.

say it

chat it

write it

The God I Don’t Know

by Erin Gong

For most of my life, I had a fairly simple picture of what

a relationship with God was supposed to look like. If I sincerely sought Him through prayer, scripture study, temple worship, obedience, and sacrifice, He would respond. Maybe not exactly how I wanted, but in ways I would recognize. Peace. Guidance. Comfort. Direction. A sense that Someone was on the other end of the conversation.

As a teenager and into my twenties, I built my life around that expectation. I read my scriptures every day. I prayed. I accepted callings. I paid generous fast offerings. I read General Conference talks and filled notebooks with impressions. And the formula seemed to work. Decisions worked out for my good. Unexpected opportunities appeared. Sometimes I felt prompted toward a particular conversation or choice. Other times I felt nourished or reassured.

One semester at BYU, I took a seminary teacher training course. We learned to identify if/then statements in the scriptures. There was even a name for them: principles packaged for application.

I loved it.

If I do this, God will do that. That was a world I understood.

After graduating, my husband began graduate school and we moved across the country. I was accepted into a graduate program myself, but decided I would only attend if I could find a teaching or research position that would cover tuition. Otherwise, I couldn’t justify taking on debt for a degree I wasn’t sure I’d use.

I applied everywhere and heard nothing. A few weeks before classes started, we doubled our fast offerings. Not because I thought I could bargain with God, but because I believed sacrifice invited blessings, even if those blessings arrived in an unexpected form.

A week later, I was offered a teaching position that paid my tuition, included health insurance, and came with a generous stipend.

It was all working.

I finished school. I found meaningful work. We had three children. We moved again for my husband’s career. Through all of it, I kept expecting God to respond.

Then, somewhere along the way, He stopped. Or at least, it felt that way.

There wasn’t a single moment, but there’s one memory that captures what began happening inside me. I was driving our 1999 Toyota Corolla after dropping our three young children off at preschool. I was headed home to squeeze in a few hours of consulting work before pickup. Life was busy and full and lonely. I started crying. Then I started praying. Sobbing out words that became louder and angrier in the empty car.

Are you there?

I wasn’t asking about doctrine. I wasn’t asking for guidance. I simply wanted to know I wasn’t alone. When the tears subsided, I listened.

Nothing.

I turned onto my street.

Nothing.

I pulled into the driveway and sat for another minute in the silent cocoon of our beat-up Corolla, the one with only a single working door handle.

Nothing.

Eventually I got out of the car and went inside. I needed to start my work day.

My faith didn’t collapse that day. I kept praying. I kept participating. I told myself that silence was God’s way of saying, You’ve got this.

But something had shifted. Sometimes I wondered if I simply wasn’t doing enough. Maybe I needed to read more scriptures. Maybe I needed to pray with more faith. Maybe I needed to attend the temple more consistently.

But I didn’t. Instead, I started setting some of those things down.

After reading Isaiah’s description of fasting, I stopped going without food and instead served meals at the homeless shelter. Walking out afterward, I felt as spiritually nourished as I used to feel leaving the temple.

I stopped assuming that scripture study was the best place to encounter truth and replaced it with reading other religious thinkers.

I reconsidered my relationship with temple garments and found greater ease in my own body, a healthier relationship with my sexuality, and a growing sense of integrity.

I gave myself permission to skip Relief Society when I believed I would leave more discouraged than inspired.

As these changes accumulated, the God I had once known seemed to grow quieter still. And yet every few years, something would happen that felt outside of myself, that I couldn’t quite explain.

Once, after an argument with my husband, I realized I didn’t want to stop being angry. The only honest prayer I could offer was to ask that I would want to stop feeding the anger. And it loosened, almost immediately, like pulling a thorn from beneath the skin. The wound was still there, but something had been released. It was a gift.

Another time, I was holding onto a resentment that I just couldn’t get over, to the point of dreaming about hurting a particular person. I woke up with a voice in my head saying Stop it with a moral authority that was different from my own inner voice. It forced me to see I was not standing on the moral high ground I thought I was, and I finally let the resentment go.

These moments don’t happen when I ask for them, when I’ve earned them, when I need them most. They simply happen. And they feel real. But I don’t know how to build a relationship on experiences that arrive unpredictably. My own children, now teens, have pushed me on this more than anyone.

“I’ve prayed, Mom, and I feel nothing. So God isn’t real.”

I don’t know what to tell them. I reach for answers I no longer believe. I don’t know what I wish someone had told me. I turn my frustration back towards God.

This one’s on You.

The old answers still call to me: Read your scriptures every day. Pray more. Attend the temple more often. Follow the prophet. Sometimes I wonder whether returning to those practices would bring back the God I used to know. The God I still want.

But I don’t want to go back. I like who I’ve become. More thoughtful. More compassionate. More willing to own my decisions.

It would almost be easier if I could conclude that God was never there at all. That all of those experiences were simply the story of a young woman growing into herself. But then I remember the anger that loosened like a thorn being pulled out, or waking with the words Stop it echoing in my mind.

If one of my children came to me asking for connection, I know I wouldn’t parent this way. I don’t know what to make of a God who apparently does.

But tomorrow morning, I’ll get up, make breakfast, go to work, try to love my family, and somewhere underneath all of that, I’ll still find myself listening.

Just in case.

Dissonance

by Carly Carter

A Grandmother’s Blessing

by Angela Delgado

We went to my granddaughter’s baby blessing at

her paternal grandparents’ house. Generally Mormon baby blessings are performed during the Sunday worship service. However, my daughter and her husband had gotten special permission to bless the baby at home because they were visiting from out of town. Both sets of grandparents and one set of great grandparents live in the same area and would be able to attend. My husband and I arrived early to make sure that we had time to hold the baby and chat with my son-in-law’s family before the blessing. The Bishop arrived soon after, and then the great grandparents. All of the men joined in the blessing—her father, the Bishop, both grandfathers, and one of her great grandfathers. They held her gently, but since she is almost six months old, she squirmed and wiggled the whole time. I don’t remember the blessing, and it was nice, but there was no mention of my daughter, her mother. I have watched my son-in-law take care of his daughter very tenderly, and I have great respect for him. I’m certain that my granddaughter will appoint him the “favorite parent” as soon as she grows old enough just as my daughters did. But I felt a sense of disappointment surrounding the blessing, and I remember very clearly pushing down the uncomfortable feeling that women in the church are unseen, unheard, and not appreciated for the very real work of salvation they are involved in.

I looked at my daughter, whose body still carries the evidence of the last year-and-a-half of her life growing, birthing, and feeding this baby, and while I was proud of her for embracing motherhood so well, I felt sad for her. Women should be allowed to at least hold their babies during the blessing. They should be allowed to choose the circle of women who hold the baby while she gives a blessing. Perhaps the father should be involved too. Maybe it should be a circle of both men and women of their choosing. But it’s not even a thought. What would it be like, as well, if the other women in the room, wise women who have raised children, had the opportunity to give her a blessing? It seems like such a lost opportunity of experience and maternal wisdom.

So when they came to our house to stay the next week, we were able to do some things together. One morning we went to an aviary. The four of us wandered among the birds, trying to point out fun things about them to my granddaughter. Her interest would occasionally drift to some of the birds if they were flying or cawing, but her gaze was generally on the faces of the familiar people who love her and take care of her.

At one point, we got to an exhibit in the aviary that doesn’t allow strollers. Rather than take her out of the stroller, I volunteered to stay outside until they had walked through the exhibit. Although the day was already getting hot, there was a canopy of trees overhead that made a cooling shade. There was an empty bench and no one else was around. In the quiet, I sat down in front of my granddaughter and was going to entertain her with a song, when I had an idea. I would give her a blessing. It wouldn’t be official. It wouldn’t be recorded. I wouldn’t start with a prayer, and there were no men with priesthood power around. It would be a Grandmother’s blessing.

As I sat in front of my granddaughter, I looked into her eyes and gently held her feet. I blessed her with the words that came to my mind. They were clear and simple. I spoke my hopes and dreams for her. I blessed her with gifts and talents. It wasn’t a long blessing, but the stillness in her eyes told me everything I needed to know. I closed the blessing in the name of our Mother, the Creator of us all, and said ‘Amen.’ After that, I paused for a long time. I felt like I had been a part of a small, sacred miracle below the canopy of trees.

From a listener:

Dear ALSSI,

Thank you for providing this platform that gives a voice to many women to connect with their experiences. It has helped me to hear the stories of others and so I share mine for not only my healing journey, but because I want to join my link to the other stories in this chain.

My faith deconstruction journey started when my eldest was about to turn 8, which was about 5 years ago now. I had felt the weight of the “covenant path” language pushing heavier and heavier on me just before my son was to turn 8; the April 2021 general conference session seemed to ramp up the usage of the phrase. I was a strict attending ‘all-in’ Mormon but grew up in a nuanced home with a dad who converted while I was in high school, and a mom that left the church almost right after. I have always wrestled with the “covenant path” idea, as I just don’t see there being only one way for people to be close to God, to have His influence and love daily, and that one path and prescription must be followed if there is any chance in the after-life for a family to be together forever.

I also started to wrestle with the idea of my 7, almost 8-year-old, being asked to begin that covenant journey at such a young and naïve age—especially in the middle of COVID, when we hadn’t attended church in over a year. It wasn’t just about making covenants with God, but also about deciding that this was the church he wanted to join and be baptized into. I knew full well that he did not completely understand, because of his developmental age and limited life experience, but also knowing how much I had failed in teaching him. My son is also neurodivergent and never enjoyed attending church due to the environment being so overstimulating for him. After doubling down and diving into more conversations with my son, even purchasing a “covenant path” book for him to prepare for baptism, I began to understand that if my son was going to be baptized at age 8 it would have to be under my immense persuasion and pressure, something I felt completely uncomfortable doing at the end of the day. It felt like I was taking away his free agency at such a young age. There were also feelings of indoctrination surfacing. I felt like this short little life he has experienced was completely censored, intentionally of course, but how could he make an informed decision when I have been the source of his viewpoint on religion and God? How could he fully understand at such a young age, the decision he was about to make? I knew in my heart that this just did not feel right. I had many conversations with my husband and we both agreed to wait on his baptism.

Not soon after, the stories and recordings of more high profile child abuse cases and cover-ups by the church came to light and my husband stepped away from the church first. This resulted in a great unraveling and many difficult conversations; needless to say I cannot unsee and unfeel the things that make my skin crawl when I am at church. I honestly will say that I would like to figure out a way to attend, but I’m still figuring that out. I am also severely introverted and when our ward rearranged right after COVID, I struggled to feel community and camaraderie among the people—something I really had to work for even before when I was ‘all in.’ To put it plainly, I don’t know how to be nuanced in a place that I don’t feel accepts it and me. I am still figuring out how to find the strength and confidence in myself to exist in that space without letting go of my authentic self—inside this version of me that does not see the truth claims with a capital T. And despite growing up in a nuanced home with a feminist mother, I still internalized so many harmful scripts that I fear I would not be able to protect my children from, despite all my best efforts and genuine conversations. I also do not want to let go of the gifts I feel like I am blessed with from stepping away: loving myself more despite (and possibly more deeply because of) my imperfections, shaming myself less as a mother with many faults and traumas, the ability to love others genuinely rather than through the lens of expectations.

I also wanted to say thank you for your conversation with Lindsie Cornia in Ep 238, because I SO needed to hear her experience raising kids in this space after her deconstruction. That was so resonant with me that I felt so much belonging and safety in the not knowing. While I can relate to not knowing what I am doing, I DO know I want my children to feel loved no matter what, to feel divine no matter what, to love themselves and others no matter what—and how to do that safely. I just don’t trust myself to know how to keep them safe from the harmful rhetoric of the church and I feel a strong desire to protect them from it right now. I also don’t know how to protect myself from it, either. How can I teach my children this if I can’t even figure it out myself? It’s so messy and scary, to be honest. It may not always feel that way, but for now, I have chosen to seek out other places and opportunities to teach my children loving values and practice serving and loving others. (I highly recommend the Unitarian Universalist church as it promotes social justice issues and LGBTQ+ equity. It has been a soft landing place, for the moment.)

Thank you for this space; it saves my sanity and instigates many productive and amazing conversations with my husband, who is also a dutiful listener. This work is so important, please keep doing what you do. I’m sure at some points along the way you may feel exhausted from having variations of similar conversations, but they are so important. And the perspectives and meaning speak and land differently, as you already know. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

—Sid

Hi,

I just was listening to your Episode 235 and there are several things that stuck out to me.

I am a mom of a young woman. She’s 14. Every path that she’s been told will lead to success is probably not there. Nursing, education, computer science, science at all—these are paths that are traditionally held out. Doctors. Lawyers. But the costs of education are so high. She’s an athlete. She’s trusting in her athletics to cover her schooling so that she can get a degree in the first place.

She’s getting the same messages her aunts got. I was never a YW. I’m a convert. And I always grew up with the idea that I will work and have a career. Being a mother was never ever on my radar. And being a mother isn’t on her radar. She pushed back in seminary when they said the equivalent of priesthood for women is motherhood. She asked what happens if she can’t physically have kids? Or if she can’t afford them. What happens if things don’t work out. Is she less? And why is her spirituality tied to something about her body? Isn’t she worth more than that. And I guess she inspired a revolt because I got the joy of meeting with the seminary teachers.

I’m shocked at how resilient these girls are. And how willing they are to take their friendships from seminary and all into the real world and rely on those. They have hope. They have amazing ideas. And they do not let adults squash on them at all. But the messages they’re getting are still the same ones her aunts got. It is just not the same world, but it is the same messages.

At some point the church is going to have to adapt or they will lose all the young women. She knows several gay young women who are in seminary because they believe, but who have plans to leave the church because the church can’t accept them. She’s decided that she won’t continue when she’s on her own either because the church lacks the flexibility or general desire to change with and support the youth as they are experiencing the world, and relies on the “older” times instead of leaning into what they are going through now.

Just wanted to throw all that into your discussions. Again, I love your podcast. But the church is going to lose them all.

—Natasha

Contributors:

Erin Gong

I am a creative problem solver, learning to sit still. I’ve spent the last 20 years easing out of the more traditional LDS tenets I grew up with, and at the same time enjoying a delightfully roundabout career—starting as a grant writer for children’s museums, then a consultant for non-profits, then Silicon Valley data scientist, and now a senior manager in tech. I live in Salt Lake City with my spouse and three children. I love to help other women discover their options to pursue a meaningful career, nurture their passions, and have a family.

Carly Carter

I am a paraeducator, mother, and writer who has spent years navigating the tension between deep love for my LDS faith and the feeling of not measuring up within it. My writing explores faith, identity, longing, and the pull to remain connected even while wrestling with difficult questions.

Angela Delgado

I am an aspiring writer living in Salt Lake City, UT. My faith journey continues to be a source of discovery AND frustration, but I am learning to be okay with every new bend in the road. I love traveling to far off places, spoiling my two cats, and spending time with family.

Share At Last She Said It

Thanks for supporting ALSSI! Have something to say? Join the conversation! Send us a voicemail, start a chat thread … or write a piece for a future Say More.

say it

chat it

write it

I’m sure all of us Mormons can vaguely

remember sitting in Primary meetings and being taught about the Holy Ghost. The key bullet points I remember from Primary are: The Holy Ghost is the third member of the God head, He doesn’t have a body, and He is God’s presence on the earth. I figured out that this magical being is the way we feel God. As a kid, I always found the Holy Ghost to be very mystical and unknowable. To be completely transparent, I was a bit trepidatious at the thought of the Holy Ghost. I mean, for Pete sake, there is “ghost” in the very name of this ambiguous thing, but somehow, it’s not supposed to be scary. My teachers told me It can even enter our body and touch our heart like that wasn’t supposed to terrify me. Not only was it not supposed to scare me, it was supposed to be something I wanted.

I pretty much followed the standard Mormon journey, and somewhere along the way, I did discover how to feel Heavenly Father’s spirit. I did all the things: took seminary and then institute, studied scripture, attended church, dated a returned missionary and then married him. I went to the temple regularly, said standard Mormon prayers, not just attended but anxiously engaged in Sunday school lessons and skipped to Relief Society activities.

Then, in what seemed to be an instant, it all came crashing down. Like so many of us who experience faith deconstruction, I looked at all the broken pieces of my spirituality laying around me and I wondered, “Where the hell is God in any of this? How the hell did I feel God before when all I feel now is pain and confusion?” I didn’t feel Him anymore. I mean, God wasn’t even a HIM for me anymore.

I was in a constant state of fear about my standing and worthiness before God. I couldn’t feel God anymore and my Mormon conditioning kicked into overdrive; My doubting had put me in a fallen state (yes, my bishop at the time actually said this to me) and so I must not be worthy to feel the Holy Ghost. But, I couldn’t reconcile this “truth” with the God I had experienced and the deep desire within me. Just like Enos, I wrestled before God. Or maybe a better way to say it is that I wrestled before MY idea of God. My sobbing became a prayer in and of itself. I would mentally yell into the universe, “I have so many good intentions. I am lost and feel all alone, but I want to be found! I have such a desire to know what God wants for me. Surely, a benevolent God that sees my soul reaching out with such earnestness can’t condemn me for changing. I’m evolving and all I want is to understand this new me. How could my God be mad at me and leave me when my desires are so pure?”

The more I sought God, the more distance I felt.

In Luke 5 Jesus encounters his cousin, John’s, disciples and they ask Christ why he isn’t requiring his disciples to fast. He tells them the time will come, but it isn’t yet. And then he tells them this parable:

Change was coming—no one understood that yet. The kingdom Jesus ushered in could not fit into the Pharisees’ paradigm or way of living. The status quo would no longer do. Current teachings, even the teachings of John the Baptist, were good, but passing away, since they were part of the Old Covenant which Jesus was fulfilling and renewing.

As my entire paradigm shifted, my old way of experiencing God wasn’t working either. The truth was, none of the standard Mormon stuff worked for me anymore. Okay, I shouldn’t say NONE of it. Very little of it worked for me. As my entire paradigm shifted, my old way of experiencing God wasn’t working either. I was shoving new wine into old wineskins and they had burst. It was like I was standing there, bawling, soaked in metaphorical wine, looking around at the carnage of my burst wineskin with no idea how to get a new one.

At the end of the parable, Jesus throws a little curve ball:

Jesus basically tells us, “Hey, this “New Kingdom” journey we are on together is going to suck. No one likes new things or being uncomfortable, but hang in there. This higher way of thinking is going to be worth it. I promise.” Turns out, there is a period of adjustment for the followers of old paths who are willing to grow in new ways. I was definitely uncomfortable AND I was willing.

In my countless hours of reading, scrolling, listening to podcasts, I came across this quote:

So I went searching in new (and some old) places for God and what do you know?

I found God in a group of friends gathering to talk about their own ongoing faith transitions.
I experienced God on evening walks with my dog.
I still connected with God while taking the sacrament, even though I thought about the ordinance in completely new and different ways.
I found God in the reeds and the wind, my kids’ laughter in the background.
I felt God in the pillow that caught my tears as I released my pain.
I found God as I learned from great Christian thinkers, Mormon and non-Mormon alike.
I found God in the eyes of my spouse as he desperately tried to meet me where I was.
I found God as I experienced the deep sorrow of mourning my old self.
I experienced God in death and rebirth.

After all that, I started to understand what Richard Rohr meant when he said:

I went camping a few weekends ago, away most notably from all the light pollution in the city. It’s almost my favorite part of camping, star gazing. I got all my kids to bed, and sat out alone looking up at the stars. I tried to empty my brain of thought, breathe deep and just be. I let my gaze linger on the mistiness of the Milky Way. I felt confident that I would encounter God. Nature is the place I go most often when I’m trying to find God and I was sure there was no way the sheer immensity of space would let me down. I gazed and admired. Tilted my head this way and that. Called out to God with my soul. More like, politely inquired if God was there. Ya know when you have to knock on your boss’ door to interrupt them and you are 100% sure the interruption is going to be received poorly? The knock is timid and you peek your head around the door with a grimace on your face, already anticipating the angry look your boss will throw your way? That was me as I looked up at the expanse above me.

Then my human messiness took over and my internal tone shifted to something like, “Hey Bruh. What are you doing? I showed up. I took 5 minutes to myself to sneak away from my kids, quiet down and be intentional and where the hell are you? Too good to show up? I believed you would be here. I’m doing the work, so why aren’t you showing up? Aren’t you the God that meets me where I am?”

I thought perhaps I’d called God out enough to show up just to spite me.

After another breath or two, I conceded.

“Well, this is pointless. But the stars are gorgeous and I’m glad I got to see the arm of the milky way tonight. Just wish I’d felt more.”

It seems as though after a few years of general contentment, I’m finding myself back to searching for God. I still frequently close my eyes, breath deep and envision my heart expanding. I imagine my soul cracking open and letting the God of my current understanding penetrate my psyche. Sometimes, I feel a rush of refreshment. But more often than not, I don’t feel a damn thing. Old habits die hard and I’ve started asking, “Where is God now?”

A large part of me worries that I no longer feel moved by God because I’m not as desperate and broken as I was five years ago. I’m much more at home and at peace with my deconstruction and because of that I no longer live, eat and breathe spiritual matters like I did at the beginning of my journey. Has time made me complacent? Again, I’m back in new territory and fighting the urge not to panic.

Last month, Susan published her August Worthy Stuff, and her words allowed me to connect with God as I was reading. I was so grateful for how I felt after I was done that I sent her this message:

Ah, Susan. Your “Worthy Stuff” was so wonderful. Funny, vulnerable, very tender. I just loved it. It was a gift to read about the dichotomy that was (probably still is) your life those few days: all you wanted to do was grieve, yet life went on. You did it because what else could you do? You are doing it beautifully even though I’m sure it feels like an impossible mess.

You sharing the ordinary, lovely moments that stood out to you during those days—the lipstick, our joke while we were shooting, your MIL holding your hand, the women showing up to the quilt show, the roadshow and cake, texts from friends—touched me deeply. Reading this was my spiritual practice for the day.

It was such a tragic, beautiful reminder that God is everywhere in this shit storm of life and if we can somehow figure out how to calm our hearts and see our God, even for just a split second—the time it takes to put on lipstick in a mirror, or hold someone’s hand—then we are learning something in life. I think, because I no longer experience HUGE waves of “feeling the spirit,” that I chase after the small connections I find with God. I chase the times when my heart is open enough to feel the presence that’s all around, if I can just get out of my own damn way for two seconds. So, long story short, for you to share those small moments of presence in some of the worst days of your life was so valuable to me. Thank you for writing it and opening your heart in that way. It’s an example of the kind of living I want to do.

*BTW, if you haven’t read Susan’s post, go read it IMMEDIATELY. 12/10 stars. Highly recommend.

I’ve recently thought that maybe I’m not encountering God because I’ve ONCE AGAIN started to limit where I’m looking or even supposing I can find God. Or maybe it’s because my understanding of God is changing yet again.

To me, God can still appear as a resounding feeling that whatever I happen to be experiencing, learning or hearing is profoundly good, ever expansive and can lead me towards my highest self. If we believe that every good thing comes from God, then surely that means not just temporal things, but feelings and emotions as well. If that’s the case, there are so many new names I have for the God of my ongoing understanding.

Relaxation
Contentment
Fulfillment
Conviction
Satisfaction
Awe

New wine, new wineskins.

With this new definition I start to wonder: did I actually miss God that night a few weeks ago as I looked at the stars? Could God have been in the simple acknowledgment of the beauty I was seeing? If so, finding God can be a lot simpler than I ever supposed it to be.

For now, I’m trying to relax and remember that if I want it, God will show up. I just can’t limit where I’m looking or how I’m connecting. I’ll just keep breathing deep and etch this quote from Richard Rohr into the lining of my heart:

Blakelee Ellis

Share At Last She Said It

Your subscription makes the podcast possible! Together we’re building a community where you can say what you need to say: send us a voicemail, start a chat thread … or write a piece for a future Say More!

say it

chat it

write it

Patriarchy

Every time I think I have finally resolved my anger stage something new reignites it. I read Cynthia’s Say More today and also felt the melt downs. I have been fighting this sexism fight a long time and to read those statements by those women in leadership just sank my heart. We can’t even be honest without repercussions from the boys at the top. I feel so done with it… honestly I say that often and here I am still giving it real estate in my head. Thank you Cynthia for opening my eyes once again to how wrong it all is and was.

-Kim

I’m at my brother’s ward for my niece’s baby blessing. As all the men went up to bless the baby, my 5-year-old niece said, “Girls aren’t allowed to do that.” She saw it clearly. My brother who is out of the church but came was sitting next to us and told her “yeah isn’t that crazy” and she said, “yeah it is.” Here is to a future where little girls just don’t accept that anymore.

-Julie

I teach Valiant 7. One of the girls today asked why girls don’t get the priesthood. I wasn’t teaching today so I didn’t say anything. My co-teacher responded with the typical “women have access to priesthood power” and then said something about using it in the temple. I just let her because I didn’t feel it was appropriate to interrupt her or talk to someone else’s 8-year-old about that when all I can say is “I don’t really know” or “the prophet is sexist.”

-Stacie

Maybe I am late to this epiphany, but I am sitting in sacrament meeting and realizing that, when the male leadership of the church say women “had priesthood authority all along!”, what they really mean is priesthood permission. I feel like they have conflated the word “authority” with “permission.”

Which is why, when women start to test the sexist boundaries of the institution, priesthood “permission” can be removed by the removal of priesthood “authority” when she is released.

While they now gaslight women by insisting that women “always had priesthood authority” (when I was growing up, that statement would have gotten me excommunicated) when they performed their delegated roles, what they really mean is “we always had priesthood permission” to:

1. Be in callings at all

2. Perform the initiatory for other women

And I can’t unsee it. Permission is granted and removed at a whim just like this pseudo-authority they think they have graciously bestowed.

If I have priesthood “authority” to be in any woman’s role here, but not the ability to call my own presidency, set apart, etc. my own people, what I really have is “permission” to temporarily stand in a role a man doesn’t want until I need him to confirm my choices or do the actual setting apart.

-K.S.

Questions

Sacrament meeting was kind of tough today because one lady I really admire and respect bore her testimony about how God sees us during our hard times. Which is nice, but that was one of my shelf breakers. I went through a *super* hard time and couldn’t (and still can’t) find God. Which is fine—I can deal—but hearing it brought up always begs the question of why God was there for them, but not for me? Which is a stupid question that I don’t really want to be asking, but it seems to pop up in my soul anyway.

-ELarsen

Really weird open mic today. Not so open, though. A young man who was raised in my ward returned today to “get some things off his chest.” He talked about being bullied and not fitting in as a youth and then learning about the race ban as a seminary student and knowing that was wrong. He then intimated that he would be there a while to list the other problems he has with the church, at which time the bishop quietly asked him to share his testimony of Christ so others would have time to speak. I heard him say, “they’ve had my whole life to speak, this is my turn.” Then they shut off his mic and, after a few more attempts to resist being escorted out, he walked out saying he had a problem with misogyny, Warren Jeffs, and greed, and then said we all ought to know the names of every one of JS’s wives. It was hard to watch. The bishop followed him out and I trust had a very calming encounter with him. Our bishop is super sweet and really Christlike. The testimonies continued and I was pleasantly surprised that no one said anything derogatory about the young man. One person said they were grateful the bishopric used their priesthood to defend the members by removing him. After the meeting I asked an old guy in the ward who used to be the bishop who the man was. He gave me his name and I was able to find him on Facebook. I saw the names of his parents and realized they were a couple my friend had told me about who resigned their memberships about 6-7 years ago. So I messaged the young man’s dad and let him know what had happened in our ward and told him his son might need some extra love and attention today. I sent him my picture and said to give his son a hug from me and let him know I heard him and I validate his feelings and I know what it’s like to be silenced at church. The dad wrote back later saying he met his son at the stake center (where he had gone to try to talk to the stake president without an appointment) and they were talking about what happened. He thanked me for letting him know. My husband and I talked about the day’s events just now. We agreed that hijacking sacrament meeting is not the way to get things off one’s chest, but we also agreed that there really is no time or place where it’s even allowed to discuss these big problems with our history and policies and doctrines. The Gospel Topics essays need to be discussed and people need to be able to bring up their concerns about the church without fear of being shut down when they do. At a stake leadership meeting when he was in the bishopric, my husband suggested having a separate SS class to go over all of the essays one at a time and was ignored. When there is no outlet for people to air their concerns, they come out in a big burst of anger like what happened today. It’s a shame. That pain has to go somewhere.

-Carol

What does having faith mean to you? Because I’ve been thinking about that lately and today’s sacrament mtg just reinforced to me that the Church teaches having faith as blind obedience; whether you have faith or want to acquire faith you do allllll the things. I don’t know what I think having faith means, but I don’t think it’s that.

-Kayla

Have your thoughts on “perfection” changed over time? I recall this being brought up in a semi-recent What Do You Say episode. I don’t remember who it was. I’d like to discuss it more. “Be ye perfect as your Heavenly Father is perfect,” (Matt 5:48) was a terrible poison for my OCD brain. Even with repentance, I knew I would never measure up. I was able to let that go in my 20s and accept grace. Still, I thought the atonement would transform me and everyone into “perfect” beings. I began to wonder, what does that even mean? Not getting mad? Not hurting anyone’s feelings? Good at everything? No limits? What if being perfect means giving up my personality because who I am is imperfect? Does perfect mean everyone is the same? A woman in RS once commented on Jesus being perfect and how that meant even as a young child he never did anything wrong or upset Mary and Joseph. You mean a 3-year-old never made a mess or hit their playmate? Currently, my answer to all my “What is perfection?” questions is: I don’t know. It feels good.

-Meredith

I’ve been thinking about the recent conversation Susan and Cynthia had with Lisa Fluckiger about the Beatitudes, and living and ministering in the present.

Lisa paraphrased Father Gregory Boyles’ teachings by saying, “The kingdom isn’t around the corner. It IS the corner.” (I couldn’t find an actual quote of him saying this, but Google can be wrong.?) As I gain experience in this life, especially with my children who do not fit the Covenant Path hiking specs, I find this sentiment to be so true! I find Jesus much more often in the here and now of people living in the gap between pain and the ideal goal. On the corner, as it were.

But, as Sheri Dew recently reasserted, “prophets see around corners.”

I’d go further to say prophets focus on what’s around corners.

Then where does that leave those following the prophet?

No wonder we are running into what and who is on the corner right now, and having problems.

And if Jesus is on the corner, why are prophets (seers, revelators) looking past Him? Isn’t that, literally, “looking beyond the mark”?

-Jackman

Quotes

I read this quote as part of my testimony today and wanted to share it here as well:

-Nicole

Today’s reading from volume 2 of Carol Lynn Pearson—

-Cynthia

In honor of book club.....

-Rebecca

If I stopped giving energy to the system that wants me silent & small and start redirecting that energy to the relationship with my body, my whole self, and those I love — who could I be?!?!

-Mary

Now I’m going to be thinking of my spirituality as a Mountain of Awakening that has set me toward becoming a person of love. So simple—no wonder Jesus came down and was like, “Okay I’ll show you in the flesh since the visions aren’t working out.”

-Lisa

Shifting Faith

To me faith is the expectation that all things (no matter how awful) come together and over time and space create or make room for good in the end. This is my faith in the universe, God, or whatever, makes the giant compost pile which is growing green things in my life.

-LSW

I had the opportunity to sustain or oppose the leaders of the church at ward conference today. Raising my hand is such a habit but today I was mindful and intentionally kept my hands clasped in my lap. I will neither sustain nor oppose the callings. I recognize that I have no power in this institutional church.

I’m not sure if it was a micro aggression or a micro rebellion or just being true to my current faith and belief (that is no longer in the church.)

-Maria

I’ve been attending services at an Episcopal church for a bit now and have noticed something interesting about myself.

As a little background: they sing their communion hymn over and over and over while everyone takes turns going up to receive the Eucharist. The repetition of a simple song is deeply meditative for me and one of my favorite things about the service. The song pictured above has been sung every Sunday since Easter and I love it a lot.

Anyways, for the longest time I found that unless I was concentrating carefully my brain always wanted to change the words from “let all who are THIRSTY come” to “let all who are WORTHY come.” Pretty much sums up both what I’m trying to move towards in my faith and what I’m trying to move away from.

I really feel like I’ve come a long way in deconstructing worthiness and purity culture, but it’s BONKERS to me to see how that word is so tightly wedged down into my subconsciousness.

-Stephanie

Let me share an old Young Women’s activity that I went to when I was a beehive. The setup of the activity was about discerning the right voices and listening to the holy ghost. There had been a maze set up in the cultural hall of folding chairs and you would wait outside the door and then a leader would put a blindfold on you and then open the door for you. After you entered the point was to navigate the maze to the other side of the large room by using the directions that were shouted at you by other leaders. The leaders who were giving directions were the YW president (who I didn’t really click with) and one of the bishopric members. At the time there had been a lot of lessons on priesthood and so I thought of course the answer was to follow the directions from the bishopric counselor. This was going to be an activity to reinforce those lessons. I started to follow the directions from the man and was going in the correct direction but I kept walking into the folding chair obstacles. It was never fully direct contact at the beginning but, like when you cut a corner really quickly and get a sharp counter top edge right in your side. Over and over again I was clipping these folding chairs with my foot, my knee, and then finally I was fully stepping into these chairs over and over again. I realized I was at a dead end. So, my assumption was incorrect and I was wrong. This activity was not to reinforce listening to the priesthood or to the holy ghost or to god as male voices. I don’t think it was thought about that deeply. I did begin listening to what the YW president would give me as directions and then was able to navigate the maze and back out to the hall.

I have recently had some internal experiences of growth and then frustration that felt like 2 hard won steps forward and then getting hit by a car and dragged 50 feet back. I was trying to describe these feelings and had the memory of that experience at that activity come forward into my thoughts. The past couple days reflecting I have felt like I have been walking into folding chairs for a long time. On a drive early this morning on my own I was ruminating on this past again and out loud said, “Enough, what would you re-craft this to be instead!?!”

So, here is what I would re-craft and recreate that beehive experience to be for 13-year-old me.

I would do everything the same up to the point where I realized that I was in a dead end. And then, I would stop, take a deep breath, and take off the blindfold. I would realize that I don’t need to strain to hear outside voices in order to get directions or instructions telling me what to do. I have all the information and context I need through my own senses, physical and metaphysical, to take the first step in front of me and then evaluate what to do next.

I HAVE ALL THE INFORMATION AND CONTEXT I NEED THROUGH MY OWN SENSES, PHYSICAL AND METAPHYSICAL.

-Karina

Lately, church has felt less like a sanctuary and more like an obstacle course. I leave feeling embarrassed by how distracted I am, frustrated by the constant mental loops, and exhausted by the invisible labor of trying to separate God from my OCD. Instead of worship, it often feels like I’m negotiating with my own mind, wondering whether I’m praying “right,” feeling “enough,” believing “correctly,” or even saying “the perfect answers.” It’s hard to encounter the holy when every moment becomes another opportunity to monitor myself. I miss the kind of worship that happens when my heart is free enough to simply be present. It’s strange to know, deep in my bones, that I could meet God more authentically beneath a canopy of trees, or at the top of a mountain, or in the laughter of my family, or under the weight of my own blankets, or even just where I can feel the sun rays stinging my skin and still feel unable to release the invisible tether pulling me back to my assigned congregation.

Maybe that’s why I’m so relieved to spend this Sunday at my uncle’s ward for my cousin’s baby’s blessing. The relief surprises me, but it also makes perfect sense. I’m not going because I feel obligated. I’m going because I love her. She has been part of my tribe for as long as I can remember, one of the people who has shown up for me in ways that are deeply relational rather than merely performative. Celebrating her family doesn’t feel like checking a spiritual box. It feels like breathing fresh air after being inside too long. For a few hours, I don’t have to wonder if I’m worshipping correctly. I simply get to witness love, participate in joy, and remember that sometimes the most sacred thing we can do is show up for one another.

-Jessie

Yesterday marked 30 years since I took out my endowment. Since my first panic attack. Since my first jolt of un-belief in the church.

As a gift to myself, I had been planning to burn my temple recommend on this day. I’ve been thinking about it for a few months and thought I had processed most, if not all, the emotions with this decision.

But, I was genuinely caught off guard when I started shredding the edges of the paper to get it to burn easier.

I had stabs of fear run through my body. Thoughts that I was being disobedient, that I was throwing away eternity. What if I needed it, but no longer had it? For a moment it felt like someone was watching me. Not God, but a man in a white shirt and tie. All these feelings were directly tied to taking back my own authority, standing up for myself. Saying no to the coercive control of the church.

I had planned on putting the ashes in one of my flower beds, but after this experience, I decided to throw them on the gravel path where they will be more easily forgotten.

-Brooke

Frustrations

I have spoken up when something really egregious is said. Usually small things I let go because live and let live ... But for a real example... when somebody says that parents are guilty of child abuse if they “condone” their child coming out as trans.... I’ve pushed back (not in a church lesson, outside of church where people seem to feel freer to talk about really bigoted things) and this is what I get in response.... That I’m being intolerant. I should tolerate their stance. It’s the paradox. If we should be tolerant of all, then we need to be tolerant of intolerance or that makes us intolerant. To me this is weaponizing the traits of empathy and tolerance. This even occurs within church walls where people try to be more socially acceptable in their bigotry. For example, I shouldn’t push back or be intolerant of somebody talking about Charlie Kirk being the perfect Christlike example. ARGGGGH! it’s so manipulative to me, to turn it around and call me intolerant. There are consequences to your bigotry!

-Rebecca

I’ve noticed as Mormons, we completely disregard ethics. We have no critical thinking around them. We only talk about what is morally right or wrong. And that can change depending on who is driving the bus. But ethical questions and answers address the deeper issues.

And sadly, you can tell that he is parroting this from some adult, saying this without any kind of context, but applying it to every context

-Brooke

I HATE THE PRESENCE OF MEN AT YW CAMP. They are worse than useless, it is all about their ego.

I hate the we can bend the rules for men (one man on YW camp but that’s okay because his daughters are here), hiking with a YW leader by himself with no other leader but then—when we suggest bending the rules for women it’s a hard no.

I hate the criticism that comes with organizing camp and then other women (and the stupid man) criticizing what’s going on and how it could be better. I love working hard for high reward events; the way people criticize the work drives me MAD.

-Rebecca

Today will be my first family wedding where I’ll be sitting outside the temple. Now that the day has arrived, it feels a little heavier than I anticipated. It also feels so revealing and yet odds are no one will ask me directly why I’m not inside, they’ll just make up stories in their minds. And when you haven’t had control of your own narrative for so long, I guess it’s hard to be in a place where it doesn’t matter if I’m inside or outside, someone else will be telling my story. I realized that this is what is really bothering me this morning. I really want to be my own storyteller, not a character someone else created. And today I fear that even though I won’t be inside the temple I’ll still not be seen for who I am, just for what I’m not.

-Stephenie

Most of the time, my TBM husband and I have reached a truce where we just don’t really talk about church things. But this week, our 13-year-old son (who is the only one who attends with his dad) was away at a cousin’s so my husband went alone. So he was sad, telling me how hard it is to go alone to a ward where he doesn’t feel like he has any connections (we have been in the ward for 18 years, but extended family cliques mean he has always felt like an outsider). So first of all, what a stupid system it is where a stand-up guy like my husband who gives his all to church, can’t choose to attend a ward 20 minutes away where his brother and my brother and childhood friends go. Makes me raging angry.

Then cue deep and meaningful discussion about how he is still trying to figure out what it means for our family in the next life because I have left with all our daughters. Me explaining to him that no loving parent would banish a child for ETERNITY for not following some arbitrary rules so I don’t believe there is any reality where my Mormon status excludes me from being with him (I mean, I don’t think I believe in an afterlife at all, but I definitely don’t believe in the Mormon version). And watching him tie himself in knots both agreeing with me but also telling me there are eternal, universal laws that God is bound by. It’s exhausting listening to the mental gymnastics he has to do.

-Hannah

I just got a newsletter from our RS. There is a new RS presidency and they share their bio about them. I know all these women though I am not acquainted with them any more. They are educated and have a lot to offer yet their info doesn’t relate. As I read their bios they described themselves [and] who they were in context with their family. The new RS president is a full-time nurse but makes no mention of it. One of the counselors is a business owner but makes no mention of it, yet chose to share that she loves to bake or likes art. They are all wives, mothers, mother-in-law, grandmas, daughters of god and everything else except themselves. What the eff? Women perpetuate their own place in the church. Many do it to themselves. If I wrote my bio it would include my whole life not the part that fits the LDS box. I’m disappointed they chose not to include their professional accomplishments. And I truly mean that I respect and admire each of them. They are so much more capable [than] what they included in their bio. If you were to write your bio, what would you write?

-Priscilla

Isn’t it interesting as we process our anger over the modesty obsession and change our attire as we go on a faith expansion! And yet as I watch men go on a similar faith journey, they are not talking about clothing, they don’t feel anger for what they had to wear. My husband only changed his underwear and worries a little less about the length of shorts. Nothing changed with his style choices.

On faith journey zoom group calls, many women are showing up in tank tops. Men’s attire remains the same. Yet the church comes out with a men’s open sleeve tank top? For what purpose?

When outside of exercise do men wear tank tops?

Men have little trauma about clothing and women are sent into a rage. Feel free to push back if you see men’s experience differently. I’m just going off of my experiences and observations.

-Kim

Good Things

Our sacrament meeting was mostly about how Young Men’s and Young Women’s camp went and hearing talks from the youth. But the whole line-up on the program was women! They called up one of the young men impromptu to give a brief testimony but then the talks were 2 young women and 1 adult female for a regular talk. It was refreshing! Also the girls spoke about how the camp theme was about being children of God, primarily the royalty perspective of a “King” and “Queen” as our heavenly parents. Seems like our ward is doing a great job of being more inclusive and representative!

-Becca

I spent the morning at a missionary farewell in a ward with an apostle on the stand, which isn’t uncommon with my daughter’s friend group and where we live. What I thought was interesting was that this cute girl we went to support said that when her brother left on a mission he mentioned all the men who had inspired him and her grandmother had felt left out. So, she thanked her grandmother and the women in her life first. Despite all the things I disagree with and find troubling in the church, I have faith that this next generation of teenage girls will demand more as they see the inequity in the church, even if it’s just small things that they work to correct and make right over the pulpit. I really loved that she made it right for her grandmother.

-Stephenie

Here’s what’s on my mind this morning. I preface it by saying I’m an ‘older’ person. Maybe the oldest in these realms. I’m feeling absolutely ready to burst with the millions of life experiences and feelings and no place to lay them down or share them. Most people don’t really want to hear your stories so you spend the day thinking about them and realizing how each story played a part in your becoming. I don’t know exactly where I’m going with this, but just let me say I’m so blessed to be associated with all of you women who think. Thinking women will change the world one think at a time. Keep thinking out there!

-Pat

First adult speaker was talking about “consider the lilies” and when it talked about being clothed without toil or spinning, my first thought was of the invisible labor of (probably) women who would make the clothes that would be provided. But then I realized, because of all the grace-peddling here, he’s probably not talking about clothing that obviously someone would have to work to create, it is grace he provides as a covering, without us toiling or spinning.

He went on to be really vulnerable about mental illness and clarify that anger and sadness are not sin. It was beautiful. Then a woman got up (from our ward, but there as a stake speaker) and told us all to put smiles on our faces because the gospel is so wonderful.

-Suzanne

My very favorite 85-year-old in the ward teaches RS and is also a raging feminist and super liberal. The conference talk she taught from was Elder Gilbert’s “Come Home.” I went in very curious about what she’d say. I don’t think she mentioned the talk even one time. Instead, she introduced the books “The Next Mormons” and “Torn,” reviewed statistics about reasons why people are leaving the church and opened a discussion about productive and positive ways to react and maintain loving relationships with those opting out. Instead of little handouts with scripture verses or quotes from General Authorities, the handouts she passed around were links to where we could buy the books and find Faith Matters podcasts with Jeff Strong. It. Was. Fabulous. Everyone was animated, shared stories, there was just a synergy that flowed through us as we spoke freely and openly about what was really on our minds—not the usual guarded “acceptable” comments we normally get in RS. We touched on female ordination, our LGBTQIA family members, problems with doctrine and leadership.... we went everywhere!

There was one sister missionary (older adult service missionary) attending from out west who assured us that the church leadership she knew personally were aware of these kinds of feelings amongst members. (OH GREAT, so they know and still aren’t doing anything... perfect)

Then I spoke in sacrament meeting and wished everyone a Happy Pride Month and bore a little testimony about how I’m an ally and believe that expansion of human rights and dignity to everyone elevates us all.

Good things happening in Northern Virginia.

-Heidi

I really enjoyed church today. A homeless man walked in during the 2nd sacrament talk. He sat there maybe five minutes and then walked out conspicuously walking towards the front first. One of the older brothers followed him out and then came and got me to open up the library. The man was asking for a Book of Mormon. We gave him one.

After he left a woman showed up that had moved away from the ward a couple years ago and was back, down on her luck trying to get her life together. I gave her $20 I had in my pocket and another member gave her more. We gave her our numbers (her phone had been lost). I walked her down to RS. I sat by a newer member who confided to me that she doesn’t feel welcomed in the ward. We exchanged numbers.

We had a discussion of experiences that show you Jesus loves you. I ended up tearfully sharing an experience that really matters to me, but that I no longer believe makes the church “true” in any exclusive way.

I don’t feel like I am being deceptive by sharing things that mean different things to me now. I just think I am sharing in the language they can process. But it was an odd feeling

-LSW

last but not least…….

Good for a Laugh

BEING PROVEN RIGHT IS LIKE A DRUG FOR ME! I spend so much time assuming I’m wrong about everything, once you give me a little bit of dopamine for being right, I’m riding that high for literal days.

-Kaitlyn

A 70-ish man (that I know) tapped my bare shoulder (I was wearing a sleeveless dress) and asked, in the middle of sacrament meeting (not in a whisper!) how I was liking the new garments.

-Julie

I walked past this broken exit sign at church a couple weeks ago. The symbolism had me giggling to myself.

-Michelle

The lady saying the opening prayer in RS said, “We’re thankful to be here today even though I don’t like Relief Society much.”

Love the honesty.

-Emily

This morning as my husband got dressed my 8-year-old son was commenting on his garments. He said he couldn’t imagine wearing extra layers of clothes, that an undershirt sounded bad enough but why does dad wear undershirt pants??

-Maria

-Marie

Share At Last She Said It

Your subscription makes the podcast possible! Together we’re building a community where you can say what you need to say: send us a voicemail, start a chat thread … or write a piece for a future Say More!

say it

chat it

write it

For weeks I’ve been knee-deep

in Volume 1 of the Carol Lynn Pearson diaries. Then when I heard that she had passed on July 29, 2026 it felt particularly heavy—as if I had just lost a friend. Daily I have been texting Susan or another friend messages such as, “Today’s reading from CLP that has me melting down is….”

At this point in my Mormony-ness I didn’t think much could trigger my melt-down-meter. After all, I’ve read all the popular Church history books,1 so much so that recently I texted Susan and said, “I think I am completely done reading about messy Mormon history,” which is 95% about men in unmerited positions of authority. But the women? I am always open to learning more about my fellow sisterly saints.

Enter the diaries of Carol Lynn Pearson (CLP), who, as a woman, has heard the private voices and unfiltered opinions of regular women—as well as the women in leadership roles—since the 1960s. And when women talk privately they do not hold back with Carol Lynn!

Up until now, the biggest view behind the curtain of LDS women in leadership we’d had is when Chieko Okazaki gave that now-infamous Dialogue Interview, as well as in 2021 when the Church announced that in Europe women had been called as Area Organization Advisors for the Relief Society and Young Women organizations. About that, I wrote in our book chapter called ‘For the Men in the Room,’2

The above example is fairly benign, it’s more a statement that something was missing rather than their personal feelings about the patriarchy. But in the CLP diaries we get a behind-the-scenes look at the pain points of women in leadership. Here are six diary entries documenting such conversations:

Now do you understand why I have been melting down? And not just because July 2026 was the third hottest July on record in Utah history! 🥵 I don’t know why I assumed women in leadership were called by The Men in Charge because they preferred the status quo of women in the Church. But if I only have their public statements to go by, it’s no wonder I thought they loved patriarchy! Their private sentiments, though, give me another picture of them, least of which is that LDS women are complicated. (Duh!) Nobody’s public comments always match her private comments. But truly I was surprised at their level of disappointment. What didn’t come as a shock to me though is that LDS women in leadership—then and now—still don’t publicly voice their concerns about our place in the church.

In 2019 I thought LDS women leaders were getting close to open dialogue about equality when BYU Women’s conference4 held a panel with our top women church leaders and one of the topics addressed was how to deal with dismissive male church leaders. Here we go, ladies, say it, at last! Jean Bingham, then president of the Relief Society, did have the courage to admit she’d had interactions with a dismissive leader that left her “seething.” She called her interactions with him “purse slamming” moments. Lest I thought she was going to then talk about unrighteous dominion or the power imbalance that exists between men and women, nope, she made excuses saying that she learned over time how to work with him. That it was a “style and personality issue.” That as she prayed for him she learned better ways to approach him.

She went on to say that recently she had counseled with a ward RS president going through the same problem with a dismissive male leader and she gave her that same counsel—to pray for better ways to work with him. In other words, the woman needed to do all the changing. The problem couldn’t possibly be the power imbalance between men and women in the church. Or the “asymmetry,” as Dale Renlund calls the power imbalance.5

“Making yourself smaller is what gave you a seat at the table.”

—Sara Fisk6

But what happened next might be my number one most disappointing thing an LDS woman has ever said on the record. Bingham blamed herself— “We women tend to be shrill or demanding or stubborn, thinking we have the best idea ever.” Nooooooo! Shrill? Really? Men in charge can act badly but the real problem is shrill women? Bingham closed her comments with a type of postscript: “One of the things my parents taught me when we have a challenge with a leader is we do not criticize, ever, ever, ever. I never heard my parents say one negative thing, because it doesn’t help.”7 Hmmmm, sound familiar? This is the same advice given to Barbara Smith in the 1970s—never ever critique. Has nothing changed between 1977 and 2019?

I think it is highly problematic in a hierarchical power structure like the LDS Church—one in which men are always on the top of the org chart and women are always on the bottom—to tell the person who lacks power to look at herself first and say, like Bingham counseled the struggling women, to look within and to ask, ‘Lord, Is it I?” and then to follow that up with advice to never criticize. This is how systems of oppression and domination continue. We teach the group with lesser power to never see those in power as having any fault. Look within and never speak it out loud. Ever, ever, ever.

Thank goodness the internet has allowed for the democratization of LDS women’s voices. Regular women like me, and Susan—and all of you—have public ways to voice our private concerns. I don’t know if the women in the CLP diaries would’ve done anything differently had they lived today. Would they have started a blog? Been a guest on a podcast? Privately joined a chat room with a name like ‘PurseSlammingProvoMom’?

Reading volume 1 of The Diaries of Carol Lynn Pearson while sweating through July offered me a gift that our manuals and church magazines never have and probably never will. My leaders were not—and are not—the passive cheerleaders of patriarchy that their public statements forced them to be. They were sharp women, deeply frustrated, and acutely aware of the “asymmetry” crushing them. So I’ll pick up my melty self off the floor, satisfied today to know that my foremothers have seen every inequity that I see as well. It changes nothing in the organization, but it changes everything in me.

Cynthia Winward

Most of our listeners are regular LDS women like us but we do have some listeners who don’t quite fit our profile yet they have found our work helpful. One such listener is a young man, a current missionary in Africa, who is openly gay. He recently shared the most amazing experiences with us and we were just gushing! He gave us permission to share, but for privacy and safety reasons, names have been changed and the country he is serving in has been omitted.

When it comes to a feminine divine, I wish all of our LDS missionaries were instructed to lead with our doctrine of a Heavenly Mother, but instead we choose to bury the lead. As Susan has said, she is simultaneously given to us and taken away. It makes me smile to know that African sisters have the same questions I have….where is the divine feminine? I’m grateful that Yuia and Rosine have this marvelous young missionary with which to talk about such things. Bravo, young man!

I’ll close with Carol Lynn Pearson’s famous poem on this very topic—

A Motherless House

by Carol Lynn Pearson

I live in a Motherless house,
A broken home.
How it happened I cannot learn.

When I had words enough to ask
“Where is my Mother?”
No one seemed to know,
And no one thought it strange
That no one else knew either.

I live in a Motherless house.
They are good to me here,
But I find that no kindly
Patriarchal care eases the pain.

I yearn for the day
Someone will look at me and say,
“You certainly do look like your Mother.”

I walk the rooms,
Search the closets,
Look for something that might
Have belonged to her—
A letter, a dress, a chair.
Would she not have left a note?

I close my eyes
And work to bring back her touch, her face.
Surely there must have been
A Motherly embrace
I can call back for comfort.
I live in a Motherless house,
Motherless and without a trace.

Who could have done this?
Who would tear an unweaned infant
From its Mother’s arms
And clear the place of every souvenir?

I live in a Motherless house.
I lie awake and listen always for the word
That never comes, but might.
I bury my face
In something soft as a breast.

I am a child—
Crying for my Mother in the night.

Share

Crying at Weddings

by Alison Ficklin

Four years ago my daughter and I attended her second grade

teacher’s wedding. As we were seated and waiting for the ceremony to start, my daughter asked me if I was going to cry. “People cry at weddings because they are so happy, are you going to cry mom?” “Maybe,” I told her, but I remember thinking that I knew I would cry, but not for the same reasons that others in attendance would be crying.

I would cry because her guest list was only limited by how many people would fit in the venue. I had to choose based on who had temple recommends, which meant many close friends and family, including three of my siblings, were not able to attend. One of my brothers would have been able to attend, but he was on a mission at the time. The guest list was mostly older relatives and friends of my mother’s.

I would cry because her sister officiated the wedding. There’s a lot to cry about right there in that sentence. The fact that she had such an intimate connection to the bride added a special touch that you just rarely get in a temple sealing. And to be able to choose anyone? Even a woman? I couldn’t even tell you the name of the person who sealed me and my husband. And well, he was obviously a man.

I would cry because her dress was gorgeous. I imagine she made her choice based on what made her feel beautiful. The biggest deciding factor for my dress was if it would cover my garments or not.

I would cry because she had a photographer taking pictures of the ceremony and I knew there would be pictures of her getting ready as well. Because there always are. I have no such physical reminders of my temple sealing or getting ready in the bride’s room because it wasn’t allowed.

But it wasn’t all tears of sadness and regret. I would also cry because I knew if my daughter were to get married, she would have more options than I did. Even if she did opt for a temple sealing, she could have the civil ceremony of her dreams with no waiting period. Thanks to sleeveless garments (that were not even a thing when we attended this wedding) her dress options will be greater than mine were. She could choose female witnesses. And probably other changes could affect her day that I couldn’t even imagine right now. I’m grateful for the changes that she can potentially benefit from, but I mourn what I didn’t have.

So yes, my sweet girl, I will cry.

What Stopped Me

by Xenial Mormon Mom

He didn't pin me down
So what held me there?
Frozen

He didn't pin me down
My body isn't bruised
So what stopped me
From stopping him?

I didn't want to cause a scene
I thought I could get us out of this situation without...
embarrassing him



In fiction, women have their wits about them
They use their cunning and time freezes for them to think of a trick

I freeze - not time
No trick, no cunning, no wit
It's too late

He didn't pin me down
I didn't kick him away
I covered my face and repeated,
"I said no, I said no,
I said no."

"Ladies, please stop dressing so provocatively."
"We need you to help the poor boys with their thoughts."
"It's the woman's job to hold the moral line.
"Men can't help themselves."
"We just need you to dress modestly."
"Don't be so pushy."
"Assertiveness is not attractive."
"Boys don't want a controlling woman."
"He has so much of his life ahead of him."
"It would be a shame to cause him any trouble."
"You don't want to ruin his life, now do you?"
"Think of the man's needs first."
"Honor and obey him."
"What were you wearing?"
"She was asking for it."
"Steep price to pay for 20 minutes of action."
“If it's a legitimate rape, the female body has ways to try to shut that whole thing down.”

Polygamy Doesn’t Make Sense to Me

by KC Bramer

As I was weeding the garden, I had a thought.

In the book of Genesis, God created Adam and Eve. The idea that one man and one woman were created is reinforced in the temple. I wondered why God didn’t create Adam, Eve, Juanita, Olga, Greta and Jane? If the purpose was to be fruitful and multiply, wouldn’t it be easier to do so if Adam had multiple partners? After all, if God could create one woman, He could create several. If polygamy is important to God, then why wasn’t it created from the start? It doesn’t make sense. Polygamy never made sense to me.

We are told to judge things by their fruit. I don’t see much good fruit when I look at the Old Testament families. I see women abusing other women. I see handmaids being handed over to men to produce children for their mistresses. I see a man sending his wife/concubine and son into the desert with a skin of water and a loaf of bread. I see infertile women being taunted for something outside their control. I see women unsuccessfully trying to gain the love of their husbands. I see men selling one of their brothers as a slave to a passing caravan and telling their father that the boy was killed by a wild beast. I see cousins at war using the word shibboleth to identify the cousins they want to capture and kill. I see descendants of a family who to this day are in conflict.

I suppose there was some good fruit. Isaac and Ishmael did have families and the prophecy that Abraham would have numberless descendants came true. Leah was the mother of Judah from whom King David and Jesus descend. Joseph was in Egypt in a position to store grain and save the lives of his family members and others during a famine. Hannah eventually had a son who became the prophet Samuel.

This isn’t good fruit stemming from polygamy. To me this is God’s way of turning bad human behavior into something good. A God that can bring resurrection out of crucifixion can surely do these lesser things.

I contrast these stories from the Old Testament with a story from the New Testament. It starts with a young woman named Mary receiving a visit from an angel. Mary was betrothed to a man named Joseph. At no time during this story does it ever say that Joseph had multiple wives. (Although some believe that Joseph was a widower with children when he took Mary as his wife.) Mary never had to compete with another wife for the affection and attention of her husband. Joseph did not have to placate angry wives upset about other wives’ children. Jesus was raised in a home with one mother and one father. If polygamy was ordained of God, wouldn’t He want His only begotten son to live in that kind of family?

What are the fruits of Jesus’ family? He was kind and considerate. He had respect for all kinds of people. He must have had good relations with his siblings as some of them were his disciples. He healed people and forgave them. At the worst hour of his life, he saw to the care of his mother and comforted a criminal who was crucified with him. This is definitely good fruit.

Polygamy doesn’t make sense. It was not present with Eve and Adam. No good fruit comes of it. Jesus was not raised in a polygamous family. The only conclusion I can come to is that polygamy is a practice of men, not of God.

I Awaken

by Sarah Lewis

Each time I hear the word “polygamy”
something inside me aches.
A small, burning fury rises
from my stomach into my chest.
Bury it. Suppress it.
There’s no space for my feelings here.
Add it to the shelf alongside all the others—
My wonderings, my instincts, my fears.

Occasionally the fire of courage ignites
and I allow the hurt to settle, but
don’t tread those waters. “Doubt your doubts
before you doubt your faith.”
And so again, deep down inside
I smash those embers down
under the weight of patriarchy’s heavy bricks,
while a tear drips down my face.

Years pass by while I press on
fulfilling nature’s role.
No time, no space for flickers here;
a wife and mother in Zion I must be.
I strive every day to be righteous,
to perform most perfectly.
I’ve become so good at doing it all
at the cost of being me.

One day I begin to wonder,

Who am I?
What do I need?

My role has stripped it all from me;
am I anything underneath?
The smoldering inside me still remains;
The smoke seeps into my bones.
It’s heavy.
I hurt.
What’s wrong with me?
I’m weak.
I’m not enough.

Each day I try anew
to be patient, kind, and strong,
but the boulders of burden pound me until I crack
breaking out of nowhere an inner rage.

Shame is ugly and pervasive
Breeding dark thoughts in my mind.

I tell myself,
“Go to the temple, pray and read more. Do it right.”
(The given recipe to feel the light.)
I’m a good and righteous Mormon girl
so I follow the prescription:
Attend all meetings, study general conference, fulfill your calling,
pray and read your scriptures.

I can’t stay awake in the temple.
Reading scriptures puts me to sleep.
Do I even know my Savior?
Too much is blocking His reach.
Slowly I begin to realize
there is only one of me.
How can I ever do all of these things?

Must I admit defeat?

All of my time is given to others.
I ignore my body’s whispers
to “Back off, slow down, you’re nearing the edge.”

Continuously I persevere.
I only know one gear:
Full throttle toward perfection.
I reallocate my time to more pressing needs
but never lessen my pressure against the pedal.
Now my body starts to scream,
“Too much! Too fast! No more!”
Depression chips away my hope
and exhaustion overtakes me.
I feel helpless and burned out.
My own kids won’t even respond to me.
How can I keep pressing on
when every expectation overwhelms me?
The burning, expanding anxiety I feel
almost incapacitates me.
Full panic is just around the corner
if I don’t get a handle on things!

And then,

One simple invitation
opens the door for me
to look inside, behind, beyond—
Permission to discover what this hurt could mean.

And so I grab a match.

Then with courage and equal fear,
I strike and it becomes the spark
to ignite my long-suppressed embers.
With welcoming, yet timid arms
I reach out to embrace
the questions of my woman soul
my performance of expectations always hid.

The burn and sting of shame pervade.
Fear fights to hold me down.
“Don’t listen to your inner self” it says,
“For then you won’t be good and worthy.”
Countless expectations rule over me.
Is this what Christ wants from me?
Finding Him eludes me still;
how did I never learn how?

Why have I needed permission
to consider spirituality another way?
Strong women inspire me to take that for myself.
My faith journey is mine to make.

An ache resides within my soul
from the feeling of dismissal
of my Mother God, divine and infinite
and how manhood takes her place.
How could you men tuck her neatly away,
so ignorant of the harm it brings me?
You reason this is to respect and reverence her,
while maintaining your power to reign supreme.
How often have men been silenced
and put back in their place?
I don’t believe most understand,
for their voice has a stage.
Men at the helm to lead us
at every level in the church.
Patriarchy, priesthood, and preside
are tasting more bitter every day.

And we circle back to polygamy,
a dark stain on our church’s history.

That burning fury still quakes my heart.
This could be my eternity?!

When I vulnerably shared my honest pain with him,
he countered and questioned me:
“Since you’d have your children and family in heaven,
what would plural marriage actually take from you?”

I can’t put together an answer
into words that properly convey
the arrow piercing through my heart
as patriarchy once again aims to douse my flame.

Still struggling to articulate
how that question punishes me…
dismissal,
no power,
no equal leadership role,
sharing my husband,
a concubine to my “King”?
Or is it something still deeper?
The devaluing of feminine traits,
downplaying our heavy emotional labor,
our low self-worth,
our concerns,
our strengths?

My personal experience must influence
my past, my present, and my future.
Only God knows my inner heart.
His grace attends my interpretations.
My Gods’ gift of agency to me
demonstrates Their confidence and Their Plan.
Inside me lives Their light and Their power
to converge with my intuition.

The opening of my heart,
my yearning toward heaven,
my veneration of nature’s beauty,
my pleading, hoping, thanking.
These are my ways of prayer these days to
my Mother,
my Father,
my Jesus.
All Gods to me,
separately,
I seek to know each one.

The greatest gift I can offer to God
is to be wholly and only me,
to step into my God-given capacities—
love, goodness, strength, learning, growth, empathy.

And yet, despite my longings, sometimes
a certain sadness visits me.
I feel lonely, worn, unknowing.
What do I want?
What do I need?
I seek to know and comprehend
what has been dampened down.

With each stumbling step toward my Christ
my understanding broadens.
Immense feelings once brushed aside,
my gleaming fire now invites in.
Slowly I come to know Him
through His love, His kind teaching, His suffering.
His adoration and respect for women was evident
In his every interaction.
Surely this Brother of ours,
so perfect and benevolent,
knew His Mother in Heaven above,
and now aches while we, seeking Her, are starving.

This feminine awakening stirred my slumber;
I join my sisters, strong.
O, Mother God of women, Divine,
guide and embolden me along.
Help me to find my buried voice
and the courage to share it wide,
To awaken the fire in others’ souls
where true love and knowing reside.

From a listener:

I am a mom of a young woman. She’s 14. Every path that she’s been told will lead to success is probably not there. Nursing, education, computer science, science at all—these are paths that are traditionally held out. Doctors. Lawyers. But the costs of education are so high. She’s an athlete. She’s trusting in her athletics to cover her schooling so that she can get a degree in the first place.

She’s getting the same messages her aunts got. I was never a YW. I’m a convert. And I always grew up with the idea that I will work and have a career. Being a mother was never ever on my radar. And being a mother isn’t on her radar. She pushed back in seminary when they said the equivalent of priesthood for women is motherhood. She asked what happens if she can’t physically have kids? Or if she can’t afford them. What happens if things don’t work out. Is she less? And why is her spirituality tied to something about her body? Isn’t she worth more than that. And I guess she inspired a revolt because I got the joy of meeting with the seminary teachers.

I’m shocked at how resilient these girls are. And how willing they are to take their friendships from seminary and all into the real world and rely on those. They have hope. They have amazing ideas. And they do not let adults squash on them at all. But the messages they’re getting are still the same ones her aunts got. It is just not the same world, but it is the same messages.

At some point the church is going to have to adapt or they will lose all the young women. She knows several gay young women who are in seminary because they believe, but who have plans to leave the church because the church can’t accept them. She’s decided that she won’t continue when she’s on her own either because the church lacks the flexibility or general desire to change with and support the youth as they are experiencing the world, and relies on the “older” times instead of leaning into what they are going through now.

-Natasha

Contributors:

Alison Ficklin

Alison is an elementary school teacher who lives in the Midwest with her husband and four three two children. She has four kids, but the oldest two are adults and she is clearly still trying to figure out how to navigate that and determine where it is exactly that they live. She enjoys reading, playing the piano, wasting time on her phone, traveling, and training in karate.

Xenial Mormon Mom

KC Bramer

KC lives in St. Paul Minnesota with her husband of 20 years and their two young cats. She works as a pharmacist. Her hobbies are reading, writing, biking hiking and knitting. She also likes baking cookies and banana bread. Raised in a two faith family, she is interested in the practices in other Christian faiths.

Sarah Lewis

Sarah loves being active and outdoors, appreciating nature's beauty. She is passionate about connecting with others, always learning, and finding her voice. Her faith journey has led her to being open to questions, letting go of guilt and shame, coming to trust her inner knowing, redefining God, and curating her own life. She is actively choosing what remains and what or who doesn't support or uplift her. She is the newly single mother of six children. Excited for her future, she believes we all have the power and capacity to determine what that looks like for ourselves.

Share At Last She Said It

The ALSSI community keeps growing, thanks to your support. Please keep spreading the word! Be sure to check out our chat feature—it’s another benefit of your paid subscription. If you have something to say, send us a voicemail, start a thread…or send us a piece for a future Say More!

say it

chat it

write it

by Susan Hinckley

I don’t know where or when I learned that I would need to do things to earn love.

I can’t pin it down—it seems like knowledge I was born with. In this kind of paradigm, Being Better = More Love, so from a young age I started trying to be the best at everything.

I tried to please teachers, parents, friends. I tried to be popular (not much success there), win awards (more there, but spoiler: awards don’t make you feel loved, they just make you worry about how you’ll top it next time). I got voted “best dressed” one year in school, “best smile” another. Sure I’m still secretly riding high from those Jr. High titles—let’s be honest—but I didn’t really believe either one of them. Still don’t. “Awkward” and “not quite fill-in-the-blank enough” are the designations I assigned myself in school, and those are the ones that stuck.

Religion made sense to me, because it was a scheme to earn God’s love by becoming very very good, and hopefully even perfect. Religion also taught me I was not naturally good, not inherently worthy, not a beloved child in any way I could feel or believe. It was confusing—church told me God loved me out of one side of its mouth while insisting God couldn’t stand me the way I am out of the other.

I honestly thought that the point of Christianity was transcending my humanity, that the ‘good news’ was we don’t have to be what we are—and what we are is fundamentally not okay—because Jesus can fix it! It was based on someone who was better than anyone else who ever lived on this planet: who resisted all temptation, performed miracles, walked on water, then punctuated his example with the heretofore unimaginable trick of resurrection, literally transcending his mortality.

I certainly didn’t absorb the idea that my humanness was one of the essential things about me. That it was key to connection, or the pathway to love.

It would never have occurred to me that humanness was the mirror in which I could glimpse Divinity.1

The day I met God—and let me explain what that means: it means one day I met the understanding that I actually am okay, beloved even, and always have been, as is—was like going around a corner and finding myself in a completely different world. A world I was not only allowed but meant to love, full of humans like me who were also beloved. Once I turned that corner, it disappeared. There could be no going back.

The Rev. Jacqui Lewis writes, “What if the goal of our lives of faith is to have this revelation: The only way to love God is to love yourself so you can love the world?”2 The first 50 years of my life, I wouldn’t have known what to do with that sentence. It would have sounded nice, but love of self simply wasn’t in my wheelhouse.

Loving the world came very naturally, but was mostly something I kept quiet around other Latter-day Saints. The idea that I had sensed God’s presence much more regularly in places other than church would have required some explanation. An ongoing negative narrative about it left me conflicted and confused by my private affection for the world, quietly confirming a deep fear: that for some reason I could neither understand nor control, my faith must be faulty or deficient.

I’d always secretly been on the side of people. I loved the things we did and invented and said and wrote and made. I remember coming home from a movie once, overwhelmed by the beauty of its complex portrayal of relationships between deeply flawed characters—something about their interactions had pulled up a chair for me, assured me it was okay to sit down in my own life, that I deserved to be comfortable. I said something about this to my father-in-law—so often a reassuring light in my church life—and he responded a bit disapprovingly that for him, the movie was too humanistic.

Well, yes … exactly.

Carmen Acevedo Butcher teaches that, “Being spiritual is much easier than being human.” This simple framing stopped me in my tracks the first time I heard her say it. Rarely has anything explained myself to me in such a simple and profound way. For me, being a Latter-day Saint made being human feel like a tricky proposition. It set up an adversarial relationship between me and myself, between me and God, and as I think about it now, between me and every other human. It made me jump hurdles for love, placed rules around the love I was allowed to feel myself and express for others. This fueled a deep-rooted loneliness and distrust of all of it, setting me up for a true crisis when the wheels of my religious life suddenly flew off.

If religion could no longer be my conduit for seeking connection with God, would I have to just give up on the whole relationship? Even though church hadn’t really gotten me the feelings or insights I was seeking, I’d dug in hopefully, because I didn’t know there could be any legit god-connection outside it.

Christianity has not rewarded a fully-embodied spirituality. If people can know The Source in their bones, why do they need the church? So the church is invested in keeping us separated from the truth of our own bones and hearts and humanity.

Reimagining Christianity for me would involve beginning with the full acceptance of the human experience. Jesus was, after all, a person—no matter what else he may have been. But it’s not for his humanness that we are taught to emulate him—it is for having been better than we are. No wonder I learned to show up at church with only small portions of myself visible. No wonder I was taught that the natural Susan was an enemy to God. No wonder I internalized shame for my own most human parts, even though it is through that common thread that I am connected to all my siblings. How could I love the thing I had not been taught to reverence? How could I believe God loved me if I had not been taught to love myself?

So one of the biggest things that happened for me the day I suddenly realized I was beloved was that I no longer needed an intervention. Not an atonement, at least not in the way I’d been taught to think about it.3 Not a card to certify my worthiness, nor a priesthood holder who could do essential things that filled requirements I couldn’t fill myself.

For the first time in my life, nothing at all between me and love.

It was a slippery slope, too. One minute after being granted Divine permission to love myself as I am, I realized it put my neighbor in a new light as well. I felt suddenly equipped with compassion, understanding, desire, acceptance, willingness, patience—a whole lot of things I’d never known exactly how or when to use. Love had been obscured by layers of fine print, prerequisites and conditions. As they fell away, I could see the thing underneath was actually easy to pick up and light to carry.

This also meant that rather than a conduit for connection to a god out there somewhere, church might become a conduit for connection with other people. A love lab, where I could grow in self-knowledge and understanding while I learn what it means to live the great commandment, to internalize the one thing we were sent here to really know.

Jesus didn’t come to teach us how to get out of being human, but to show us how to love while we are.

An idea expressed by Rabbi Donniel Hartman4 describes the Jesus I think of when I read his teachings and experiences: “A life of faith isn’t just about walking with God, but how one walks with humanity.” I think that’s about how I walk with my own humanity, in addition to how I walk with everyone else.

“My deepest me is God!” declared St. Catherine of Genoa.5 This means the thing at my center can’t be sin, or shortcoming. In such a view, there can be no deficiency in being human, only divinity. Feeling God’s love is just—feeling love.

I become the pebble in the pond from which all the circles radiate. God’s love originates in me. I never need to be instructed in it, or go someplace holy to experience it, or put myself in the right mindset or soul-set to receive it. The concept of qualifying for it feels as nonsensical as earning my breath.

I talk a lot about a God of relationship, and as I check in with myself about what that phrase means or looks or feels like for me today, the first word that bubbles up is simply connection: humans and all creation, with and within each other, one living whole. I’m trying to learn to stay awake to this world as much as I can: aware of each moment and my place in it, fully inhabiting—committed to and content with—my part.

“Love yourself,” explains Jacqui Lewis. If that sounds simple, the rest of her sentence blows it out to engulf everything else I know now or may ever learn: “—so you can love the other, so you can love the world.” I may have gotten a late start, but I’m willing to work on this for the rest of my life.

Susan Hinckley

As the self-proclaimed Grace Peddlers1, we always love getting feedback from our listeners about podcast topics. We received an email from a podcast listener named Carol who spotted grace out in the wild, okay she actually spotted it in academia, and we wanted to share a bit of it with you all—

How amazing is it that the data from a Brigham Young University study2 is supporting grace? I don’t love the phrase ‘healthy perfectionism’, but I can appreciate the distinction the researcher is trying to make.

After receiving Carol’s email, I read the article she sent in BYU Studies. Basically, researchers found that religion itself is not the primary cause of toxic perfectionism; rather, it is the manner in which we engage with religious standards. The harmful effects of perfectionism can be mitigated if our teachers, parents, and church leaders can foster in us an intrinsic motivation and a grace-based understanding of faith.

Yikes! That seems like a really tall order, especially in a church that struggled to teach me anything about grace. And I’m not alone! I remember years ago reading a BYU Magazine article by Sheri Dew about grace3. She admits grace wasn’t fostered in her or a friend either—

“Her e-mail led me to ask another friend what she wished she understood about grace. ‘To tell you the truth,’ she said, ‘TV evangelists have wrecked that word for me. I almost feel disloyal to the restored gospel even talking about grace. I mean, do we believe in grace?’”

I had to go on my own Grace Journey. And after that long and painful search, I am determined to continue to peddle grace to anyone who will listen. Maybe someday we will believe our own Jesus-y stuff about grace.

Share

As part of our 250th anniversary observance, U.S. Latter-day Saints are invited to participate in a unified fast on July 5th “to express gratitude for religious liberty and to pray that it be strengthened throughout the world."1

Our 11th Article of Faith says:

I believe in religious freedom and wonder why our leaders don’t get a little more specific about what they’re thinking of when they use that phrase. The fact that they don’t leaves room for me to engage with it for myself, and I’m going to take full advantage of that precious mental space.

First, I’m going to call out the fact that when Joseph Smith penned this article, he should have said “people,” but I’ll overlook that and just remind us all that “men” doesn’t really mean “everyone,” and words matter. In 2026, I think we could consider updating language where it would be easy to do so, to reflect current usage and culture.

Secondly, I hope all church members recognize that in order to be real, any religious liberty you publicly proclaim being devoted to must exist for YOU as a Latter-day Saint—inside the Church—as well as for everyone outside it.

Need to change the way you think or talk about God? A She perhaps? A They?

Need to pray using different words? Maybe even completely different practices?

Need to start coming at scriptural interpretation a bit more broadly, and a bit less literally?

Need to ask big questions about stuff, and maybe stop focusing so much on having the answers?

Need to talk about whatever you struggle with…out loud?

Not a comprehensive list of possibilities of course, but I hope you’ll feel at liberty to change, adapt, and grow in your religious and spiritual life in any way your relationships and experiences may call you to do so. Why wouldn’t we take Joseph at his word, secure in the idea that being LDS need not prohibit us from worshiping how, where, or what we may, and according to the dictates of our own conscience?

There are things in our culture and history that make religious liberty a naturally resonant topic for Latter-day Saints. I think we’re generally pretty insistent on it for ourselves as a church, and therefore invested in defending it for others.

Allowing all people to find meaning and connection however and wherever they may is a worthwhile goal. Can you love people enough to give them space to express what matters to them, and why it does? Can you get out of the way to let them figure that out for themselves?

What about in a Relief Society lesson?

I wish I’d felt more freedom to think, reason, feel, believe differently, and ask questions throughout my life as a Latter-day Saint—you know, the things humans need to grow and develop spiritually. I’ve been in these pews and classrooms for well over half a century, and if we’re going to make noise about religious liberty as a church, from here on out my noise as a member is going to focus on defending our diversity of thoughts, ideas, spiritual needs and practices from the tyranny of ourselves.

It’s an interesting focus for a fast—I think we generally reach for a fast when we’re hoping to get God’s attention, and in this case we really only need to get the attention of ourselves and the people around us. After all, God doesn’t vote. God also doesn’t keep people in boxes, but some of us are prone to keeping ourselves and everyone else—including Them—in one.

Wishing you a happy July 4th, however, wherever, or whatever you may be celebrating.

Share

I was watching the news last night with sadness and a deeply unsettled feeling as they continued to pull people—some still alive!—from the rubble in Venezuela following last week’s earthquakes. The coverage highlighted the story of a man buried under the rubble of two buildings, apparently protected by the small parking booth where he was working in an underground garage when the world came down. But it’s rescue-Jenga—they can’t figure out how they can get to him when any piece they pull might lead to further collapse. His wife watches nearby, taking small comfort in the fact that, 6 days in, the rescuers have finally been able to get water to him.

As I tried to put myself in her shoes—and couldn’t, really—I thought about the many thousands of collapses happening every minute of every day on this precarious earth of ours. We’re forced to walk a bridge, and there’s no getting off it. But it’s an unreliable bridge: every now and then, often without warning, it just…collapses. We try to avoid looking down, distracting ourselves in every way we can from the chasm. But there it is.

Learning to embrace that reality has become key to my peace and well-being. If that sounds nonsensical, let me explain. I’m not perfect—I over-scroll and over-eat and over-spend to distract myself all day every day. I take too many pills, probably exercise more than I need to, hoping to stave off the inevitable. I’m definitely still learning and will need more practice.

But the peace-giving shift for me is that I finally understand: if no one deserves a tragedy, how can anyone deserve a blessing? I can't deserve a blessing any more than I can deserve a mountain or a baby or a giraffe or the tree growing outside my window.

I can ask for blessing, love for it, live for it, try to stay present to it in my own life and help the people around me feel and find it too. Asking for blessing is really just begging a little reassurance from God, a glimpse of divine love, and Jesus showed me how to manifest that love in the world. I have a choice whether to make this unreliable place a little easier for everyone I meet, or not.

But I will never be more deserving than every person in Venezuela, or anywhere else. May I never forget it.

On the day this bridge gives way beneath my feet—it will, I’ve been watching other people fly off the edge my entire life—it is only love that will sustain me. Only the portion of grace I am willing to give as freely as I hope to receive it that can make me okay, when everything in the world is not. For as long as it took me to write this, anyway, it is enough.

Note: More from James Finley here.

Share

We posted this snarky bingo card on social media but I had a few more things to say about women and priesthood.

Way back on Episode 97, Christ Chose Women, we talked about David Bednar’s 2022 comments at the National Press Club Luncheon. (Watch his body language as he answers the questions….nervous much?) When asked about whether we would ever have a woman prophet he said:

“We follow the pattern of the ancient church. … The pattern anciently was that the apostles were men.”

We had plenty to say about his response on the episode, but let’s just accept for now that it is true, that at the highest levels of governance Jesus wants only men to be apostles in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Fine. But why can’t we be bishops? If the reporter had asked him that question instead, what scripture—or “pattern”—from Jesus’s life and ministry would Bednar quote to support the Church’s ban on women clergy at the local level? What do you think? Because I can find nothing. Nada.

Cynthia Winward

Share

A Wrinkle In Time and How NOT to Build Zion

by Mara

In this essay I will address the building of Zion, how we may

be thinking about it in a flawed way, and how we can think about it instead. I will focus on the qualification “of one heart and one mind”—the principle of unity.

The scripture I just quoted in Moses is a description of the city of Enoch, and it could be argued that the description is unique to just that city. It is commonly used as a description in the church, however, as the kind of society we should be working for, since prophecies claim that Zion, the New Jerusalem, will be built in the last days, and we are also members of Zion inasmuch as we are members of stakes of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. In addition, the scripture says the people were called Zion “because they were of one heart and one mind,” implying that Zion is a title bestowed on people who meet those qualifications and not just the people of Enoch. I feel it is therefore appropriate here to discuss the building of Zion as something that we can all work towards.

At this point you might be wondering about why I called this piece “How NOT to build Zion.” In addition to being an attention-grabber, this title shows that most of this essay will focus on how this scripture can be misinterpreted and how we can read it instead.

The idea of being “of one heart and one mind” can be interpreted in more than one way, and I would like to discuss one way this could be interpreted that I am going to argue is incorrect—that everyone feels, thinks, and acts exactly the same.

This is not a completely unreasonable way to understand the scripture, since other scriptures tell us,

“I say unto you, be one; and if ye are not one, ye are not mine.” (D&C 38:27)

and

“I beseech you that there be no divisions among you, but that ye be perfectly joined together.” (1 Corinthians 1:10)

However, if the idea of “one heart and one mind” is applied irresponsibly, it may be interpreted to mean that we give up our agency and individuality and all become exactly the same. I argue that sameness is undesirable as a quality in Zion, while unity can be built another way.

In the well-known book “A Wrinkle in Time” by Madeleine L’Engle, the characters Meg and Charles Wallace visit a planet called Camazotz where everyone behaves exactly the same because they are controlled by a totalitarian mind called IT that does not tolerate any deviation. When they first enter the town, they view a residential neighborhood that seems to be like a pleasant place at first but they soon discover there is a difference from what they are used to.

Meg and Charles Wallace continue into town and discover that these children and mothers, along with other inhabitants of the town, are under the strict control of the being IT, which uses fear and intimidation to make everything perfect. The effect is absolutely chilling: everything on the planet works perfectly because IT wills it so. IT tells the children:

The effect is quite chilling. IT’s words remind me of the arguments made by Lucifer during the council in heaven:

“Behold, here am I, send me, I will be they son, and I will redeem all mankind, that one soul shall not be lost, and surely I will do it; wherefore give me thine honor.” (Moses 4: 1)

We might often feel that the Church is teaching that everyone must be exactly the same; we certainly do have a lot of commandments and “rules” that we expect people to follow in order to be considered a “good” member. But in fact the scriptures have taught us that it is only in diversity, not sameness, that we will be able to build things properly.

Consider the teachings in 1 Corinthians 12, which compares the followers of Christ to a human body:

“If the whole body were an eye, where were the hearing? If the whole were hearing, where were the smelling? But now hath God set the members every one of them in the body, as it hath pleased him. And if they were all one member, where were the body? But now they are many members, yet one body. And the eye cannot say to the hand, I have no need of thee: nor again the head to the feet, I have no need of you.” (1 Corinthians 12: 17-21)

The author explains clearly here why sameness is not only not unifying but also not useful. “And if they were one member, where were the body?” In other words, if all the people of Christ were hands, exactly as the same as each other, we would not have a unified body, but only a collection of disembodied hands. And since each of the hands was exactly the same, the body would receive no additional functionality by joining two or more of the hands together. So they are separated and each hand has only the functionality it brought to the situation.

When the people of Christ are different types of body parts, however, the body is able to be unified: “But now hath God set the members every one of them in the body.” The parts make a body together and complement each other as members of the body. In addition, each part in this diverse body has access to the utility of the other parts of the body: the eye cannot hear, and the ear cannot smell. But by being part of a great body with the other members, each body part has access to the functionality of the whole body and contributes to that greater functionality.

Discussions of spiritual gifts in the scriptures also point out that diversity is needed for increased functionality as a unified church:

“And again, I exhort you, my brethren, that ye deny not the gifts of God… And there are different ways that these gifts are administered; but it is the same God who worketh all in all; and they are given by the manifestations of the Spirit of God unto men, to profit them.” (Moroni 10: 8)

They are given by the Spirit to profit them as a whole, not just one particular member. Therefore, the collective, unified body has access to all of the spiritual gifts, increasing its abilities in comparison to one member.

In short, Zion is not Zion in spite of diversity, but because of diversity. Those members of the church who feel they are different are just what the church needs, and the church as a whole suffers when they choose not to be part of us.

What does it mean then to be “of one heart and one mind?” How can we then understand these scriptures without understanding them to be talking about complete sameness? Consider these descriptions of the kind of mind and heart we should have:

“...Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all they heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind.” (Matthew 22:37)

“...that ye stand fast in one spirit, with one mind striving together for the faith of the gospel;” (Phillipians 1:27)

“For this is the covenant that I will make with the house of Israel after those days, saith the Lord; I will put my laws into their mind, and write them in their hearts: and I will be to them a God, and they shall be to me a people:” (Hebrews 8:10)

“And ye will not have a mind to injure one another, but to live peaceably…” (Mosiah 4:13)

“Behold, the Lord requireth the heart and a willing mind;” (D&C 64:34)

“Blessed are the pure in heart…” (Matthew 5:8)

“And ye shall offer for a sacrifice… a broken heart and a contrite spirit…” (3 Nephi 9:20)

We can bring minds that are full of love, striving, peaceful, and willing to make covenants with the Lord, and hearts that are loving, contrite and pure. These are the characteristics that will unify us in a way that we are not all the same like servants of a controlling IT-like mind, but that we can benefit from each other’s differences.

Checking Boxes

by Marlee Bedke

Letting the Fields Lie Fallow

by Brooke RaNae Palmer

I live in Southeastern Idaho, just over the Utah border in

the first Idaho community settled by Mormon pioneers. When they arrived, the land was thick with sagebrush—wild, dry, and unpromising. What transformed it into farmland was not just effort, but an irrigation system.

To catch the spring snowmelt, they excavated reservoirs with horse teams and cast iron implements, carved canals and ditches with hand tools, and relied on gravity to carry water across hundreds of acres. It was a carefully planned feat of engineering.

Presently there are 5 canal companies and 13 reservoirs in Franklin County, and many of the ditches and canals have been encased in pipe and buried in the ground, and by-and-large, it is still gravity that sends the water where it needs to go. For more than a century, water has moved because it has been guided to move, again and again, in a carefully maintained system.

This irrigation infrastructure has shaped the land, and it shaped the people who lived on it—teaching them to produce, to maximize, to make the desert yield. Over time, farming became the dominant industry here, and with it came a rhythm: plow, sew, water, grow, harvest, repeat.

Despite improving the rate of crop production, on-demand irrigation isn’t always positive. Constant farming also depletes the ground of minerals and nutrients, which then are usually replaced with another man-made innovation: chemical fertilizers. (But that’s a subject for another day.)

As you travel north, there are “dry farm,” areas where irrigation is not able to reach. The land is too far from the reservoirs, or it is too hilly for the gravity flow to be able to work. So, these farmers have learned to farm in a different way. Some years these fields lie fallow. To a passerby, they look abandoned: overgrown with weeds, marked by washouts where snowmelt has pooled and receded. They do not appear productive. They do not appear tended.

And yet, this too is a deliberate practice because through this period of rest, the soil is able to gather moisture deep into the ground. The weeds, when eventually turned under, become nourishment. When the field is planted again—often with hardy wheat—it draws on what has been quietly stored below the surface. The crop is able to grow without being dependent on a man-made watering system. It can even grow through a summer that gets very little rain because the moisture has been allowed to accumulate in the earth. It may yield less than irrigated land, but it yields enough. It survives.

I can guarantee that over the past 165 years, these stewards of the land have tried to come up with a way to get onto an irrigated system. It’s not for lack of ingenuity, or money, or will power. It would take a seismic shift in the landscape for something like that to happen.

On the other hand, there are thousands of acres watered by man-made irrigation, and so they’re able to produce more varied and abundant crops. They are not as limited by the amount of water that is provided by rainfall. On irrigated land, a farmer can sometimes get up to four cuttings of hay, compared to two on a dry farm.

Growing up in the church, in a community that was predominately LDS, I was part of a man-made irrigated system. I was watered consistently and thoroughly. As a child I grew both homemaking and leadership skills. As a young woman I produced a temple marriage and raised 4 wonderful children. As a member of my ward, I was a steward of Primary children, YW and YM, and Relief Society sisters. And like the irrigated fields around me, I was taught—implicitly and explicitly—to produce, produce, produce.

But then the unthinkable happened, I experienced a huge seismic shift, one that had been building up for years. There had been tremors, but I ignored them in favor of producing. This shift threw me off of the irrigation system that had been the framework of my life.

All of a sudden, the pipes that led out of my reservoir were fractured, the flow disrupted, and I learned that systems, even sustaining ones, can break if they become too rigid and confining.

I tried to limp along, doing the same things I’d always done, tried to grow the same crops, followed the same patterns, expected the same results, but without the constant water, my output shriveled up. I found myself exhausted, unable to sustain what once felt natural. I tried to get back on the system, but returning to the old system was not an option; it no longer felt like nourishment. It felt contaminated.

What I did not realize, at first, was that I was being invited into a different method of growing—the kind practiced by dry farmers, a season of fallowness, completely reliant on mother nature.

Having observed many fallow fields over the years, I knew during this phase of fallow-ness the field would be ugly. There would be weeds growing in it. There would be washouts from melt-off and rain. My neighbors might drive by and wonder what happened to my beautifully cultivated field and why I was letting it run to ruin now.

I am learning how to let a field lie fallow. I know my field doesn’t have to look perfect, or even pretty.

However, I don’t have to rely solely on my own observations as I employ this technique. This, too, has roots in my inheritance, I have dry farming in my genetic code. Not only do I have Mormon pioneers on one side of the family, but I also come from Volga German stock. In 1762 Catherine the Great invited immigrants to settle in Russia. Many Hessian Germans formed a community on the banks of the Volga River and there they developed agricultural practices shaped by scarcity and resilience: crop rotation, soil stewardship, and the intentional leaving of land unplanted. They became some of the most important wheat growers in the empire.

However, their history, too, is marked by disruption. By the late 19^th century there had been many seismic shifts in Russian politics and eventually many of the Volga Germans emigrated to the United States. Carrying their knowledge with them to the mid-west and western states, they grew a variety of crops: rye, potatoes, sunflowers, sugar beets and the red wheat with which we are all familiar. Adaptation was not optional; it was survival. Long before any Mormon Utahans were farming, the Volga Germans had been using innovative farming techniques, including allowing a field to lay fallow. They understood that in order to get the best production out a piece of ground, they needed to let it rest, to gather moisture and nutrients.

If the Mormon pioneers taught me how to build systems, the Volga Germans remind me how to live when those systems fail. If you Google “Volga Germans” you will see that they are known for their tenacious work ethic. If you read between the lines, you will also notice that they are farmers who understood the necessity of rest and were remarkably versatile. And while I applaud my Mormon ancestors for their tenacity and work ethic, I feel like those of us in the Mormon belt may have lost the versatility that we once had. Instead, we are relying too much on man-made irrigation to produce, produce, produce.

Now after this seismic shift in my own life, I am going to hearken back to my German roots, where a season of fallowness isn’t a liability, it isn’t unacceptable, but is counted as necessary. I am learning how to let a field lie fallow. I know my field doesn’t have to look perfect, or even pretty. It’s okay that it’s filled with weeds—unanswered questions, unfinished thoughts, grief that surfaces unpredictably. There are washouts, places where old structures have collapsed under the weight of change. From the outside, it might appear neglected, as though I have stepped away from responsibility or purpose. To be fallow is to remain present without forcing growth. It is to trust that something is happening beneath the surface, even when it cannot be measured or displayed.

This season is sustaining me in ways I could not have anticipated. It has loosened my dependence on constant production. It has reconnected me to something more elemental—something like the slow accumulation of moisture in the soil, unseen but essential. At some point, in a season when I’m strong enough, or feel good enough, or when I’ve finally figure something out, I’ll just plow everything under and those weeds will be part of the nourishment of the soil. I do not know yet what I will plant when this season ends. I suspect it will be something different from what I grew before—something that can reach deeper, something less dependent on carefully controlled systems, one that isn’t common in this LDS soil. A crop that doesn’t leave me burned-out or reliant on anything man-made.

For now, it is enough to tend this field as it is. To let the field lie fallow. To trust the work of rest. To believe that meaning, like water, does not always arrive on command—but can still be gathered, held, and, in time, made to nourish what comes next.

Women Who Understand

by Lisa Fluckiger

A Vision of Living Thread

by Jessie Santa Maria Whittaker

And it came to pass that I beheld a land covered in mist, and many

voices were heard within it, speaking commandments and judgments to the travelers who walked there.

And the mist was thick at times, heavy with the weight of words and expectations, pressing upon the shoulders of those who passed. And at other times it parted, letting light spill gently upon the path of the traveler.

And I saw a rod of iron stretching across the land, straight and unbending, and many did cling unto it with great effort. And the rod did ascend upward unto a great building that stood high above the earth.

And the building was filled with people who looked down from lofty windows and balconies. They spoke with certainty and mocked the travelers in the mist. And though the building appeared magnificent, I perceived that it had no foundation beneath it.

And near the rod I beheld a young girl who had just loosed her hands from the iron. She looked upon the building with troubled eyes, for she knew it was not her home, yet she feared to depart from the path she had been taught.

And as I watched, a thread of gold came gently into my hands. It was soft and living, and it moved with me as I walked.

And I perceived that the thread grew brighter when I walked in compassion, and dimmed when I walked in fear, yet it did not depart from me.

And I beheld that there were many such threads moving through the mist in every direction. Some crossed and some parted, yet all were woven together into a great tapestry that stretched across the earth.

And I saw that the tapestry was not yet complete, for new threads were continually being woven into it by the lives of those who walked the earth.

And following the thread, I came unto a tree whose beauty was beyond all that I had known. And the fruit thereof filled my soul with a great and quiet love, sweet and comforting to taste.

And I beheld that the roots of the tree reached deep into the earth and drew life from hidden waters beneath the world, even from living springs that did not fail.

And the branches spread wide as though to gather all who hungered for its fruit.

And I saw that the trunk of the tree opened as a doorway, and beyond it was a garden where light and shadow dwelt together, and the light made the shadows gentle.

And I turned again and saw the young girl standing in the mist, and I went unto her and held her with compassion, for I knew her burdens and her longing for goodness.

And as we stood beneath the tree, I perceived that the light which shone there had also been within us from the beginning, a spark of the divine entrusted to our care.

And the golden threads continued to move through the world, weaving the journeys of many souls together.

And I knew then that the journey toward God was not a single road to be followed, but a living weaving of souls learning, stumbling, and shining together.

And I bore record that the love which grew from that tree was the true guide of the soul; and whosoever walked in that love need not fear the mist, for the light within them would ever lead them onward.

Contributors:

Mara

Marlee Bedke

Marlee is a “stretchy saint” that’s doing her best to find her place and voice at church. She’s become the girl that shocks her southern Utah ward by holding her daughter during her baby blessing, wearing a rainbow bracelet, finding God outside the normal Primary answers, and sharing “liberal” things on social media. She’s lucky to be married to her best friend, and they lead their home and 2 young kids as equal partners. She’s a mindful yoga teacher, a daycare supervisor, an amateur gardener, a proud firefighter wife, a sourdough baker, a hiker, a Krispy Kreme fanatic and an avid reader.

Brooke RaNae Palmer

Brooke is a big thinker, voracious reader, stained glass enthusiast, and heavy metal headbanger, in addition to being a loving nana, mother of 4, happy farm wife and badass homemaker.

Lisa Fluckiger

Lisa is a second year grad student in Chadron State College's Clinical Mental Health Counseling MAE program. Her most recent work has been providing SEL education and support for middle school students. Long ago at BYU, Lisa earned a BA degree in chemistry and then a master's degree in Curriculum and Instruction, with an emphasis in the inclusive classroom. Her family owns a small artisan bakery in the small town where they live, and it is a place where their daughter, Eleanor, can have meaningful work and continue to participate in the community. Totally her husband's dream, and she is all for it! In addition to studying mental health, Lisa is loving life beyond church, running with her dogs, yoga, and writing. Also Netflix.

Jessie Santa Maria Whittaker

Therapist, writer, professional meaning-maker, wife, and momma. Jessie sits with big feelings, sacred questions, and nervous systems that have had a rough day—or life. She is a lover of Christmas magic, messy faith, honest stories, and the brave work of becoming fully human.

Share At Last She Said It

Thanks for supporting ALSSI! Have something to say? Join the conversation! Send us a voicemail, start a chat thread … or write a piece for a future Say More.

say it

chat it

write it

Author’s note

I am a cisgender, heterosexual female with privilege and bias. In this essay I am speaking through my heteronormative lens which is inherently flawed. I am trying to cultivate a space of love, acceptance and safety, but I am not part of the queer community. As much as I try to understand, their experiences are not my experiences. The only way to truly learn about queer experiences is to talk to queer individuals. Hearing their lived experience is essential to the work of allyship. Please, do the work to create a safe space for your LGBTQ+ loved ones.

by Blakelee Ellis

TW: homophobia, suicide

In October 2019 President Dallin H. Oaks addressed the

women of the church during the women’s session of general conference. I was at a stake center with several of my sisters-in-law and my mother-in-law and I just couldn’t stop crying. President Oaks greeted the sisters as a “divinely assigned guardian of the eternal family,” and talked about the implications the doctrine of eternal marriage has for LGBTQ+ individuals. He said,

The work of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is ultimately concerned with preparing the children of God for the celestial kingdom, and most particularly for its highest glory, exaltation or eternal life. That highest destiny is possible only through marriage for eternity…

…That is the destiny we desire for all we love. Because of that love, we cannot let our love supersede the commandments and the plan and work of God, which we know will bring those we love their greatest happiness.

But there are many we love, including some who have the restored gospel, who do not believe in or choose not to follow God’s commandments about marriage and the law of chastity. What about them?

God’s doctrine shows that all of us are His children and that He has created us to have joy. Modern revelation teaches that God has provided a plan for a mortal experience in which all can choose obedience to seek His highest blessings or make choices that lead to one of the less glorious kingdoms.

I went home after the session and sobbed to my husband. He was admittedly confused because these topics had never generated such angst in me before. In the decade we had been married, I had always accepted my siblings, but “known” that they were not living the way God wanted them to and there would be eternal consequences. So this meltdown over what President Oaks had said was very uncharacteristic for me. As I cried, I distinctly remember asking my husband, “You believe all this is true, right? This church. You think it’s true, right? Because my heart is broken and it doesn’t feel true.”

President Oaks hadn’t said anything new about the LGBTQ+ community or eternal marriage or the law of chastity. Nothing about the doctrine had changed, but my heart had.

I had just been a part of my sister’s wedding to her wife a few weeks earlier. I stood by while they pledged to love and care for each other and it didn’t seem any less godly or sacred just because it was two women. How could someone as loving, as kind, as caring as my sister receive less of God’s glory simply because she loved a woman instead of a man? Did I really believe in a Heavenly Father that would withhold love, the greatest of happiness, all his glory because two women loved each other?

The metaphorical shelf that held all of my questions about the church and it’s teachings broke and my soul was left agonizing in the rubble. It marked the beginning of so many hours examining my beliefs about the nature of God and everything I thought I knew. I had let church leaders and doctrine form my opinions about God’s plan for LGBTQ+ individuals. I listened while these white, cisgender, heterosexual men told me about the queer community and how God felt about them. Just like I listened while they told me what it meant to be a woman of God.

Everything changed for me when I stopped being told ABOUT the queer community and started actually listening TO the queer community.

I listened while brave individuals talked about reconciling their sexuality with their own beliefs in God and what it meant to be queer. It changed me. Rather than try to tell you ABOUT what some of the queer community has said, I’d encourage you to listen TO the queer community.

Looking for a place to start? Check out our own episodes with Meghan Decker and Colette Dalton. Don’t miss all the additional resources listed at the end of the essay.

June is Pride month for the LGBTQ+ community and many wonder why the queer community needs a month dedicated to celebration and pride. Ben Schilaty, my friend and openly gay Latter-day Saint, recently said this:

Even though I am not queer, I’ve had my own pride awakening.

Pride that I have a gay brother and gay sister.

Pride that I know that God loves them as they are.

Pride that I am an ally.

Pride that I will navigate the uncomfortable space that being a member and being an ally creates.

Since my faith deconstruction, one of the main reasons I continue to go to church is my pride and queer allyship. I wear rainbow pins so the closeted adults in my ward know I’m a safe space. I carry a rainbow bag every week so the youth know there is someone at church that supports them just as they are. I wear a rainbow dress to church to let everyone know that we have to fight for and with our queer loved ones to dismantle systems of oppression. Queer folks are tired! They need allies to help share this load, but not steal the microphone.

I believe allyship is a divine calling and in the current political climate, it is important to be vocal about our support for the LGBTQ+ community, especially at our places of worship. This past Sunday, in his weekly email, Into The Gray, Reverend Benjamin Cremer wrote:

I believe the nature of God is one of deep love and grace. Listening to the queer community helped me, in part, form that belief. That is the image of God I believe we, as Latter-day Saint allies, need to reflect to the world and specifically to our fellow church members. Current church doctrine and policies continue to alienate and wound our queer church members, particularly those in the transgender community.

In Jeremiah 23, there is a sobering echo of how the church treats its queer members:

1 Woe to the shepherds who are destroying and scattering the sheep of my pasture!” declares the Lord.

2 Therefore this is what the Lord, the God of Israel, says to the shepherds who tend my people: “Because you have scattered my flock and driven them away and have not bestowed care on them, I will bestow punishment on you for the evil you have done,” declares the Lord.

In 2016, “Dialogue Journal” published research that suggested that suicide rates among Utah teens doubled corresponding to an increased rhetoric by the LDS church against same sex marriage. The church’s increased media focus against same sex marriage came after policy changes were released in November 2015. The same article says that there are protective effects against suicide when people belong to a religious community and it’s no secret that LGBTQ+ people leave the church or are invited to leave at very high rates.

“It can thus be inferred that LGBTQ people are placed at higher risk when they feel unwelcome in their religious communities and end up losing the protection of religious involvement…it may seem counterintuitive that when individuals chose to leave their religion in order to experience more self-acceptance that they inadvertently experience more risk for suicide.”

I will acknowledge that individual views of the members and church culture are ever changing. This research is a decade old and perhaps the research would show something different now.

We are failing the LGBTQ+ community. They are leaving. They are dying. In a moment of tender vulnerability, queer member Charlie Bird said, “You are killing us.” We must do better. Christ is asking us to do better. Christ reached out to the marginalized and misunderstood. He gave them safety and community. Again, in Jeremiah:

3 I myself will gather the remnant of my flock out of all the countries where I have driven them and will bring them back to their pasture, where they will be fruitful and increase in number.

4 I will place shepherds over them who will tend them, and they will no longer be afraid or terrified, nor will any be missing,” declares the Lord.

I believe God—through us, through allyship—is the answer. Our queer members have much they can teach us about Christ-like love, acceptance, and patience. They are forced to cultivate these things within themselves simply because of who they are and the world they live in. The queer community has so much to teach us and we are missing out on their unique understanding of divine love. Jess Payne, creator and owner of Terra and Sage, once told me:

We will be tempted to ask, “How can I keep my queer loved ones in the church?” However, I think a more loving and appropriate question to ask is, “Is it safe for my queer loved ones to stay in the church?” For the queer loved ones in my life, the current church environment is not safe for them. I am being my best as an ally when I understand and help them enforce their boundaries. We miss the mark in forcing our loved ones OR ourselves into emotionally, and sometimes physically, unsafe places. Church is not for everyone.

While not all queer members will stay in the church, I believe Christ is asking us to cultivate safe places of worship for everyone. We do this best when we are a loving witness to one another’s stories. We do not need to fix or rescue anything or anyone. We do not need to judge or control or coerce anything. If you are unsure of how to create a safe space in your own church, Ben wrote a recent blog post with great advice:

If you really want to be an ally, go learn about LGBTQ+ members and talk to THEM. Ask your loved ones, “Can you tell me a bit more about what that has been like for you?” You’ll be amazed at what you can learn and how you can grow.

You’ll be amazed at the safety you can provide.

In Memoriam

This issue is dedicated to my friend, Care Hansen, who died by suicide in 2023.

Care, thank you for your example of boundless love and tenacity.

Want to learn more? Here are some of the author’s favorite resources to start (or continue) on your allyship journey:

1- Tender Leaves of Hope: Finding Belonging as LGBTQ Latter Day Saint Women by Meghan Decker

2- Queer Mormon Theology by Blaire Ostler

3- A Walk in My Shoes: Questions I’m Often Asked as a Gay Latter Day Saint by Ben Schilaty

4- Without the Mask: Coming Out and Coming into God’s Light by Charlie Bird

5- Tabernacles of Clay: Sexuality and Gender in Modern Mormonism by Taylor Petrey

6- Gay Rights and the Mormon Church: Intended Actions, Unintended Consequences by Greg Prince

7- Listen, Learn, and Love: Embracing LGBTQ Latter Day Saints by Richard Ostler

8- That We May Be One: A Gay Mormon’s Perspective on Faith and Family by Thomas Christofferson

Need an audio format? These podcasts are great:

1- All Out In the Open (formally Questions from the Closet) by Ben Schilaty and Charlie Bird

2- Lift and Love by Allison Dayton

3- Listen, Learn and Love by Richard Ostler

4- Called to Queer by Collene Dalton and Kate Mower

Want to lend support? Here are some great organizations that are mostly Utah based:

1- Raynbow Collective

2- Color the Campus

3- Cougar Pride Center

4- Encircle

5- Equality Utah

6- The OUT Foundation

7- The Trevor Project

The ALSSI community keeps growing, thanks to your support. Please keep spreading the word! Be sure to check out our chat community—a benefit of your paid subscription. If you have something to say, send us a voicemail, start a thread…or send us a piece for a future Say More!

say it

chat it

write it

Spiritual Blocks

by Mary Cox

the audio included with this piece is a direct audio recording from when the talk was given

The last time I spoke in church, I talked about how

I was rebuilding my spiritual tower. Some might call that deconstruction. Some might call that faith expansion. Some might call is a faith journey or a faith crisis. Whatever you want to call it is up to you. I call it my spiritual tower. Since then, I have been listening to my heart and depending not on certainty, but on agency and trust in my own relationship with my God Parents. I’ve had the gift of using doubt as a guide and defining faith as flexible. The process of rebuilding my spiritual tower is a journey that is messy, complicated, frustrating, but it’s also so, so beautiful. I want to talk about 4 of my 5 foundational blocks in my spiritual tower: mercy, grace, love, and Jesus. It’s all I really have, and it’s enough.

Because music means something to me and because it’s how I feel the God power inside of me, I’m going to use it today as I talk.

Bryan Stevenson, author of “Just Mercy” states that, “Mercy is not earned. Mercy is not passive. Mercy is necessary. Mercy begins with recognizing a shared humanity with every human on the earth.” That is the difficult part, isn’t it?

But mercy is only mercy without judgment attached to it in any way. As Bryan Stevenson says, “Each of us is more than the worst thing we’ve ever done.” Let mercy guide us as we strive to be with our fellow humans in “our one wild and precious life.”

I think we often misunderstand grace. Some might not even really believe that grace has the power to heal, the power to save. Grace is so powerful. Grace is an amazing gift from our God Parents that to me says, “We love you. We know this is complicated. We trust your path.” Like the song says, Grace is amazing. It covers our self-inflicted pain, when others hurt us, when we are burdened, and when our patterns of behavior harm others. Grace will lead us to a place where we can find ourselves, settle into presence, and breathe knowing we can keep moving forward. Grace tells us we are enough.

I could sing a thousand songs about love, but instead, I used my voice to write a poem…

In Jesus’ own words: “Love the Lord, your God, with all your heart… AND Love your neighbor as yourself.”

This scripture really has three parts. The first is to love our God Parents—they don’t require our love to be ok—they don’t NEED us to do that. This makes it so much easier to practice love by loving them and it’s such a gift. Figure it out on us, they said—we can take the messiness and the complicated parts. We won’t be hurt by any love you can or can’t show. Try on love. Give love. Practice love. In my mind, the practice of this love is to teach us how to do the next part of the commandment—love your neighbor.

Honestly, we aren’t really doing this well as a whole of society. We just aren’t. I think it’s because we truly fail to SEE our neighbor. But if we, as members of this church, believe our own stuff, it shouldn’t be that tricky. It’s pretty clear, “ALL are alike unto God—black and white, bond and free, male and female; Jew and Gentile.” There is nothing I can say here today that can persuade you to look at that scripture, “ALL are alike unto God,” add the “love your neighbor” part, and simply—do better. Love for your neighbor, whomever that may be, has to come from YOUR soul, YOUR heart.

The third part is “as yourself.” We never talk about this part. We skip over it as though it’s not a vital part of the commandment. WHY? You matter to our God Parents. You need to matter to yourself. I have myself as part of the 5 blocks of my spiritual tower. How can we really build the types of relationships we need here on earth without first recognizing the importance of ourselves? I choose to love myself as messy, complicated, doubtful, uncertain, worthy, and enough. I believe it might be too difficult to love your God Parents and your neighbors if you don’t love yourself first.

I just don’t think Jesus asks us to hustle for our worth or hustle for love. “Come unto me. Learn of me. Rest in me,” He said. That’s His request—without hustle. He also doesn’t require perfection of any sort, nor is there a demand to be happy. Weary, worn, and sad, it says—Jesus wants us that way too. It’s enough for Him.

Here are a couple of questions to ponder: Does your spiritual tower have enough blocks? What might be missing? Does your tower have too many blocks? Are there blocks that don’t really belong to you—that might have been borrowed from your childhood or a parent? What if you gave yourself permission to use your full agency and truly listen to your heart—could you remove a block or two that was no longer part of your belief system or might actually be harming you? If you looked at faith as flexible and at certainty as not necessary, could you move a few of the blocks around, rename a few, and rebuild a foundation that felt more sure and sturdy for you?

I believe that building your spiritual tower is not something that is ever a finished product. We don’t have that kind of control over our lives. And honestly, the gift of agency tells us that we will have the privilege of continuing to shift, change, and grow for eternity. Of course we will. Plants adapt to the weather. Animals rebuild homes in new habitats. Adult development in physical, psychological, and faith-based ways have stages that we will continue to move through for the rest of our lives. Change is natural. Growth is good.

I choose the block of mercy because mercy is how to truly see others. I choose to believe wholeheartedly in a grace that tells me I am enough. I choose love, because love is the answer. In love—I choose myself because I matter most. The block of Jesus is my example of how I actually do mercy, grace, and love in “my one wild and precious life.”**

**Editor’s note: Mary introduced us to her concept of a spiritual block tower in ALSSI Ep. 180, and those insightful words found their way into our permanent lexicon. If you missed this conversation, here’s a reminder to check it out. Thanks again, Mary! —S.

Different Paths

by Amy Call

Finding The Divine Outdoors in Nature

by Maddie Victoria

I had an experience on a trip to the Middle East

a few years ago. I often revisit that experience as I go through my faith journey and deconstruction. My experience is as follows.

I was in the Wadi Rum Desert in the country of Jordan with the warmth of the sun beating down on me, riding a camel as I was looking around and taking in the beauty of red sand and red peaks and cliffs that arose up around me. I felt that the same being that created these red rock cliffs, peaks and red sand is the same being that made me and took the time to provide me a world that I can explore and learn and grow in, and thrive in as the woman that I am. Even if it took me 20+ years to find myself as a woman. I learned that every experience, thought and question I have had shown me that I am enough and that I am worth it even if the world around me doesn’t think I am worth it because of who I am and the past life that I have lived.

Knowing that being in nature and outside is my sanctuary where I can commune with my Heavenly Mother and Heavenly Father is so healing to me. I see my Heavenly Parents more outside and in nature than I do in a brick-and-mortar building.

Nature and being outdoors ground me and connect me to the earth and the love that I have experienced time and time again as I open myself up to seek answers and guidance from my Heavenly Parents. They are patient with me when I don’t get it the first, second, third time, or however many times it takes me to realize what They are trying to tell me or show me. Sometimes all I need to do is look up and notice the beautiful world that is around me. Sometimes it is as simple as seeing the Northern Lights with my own eyes in the middle of the Salt Lake Valley.

Proverbs 3:5-6 is a verse of scripture that I hold near and dear to my heart:

I am more at peace with where I am as a person, and with my faith. I feel like my deconstruction from the Church will be an ongoing process since it is intertwined with me because of where I live in the world and that I was an all-in member for so long. It isn’t easy being a member of the church who is in a marginalized community. To be honest, it can be scary but all I have to do is look up and be willing to open myself to hear what I need to hear when I need to hear it.

Creativity and Worship—A Cancer Survivor’s Story

by Ruby Harris

When I was twelve, my parents woke me in the middle of the night

and told me through tears that my lab results were back: I had leukemia. We had to go to Primary Children’s hospital right away. My life turned upside down in an instant. My upcoming math test and band concert didn’t matter anymore. Now my only goal was to survive.

I was thrown into a world of procedures, pills, and waiting rooms. Chemotherapy was effective, but at a high cost. It took three years of my life and gave me a bone condition that made my ankle joints collapse. The year after I finished treatment I had four reparative ankle surgeries.

I’m 17 now and cancer free!! The effects of the chemo are long term, so I use a wheelchair when I’m out and about to minimize my chronic pain. I’m really happy with where I’m at now! I’m able to devote more energy to my art and spend more time with my loved ones, which has been a huge blessing. Over the years, I’ve turned to art again and again to find peace and healing from my struggles.

One of my spiritual gifts is visualization. In some of the darkest times in my life, comforting spiritual images came into my mind: me leaning on Christ to walk; Jesus washing my swollen scarred feet with His scarred hands. I treasured these revelations because they felt so personal and tailored to me. It was one of my favorite ways to “Hear Him.”

It wasn’t until this year that I understood them, however. I had just experienced some traumatic religious experiences and deep spiritual manipulation. The pain was excruciating and all consuming. I had numbed my spiritual intuition to “keep the peace” and I didn’t know how to get it back. I felt powerless and forgotten.

Then, I listened to a podcast episode about the Divine Feminine (by the In Her Image podcast, I highly recommend it). It changed my life. The world opened up to me and I finally felt free. Embracing Heavenly Mother helped me reclaim my agency. The day after I learned about Her, I started having beautiful images come to my mind multiple times a day, and they were all depicting Heavenly Mother. I realized that they weren’t how I “Hear Him” but actually how I “Hear Her.” I was so touched that even before I knew who She was, She was reaching out and comforting me. Now that I was aware of Her presence, I felt like She was calling me to create—so, I did.

It changed my life and how I worship. Art helped me to heal the deep spiritual wounds inflicted upon me. I drew Heavenly Mother’s comfort and support, and depicted Her in a variety of ways so that everyone could see themselves in Her. I try to push past beauty standards by showing the glory and divinity of an unfiltered body. Through this journey, I felt more of Her love and influence in my life. As I grow into a more independent phase of my life, I look forward to depicting that She is more than just someone to take care of children for eternity. She is a goddess.

Our Heavenly Parents are the ultimate creators. If we are truly to become like Them, then we must also learn to create. Parenthood is a beautiful way the gospel celebrates creation, but it can be so much broader than that. For those who aren’t in a parenting stage of their lives and for those who never will be, creation is still an option for them. I personally lean into this through painting, sketching, and singing, but there is no “right” way to be creative. You could garden, you could host events, you could write, you could fix cars, you could bake, you could sew, you could serve, you could connect, you could heal. Creativity is accessible to everyone. It is literally in our DNA.

I believe that all of those examples could bring someone closer to God. Intentionality in creation is what makes it a spiritual process, not the finished product. I incorporate this into my art practice through ritual. Every time I sit down to draw or paint something, I say a prayer that They will guide my hands. Then I put on my favorite lotion and my playlist of songs that remind me of the Divine Feminine. This has turned art-making into my favorite form of worship. Even the interests that we view as secular can be expanded and magnified if we invite God in.

I think that agency is a concept more similar to creativity than we realize. If we truly believe that our agency increases as we become more like our Heavenly Parents, then it has to be more than just choosing between the covenant path and the adversary. Creativity has been my favorite way to expand my agency. I get to make decisions that shape how my art comes into the world. It is incredibly empowering and has deepened confidence in myself and God.

Creativity is a beautiful form of expression, release, and growth. I know it can be intimidating at first, but I invite you to try out some form of spiritual creativity and just see how it goes. The quality of the finished product doesn’t matter nearly as much as how you feel making it. You could start out with coloring in a coloring book and your experience can be just as profound.

Heaven’s Lost and Found

by Carly Carter

The Powerful Influence of My Heavenly Mother

by Stephanie Snell Povey

One evening in the fall of 1996, I returned home

from the hospital having had another dilation and curettage (D&C) after losing my third baby in five years. Bravely I tried to resign myself to be happy and content with the two beautiful daughters my husband and I had been blessed with. Yet, I felt a constant sense there was one more child for us. Many doubts and negative thoughts ran through my mind during this period of time.

“I must not understand how to receive inspiration from God.”

“The spirit of my unborn child must not want to come to our family.”

And the most destructive of all,

“God is withholding this blessing because He doesn’t trust me with any more children!”

One particularly discouraging day after reading a conference talk about how Heavenly Father knows every burden and trial we will have to endure, I found myself saying right out loud, “How can Heavenly Father really understand what I’m going through? He is a man and has never gone through this!” My sharpness shocked me! Did those blasphemous words really come out of my mouth? I felt guilty about my thoughts and unworthy to pray.

A few days later a friend and her husband came to see me and bring a meal. We visited for a while, then as they prepared to leave, they asked if I would like a blessing?

I don’t recall everything that was said in that blessing, but a powerful promise was given that changed my life. “Rest assured your Heavenly Parents are aware of you and your Heavenly Mother understands what you are going through.” Immediately I knew this was exactly what I needed to hear, and the spirit witnessed to me, “I have a Heavenly Mother and I am created in Her image. She understands everything I will ever go through!”

The veil thinned that day and my mind expanded. “Could it be,” I pondered, “that throughout the course of my many life experiences—as a confused nine year old girl, a discouraged teenage young woman, a homesick sister missionary, and a sometimes overwhelmed wife and mother—that the strength, inspiration and comfort came from both of my Heavenly Parents?”

The answer is YES!

The fact that we do not pray to Mother in Heaven in no way discredits Her position. Just as adoring and appreciating Her is in no way diminishing the love and appreciation I feel for my Father in Heaven.

As I have studied and prayed, I can only conclude that God consists of an exalted man and an exalted woman.

We have learned things about God our Eternal Mother, but there is still so much to know.

Questions such as:

• Why don’t we hear more about Mother in Heaven from our current leaders?

• Am I alone in my yearning for more understanding of the Divine Feminine?

President Russell M. Nelson has stated that the restoration has only begun and that it is our responsibility to receive revelation and guidance for our lives. This leads me to believe that as we long to know more of our glorious Mother in Heaven, ancient knowledge will be returned and restored to us.

Great peace comes to me when I pray daily, always addressing God the Father, yet visualizing both of my Heavenly Parents listening to me as I kneel before Them and pour out my heart. These are among the most insightful conversations imaginable.

I must not let feelings of doubt, inferiority or inequality discourage me. Great hope and encouragement come when I remember who I am and where I came from. Heavenly Mother is a goddess and a priestess. She is a perfect, glorified being and I am Her apprentice. My greatest aspiration is to become like Her someday.

I was correct in sensing there was one more child to join our family. In 1999 in a miraculous way, I gave birth to our youngest daughter. My earthly parents were serving a mission in the Philippines at the time and were not able to be with me, but I felt the presence of my Heavenly Parents and especially my Mother in Heaven.

I know my Heavenly Mother lives. What comfort this knowledge gives.

Say More: At Last She Writes It is thrilled to continue a series called, “Faith in Focus: ADHD and the Mormon Mind,” by Brittney Walker.

This series explores how ADHD shapes the faith experience for women raised in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, from the early moralization of difference, to the exhaustion of trying to measure up, to the courage of rebuilding identity after leaving. Each essay stands alone but together they trace the arc from misunderstanding to self-understanding.

The goal isn’t to critique the church, but to name what so many women feel but can’t articulate: that our struggles aren’t spiritual defects. They are neurological differences met with impossible expectations.

The following essay, “Rebuilding with a Different Brain” is the fourth and final installment of the series. Many thanks to Brittney for her time and generosity in allowing ALSSI to publish this series

Rebuilding with a Different Brain

by Brittney Walker

For a while, I was living two lives at the same time.

I wasn’t intending to deceive. I had started building a new life while the old life was still running in the background … fully operational, demanding everything it had always demanded. New job, new thinking, ideas I had been quietly circling for years. Coexisting with the old.

I didn’t notice it at first. I was too busy. New versions of myself I was tentatively trying on. The way you try on something in a dressing room and keep the tags on, just in case.

But underneath all of that, I was aiming for Perfect Mormon Mother. Perfect Wife. Supportive Friend. Still showing up to every obligation. Managing every expectation. Performing every role that had been assigned to me before I ever asked myself whether I wanted any of it. Nobody asked me to keep doing it. I just kept doing it. Dropping it would mean something. If I couldn’t do it all, there was a ready explanation waiting. I didn’t have the Spirit anymore. I was being led away. I had turned my back on God. The dropped ball. The exhaustion. The dinner I failed to make. Those would be the evidence.

So I didn’t drop anything.

I just ran faster.

Always out of breath. Always behind. Standing in front of a wall of arrows pointing in every direction at once. Knowing I needed to move but unable to choose because I needed to do all of them simultaneously. I performed my way through the days and collapsed at night. Performed. Collapsed. Performed. Collapsed.

It took me a long time to understand what was actually happening. Not a faith crisis. Not even an ADHD crisis.

A cognitive load crisis.

Here is something nobody tells you when you start loosening your grip on belief, whether you leave the church entirely or simply begin doing the quiet internal work of separating what’s yours from what was handed to you:

The structure was doing more work than you knew.

Not just the Wednesday night activities, or the Sunday schedule. Or the calling that filled your calendar and gave you a clear answer for what a good person does with her time. All of that, yes. But also something more fundamental. Something that was running so deep you couldn’t see it until it started to disappear.

The church was running your executive function.

The prefrontal cortex (PFC) handles those when the church doesn’t. Decisions. Direction. Identity. It answers the questions that feel small but aren’t: what do I do next, what matters here, who am I in this moment, what does a good life look like. Every human gets a limited amount of juice to their PFC each day. We spend it and then it’s gone, and the next day we start again.

Inside a high-demand religious system, enormous amounts of that work are already done for you before you wake up. Your identity is handed to you. Your schedule. Your values have been ranked. Your future is mapped out. The decisions that remain are small, because the architecture of your life has already been decided.

This isn’t a small thing. It’s an enormous cognitive gift, even when it comes wrapped in control.

When that system loosens, when you start questioning, leaving, or simply deciding to take what works and release what doesn’t, all of that outsourced cognitive work suddenly comes home. The decisions that were already made are now unmade. The schedule that had a shape has to be rebuilt from scratch.

And most of us have no idea that this transfer is happening.

We just know we’re exhausted. Frozen. Unable to move forward in ways that feel disproportionate to what’s actually in front of us. We stare at an ordinary decision and feel paralyzed. We have more freedom than we’ve ever had and less ability to use it than we expected.

We think something is wrong with us.

Nothing is wrong with us.

We are simply running a cognitive load we were never trained to carry. For the first time. Without warning.

For those of us with ADHD, this hits harder.

ADHD is, at its core, an executive function condition. It affects initiation, prioritization, working memory, follow-through. All the systems that generate structure from the inside. The systems that build direction out of nothing. When you have ADHD and you also grew up inside a religious structure that was doing all of this work for you, you probably made it to adulthood without ever fully developing those muscles. The external structure compensated. You showed up. You performed. You even thrived. Because the scaffolding was already there.

And then the scaffolding was gone.

This is the part that goes unnamed in almost every conversation about leaving. The grief, yes. People talk about the grief. The community, the future you thought you were building. That loss is real and it deserves the space it takes up. But underneath it, quieter and more confusing, is this:

You’re the one running it now. You’ve never done it before.

And you don’t know how yet.

That’s not failure. It’s not evidence that leaving was wrong, or that you should go back. It’s a skills gap. A structural one. It has a name and it has a solution and it is not a reflection of your character or your potential.

The scaffolding can be rebuilt.

Not the old scaffolding. Not the borrowed structure that belonged to a system. The version of yourself you were handed before you knew you got a choice.

New scaffolding. Built around you.

When I started learning about this, really learning, not just trying harder, I understood for the first time why every productivity system I had ever tried eventually fell apart. The Franklin Covey binder. The hour-by-hour planner. The Notion dashboard I built with color-coded categories and sub-pages and a view for everything. I would set them up with enormous relief, that feeling of finally having it together, and then stop using them within two weeks (*ahem,* hours).

I thought the problem was discipline. It wasn’t.

The problem was that those systems were designed for a different nervous system. They assumed consistent energy. Linear motivation. The ability to hold a routine steady across days that don’t feel the same. Bodies that don’t feel the same. Circumstances that shift.

My brain doesn’t work that way. Maybe yours doesn’t either.

What actually works, what I have watched work in my own life and in the lives of people I work with, is scaffolding that starts with the body instead of the calendar. Small structures. Sensory cues. Short time containers that reduce ambiguity without requiring endurance. Environmental reminders instead of memory. Relational support instead of isolation and willpower.

The specifics matter less than the principle. Scaffolding is external support that carries cognitive load so your brain doesn’t have to. And this time, unlike the last time, you get to decide what it looks like.

You get to build it around the brain you actually have. The actual, specific brain that’s in your head. Not the one someone else says you should have.

There will be grief in this process. Sometimes people expect the practical part to feel purely practical, and then the grief shows up and it’s disorienting.

You are allowed to grieve the community. The version of yourself who knew who she was without having to figure it out. You are allowed to grieve the simplicity. Even when the simplicity was coercive. Both things are true simultaneously, the harm and the loss, and you don’t have to choose which one to feel.

But grief is not the end of the story.

After the grief, there is something most people didn’t expect: a life that actually fits. Relationships that don’t require you to be smaller. Time that belongs to you. A structure built around your actual values and your actual brain. Not inherited. Not imposed. Not conditional on whether you show up correctly.

That’s not nothing.

For a lot of us, it’s the first time.

Contributors:

Mary Cox

I wear so many hats! My favorite one is the Mary Hat where I get to spend my time relearning about my Self without the lens of systemic expectation and obligation warping my view. I am a musician. I love that my music can be a bridge builder between human souls. I am the mother of four queer children whom I wholly love and I have learned so much from them. I just completed a Bachelor degree in Behavioral Health Sciences at 56, and I am so proud of myself. I live in Mesa, AZ with my amazing husband who is learning and shifting alongside me.

Amy Call

Maddie Victoria

I am an amateur wildlife photographer and I love outdoor activities.

Ruby Harris

I am a Christian artist and cancer survivor.

Carly Carter

I am a paraeducator, mother, and writer who has spent years navigating the tension between deep love for my LDS faith and the feeling of not fully belonging within it. My writing explores faith, identity, longing, and the pull to remain connected even while wrestling with difficult questions.

Stephanie Snell Povey

I am a firm believer that women and girls, men and boys should, without ridicule and shame, have the same rights and opportunities to learn, expand their talents and follow their passions. My best friend and partner for 42 years is husband Reed. Together we have three incredible daughters that have taught us so many things and brought us great joy. I am a lover of many activities, mostly of the outdoor nature, that involve moving my body and enjoying the sun.

I am a retired educator and author of the book, “You Can’t Play, You’re a Girl.” A memoir of my younger years before the passing of Title IX in 1972.

Above all, I am trying my best to be a disciple of Jesus and an apprentice to Divine Parents whom I aspire to become like some day.

Brittney Walker

I am an ADHD coach and writer living in Arizona with my husband and a lively household including six sons, a daughter-in-law, and a grandson. I spent many years trying to be reverent, organized, and less distracting, and now I write about executive function, faith, deconstruction, and rebuilding identity with a different kind of brain. My work explores neurodivergence, belonging, and the slow process of learning to trust yourself. You can find more of my writing at exmoadhdcoach.substack.com

Isn’t this a great space? We hope you’ll share ALSSI with anyone you think might benefit from our community. More voices, please!

Share At Last She Said It

say it

chat it

write it

Last fall two seemingly innocuous events occurred in my life.

The first was having my own DNA tested. The second was reading Second-Class Saints: Black Mormons and the Struggle for Racial Equality by Matthew Harris. The entire priesthood and temple ban on those with African ancestry is a horrific part of Mormonism. To read in such detail about the racist teachings and policies crafted by LDS church leaders was enlightening and saddening, such as Brigham Young saying that any man who mingles with the ‘seed of Cain’ is “to come forward & have his head cut off & spill his Blood upon the ground”.1 Yikes!

One of those shocking bits of history talked about at great length in the book is the “one-drop rule.” The “one-drop rule” stipulated that any person with even a ‘drop’ of African blood was considered ‘negro’ and thus ineligible for priesthood ordination (if male) and temple rites (if female). I had known about the ‘one-drop rule’ before reading the book, but reading all the awful details about it broke my heart in ways I hadn’t expected.

While knee-deep in Second-Class Saints, I was thrilled to get my DNA results. I texted my kids the above graphic and said, “Look at me, I am a product of humanity!” I was so proud to learn that I am 20% Indigenous Mexican. (Thanks Mom!) I was equally proud to learn I was 26% Celtic/Gaelic (Thanks Dad!) Smaller parts of my DNA showed me to also be Spanish, Portuguese, Jewish, and African—4% African to be exact. Love it…thanks Mom!

Knowing that I had ‘four drops’ of African blood, I realized that my own parents’ temple marriage was against Church policy as my parents were married in 1971, seven years before the priesthood and temple ban ended.

Harris writes:

“But there was another fundamental flaw with the one-drop rule…you couldn’t tell whether someone had African ancestry simply by looking at them. In the nineteenth century, when Brigham Young and other Mormon leaders defined a “negro” as anyone having one drop of African lineage, there were no reliable ways to identify bloodlines. DNA tracing through the Human Genome Project was decades in the future, which made determining lineage imprecise and often wrong. All of this is to say that the one-drop rule underscored a brutal reality that neither Mormon leaders nor Americans in general could grasp. The racial boundaries they sought to enforce were built on fiction.”2

I had ‘four drops’ because my mother had ‘eight drops.’ Obviously my parents were married before DNA tests, but it left me wondering, would The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints have scrapped the ‘one-drop rule’ had DNA tests been a possibility? Or would they have leaned harder into the rule had science made it easier to discriminate? So many questions!

At the time, some people (mainly in South Africa and Brazil) were required by the Church to trace their genealogy to prove they had no African ancestry. Or worse, some potential converts were assessed by a white missionary or other white church leader just by looking at them to see how dark they were. I have curly brown hair, brown eyes, and olive skin. But one of my sisters—sharing all the same DNA as my parents—has blonde hair, blue eyes, and light skin. I truly can’t imagine the humiliation of some white man staring at any of us to decide if we ‘pass’ as white.

Harris documents loads of stories about LDS members discovering they had African ancestry, but who ‘passed’ as white. Some looked like me, some like my sister. Sometimes church leaders looked the other way when they knew someone had African ancestry and sometimes they didn’t. Harris writes–

Over the years, [Church leaders] fielded numerous queries from Latter-day Saints who looked White but were classified as Black by the church….These sensitive cases always frustrated the Brethren because the individuals in question wanted to serve missions, marry in the temple, and hold the priesthood, but the church’s restrictive racial boundary made this difficult. The simplest answer was to get rid of the one-drop rule and cut through the bureaucratic gauze that prohibited full church participation. But the Brethren couldn’t see themselves changing decades of tradition. On at least three occasions in their council meetings the apostles discussed—and reaffirmed—that they would keep the one-drop rule.3

My mother and her family experienced plenty of racism as Mexican Latter-day Saints even though they were not required to prove their lineage upon baptism. In Mexico my family was specifically told by the missionaries that they were ‘Lamanite’, a group of people written about in the Book of Mormon, but also a cursed people according to scripture.

One of my mother’s sisters, Herlinda Briones Bowen, served a mission shortly after her baptism in the 1960s in western Mexico. She writes in her memoir about numerous racist experiences, things she overheard while working in the mission home in Hermosillo, Sonora. The mission president’s wife was having a conversation with a young male missionary who had finished his service and was going to be heading home to Arizona—

“While I was sorting some papers, the missionary casually stands by the Mission President’s wife seated at her desk, engaging her in lighthearted conversation. This being the last day of his mission, all smiles and cheerful demeanor, she turns towards him inquiring about his plans after completing such an important milestone in his life. Without preamble, the missionary launches on his number one goal…he intends to marry Sister T., a recently released Mexican lady missionary!...My emotional radar in full alert by now, I managed to keep my eyes on my work; the discussion was none of my concern and the conversation being in English, further removed me from any involvement. [Not everyone in the mission home knew Herlinda understood English]. Her smiling face and cheerful demeanor gone; the Mission President’s wife’s tone of voice changes accordingly in a mean-spirited lecture about the “disadvantages” of marrying a Mexican!” 4

The above encounter doesn’t even surprise me. I’ve heard and seen plenty of racism from Latter-day Saints towards Mexicans (and other Latinos) my entire life. In fact, I probably have witnessed more than my fair share because as a ‘white presenting’ woman (with an English last name, first Harrington, now Winward) other white Latter-day Saints feel safe in expressing their racist thoughts to me. Never having been one to stay silent, I always call them out on their racist comments and then witness a lot of back-peddling.

One last story from my family. In the late 1970s my dad was a deputy sheriff for San Bernardino county in California. He had an opportunity to work for the sheriff’s office in Springville, Utah. Before uprooting our family, my dad had the wherewithal to ask his future employer what the racism was like towards Latinos in a small town. The man was honest with my father and told him the racism would be significant in Utah. My dad, not wanting to subject his wife, my mother, to much more racism than she already had to bear, turned down the job and raised our family in southern California.

I grew up in the safety of that choice, ‘passing’ as white while the Church’s complicated racial past hummed quietly in my DNA. The history of racism—official and cultural—is a dark stain on The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. It is a history that once relied on the fiction of racial purity to determine eternal blessings. Today, as I look at my DNA results and my family photos, I am struck by the irony that the very thing the prophets and apostles once feared—the ‘mingling of races’—is exactly what makes me, well, me.

The ‘bureaucratic gauze’ may be gone, but the social scars for so many still remain. Whether on this side of 1978 or the other, my ‘four drops’ of African blood never made me or my family second-class saints, but a beautiful product of humanity and a child of God.

Cynthia Winward

Share

Last week, ALSSI released a “Ragecast Potpourri” episode covering a few recent headlines and explored some questions raised by recent changes. For fun, we challenged you all to share your best rage haiku with us. As always, we were BLOWN AWAY with the responses and just had to compile all the amazing poems in one place. This issue includes some of the haiku that were submitted on Facebook, Instagram and Substack. They have been grouped based on a loose theme to help fully absorb the impact of communal voices coming together to speak on one topic.

Haiku on The Nature of God

“The Lord loves effort!”
I’m confused because I thought
The Lord would love me.
Candice Clark Stevens

God was never small
only what you built around
I found Them outside
Kim G Bohne Landeen

The church claims Jesus.
Jesus claims no church on earth.
Who do they follow?
Valerie Atkinson

Is God asking us
To reach higher than a church
To really know Him?
Erin O’Dell Garrard

Please hear my prayers
I want answers to suff’ring
Not to find car keys
_louise_e

Do not blame Jesus,
Grasping tightly to dead things
And never growing
kjkj6363

Haiku on The Divine Feminine

I’ve needed so long
to know Her I can’t just stop
reaching for Her now
Mara Haslam

Dear Heav’nly Mother,
The boys are gaslighting us.
They need a time out.
Carol Colvin

I know no Goddess
Who claims my autonomy.
This reveals their lies.
Hannah H

“We need our Mother”
Jingle jangle go the keys
“You have a FATHER”
Shelli.Elle

Behind these shut doors,
I speak to Her as I please,
You can’t stop my prayers.
times.of.faith

Haiku on Purity Culture

“Modesty?” -humbug
avert your eyes if my thighs
offend your male gaze
Kajsa Kaufusi

Holy cloth clings tight
Texas sun turns faith to fire
I choose bare skin now
Julia Baldwin

Purity Culture
The seed of shame incarnate
Don’t yoke us with it.
Pat Catherall

They see us simply
Jezebels and Gilgolos
Unworthy of trust
Lisa Fluckiger

Storms rage in our hearts
One garment wedgie away
Mormon laundry sucks
Heidi C.

“Women are equal”
But men give us approval
On our worthiness
Laynie.markisich

You’d approach our girls
If a Prophet said to prey.
Blind trust is your God.
Annika Evelyn

Trans friends chaperoned
Sexual predators not
I’m out of here, Bye!
Sarah Porter Otter

Temple wedding day
Sorry you can’t come in
You did not comply
Kyra Dunshee

Purity, shame, guilt.
We cast our pearls before swine.
Not for God: for men.
Hannah H

Haiku on The Patriarchy

You win a crouton!
Oh, and YOU win a crouton!
Why aren’t you grateful?
Rebecca Bigelow

“Trust us, don’t murmur.”
Say, “All is well in Zion.”
Just bow and say, “Yes.”
Jessica Mitchell

For Eve’s transgression:
All women shall be punished
Ruled over by men
Nicole Slater

“Defend the BRETHREN.”
“What about the SISTREN, Jim?!”
Eyes flash. Heresy.
Kajsa Kaufusi

I am told to not
Get ahead of the brethren
But they do not move
Amy Sego Shumway

Leaders LOVE women
But we must scream to be heard
Silenced is not loved
Elizabeth Ludwig

A sister speaks up
Shhhh! Stop. The men are speaking.
We love the sisters!
Madwoman_c

“You don’t understand”
They tell me when I speak up.
They don’t understand
Elisabethbingham1

Trapped in spirit pris’n
Stunted in a male domain.
No progression here.
Mama_gale

By their fruits ye shall
Know them. Why are so many
Fruits then so rotten?
Eleanor Clark

“Stay off the damn stand”
“Not on the front row, either”
“Go make me donuts!”
Carol Colvin

Dear Patriarchy,
We have a Heavenly Mother
and no women leaders?
Nicci Cameron Lovell

Truth should not fear light
Questions were never the sin
Silence was the cost
Erica N.

Old men lead the way.
What will we do without them?
Shout hallelujah!
Pat Cathall

Waiting and hoping
Maybe things are improving?
Then disappointment
Whitney Webster Pack

Teach what men preach.
Personal revelation?
Keep it to yourself
Allison.deibel

I am not enough
To pass bread to the people
But twelve year olds can
Aerynnec

I am the witness!
But then a man from the back
Does my job for me
Ajsjonm4

Haiku on Feminism

“Feminist” was taught
To me as a bad word. Oops.
I’m one, anyway.
Kaylee.a.skinner

Perimenopause
Meets ongoing faith crisis
No wonder they’re scared
Jilleneladle

I am not enough?
I throw away the men’s words.
I find I am strong.
cristallharper

They buried our names—
wild seeds under heavy stone.
Still we rose up green.
Melanee Green Evans

I bent till I broke
now I rise without your name
whole, and not afraid
Kim G Bohne Landeen

Please, tell me again
what I can and cannot do.
I know my power.
Annisija Wallin Hunter

You shudder at my
“wokeness”, yet holy words call:
Awake and arise
Sarah Hale

Women, we breathe life
Heart listeners-who lead
With healing and hope.
Ananda Isaken

Coercive marriage
Taught to absorb all the harm
Rage feels like freedom
Unschmuck

Please less “explaining”
Just don’t care much anymore
Your view from up here
Christiehp

Notice me I said
I did everything right here
I want to be seen
Heathermimib

Haiku on Spiritual Autonomy

Words are powerful.
Screaming out in defiance.
No, no, no, no, NO!
Jessica Mitchell

Lie to me today
To gaslight me tomorrow
Watch me walk away
Stephanie G.

I don’t like meetings.
“Where will you go?” they ask
I go home and nap.
Su_lott

Not Naive, not blind.
Eyes clear, arms weak, willing heart.
I plant my feet here.
The.vision.beautiful

Smile, serve, and be still.
Questions bloom like contraband.
I walked out in bloom.
Becky Sanchez

Foundation anew,
I choose my own bricks this time:
Spiritual freedom!
Andrea Meecham Neahusan

I must leave to love
The tender heart who receives
Careless musket fire
Jenny Garrard

I bent till I broke
now I rise without your name
whole, and not afraid
Kim G Bohne Landeen

Don’t rush connection
Covenant path instruction
Can not satisfy
Brooke

I asked honest things
They called it a slippery slope
Yep. Slid on out
Erica N.

We take our lives back
Joyful, adventurous, and
Our own to direct
Lisa Fluckiger

I see the forest
And the trees. I know
I am not alone
Kcampbella

When Faith Loses Focus: For every woman whose questions were treated as a spiritual problem

by Brittney Walker

The night my brother came out to me, I got off the phone

and went straight to my knees.

I had questions and I knew where I’d been taught to take them.

I prayed for a long time. And what I felt was peace. Clearly, unmistakably, the way I had been taught to recognize revelation. Not the complicated kind. The simple kind. My brother was right just as he was. He didn’t need fixing.

I stood up from that prayer believing something true.

And then my brain, the one that has never once in its life left a loose thread alone, started pulling.

The thread you cannot stop pulling

If my brother was right, and the feeling was real, then the disconnect was somewhere else.

So I went looking for it.

I didn’t choose to go looking. I want to be clear about that. The search wasn’t an act of rebellion or spiritual carelessness. It was compulsion. My brain identified a problem it could not resolve and it went to work on it the way it always had—relentlessly, around the clock, whether I invited it to or not.

In the middle of sacrament meeting. At 2 a.m. On the drive to pick up kids from school. The questions kept arriving.

If the feeling was right, was the teaching wrong? If the teaching was wrong, who taught it? If he taught it, was he—the prophet—wrong? And if he could be wrong about this, what else? And if that, then what about …

The dominoes fell all the way down.

To the prophet. Then further. Then to God.

And then there was nothing left to land on.

What they called it

There is a word the Church uses for what I was experiencing: doubt. Sometimes faithlessness. The cure prescribed is almost always the same: pray more, study more, serve more, trust more. Do not let your intellect get ahead of your faith. So I did.

What no one told me was that I have a brain with a specific, documented, neurological inability to leave a question unresolved.

I have ADHD. I also have scrupulosity, an anxiety pattern that hijacks the religious framework and turns it into an engine of obsessive moral accounting. My brain doesn’t just notice inconsistency. It cannot rest until inconsistency is resolved. It needs certainty the way other people need sleep.

Put that brain inside a faith system that asks you to hold unanswered questions peacefully, to sit with not-knowing, to “doubt your doubts,” and you don’t get a crisis of faith.

You get a machine that cannot stop running.

I wasn’t falling away from God. My brain was doing exactly what it was built to do. It was following the evidence. It was refusing to look away. It was doing, in the language of faith, what it had always done in every other area of my life: working the problem until it either resolved or broke open entirely.

That’s not weakness. That’s not wickedness.

That is an ADHD brain, functioning precisely as designed, inside a system that had no category for it.

The year of falling

What followed was a solid year of grief.

The only image I have ever found that fits is this: falling through space. A bottomless black hole. Nothing to grab onto. Nowhere to land.

I had built my identity inside this structure. My calendar, my community, my sense of what I was for—all of it organized around something that was coming apart faster than I could process. And the falling felt endless because there was no floor. Every answer I found opened into another question. Every certainty I tested failed.

I want to say something to the women who are in that falling right now, or who have been, or who are watching someone they love go through it:

The falling was not a punishment. It was not evidence that I had been faithless or careless or spiritually reckless.

It was what happens when a brain built for pattern recognition finally finds a pattern it cannot reconcile.

The grief was real. The loss was real. I am not going to tell you it wasn’t.

But the falling was not my fault.

What the Church called sin

Here is what I have come to understand, years out from that night:

Every trait that made my deconstruction feel so total, so unstoppable, so consuming—the relentless question-following, the inability to unknow something once I knew it, the need for coherence, the refusal to hold contradiction in peaceful suspension—those are not spiritual defects.

They are ADHD.

The same brain that got sent into the hall for asking too many questions in Primary. The same brain that couldn’t stop mentally arguing with myself over what was said in sacrament meeting. The same brain that needed the pieces to fit, always, desperately, at the cost of everything.

That brain didn’t destroy my faith.

It followed my faith all the way to the edges and kept going when the edges ran out.

There is a version of my story the Church would tell where I was deceived, or weak, or led astray, or just didn’t try hard enough. In that version, the problem was always me.

But here is the version I know to be true:

I went to my knees the night my brother came out to me. I sought God in the way I had been taught. I received an answer that felt true and real and certain. And then my brain—my beautiful, relentless, impossible, truth-seeking brain—refused to stop at the edge of what that answer meant.

That is not a failure of faith.

That is faith, taken seriously by a mind that could not do it any other way.

What I wish someone had said

Your questions were not a spiritual problem.

Your inability to sit with uncertainty was not a character flaw.

Your brain’s relentless need for coherence was not the enemy of your faith.

It was just a mind doing what minds like ours do: following every thread, refusing to look away, insisting that the truth, whatever it turned out to be, was worth finding.

The Church didn’t have a category for that kind of mind.

But that doesn’t mean the mind was wrong.

Contributor

Brittney Walker

I am an ADHD coach and writer living in Arizona with my husband and a lively household including six sons, a daughter-in-law, and a grandson. I spent many years trying to be reverent, organized, and less distracting, and now I write about executive function, faith, deconstruction, and rebuilding identity with a different kind of brain. My work explores neurodivergence, belonging, and the slow process of learning to trust yourself. You can find more of my writing at exmoadhdcoach.substack.com

Share At Last She Said It

Thanks for supporting Say More and ALSSI. Have something to say? Join the conversation: Send us a voicemail, start a chat thread, or write a piece for a future issue!

say it

chat it

write it

Eager to Hope

by Susan Hinckley

Last weekend I participated in our local protest,

because I think protests are public hope and I needed to both give and receive. Despite this being the reddest of small towns, there were hundreds of us—5x as many people as I expected. The crowd was anchored by a few full-size US flags, confidently riding the morning wind. Those flags understood the assignment; something in me quickened as I parked. A small marching band trumpeted hope up and down the sidewalk.

Environmentalist Bill McKibben was once asked, "What's the best thing I can do as an individual?" He said, "Stop being an individual.”1 I showed up needing to feel less alone, and got all the right medicine. Most of the passing drivers honked, waved, and gave us a thumbs-up.

Of course there were a few whose sneers and gestures made clear their contempt. As I stood fighting to keep my poster upright in the wind, a red car approached and slowed to a stop in front of me. The window slid down. A woman leaned out, looked right at me and said, “You know, he is YOUR president. He is the president of every single one of you.” She drove away.

As if that should end the protest. As if anyone could so smugly close the lid on hope.

I haven’t stopped thinking about the woman in the red car, and about all the things I didn’t say in response.

There are a few lessons I’ve always thought God made particularly obvious. Diversity is one—look around—and creativity is another. A third I see writ large in the natural world is hope. Morning was the first advertisement for this concept, but because it comes every day we tend to stop noticing. Maybe God knew we’d have a hard time paying attention to a thing that happened so often. Maybe that’s why they also came up with spring.

Of course God put winter first to really get our attention—to bring us right to the edge of giving up—before adding spring to the calendar. In ink. Not often enough that we’d quit noticing either, surprised by joy every time a weeping cherry drapes itself sky-to-ground in pink ribbons.

The thing about spring is, it always comes. It doesn’t matter how hard the winter is, or how evil the king. It doesn’t matter if there’s a huge snowstorm in April that pushes us to the brink of really not being okay. Spring prevails every time.

American theologian Walter Brueggemann said, “Hope arises from memory.”

Rebecca Solnit explains, “You can turn that inside out to say that despair arises from forgetting. If you forget that every good thing we have came about as the result of a heroic struggle, of course you will despair.” She says that optimism and pessimism “assume we know the future, and therefore nothing is required from us. I think the future is radically uncertain, and therefore much is required of us.”2

But is hope too much to expect in the face of radical uncertainty?

Well, what else is there? Gripping everything tighter isn’t going to give us any guarantees, but engaging with hope means we’re showing up for the future no matter what heroic struggle it brings, because there is no way to get where we want to go next except through whatever is happening now.

I remember exactly where I was sitting in an AP English classroom about 100 years ago when the teacher ridiculed a student for using the word anxious when they actually meant eager, and I realized for the first time with a spark that those words aren’t interchangeable. No matter how often they get swapped in casual speech, eager is about positive anticipation and anxious is about worry. As that came into focus for me, the very next second I thought, “Pretty sure Joseph Smith made a mistake.” In D&C 58, being “anxiously engaged in a good cause” was surely meant to be about eagerness to do good. I don’t think he meant to suggest we should feel nervous about the uncertainty of our actions or outcomes while we engage in that goodness.

But I’ve been anxiously engaged my whole life as a Latter-day Saint. I took the words to heart just the way Joseph wrote them.

I’m not sure exactly how this worked, but all that anxious engagement over many decades seems to have resulted in some serious hope muscle. As I enter my later years, I find my core is all made of hope. Maybe it came from so many years showing up and doing all the church things while thinking, “I’m really not very good at this. I’m not sure I’m doing it right. I have no idea whether it will be enough.” Maybe when you feel a little doomed from the start, but you press on anyway, you get in the habit of grasping anything you can find that might make up the difference. You hope.

And I don’t mean feeling hopeful. I don’t mean a grin that comes back no matter how often reality turns its power-washer on you. I mean hope as a verb. As a thing you decide to do. As a perspective you have, because you bring it. Hope is not something that arises spontaneously and promises to work everything out. Anxious or eager, the work is the same. But I’ve come to prefer eager: Hope is a way I can choose to engage.

I wish I’d known I didn’t need to feel so worried all those years. I wish I could go back and tell my young self, “See those flowers? They probably aren’t worried at all—yes, winter knocks ‘em out, in fact, it straight-up kills some. But there’s always spring, and flowers don’t have to earn it—all they have to do is wait for it.”

“Consider the lilies,” Jesus said. “They seem to remember something you don’t.”

Flipping from anxious to eager in my spiritual life has mostly been a function of embracing my own hope. “God is always present in reality as it is. Not as it should be,” says Richard Rohr.3 I think this is one of the reasons Jesus showed up on earth, getting everyone’s hopes up, but then surprised even the people closest to him by becoming victorious only after an unimaginable defeat. It was a lesson so bewildering, even people who desperately wanted the miracle had a hard time accepting the truth of what they were seeing in real time. How could something so awful be the doorway to lasting hope?

Thomas had his doubts; unfortunately he’s remembered for them. But do you know what he did next? He took Christianity to India and beyond, converting many to the very idea he had such a hard time getting his head around. He may have needed to touch for himself, but that experience powered a lifetime of ministry. It’s fair to say reality transmuted the moment of doubt into something truly sustaining.

But God’s love was in the world before Jesus ever got here. “It is good, in fact, it is very good,” God says, the punchline of the whole opening monologue. A few minutes later, we find out “good” may be more complicated than we thought—no one was going to be allowed to stick around, basking in the very-good-ness of a garden. I think everything God says and does after that is trying to teach us about hope—even in the face of the bleakest reality—and I can see why the best object lesson to do that would probably be our own screw ups.

“We’ve met the enemy, and he is us,” says the famous Walt Kelly comic strip.4 The practice of hope must be a principle through which God thought humans could remind ourselves of divine love no matter what else is going on.

I’ve decided another idea articulated by Richard Rohr could be repurposed into a good definition of hope: “the ability to flourish inside of paradox.” We know what has happened, and we know what’s happening now, but I don’t think we can be at all certain what it means in real time, and we never know what’s going to happen next, even when we think we do. We can be sure it will be bad and good and then bad again and then sometimes better, but there’s no guarantee. A yes for every no, and a no for each yes. Life will be loss and abundance, joy and sorrow tossed together. “Reality’s conjunction is always and,” writes Christian Wiman.5

That’s where I think hope lives. Hope is in the and.

So what do we do when we’re really not feeling it? Hope, faith, and love show up together in the Bible. Sharon Salzberg teaches6 that the word translated there as faith is actually a verb—it’s not a thing we have so much as a thing we do. Hope and love already operate as verbs in modern English; moving faith into the verb column makes sense, if these foundational principles walk hand in hand. A quote from Rabbi Abraham Heschel says, “Faith is mostly faithfulness to the times when we had faith.”7 I understand this as, “Faith is a thing we keep doing because we once felt it.”

Anyone who’s been in a long term relationship knows love operates the same way. We fall in love with someone, then we keep loving them on the days it’s hard to do so, because love is no longer a feeling so much as an action.

The emotion of hope is also less useful than the action. When hope-the-noun becomes hope-the-verb, we go to the protest whether or not we think it will change anything. We’re eagerly engaged, smack in the middle of not knowing. We follow hope instinctively because it’s all there is to do in the face of such radical uncertainty. It’s the thing we can control.

The woman in the red car—and everyone else who flipped us off that day—thought she could impact my hope by insisting the situation was hopeless. She (and all the efforts I’ve seen since to minimize that hopeful act or dismiss it outright) is missing the point of hope. The only thing hope insists is that, eventually, things will change. That’s based in reality—a measure of calm certainty can reside in the uneasiness of it. Hope-seeds arrive buried in the same dirt we’re standing in. It’s because reality is often objectionable that I choose to orient myself this way. I engage eagerly because of what it does for me today, not because I think it will ensure any future outcome. Hope—and faith and love—don’t operate in the future. They’re how we survive the now.

Trying to stomp out a protest by throwing reality on it is a bit like telling me it’s winter, and I may as well accept that as final. But I spent many years living in the upper Midwest. I know a thing or two about winter. And I know a lot about hope.

Susan Hinckley

Share

Something I see differently today than I did 10 years ago is the idea that a savior needed to die…and the whole concept of the atonement.

Ever since I became a parent, my perspective has gradually shifted. The idea of “I sent my son to die for you” feels very different to me now. It doesn’t align with what I would expect from a loving, all-knowing, supreme being.

As an imperfect human, I would never require one of my children to die for anyone else. And if I had created all of this, I wouldn’t make the people I love inherently unworthy in the first place.

Feels so strange to me now.
—Jamee Andelin

I have shifted the way I view trials. I no longer believe that “everything happens for a reason” and God had some master plan that involves giving me my trials. I currently view the hard times as just part of the condition of being mortal. Sometimes good can come from them. They’re not pointless. But God didn’t handpick them to prove me.
—Jessica Mitchell

How about in the last 6 months? I think about God differently. Instead of a God who is a gatekeeper, demanding, and to be feared and obeyed or else, I know believe He is ALL loving and no matter my choices or how I get things wrong I will always be loved and welcomed to live with Him and my loved ones.
—Kathy C.

That putting my family over policy is extremely important. To Think that I was trying to keep a family eternal with rules that strained relationships is now laughable. People come first now, and if that send me to hell, so be it.
—Jillian Tueller

Personal revelation over obedience to church leadership. Wow what a difference! I am using the gift of agency instead of blindly following man’s interpretation of God’s laws and it feels so good.
—Dee Adams

A couple of my favorites are that I am God and God is in me. There was never, and could never be, a separation. And, closely related, that we and all of God’s creations are connected. When one is harmed, we are all harmed. Conversely, when one is healed, we are all healed.
—Marley Orton

My connection to God has no gatekeepers.
—Leslie Boyce

I don’t believe in God anymore. But I am happy to see women reclaiming their power and autonomy when it comes to their religion.
—Erin Pfleger

I have claimed my spiritual authority, I don’t need a man of anybody else’s authority to have a relationship with God. I also believe in a God who is not legalistic, but is love.
—Gaynor-Marie Glass

Many things, but mostly how we have been saved by grace, and that we will all return to our Father in Heaven. I think our temple visits place us on perhaps a higher plane of righteousness when making promises to the Lord and showing our respect and submissiveness in following the gospel and doing His will, but I don’t know in my heart that some things performed in the temple will need to be done when we pass by the sentinels in Heaven.
—Holly Christensen

Mainly, my vision of eternity has transformed. I believe God is more than a body of flesh and blood. God is more that 3 degrees of glory and God is more than gender. My beliefs are so radically different they seem unrecognizable to some, but I think they fit seamlessly into what my heart and head have always felt. We are still an eternal family, each of us still aspires to become like God once was. Love is forever the foundation and being like Jesus means focusing on that love and helping people to grow. What’s really changed is I have lost fear. I follow myself and my inner soul. I can’t believe the relief I feel and I think my “fruits” speak for themselves. Less judgment and service that is heartfelt, not forced. I’m happier and more self confident. Losing myself really has led to finding myself. I found this podcast at the beginning of my journey and I feel like I have walked this path with many of your listeners. Thank you for allowing what I believe to be the echoes of eternity brought forth into light.
—Pamela Kennedy

My own personhood and autonomy. I’m embarrassed to admit this, but here goes: I was relieved when my husband chose me when I was 20 because it took the pressure off me having to make risky choices like trying to get into law school. This was the mid-80s, and my Mormon bubble didn’t have many examples of career women. Being someone’s wife was safe, known, preached from the pulpit. So I made the sacrifice, squelching any desire to develop myself and following the known quantity of temple marriage, stay-at-home motherhood, all with relief that “at least someone chose you!” I willingly, albeit blindly, chose not to develop a ME.
—Becca T.

I have 2: paying tithing on gross, off the top, for 30 years when I should have been putting that money in retirement. And also starting having babies at 20 and not finishing my education because I hadn’t self-actualized. I had so many interests but didn’t know what I wanted to be when I grew up. So I tripped into SAHMhood.
—Brooke

Wearing garments for over 35 years. Being out of touch with my body. Disliking my body. Living with the fear that if I didn’t have them on, something bad would surely happen to me.
—Nancy

I sacrificed my dreams. LDS culture said “if you are a woman, your dream is motherhood, and that’s it.”

And I love being a mom, but I didn’t realize until much later that I hadn’t even allowed myself to have any other dreams.

Another one I regret less is that in high school I gave up a trip to Europe for Girls Camp. I had signed up to travel to Europe for two weeks with a group of high school musicians from all over the state. Since I had turned 12, Girls Camp had ALWAYS been the second week of July. I was scheduled to return from Europe at the end of the first week of July. We had already put down over $1000 towards the trip when the dates for Girls Camp that year were announced. It would be the first week of July. I was devastated. I loved camp and this was going to be my last year. After a few weeks of agonizing I decided to pull out of the Europe trip. We lost the $1000. Most expensive year of Camp ever. I’ve still never been to Europe.
—Zinah B.

Putting LITERALLY everyone else’s needs ahead of my own. Trying so hard to be that selfless woman that’s spouted about in church.

Thinking that the natural woman is an enemy to Godde. ( yes I changed it on purpose ).

Those beliefs led me down so many roads that led to intense personal decisions that impact me to this day.
—Genna

I can completely relate to the sacrifice of my true self, getting an education, having my own career, and the tithing.

Which brings me to the answer that came to my mind when I read the question. The biggest sacrifice I’ve made in my life was going to work (two jobs!) at age 45 when my youngest was six-years-old so we could avoid bankruptcy (mostly medical bills) because it was WRONG to go bankrupt if we could avoid it, and of course paying such a generous tithe guaranteed God would give me strength to work 50-60 hours a week (half of those just to pay the generous tithe). At a low-wage jobs because I had no education. But can I call it MY sacrifice if it was my children who suffered the most? Yes, it was rough on my brain and body for those eleven years and yes, it battered my marriage beyond repair, but my kids are the ones who paid the price of having an absent or cranky/exhausted mother. I can’t begin to express my anger and grief. How can we claim the family to be the most important unit when our teachings so often cause harm to families?
—Katy O’Barr Smith

Giving up on becoming a medical doctor because I thought having a family took priority. I did have the satisfaction of working in the medical field for 25 years after the youngest was in school, where I was able to make a difference for good. But I often wonder if there were greater opportunities to make a difference had I chosen differently. I don’t regret having 8 children. Not at all. They are wonderful people and each of them and theirs are making a difference for good in the world.
—Pat Catherall

I alienated my entire family because they were not members of the church and could not enter the temple for my wedding to my husband.

That was emotionally and spiritually devastating - but demanded [by a] religion that prizes obedience and worthiness above all else.

Putting the church’s demands over what my own conscience told me was wrong will be part of my deconstruction for the rest of my life. The harm from that one event has echoed through our relationships for years - and still does in the distance it caused in the lives of my children relative to their grandparents.
—Jessica Mertz

A mission, while the mission itself was a great experience, I felt very alone when I returned. As a person on a visa, I had to enroll in school full time a month after. I had no family close, very little money, ate little, it was winter and it was one of the hardest times in my life. I was very poor.
—Carolina Bell

One thing is serving a mission to Idaho. It was probably at least twenty years or a little more before I admit, it’s anyone publicly that I have been disappointed in that mission call. Even now, I did learn to love the people of Idaho, and I had tears when I left, i had wanted to go to either a Spanish- speaking mission or a welfare mission. I feel it is something that I do or rather did to show love for Jesus Christ and Heavenly Father.

Another one is perhaps not really a sacrifice, by just being single and not having children. I’m at a point in life for reviewing my life, and knowing those dreams and hopes will never ever happen. It is a devastating kind of feeling. And there’s a part of me that wonders what my life would have been like, perhaps without the influence of the church on dating and what type of people to look for.. For instance, I’m sure church culture and church teachings probably influence some guys to not like me.

Another one is unfortunately due to my job. I have a job that basically requires homework in terms of paperwork and such. So I have sacrificed personally due to the kind of job that can impact one’s life balance. I feel like i’ve given a lot to my job. Trying to help patients yet in hindsight, even though I did what needed to be done, I wish I had been better with boundaries than life balance in some aspects of my work.
—Nita

My personal autonomy. It was 2003 when I got married at age 20. I knew plenty of women that had an education/career, but no one, not even my parents, ever actually talked to me about having hobbies or interests, going to college, or any sort of personal development (except Personal Progress, of course. My mom once told me Satan had his hands on me because I didn’t want to do it.) So I never had any plans for life except get married. So now I’m an empty-nester at 43 and trying to figure out who I want to be and what I want to do.
—Kayla

No one “chose me” until it was too late for the motherhood part so I was left with education choices that put me near poverty because they were good degrees for a mom.
—Heather G.

Men’s opinions on women’s issues.
—Haley Mann

ANYTHING a man says. I’m serious. I was taught that anything and everything a man said was literally smarter and wiser than any woman, especially myself. No more. Done with that. That is not true in the slightest.
—Mary Cox

Every damn thing! Swearing, what I wear, what anyone says I’m supposed to believe or do, counsel from ward, stake, and SLC leaders, the Word of Wisdom, the importance of meetings, shopping on Sunday, the temple, the afterlife, and, again, SWEARING!
—Carol Colvin

My children’s salvation looking like church activity and a “covenant path” lifestyle. Now that I don’t take that seriously, I’m so happy, relaxed and can and enjoy my adult kids 100%!

Boy, do I ever love them.
—Nancy

The afterlife. I now choose to focus on finding joy in this life.
—Jodi Gale

As I recover and heal from scrupulosity, I've taken a break from attending my rather prescriptive LDS Ward. In so doing, I felt like Alice in Wonderland for a while last year. I didn't know which way was up, what was real or false, or right or wrong. Instead of enjoying the adventurous ride, I stressed and cried almost every day for months as my spiritual foundation crumbled.

After a few months, finding a bit of stability and soft landing in a local, progressive Methodist community, I found myself crying and stressing less. I still relapsed at times with tsunamis of guilt or shame. During one of these relapses, I distinctly heard in a loving, almost joking tone, "You've got to stop taking Me so seriously!"

I've been enjoying this spiritual adventure so much more since that moment.

So, long story short: GOD.

I’ve learned to take God less seriously, in all the good, wholesome, healing, playful ways that God wants for our relationship.
—Andrea Neahusan

The opinion of anyone regarding my “worthiness”.
—Laura Balmaceda

What we are “supposed to” do and feel and be.
—Joy Wil

Everything that is not about secure attachment. If it doesn’t affect secure attachment relationships, it’s not serious.
—Paula White

That 15 old white men were the mouthpieces for God and that their words were what should guide all my actions.
—Meadow Petersen

Sadly, the belief that I could bring about any kind of change in my ward.
—Rebecca Bigelow

A transactional God. I actually think that God CANT intervene in our lives. They are God in that they love and care for us and the ultimate form of worship is to have a relationship with them. That thought makes them seem more loving to me. Otherwise, it means that they pick and choose when and who and how to help...or not help. And that just doesn’t make sense to me.
—Tara Northcutt

That there were good reasons for all the things the church encourged or discouraged. Now I know that many of those reasons are just inherited cultural baggage.
—Laura Glasglow

I think patriarchy/hierarchy has been a hard but freeing belief to let go of. I still believe that some version of the gospel according to the LDS church is true. There are a lot of things where I’m like “yeah, maybe something kind of like that is true, but probably not in the way we’ve learned it.” But the whole idea of patriarchy, even though it’s so central to the way the church is run and supposedly continues into the eternities.... No. I can’t keep trying to believe that an oppressive system comes from God.
—Kristine Napper

I have let go of so many things but the biggest is that my religion (Jehovah’s Witness) is THE TRUTH.
—Melinda Kopilow

I’ve let go of believing the church has all the answers. And that what the church did was “God’s Will” and there must be a reason for the things that didn’t seem quite “right.” Like denying priesthood to groups of people. Or polygamy.
—Maria Krieser

The belief the Church has all the answers. They don’t and wanting them to was hurting me.
—M. Alva

Learning to let go of the Mormon “I have the answers to everything and I am right and you are wrong and ‘playing church’” (cough, cough Brad Wilcox) has been SO FREEING!! For a long time after deconstruction, I felt like my beliefs might be wrong or right, but it didn’t matter because I was learning, thinking, and growing! Now I realize I was close, but just barely missing the point = there IS NO RIGHT/WRONG in spiritual growth and learning!
—Sage

As an enneagram 8 - being wrong is one of my LEAST favorite things -- BUT - allowing the vulnerability of being wrong is also the gift of a healthy enneagram 8 (I’m not quite there yet, don’t fret) -- it’s where I learn about myself -- and that’s when the growth happens. I also think that the more I’m wrong about some of the little things, I trust myself to be RIGHT about the bigger things.
—Mary

I’m never comfortable with being wrong. But I’m also learning to lean into the discomfort for “productive discomfort”.

That said, there’s still plenty of times I don’t wanna lean in, but instead get unproductive discomfort and just be sassy or lean away/walk away from it to not be so uncomfortable.
—Nikki Nelson

I didn’t even know feeling comfort was a thing. Been feeling uncomfortable since birth. Adventures ahead.
—Evelyn Galbraith

I’m not comfortable with being wrong (mostly because I am a recovering perfectionist, considered the smart one in my family and was usually right) but I’m much more comfortable with not knowing all the answers. I’m okay with saying “I don’t know, but I’m sure everything will be fine.”
—Carol

What was a woman’s role at church and in heaven, other than supporting other people’s dreams and lives? Luckily I had faith that once I went to the temple, god’s true plan for women would be revealed. And…we all know how that turned out.
—Jodi Gale

I was taught “No necking and petting,” and no one could/would answer what that meant! I’m still not sure.
I think most of what I learned was ambiguously taught, hence still so much is ambiguous to me.
And - all those handshakes to determine evil spirits and resurrected spirits, etc. How on earth was I supposed to remember all of this? Still confounds me; I see no relevance.
—Ronda Weaver

How will we get to heaven? Like will it be on a rocket ship to Kolob? Or will we dematerializing into energy and transported like on Star Trek. I spent way too much time thinking about this. Not one Sunday school teacher had a satisfactory answer.
—Ginger Hanson

If EVERYONE gets a body, when does the Holy Ghost get a body? I assume he would be the last spirit to be born, so there is an end. Also, after he gets his body, does that mean we no longer have “The Gift of the Holy Ghost” here on Earth? How does that work? I did ask the question once. The poor Bishop had no idea how to answer. Or that it was even a possible question to have. I got some version of “God will work it out in the end” The greatest non-answer answer the church has.
—Christina Beal

Are women only there to raise boys who will go and do cool things and girls to raise more boys and so on down the line ...
—Amanda Funai

I remember the day I learned about Polygamy. 14 years old in Seminary, Church History year. I asked my mom about it after school that day and she confirmed what I’d heard. I sobbed in my room in utter disbelief and despair. The first jar on my shelf. I tucked it away because it physically hurt to think about. Honestly, it still does.
—Farrah Nordquist

The 3 degrees of glory: where is the “cutoff” line?

If God know what decisions we will make, why bother with a thousand years of peace and judgement day, etc.

Why cant I play with non-morons? When I moved to Utah this was the first thing they TRIED to instill in me. Segregation of Mormons from non.
—Ricci Giles

Two big questions for me in my teens:
1. Why would God disallow black men from receiving the priesthood (6th grade when that started)
2. Why was Emma not worshipped for all she did!! Members didn’t even want to talk about her when I was a youth.
—Janene Goubert


My mother joined the LDS church when I was 5, my father was already a member. She was raised as a devout Catholic, parochial school too. My maternal grandparents were my favorite people! They were kind, loving, loved Christ, served in their church and so much nicer than my paternal, LDS, grandparents. I am old enough to remember when the “Great and Abominable Church” was directly identified as the Catholic Church. That didn’t sir well with me. I always wondered if they got that wrong, what else did they get wrong??
—Theresa Nowling

When I got a little older I read the scriptures a lot. I was focused on the idea of univocality in the scriptures and thought that if I could just study hard enough I would be able to find the true answers to all my questions.
—Mara Haslam

I obviously didn’t get the repentance message prior to baptism and soon after got into a physical fight with a friend at school and thought I would go to hell. That worried me for a long time.
—Diana Kell

Sacred Space, Loud Mind: Creating Room for Neurodivergence in the Church

by Brittney Walker

In church, stillness is a virtue.

Fold your arms.

Close your eyes.

Sit quietly.

Reverence. It’s how we show respect and love for God in His house.

For many people, those instructions are simple. For some of us, they are an impossible puzzle.

We weren’t trying to be irreverent or disobedient. But our brains don’t experience stillness the same way.

ADHD doesn’t turn off when sacrament meeting begins. Thoughts still move quickly. Bodies still carry energy. Attention still searches for stimulation the way other people breathe.

And when a faith tradition teaches that spiritual sincerity looks like stillness, children who cannot sit quietly will start to assume something is wrong with them.

The girl trying to listen

Every few minutes I would snap back into focus.

Wait. What are they talking about?

I would sit up straighter and resolve to listen this time. Sometimes it worked for a few minutes. But then my mind would jump ahead to a scripture reference the speaker mentioned, or a question I wanted to ask, or the sudden realization that the woman in front of me had the exact same purse my mom owned in 1992.

Eventually I developed strategies.

I drew pictures in the margins of the sacrament program. I counted the ceiling lights. I peeled the foil off gum wrappers and pressed them onto the program. I split the ends of my hair and lined them up along the edge of the bench.

Sometimes my mom and I played the dot game on the program. We would draw a grid of dots and take turns connecting them, trying to capture squares and write our initials inside before the other person could block us.

Other weeks we played the “I love you” hand squeeze game during the talks.

It looked like fidgeting. But it was actually concentration. Keeping my hands busy was the only way to keep my mind in the room.

Eventually I learned an even better trick: taking notes. If my hand was moving, my brain stayed anchored.

The effort no one could see

From the outside, ADHD rarely looks dramatic. Especially in girls.

We are not usually the ones climbing the chapel furniture. We are the ones whispering.

A question about something the speaker said. A connection to a church magazine story. A thought that arrived so quickly it came out of our mouths before we had time to decide whether it should stay there.

Participation felt natural to me. Stillness did not.

The early lessons

Sometimes my parents had to take me out of the chapel. I remember sitting on a parent’s lap in the foyer, trying very hard to hold my body still long enough to prove I could go back inside.

As I got older, my job became escorting younger siblings out for water or bathroom breaks. Everyone knew that those trips often turned into a few minutes of running around the church building before returning reverently to the pew.

The sacrament itself was one of those moments. The moment the bread and water reached our row. The small sensory shift of participating.

Afterward, we unfolded the accordion-folded paper cups and formed them into flowers.

It wasn’t irreverence. It was stimulation in a room that offered very little.

When difference becomes shame

Many women with ADHD grow up believing their brain is a spiritual problem. Nobody says those words directly. But the traits that come with ADHD are easily and often interpreted through a moral lens.

For girls especially, the message often becomes: be quieter, calmer, smaller.

What belonging could look like

The hopeful part of this story is that inclusion doesn’t require sweeping changes to doctrine or worship. Often it simply requires widening our understanding of what spiritual engagement can look like.

A Primary teacher who welcomes questions instead of shutting them down. Even if the lesson veers around a bit.

A youth leader who understands that a girl whispering excitedly about a thought from the lesson is not being disrespectful. She is processing out loud. And when someone finally receives her that way, when a leader leans in instead of shushing her, something shifts. The story she tells herself changes. Not overnight, but it changes.

A calling where someone who struggles with administrative details receives structure and support instead of quiet frustration.

Small moments like these can change the story a child tells herself. Instead of I am bad at reverence, the story becomes my brain works differently. And that difference can belong.

A wider kind of reverence

Looking back now, I see that my ADHD didn’t separate me from spiritual life. If anything, it drew me toward it.

Curiosity made me ask questions.

Energy made me volunteer.

Intensity made me care deeply.

Some people experience God in stillness. Others encounter the sacred through curiosity, conversation, movement, and connection. Both can be forms of devotion.

The child whispering questions may be deeply engaged. The teenager who cannot sit still may be thinking harder than anyone in the room. The woman whose mind moves quickly may be offering gifts the community doesn’t yet know how to recognize.

Sacred space doesn’t always have to be silent. Sometimes it just has to be large enough for every kind of mind.

Brittney Walker

I am an ADHD coach and writer living in Arizona with my husband and a lively household including six sons, a daughter-in-law, and a grandson. I spent many years trying to be reverent, organized, and less distracting, and now I write about executive function, faith, deconstruction, and rebuilding identity with a different kind of brain. My work explores neurodivergence, belonging, and the slow process of learning to trust yourself. You can find more of my writing at exmoadhdcoach.substack.com

Isn’t this a great space? We hope you’ll share ALSSI with anyone you think might benefit from our community. More voices, please!

Share At Last She Said It

say it

chat it

write it