Say More: At Last She Writes It

No. 23 | September 2024

Remnants of Polygamy

by Colleen

As a child, I had a happy home where I felt loved and free.

I was the family peacemaker, middle child of seven. Adult life has not been so easy though. I don’t want to go back to what my adult life used to be. It’s still so hard to visit some of those painful memories.

I remember as a newlywed crying myself to sleep some nights because I felt so alone. I had moved away from all my family and everything I knew to marry my husband who was basically a stranger to me. I always told people we had a marriage arranged by God, only six dates spread out over three years and 700 miles before we got engaged. I was a stranger to my husband too and to everyone in my new life. I didn’t have any built in support system. I completely lost my identity without connection to my old life and family. This was before the days of internet and cell phones, so communication was limited to snail mail.

I remember being a 20 year old newlywed and having my husband look (I interpreted it as more of an ogle than a look) at a well-endowed woman crossing the road while I was sitting next to him in the car. When he saw me notice, he used the excuse that he was just checking her out for his brother who wasn’t married. I was not blessed with large breasts, almost nonexistent in the opinion of a young man in one of my high school classes who loudly announced to the entire class how deficient I was in that area. He knew because he had looked down my shirt (which was very modest by the way) and saw that I was so underdeveloped that I didn’t even need a bra. I was 16 at the time. Was my new husband looking forward to choosing another woman who was more well-endowed than I was? Surely he would enjoy her more than me. Doesn’t polygamy allow for that?

I remember as a young mother praying for my husband to be guided by the Lord in his dreams (his patriarchal blessing says he would be). Shortly after those very specific prayers, my husband said he had had a dream. You might imagine my excitement believing that the Lord had heard my prayers. My mood quickly sank as he told me he dreamed that he took his old girlfriend as a second wife. He didn’t believe that the dream was anything prophetic, just a dream, but I wondered if his dream was some kind of cruel answer to my prayer to prepare me for future polygamy. Are women’s feeling really so unimportant to God? Did my husband secretly long for another wife? Wasn’t I enough for him? Was I already being replaced in his heart?

I remember being introduced to the article by Eugene England published in 1987, (on fidelity, polygamy and celestial marriage) and feeling thrilled about the possibility of monogamy in heaven, that polygamy was nothing more than an Abrahamic test to try God’s people. For the first time in my life since knowing about polygamy, I felt comfort and hope. I was then a young mother of just two children. I remember sharing my joy about the article with my husband. I did my best to communicate the comfort it brought to my pained heart, making it clear that I wasn’t taking it as doctrine, but as something that gave me hope, only to be met with chastisement for believing something that didn’t come from the brethren. Something within me died that day. I accepted the belief that my thoughts and feelings didn’t matter to my husband. It wasn’t safe to express them. I accepted the belief that women’s thoughts and feelings didn’t matter to God either, because no God who cared about His daughters would allow polygamy. I locked away a part of me and resigned myself to silencing my voice, submitting to men and their opinions because it felt safer. It felt like the nail in the coffin of my self-worth.

When we got married in the temple, I made a covenant to submit to my husband for all eternity. I remember covenanting to give myself to my husband, but he didn’t have to covenant to give himself to me. I remember my ears being consecrated to hear my husband not God. I remember being told that my husband is the head of the home and was to rule over me. The message that women need to stay in their place and cannot access God except through a man was LOUD and clear. If my husband had an opinion different from mine, I withheld mine because righteous women submit to their husbands. I think I began to feel like I was just a possession, something to be owned, not really a person. Aren’t all these things remnants of polygamy?

The culture of the church taught me that giving my authority over to men was needed for me to live a righteous life, and my greatest desire was to be righteous and follow God. All of that righteous desire just caused me to bury my thoughts and feelings until I felt buried alive.

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How much did my yes mean if I didn’t think I was allowed to say no to my husband?

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In the Church, I feel that women are taught submission, not consent, which is a recipe for sexual dysfunction. I remember what it was like to not have ownership of my body or my sexuality. I remember having very limited knowledge about my body and how it even worked sexually because I thought it was shameful to even think or learn about that. I remember after I got engaged being too afraid and uncomfortable to even think about my upcoming wedding night, afraid of sexuality, my husband’s and my own. Arousal and sex were things I identified as embarrassing, carnal and unrighteous. I think women are hypersexualized when they are taught modesty/purity doctrine and it damages their identity and disconnects them from their bodies. Sometimes I think it’s a miracle any LDS couple can have any semblance of healthy sexual function in their relationship, especially when we consider the alarming statistics around sexual abuse (1 in 3 women). True intimacy was something that didn’t exist in my marriage. Sex was happening because I felt I could never say no to my husband, but there wasn’t any recharging of my depleted battery (30 years without ever having an orgasm or even knowing what one was). How much did my yes mean if I didn’t think I was allowed to say no to my husband? Even if I tried to be a good actor, I knew my husband could feel that I was just giving in to him. Think about the effects of that on my poor husband! Shame is a common companion to LDS men as I know it was for my husband. I knew he felt shame for his desires and often felt that he was just using me to satisfy himself, and yes, I did feel used. I remember the first time I realized that I was dissociating during physical intimacy. I was escaping what felt traumatic. It felt traumatic to me without the emotional intimacy which obviously couldn’t exist when I was repressing all my emotions and thoughts. I needed to feel known and loved on a deep level in order for physical intimacy to truly be a good experience. Since that didn’t exist, sex became trauma and damaged our relationship and the very fiber of my soul. I didn’t feel loved or known by my husband. Sometimes I felt that he despised me because I brought out his own shame and worthlessness. How could I be an equal partner in a relationship I was dissociating in? How could I participate in making family planning decisions when my frontal cortex was shutting down during sex? I just got pregnant every time I weened a baby whether I was physically, emotionally, or mentally ready. I felt I had no more value than a breeding cow, basically a sex slave. Was my experience like those of the women in polygamy cults like Warren Jeff’s FLDS cult?

I remember the anxiety and terrible panic attacks that could hit me without warning in situations that didn’t warrant any fear. I remember what it felt like to have the adrenaline coursing through me, causing me to want to curl up in fetal position and rock back and forth, non-functional. No wonder I had a nervous breakdown at age 35! No wonder so many women in polygamy experience mental health issues. They don’t get to have emotional intimacy with a husband and they are taught that their only worth is in birthing children. That sounds an awful lot like what I was experiencing, remnants of polygamy.

I was living a life of absolute depression, feeling completely dead inside. I remember thinking it would be better to be physically dead than to experience what I was feeling. I would never have taken my own life, not that I didn’t consider it though. I loved my six children and knew they needed me and I loved being a mother, even though it was so depleting. It gave me a purpose, a reason to live.

I remember my eighth and final pregnancy, begging the Lord to forgive me for not being happy, pleading for my baby to forgive me, telling her that I did love her, but feeling that I wouldn’t live to raise her and my other six children. I remember choosing who I wanted my husband to marry and raise my children after I died, someone I would be okay sharing my husband with. I remember the pain of losing that baby (it wasn’t my first miscarriage, just my last) and the spiritual knowledge that I would never again carry a baby inside me. Did I still have value or had my value expired with that last miscarriage? If I lived during the early days of the Church, my husband would have just taken another wife, a younger prettier one that could produce children for him.

My husband and I seemed to be part of the 10% that did 90% of the work in every ward we belonged to. I remember feeling like a single parent, carrying the bulk of the mental/emotional load of raising our family without support (bishopric widow syndrome and the generation of very separate defined roles of men and women). Even though I felt like I was parenting alone, I remember believing I didn’t have the freedom to parent how I wanted, that I could only do things if I had my husband’s permission.

I want to pause and make it clear that it was never my husband’s intent to oppress, control or hurt me. That’s just a natural effect of the programing men receive in the patriarchal culture of the Church. We were both just functioning with unhealthy generational programming. And those years were not completely void of happy times and many tender mercies of the Lord. There was just always the undercurrent of self-betrayal and suppression within me.

What I consider remnants of polygamy, affected my service in the Church as well. I have served as president of every auxiliary (that women are allowed to) on the ward level and have served in multiple stake leadership positions too. I’ve been a temple ordinance worker. In none of those callings have I ever felt equal to a man with the priesthood because I could do nothing without a man’s permission. I remember a time when I had received what I felt was divine inspiration about a decision for my stake calling, not just a thought, but peace and clarity and scriptures to back up the decision. When the priesthood leaders rejected my answer, I was so confused. How could I have been so deceived? It obviously must be me who was wrong, not the men. Maybe I really didn’t know how to hear the Lord after all. None of it made any sense. All I could do was cry when I tried to talk to the stake president about it. I didn’t know then, but I know now that my emotional reaction was a trauma response. How could I believe that I had value and my voice mattered in callings when I experienced men behind closed doors, without the input of any woman, making decisions that affected young women in my stewardship, decisions I was expected to support when the young women were not comfortable with them at all? I had to teach those girls that what was important to them wasn’t as important as following the men. I cringe now thinking about my participation in perpetuating the grooming of girls to give their authority over to men. I remember experiencing the frustration of trying to do what the men in leadership required of me without being given any support or any power to make decisions. Oh yes, I did hear the men talk about the incredible value of women, but their words just felt more patronizing than uplifting, like they were just tying to keep us within the systematic oppression.

Let me pause to say that I have worked with many good brethren who supported me in callings. I truly believe most men never have any intent to exercise unrighteous dominion. They are just oblivious to women’s experiences in the church. In the numerous ward counsels I have participated in, women are always the minority and therefore don’t have the same voice. The men’s opinions will always override the women’s opinions, because women are always outnumbered.

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I recognize not everyone experiences these things, but I think it’s important to shine light on the fact that many do.

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I remember feeling stripped of all power to make any choices in my life. I remember feeling stripped of value. I didn’t even know who I was anymore. I remember realizing that I hated myself for allowing myself to be used like a dirty doormat, giving my authority over to men.

I remember crying after Russell M. Nelson’s conference talk about joy in October 2016. I believed men are that they might have joy, but women certainly weren’t allowed to have it. I didn’t see how it was possible. I pled with the Lord to help me learn how to have joy while wondering if God even cared about His daughter’s feeling. I constantly focused on Christ and the gospel and worked harder trying to be perfect, to serve more, going out with the missionaries weekly, attending the temple weekly, always putting my name on every clipboard that was passed around at church hoping that eventually those things might relieve me of the depression. I was drowning, and of course I never would have asked for help (another trauma response).

I’m not sure anyone could have seen from the outside just how dysfunctional and depressing life was for me. I worked hard to hide behind my smile and keep myself distracted from the pain by all the busyness of raising a large family, trying so hard to be perfect and serving in the Church, and never saying no.

I recognize not everyone experiences these things, but I think it’s important to shine light on the fact that many do.

Because I have had many experiences where I felt powerless and oppressed as a woman (remnants of polygamy), I feel polygamy is a damning Luciferian doctrine straight from the pits of hell. I believe remnants of polygamy were a big part of what made my life hell, or taught me to allow my life to be hell. The fruits of polygamy are rotten to the very core. Teaching women that they will need to accept polygamy in the next life in order to reach the highest degree of glory is the epitome of anti-Christ. Isn’t He the only way? If anyone wonders why I speak out against a doctrine that is no longer practiced in our church, it is because I feel compelled to protect other women from having experiences like mine. The remnants of polygamy are alive and well. I truly believe the Lord sees the sorrows of His daughters and counts their tears. I remember when I finally received the answer that polygamy was never ordained of God. That one glimmer of light was part of what began to heal my relationship with God and with His gospel.

It took 30 years of marriage before I was able to start making real progress in healing my relationship with myself and my husband. I thank the Lord for giving me the courage to do the excruciating work of facing all my pain and dysfunction. It was a very long hard road that I couldn’t have done without the Lord’s guidance each step of the way, a hard road that required me to immerse myself in the dirty mud of it all, exposing all my shadows and demons, and getting to truly know myself and what was going on in my inner world. I had to learn to ask the Lord questions I never allowed myself to ask. I had to learn to be accountable for my part and get out of victim mode, to change my old patterns of thinking and behavior so I could create something new. I had to learn to love every part of me, especially the parts that I had previously hated. They say you have to feel it to heal it, well I felt it all, the depth of all my repressed emotions, the pain of my self-betrayal. It was not uncommon for me to be in tears fighting my mind’s desire to dissociate as I tried to stay fully present with the Lord and work through it all.

The Lord has said that our body is the temple. My healing journey has required a lot of temple work, as my body is where all the negative experiences were stored, creating my book of life. I feel like the Lord had to get out His whip and turn over all my internal tables, but it is in that cleansing of my personal temple that I have received the spirit of the Lord to dwell with me. I have come to learn that although the process is not comfortable, it is essential if one wants to truly come unto Christ. It’s nice to be free from living in denial of my problems and the depression that accompanies that. The truths I have discovered in the muddy depths of my soul have set me free from the dysfunctions that had previously consumed my life.

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I have grace to offer because the Lord has given me His grace.

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Trauma does interesting things to the psyche. I still get triggered sometimes, but with much less intensity. It’s much easier to find the truth and wisdom hiding under the trigger as I offer myself the gift of compassionate curiosity. I know the road that needs to be traveled and Who we need to have by our side as we go on that difficult journey of healing.

My story is meant to shine a light on the darkness that many people experience, not to seek pity. I’ve grown quite comfortable diving into the dark muddy depths of my soul because it is there that I find clarity and Christ’s love and healing. I know that I will emerge with greater wisdom and love. I am able to see where I have gotten out of alignment with God, correct my course and restore my peace.

I’m not plagued by the emotional charge of those memories anymore. They have been thoroughly uncovered and brought to the light, even more so with this public sharing of my story. Things lose their power when they are brought to the light. Light always dispels darkness. I’m grateful for the light that frees me from the darkness of my past.

I love my life now even though it is far from being free from trials. Now that I have changed how I show up in my relationship with my husband, the depth of love and connection we share is a source of great joy. I finally love myself enough to risk being completely honest, open and vulnerable in my marriage, to have different opinions than my husband, and I’ve had enough experience to prove that it is safe to do that because my husband has grown enough to create a safe place for it. I give myself permission to have needs and ask for those needs to be met in our relationship. We enjoy greater balance and partnership.

I don’t have to hold onto resentment for the church anymore because I have changed how I show up in that relationship as well. I have reclaimed my personal authority and don’t trust in the arm of flesh. I give myself permission to have spiritual sovereignty and to say no to the things that don’t align with me. I go directly to the Lord for confirmation of any counsel or teaching I receive. Is the Church perfect? No, but neither am I. I have grace to offer because the Lord has given me His grace. Resentment and judgment have melted away thanks to healing through Christ’s atonement. I feel deeply connected to my Savior Jesus Christ. I know He loves me and I trust myself to hear Him. None of those blessings and joys would exist had I not gone through those trials. Even though I feel the familiar pit in my stomach and tension in my shoulders that comes when remembering the pain of the past, I say blessed be the name of the Most High God!

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I CAN’T SAY THAT

by Andrea

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The author and her daughter

Feed my [Damn] Sheep

by Ashleigh Gentry Davis

I loved my baby girl before I ever laid eyes on her.

It was a lucky first time feeling that not everyone gets. She’s four years old now and she reminds me of my young self in surprising ways every day. From sneaking blades of grass into her mouth when she thinks no one is looking to her joy in finding potato bugs and running barefoot in the snow.

But that first week after bringing her home, she really had us fooled and we were out of our minds with stress, especially me, her mother. 

I remember mixing formula in a bottle for my baby sister years ago, the feeling in my heart from caring for another human so small and recognizing it as love. I was ten. 

Now I had a baby of my own, but something was different. Maybe my own mother felt it too. Maybe I was too young and naive to notice at the time, this new feeling that came with being a new mother. Pressure. Weight. Judgment. And for what?

Breastfeeding was the right thing to do. The selfless thing, the natural thing, the loving, nurturing, right thing to do.

I remember trying in the hospital bed. Nothing had ever felt so unnatural to me. After all those videos, my notes, the breastfeeding class I attended with my husband, nothing had prepared me for this baby. I gave it one frustrating attempt after another. My baby grew more frustrated the more I tried. She was HUNGRY, but it was the right thing. 

Her weight dropped. We were new at this. Her cries grew more frantic. But instead of listening to her, we listened to everyone else. We were doing the right thing and the right thing takes time, they said. 

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She wrapped her arms around me and for once I had someone who JUST LISTENED TO ME.

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I still remember the numbers on the scale, sitting in the lactation department at the hospital after getting my daughter to latch for 45 minutes. It had been nearly a week since we brought her home and surely a lactation consultant could help. Weight gained? 0.00 oz. Her synopsis? You’re doing everything right… It must be a problem with the scale. I left that office wrecked on the inside, completely invalidated for my concerns and wondering if I was making something out of nothing. 

A word to my religion. 

We love to do good. But we also love to be right. It’s funny how becoming a parent changed my faith among everything else. It gave me new eyes, and new ears… to hear the cries. Some of the cries became my own. Maybe we as a church are so attached to feeding people what is right, that we would see them starve before giving what will nourish. Of course there is beauty here. But it isn’t in being right. It’s in nourishing souls.

When Jesus told the story of the shepherd who left the 99 in search of the one, he painted a picture of the role of a shepherd. But what of the rest of the flock? That lone sheep had reason to leave once, what’s to stop them from leaving again? We had better listen to the sheep, figure out if what we’re feeding them is making them sick, and adjust our formula.

I broke down after one week when the doctor said, “We’re not going to worry until she’s lost 10% of her birth weight.”

“Check your math,” I pleaded, “that’s why I’m here.” 

“Hmm. Well, I’m going on vacation. I’ll be back in two weeks. See me again if it doesn’t change. You’re doing everything right.”

Thank God for my wonderful mother. We attended a small family birthday dinner sometime after that visit. I tried to keep up appearances. Family members from the in-law side met our baby for the first time. Comments began pouring out again about how good she was, how calm. “How lethargic!” I wanted to scream. I cried instead. I burst into tears. I had no one to validate my feelings. I walked out the door and waited in the dark for my husband and daughter. But my mother came first. She wrapped her arms around me and for once I had someone who JUST LISTENED TO ME. I poured it all out and she listened. She held me and she asked me what I would like to do. “I want a new pediatrician,” I cried. So she offered to come with me. I went home and started researching.

I quickly found someone with high reviews and discovered that he had an open slot the very next day. I showed up with my mother by my side. The conversation went a bit differently than the first time around. After a few questions and a weight check, the doctor looked at me and soberly said,

“We’re in trouble. It’s time to be done breastfeeding.”

I had never heard such beautiful words in all my life. 

I’ve had two more babies since then, and I breast fed both of them. It has been a wonderful experience and I’m grateful for that opportunity. But nothing has felt more bonding than giving my daughter her first bottle right there in the doctor’s office and knowing for the first time that she could trust me.

Looking behind me now, I see the undue pressures and anxieties about the right way to feed a baby that blinded us to her needs. I also see a trail of ideologies within my religion that have taken priority over precious lives. I imagine what Jesus would do to stir up our congregations if he were here today. The man who said the sabbath was made for man, not man for the sabbath. What would he say to us now?

Feed my lambs, he told Peter… Feed my sheep... Feed my [damn] sheep!

I wonder if he would still have to repeat himself today.

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A Whale Dream

by Candice Wendt

Last night I dreamed I was in a small wooden shelter

like an ice fishing shack. When I opened the door, to my amazement I saw several humpback whales peacefully resting just under the surface of blue green arctic water. Gentle waves drifted over them and chunks of ice laced the water’s surface. The depths below were dark blue. The sight of the whales made me marvel and filled me with joy. At the same time, standing in my solitary ice shack on the frozen ocean, I felt an anxious need to get to the far shore. The only way across was a curving, fragile path of surface ice. I would fall through if I walked on the ice. I tried laying face-down and crawling along it, but my control was poor. I slipped off and found myself in the water with the whales.  

Making sense of God, suffering, death, and the afterlife used to be like swimming in a lake. There were lifeguards and barriers. I could wade through most of it. Things could get a bit deep, but I could see the bottom. Occasionally a fish brushed my leg. 

But now I find myself in the arctic. I didn’t plan to venture here, but, surprise! Here I am. It turns out life’s big questions are as grand as whales and as deep as miles of ocean water beneath me. I traveled here supporting women and girls who stretched my heart and mind open. Treading the arctic requires greater strength and autonomy. It especially takes a strong heart. But I feel more alive here. The vantage points to take in are vast and rewarding. And all my emotional and mental capacities are expanding.

Humpback whales swim to the arctic in the summer months to find food and give birth. It is a resting place for them. Likewise, my arctic life is a place of renewal, and new life. 

Reaching the shore in my dream is not possible; I can’t return to things seeming simple or easy. My challenge is to float here with these whales that are so overwhelmingly bigger than me. It is a little hard to accept that I’m not going to figure them out. But I’m choosing to trust that since I’ve grown more loving and open to others being in these waters, this is exactly where God’s spirit has led me.

 

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Expansion

by Tracy Christensen

The path was set before me, dogma given to me.

I followed…going along, choosing to trust the song.

I felt safe in the story, destined for glory.

Conditioned on enduring, the reward reassuring.

Sure in my knowing, righteousness sowing.

Always believing, never unweaving.

Learning and doing, sometimes fearfully clinging

to the right, basking in light.

And it was good.

But…

Sometimes I queried why I was so special

to be gifted the answers without even a wrestle.

To belong to the one true church in this last hour

with a patent on potential, progress, and power.

Patriarchal power.

The power of God.

And with it the pressure to help others with lesser

understanding accept my beliefs—

beliefs that had been granted to me—

felt a little off…

But, I remembered always to be

a defender of the Faith,

a warrior for Truth—

The Truth.

And it was good.

Until…

My bulwarks became blockades,

tools for progression now effecting stagnation.

And God in His might gently whispered one night

that my rigid foundation laid out for salvation

was too firm and needed to learn

to bend.

Have courage, my child, to face the wild—

to step into the whirling wind.

Just as Peter stepped onto the water…

The boat is safe but can limit your race when the time comes to face

the holy disquiet that will raise you to a higher sphere.

Heed my call: I’m in the squall and will guide you through your fear.

So…

yearning and learning, faithfully turning

I grew in the eye of the storm.

And in this new space, overflowing with grace

I discovered the power within.

Divinity there with humanity square

is how I become like Him.

Perfectly human, perfectly real, honest and willing to feel.

A master of grounding, compassion abounding

because He knows who He is.

Conductor of light, impeccable sight, connected to Heaven and Earth;

the power of love is what He’s made of, and He shows us our infinite worth.

The old fear I had learned of the world and end times gave way to new healing and grace.

For God’s love is the thread that binds us all through matter, time, spirit and space.

When sensing regression, here’s my confession: there’s still some cynic in me.

But, I remember the lesson of eternal progression: just stay connected and be

open and willing, humble and feeling, able to grieve and prepared to receive.

The things that I knew before I since grew had their place in bringing me here.

It’s ok to let go in order to grow, to make room for new light and see clear.

Ever a journey, always in flux, sometimes unlearning, sometimes returning—

coming undone and being remade, spiraling forward with heavenly aid.

Certainty gone, I’ve learned a new song which lyrics remind me to keep

feeling and healing, mindfully living, doubting and sprouting new faith—

my mind open…heart broken…line upon line until,

practicing connection instead of perfection, my will

becomes one with God and the process begins anew.

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Contributors:

Collen

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Andrea

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Ashleigh Gentry Davis

I live in Utah with my husband and three children. I love hiking, baking, and stormy weather. My favorite activity with my family is going on road trips with a good book for the ride. The current favorite is Secret Covenants: New Insights On Early Mormon Polygamy. 

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Candice Wendt

I work at McGill University's Office of Religious and Spiritual Life and am a contributing editor at Wayfare Magazine. I struggle with being human and can't eat dairy ice cream anymore. I have never had a dog, but dogs' enthusiasm for life gives me hope for humanity.

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Tracy Christensen

I'm a California native and a Mormon cliché: pioneer stock, BYU, married young, stay-at-home mom. I've lived in several different states with my husband—birthing babies along the way—before landing in Montana, where we've enjoyed raising our four children. I love reading and writing, running and yoga, mountains and lakes, carbs and chocolate. I have a degree in History and seek to learn from the past to inform a better future. As a disciple of Christ, I am interested in people—their stories, their pain, their healing—and in embracing my full humanity so that I can better honor the humanity of others. 

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