About a year ago, I came out of the feminist closet to husband. It wasn’t entirely unexpected as I never considered feminism something to be cautious of (the other “f” word as it’s sometimes semi-jokingly referred to in Mormonism) and I have always been fairly outspoken, independent, and feisty. But actually saying the words “I’m a Mormon feminist” out loud had never happened in the past. I wasn’t sure what his reaction would be, but I was optimistic he would be empathetic and validate my feelings and recognize that the struggles and issues I was dealing with were not made up and not mine alone, but shared by thousands of LDS women across the globe. However, there was a small part of me that feared he would react and treat me like he did when we were first married; after all, it was his mistreatment of me that uncovered the Mormon feminist inside.
I’d like to think that we did everything “right”. Even though it took both of us longer to get through college, we graduated from BYU-Idaho and married in the Portland, OR temple. I received my endowments two days before our sealing and the only thing I really remember about the session was that I was hot, hungry, tired, confused and about had a panic attack when my mom whispered to me, “We have to change the robes to the other side in a minute.”
After getting settled into our new place and new lifestyle as a married couple, I began to notice marked changes in the way my husband treated me. I hate to throw him under the bus for past transgressions, but his mistreatment opened my eyes in so many ways. When we argued, he no longer treated me with respect nor cared to find a compromise; he just expected to be right because he was the husband. When dishes were still in the sink from the previous night (it was and still is my bad habit), he made sure to point out that I was lazy and slovenly. If dinner was not on the table at 6:00pm every night (despite us both working (and him in school)), all hell broke loose and I was not living up to my role as a wife and a woman. If I didn’t read my scriptures or pray consistently or wore a shirt he found offensive (think lots of glitter and sequins and Mexican sugar skulls), he demanded I heed his counsel as The Priesthood Holder. I remember one argument when I told him that he was NOT in charge of my salvation and he retorted with “YES. I. AM.” In short, I felt he was most definitely exercising unrighteous dominion and heaving patriarchal gender stereotypes upon me. And there was NEVER any indication that he would treat me this way while we were dating. In fact, he would tell me how much he loved my fierce and independent spirit, my intelligence, drive, and ambition. But for some reason, once we were married, on more than one occasion, he told me he “thought things would change” and that I would be “a 50’s housewife.” This is not how I imagined marriage.
I began to HATE being married. Like, REALLY HATE it. This was what was so great? This was the goal to which we all aspire? This was one of the best decisions I would ever make? If my single friends asked me how married life was, I was honest and told them to stay single. It’s not bliss, it sucks. When my married friends asked, I normally gave a lukewarm answer and would grope for chances to say what I really wanted and jumped at any opening they gave to gripe about husbands. When friends on social media would show off shiny new engagement rings, I would gag and think “that poor idiot has no idea what’s coming to her.” I think if my own parents were not going through a divorce at that time, I would have packed my bags and never looked back.
Because we were still in Rexburg, ID at the time temple attendance was easy and convenient so I went often. After all, if I was struggling, the temple was surely the place to find peace, solace, and answers to my questions. Over the course of a year I attended at least 30 endowment sessions, desperately trying to understand them, trying to glean from them pearls of wisdom and spiritual insights that would help my spirit and my marriage. However, that was never my experience. I would go to the temple with a handful of questions and leave the temple with that same handful plus hundreds more. And always zero answers. I decided that the best way to gain anything out of the endowment was to focus on one single question per session. Even if a completely new question formed in my mind, I was to save it for next time and only focus on my original question. This is when things began to materialize for me. I latched onto the line by Eve: “…covenant to hearken unto you, Adam…” I came to understand (mostly through the explicit statement of the temple officiator) that in the temple, Adam and Eve are representative of the marriage relationship in our own lives. And after Eve/myself covenanted to hearken unto Adam/husband, I waited for the reciprocal line from Adam. And it never came. And because I surely must have missed it or fallen asleep or something, I contacted one of my previous professors to whom I looked up to very much. I asked her why Adam does not covenant to Eve, but to Heavenly Father, and why Eve does NOT covenant to Heavenly Father, but to Adam. She answered simply: “I’m sorry. I have questions, too.” I couldn’t believe that one of the smartest women I knew was just as lost as I was. I wanted desperately to ask my mom her thoughts, but her own faith crises was far more profound than mine after she initiated her second divorce. I thought for sure she would tell me she was leaving the church and I don’t know that I could have handled that at the time.
Over the following weeks, I contacted my professor with other questions mostly dealing with the words of the covenants in the temple and the gender differences there. My main over arching concern was that all my church-going life, I was lead to believe that men and women are on equal levels in the eyes of God, however the temple ceremonies, covenants and ordinances prove that to be the exact opposite: men rule over women. Period. I wanted to discuss my feelings with my friends, but I didn’t know how to bring up my problems without seeming as though I were discussing sacred things and defiling them. And furthermore, I had no idea what to say, how to articulate my feelings. In light of the “wear pants to church day” and Ordain Women movements, I knew there was very little diversity of opinions among my friends on these issues and I didn’t want to be labeled an apostate, or a heathen, or accused of hating men, nor did I want to offend anyone. And I really didn't want to involve my bishop because I knew the only answers he would have for me would be the standard “primary answers”: read your scriptures, pray, and go to church. Non-answers, in my mind. I felt so stuck.
Because I was trying so hard to find comfort in the temple and coming up short, my attendance dwindled. My questions, however, did not. I only superficially researched the idea of Mormon feminism after googling something like “mormon temple makes me uncomfortable” and would casually bring up a few things to my husband who would respond with some variation of “Be careful what you read, it could damage your testimony.” Things were actually improving in our marriage thanks to some couples counseling and a few “come to Jesus” moments, so I was VERY careful not to stir the pot and really didn’t bring up Mormon feminism again. At least not until Kate Kelly’s membership was threatened.
One day, my husband had made a comment that I just could not ignore. I don’t remember what he said, and I don’t remember what possessed me to be so bold in my response to him, especially since I really had no opinion on women’s ordination other than I wished them to be heard and respected. I began to explain to him why some women feel there are hurtful gender inequalities within the church and especially within the temple and how women’s ordination would be a giant step in remedying those inequalities. I explained to him that I didn’t know enough about it to form an opinion one way or the other, but that their concerns were legitimate and deserved, at the very least, acknowledgement. “It’s not THAT crazy,” I had said. And my husband looked very lovingly into my eyes and said “Wow. Oh my gosh. I never thought about those things. Yeah, I can see why they would start a movement like this then.” I could not believe that HE HEARD ME.
With that validation as a bastion of support, however small, I began to start more and more conversations about gender inequality within the church, traditions with no doctrinal backing, and a few other things that I had been feeling conflicted about. Things didn’t always go over smoothly, but talking without interruption was a always a win for me. One day, after a pretty big argument, I locked myself in the bathroom and began to sob. After what seemed like hours, my husband knocked on the door and I let him in. Because we were both a little more level-headed, I was able to clumsily get my feelings off my chest. I had revealed to him that the source of a lot of my pain and frustration with our marriage was the temple, that I believe he treated me the way he did because the temple allowed for it, and that I didn’t (and don’t) believe that God would approve of the obvious gender stratification that the temple perpetuates. I told him that the temple was never a source of peace or enlightenment for me, no matter how much I tried or how much effort I put into it. My husband knelt down on the floor with me, grabbed my hand, looked in my eyes and said “Me either.”
He said that, for him, finding answers in the temple was equally as frustrating. He related to me an experience he had as a youth on a baptism trip. He had asked his leaders what a few of the decorations/symbols meant on and inside the temple. His leader answered him with “You’ll understand one day, when you’ve received your endowment and are able to do all the ordinances.” Flash forward to my husband as a temple ordinance worker and eagerly asking the questions he has wanted to for years. And unfortunately, he was met with much the same response: “You’ll understand in time.” At this point, I asked my husband if, as a temple worker, you have access to more ordinances or secrets or knowledge that regular temple-goers may not have. And he said “No. I memorized a script and that’s the difference between a temple-goer and temple worker. To this day despite regular scripture study, near perfect church attendance, and frequent temple visits, I have no more “light and knowledge” than anyone else that I know.”
I was saddened and simultaneously relieved to know that my husband had struggled so much with the temple. I was no longer alone.
Over the course of the following year, my husband joined the military which left me by myself a lot. I moved in with my mom while he went to basic training and over that time, I learned that my mom had struggled with these exact things in the church. The gender inequality, the temple ceremonies, the unfair and absolutely unforgivable church disciplinary counsels, garments, etc. My mom and I are best friends and to hear these things from her mouth was heartbreaking and also, again, a relief. I most definitely was NOT alone anymore.
After moving back in with my husband, I was still by myself just about all the time. His new career, we are finding out, requires so much time away. During one of my many days of doing absolutely nothing, scrolling through social media, I began to feel really guilty. And empty. And worthless. And I couldn’t put my finger on why exactly. Until about the 5th time I saw a friend announce their pregnancy including my sister and sister-in-law. I have always wanted to have children, but with how nomadic and unstable our lives were at this point, both my husband and I knew that right now was most definitely not the time for kids. But for a stay-at-home-waiting-for-my-husband-to-be-done-with-training Mormon woman who has been told her whole life that motherhood is the most worthy thing a woman can do, getting pregnant seemed like the only way I could add meaning to my life. I reasoned that if I had something and someone that depended on me for literally everything, that I would find fulfillment and that that fulfillment would combat my depression and feelings of worthlessness. And then I snapped out of it. Kind of.
I realized that I was wanting a baby for just about the worst reason on earth. I was bored and I was depressed and I was lonely, so I should just have a baby to keep me company. Selfishness and boredom. How awful would that be for that kid to learn why they came into existence? “Why and when and how did you decide to have me, mommy?” “Well little one, I was bored and I said to myself ‘might as well’.” I’m glad I had enough to sense to see that my desire for a kid was only a desire to not be lonely anymore, not because I was truly ready for children. (I can hear you all now: “you’re never actually ready for kids. You just do it and figure it out as you go.” Maybe that’s true, but why make it any harder if I don’t have to?)
So while I realized a baby right then was actually a terrible idea, I still had no one (other than husband) to back-up and support that idea. Again, when you’re young and married and Mormon, it’s unheard of to not pop out kids immediately. As a woman, my divine calling is to be a ‘mother in Zion’ (while my husband’s divine calling is not to be a father in Zion, I might add.) So there I was again groping in the dark to find someone to relate to so I didn’t feel so alone. I started thinking of my married friends who didn’t have children yet. And almost immediately my mind went to a good friend from high school. She had been married at least 3 years longer than I and still had not had kids. I wanted to ask her why and I wanted to hear her say something like “we’re waiting because we want to and we’re just enjoying each other’s company at the moment” (what some super orthodox latter-day saints might consider “being selfish”). But something kept me from rushing to Facebook and sending her a message. Maybe it was the Holy Ghost telling me to not be such a nosy brat. I know how sensitive and private and personal family planning is and I know that infertility is real and can cause hurt beyond measure. I just knew that if I were going to ask this person about her family plans, she would tell me that she suffered from infertility.
After three weeks of wrestling with the idea of messaging my friend, I wanted so desperately not to be alone in my struggles that I finally did it. This is what I wrote (copied directly from Facebook Messenger):
Hey girl, hey! How have you been? I have a question and I realize it's kind of random and personal and if you don't want to answer it, you can totally tell me to take a hike. I won't be offended. Is there a reason you and (husband) haven't had kids yet? The reason I ask is because I've been married almost three years and haven't popped out any and I'm sure you know that's really "weird" in Mormon culture. Like, a lot of these kids getting married now (and in the past) are pregnant within their first YEAR of marriage. I can't even imagine that. And honestly, when I see people having kid after kid so close together, I'm like "WHERE IS THE HURRY!?! DON'T YOU KNOW THAT ONCE A KID IS IN YOUR LIFE IT'S THERE FOREVER?!? DO YOU NOT KNOW WHAT BIRTH CONTROL IS?!" And other such freak outs. And people are starting to ask me when I'm going to get pregnant, or more often than not it's when am I going to "join the club"? As if having children is an exclusive club and you can't sit with us if you don't have any. I realize that there are some things I will never understand until I have a child, much like there are some things I could only understand after getting married. I get that. What I don't like is how I feel I am being treated like less of an adult because it's just (husband) and I. We both get all kinds of flack from his family and maybe that's because he's the youngest and all his siblings have a hard time seeing him as anything but the baby of the family. But I'm one of the oldest and I hate feeling like in order to be accepted into their "group" you had to have changed a few diapers in your time. Parenthood is not a club; it's a lifetime commitment and labor of love. Anyway, that's not really the point of my rant. My real point is that (husband) and I have not had kids yet for many reasons, all of which are nobody's business but our own, but one reason we haven't had kids is because we're not on crazy-pills. We know that there is absolutely no way we could afford a kid right now. I'm not working due to moving all over the place and (husband) is on a lower-enlisted salary for the Army. And I complained about our money-woes a few days ago on FB and one of my friends commented that it was always hard for her and her husband when he was (husband)’s rank, but that she followed the prophet's council and stayed home and had babies and paid tithing and everything has always worked out in the end. I have a really, really hard time with that. And I can't exactly put my finger on it. I know that I am having a hard time with the church since getting married because of the way (husband) has interpreted temple covenants all these years and frankly by the way the temple ceremonies are performed. (Yeah....I might be one of "those" women.) And maybe all of the issues I have with the temple are just that; MY issues and I just need to pray more and whatever. But to be counseled to have children IN SPITE OF it being very financially difficult to do so?? Why would I voluntarily make things harder on myself? I don't get it. And again, maybe this is my trial of faith. Anyway, if you feel like talking about it, I'd love to know what your thoughts are. And if you think I'm crazy, you can tell me that, too.
Re-reading this now, I know it doesn’t seem like I used much of a filter, but I did. I didn’t want to step on toes or offend or make my friend think I was such a heathen right off the bat and then not answer my question. But the most miraculous and amazing thing happened. She answered almost immediately and assured me that I wasn’t crazy and that all my feelings were valid and important. But also, she confirmed my apprehension with asking her in the first place; she was indeed suffering from infertility. I felt like such a jerk for bringing up such sensitive and personal issues, but she said that she had basically come to terms with it and had learned so much about herself through it. She said that through trying to reconcile her infertility with the ideal Mormon woman role she, too, came to identify as “one of ‘those’ women”. She told me that my current issues with family planning and the temple were central issues in the Mormon Feminist, or Mofem, community and that I might really identify with them just as she does.
Over the course of just a few days, I devoured anything my friend sent to me, finally gaining the vocabulary to articulate the issues I had and the feelings associated with those issues. I learned that there are thousands and thousands of Mormon women and men who find some doctrines and principles of the LDS church to be less than comforting. I learned of all the places these like-minded people hang out and that contrary to what I had been lead to believe, asking questions and expressing concerns and harboring doubts is not Satan's will working within me; it's perfectly healthy and normal and demonstrates your active involvement in your faith contrasted with the passive, habitual blind faith mentality that can sometimes take hold of people. I was learning so much and finally felt like I had a safe place where people understood me. But that safe place was only online and I still had reality to deal with.
I began to feel like my new-found community and outlook on certain doctrines and practices was almost infidelity. Like I was cheating on my husband. Something had made me feel better and it wasn't my partner. I had to share with him how I was feeling. I had to share with him my struggles (although he already knew some) and I had to share with him how I was beginning to feel better.
After he came home from work one night, he found me at the dining table with red eyes and a drippy nose. I've never been able to hide when I'm crying. He immediately asked me what was the matter and I begged him to just hear me out.
With everything I had in me, I told him that I was struggling with being a woman in the church and that I found other women who are struggling, too. I said that I really didn't like the temple, I hated feeling like a child because we don't have kids, everything. I sobbed through my feelings and finally got it off my chest. And this time, husband was so, so supportive. He held me, let me cry, and said that he doesn't "get it", but he understands. I could not have asked for a better reaction.
The past year has been full of emotion and change and re-learning who I am. I'm surrounded by the fullest, thickest part of a faith crisis induced by my experience with the temple and, unfortunately, I see no end in sight. I could write for days on what it is exactly that I'm struggling with and maybe one day I will. But if there's one thing I want the reader to take away from this (incredibly long) post, it's that life is hard and love is everything.
Life doesn't fit in tidy little boxes and it isn't black and white. Life is a cluttered desk drawer with notes written in every color under the sun. You don't know in what color somebody sees life or how full their drawer is. So, just, like, love everyone no matter what, ok?
With everything I had in me, I told him that I was struggling with being a woman in the church and that I found other women who are struggling, too. I said that I really didn't like the temple, I hated feeling like a child because we don't have kids, everything. I sobbed through my feelings and finally got it off my chest. And this time, husband was so, so supportive. He held me, let me cry, and said that he doesn't "get it", but he understands. I could not have asked for a better reaction.
The past year has been full of emotion and change and re-learning who I am. I'm surrounded by the fullest, thickest part of a faith crisis induced by my experience with the temple and, unfortunately, I see no end in sight. I could write for days on what it is exactly that I'm struggling with and maybe one day I will. But if there's one thing I want the reader to take away from this (incredibly long) post, it's that life is hard and love is everything.
Life doesn't fit in tidy little boxes and it isn't black and white. Life is a cluttered desk drawer with notes written in every color under the sun. You don't know in what color somebody sees life or how full their drawer is. So, just, like, love everyone no matter what, ok?
