How to Leave the Church Without Feeling Anger

This post is my first How To. Yay! Who doesn’t love a good How To? What would Pinterest and Youtube be without the How To? So, of course, my blog is totally deserving of one.

There are a few times it is acceptable to be angry. Righteous indignation is one—when God has been wronged and we need to defend truth. That is a pretty solid reason to get angry, like when Jesus gets mad outside of the temple. Solid. Or when he makes the fig tree shrivel and die for being a hypocrite. A little intense, but solid. Or, according to the Book of Mormon, when we need to stand and fight for our families, beliefs, and freedom. I always loved the imagery of Captain Moroni ripping off his shirt in anger and creating a banner to be used to rally his troops to protect their families. (When JT reads this, no doubt he will make a comment that I probably just like the idea of a “warrior ripping his clothes off.” Good one, babe. Yes, that is also a great image, I will enjoy that, too.) Captain Moroni’s anger was heroic and valiant.

But predominantly, anger has been an emotion to avoid. It is usually viewed as an icky feeling that we don’t want to have. It is, after all, “of the devil.” It’s an emotion or expression that had been used to identify a lack of the spirit. Many believe it is a feeling we can overcome with happiness.

When some people leave the church, they seem angry. It appears, to some, that they have lost the spirit. It seems like having the spirit is linked to a perceived demonstration of happiness.  I believed this too, so I really didn’t want to be angry or bitter while leaving the church.

JT ended up leaving the church before I did. That was pretty shocking. I had been praying, studying, and crying over my concerns for a couple of years. I spent a lot of time fasting, going to the temple, seeking out the counsel of church leaders and friends. I was trying desperately to find a way to stay in the church. But JT got through that process much faster and decided to leave. When he left, it seemed like something changed. He was angry and bitter for the first time in our marriage.

I saw his anger as a bad thing. To be very clear, he didn’t become an angry person. He has never been violent, mean, abusive, or hurtful. It was never directed at me or our children. He was, simply put, very mad at the church. If you have been around JT for any amount of time, you will agree he is one of the nicest, happiest, most loving people you will ever meet. But any time the church came up, a cloud came over him. I didn’t like this anger, it worried me. I always believed it was bad to feel contention, and that anger was a feeling you needed to get rid of as soon as possible. I wanted him to just get over those feelings and be happy.

I also knew many people who had left the church that were very happy—actually happier than ever. That was the kind of transition that I wanted to have leaving the church. That was the thing I wanted to teach in this blog: How to Stay Happy the Whole Time You Leave the Thing That You Always Believed Brought You All of Your Happiness.

•  Never ever talk or think about any of the new things you have learned in your faith crisis.
• Don’t reflect on or examine the false doctrines, the errors, or the pain.
• Don’t ask questions.
• Don’t dig any deeper.
• Never think about what choices you made based on your original beliefs—choices like going on a mission, marrying in the temple while your family was stuck outside, allowing shame as a teaching tool, wearing underwear that you hated,  judging nonmembers as being “part of the world,” defending Joseph Smith, trusting the things you’ve been taught since a child, or paying 10% of your income.
• Don’t tell anyone else how you are feeling.

I guess that is pretty much the only way I can think of going through this kind of faith crisis without ever feeling any anger. Unfortunately, I sucked at following those guidelines. As much as I feared anger and wanted to avoid it, I succumbed. I knew other people saw it. I could tell how uncomfortable it made friends and family that are still members of the church. And because feeling the spirit is often equated with happiness, I knew that people believed that because of my anger and bitterness, I had obviously “lost the spirit” and was no longer happy. People even made comments to me about not seeing “that light” in my or JT’s eyes. It hurt terribly. I didn’t want to be seen as angry, bitter, or without light. I didn’t want that to be used for an excuse for why people can never be truly happy when they leave the church. I didn’t want to be judged for “not having the spirit”. And as a bubbly, outgoing, extrovert, I didn’t want to be perceived as unhappy.

But I also couldn’t shove down or ignore the feelings of hurt, pain, and anger. I felt an extremely hurt when I first read that Joseph Smith had multiple wives—possibly up to 40. I had even used his quote, “What a thing it is for a man to be accused of committing adultery, and having seven wives, when I can only find one,” to argue with non-believers that he wasn’t a polygamist, defending what I had always been taught.

I was sad when I learned more about the temples, where the ceremonies come from, and what the covenants actually mean.

It hurt to look closer at the church’s racism and homophobia, and to see the damaging effects it has had on many people in my life. Just today, I heard about a young woman from South America who had been baptized into the church who, through reading the Book of Mormon and the teachings of the missionaries and the prophets, came to believe that her skin was darker because of sin, and that being righteous would make it lighter. Her shame and sadness broke my heart.

These are just a few of the many things I found hurtful.  When I thought about them—the pain they caused me, and pain they caused others—I became angry. I was upset that I had been so trusting. I was furious with the people trying to quiet my voice. I was mad that I had looked for ways to rationalize many of our teachings, and even taught those rationalizations, as insights, to other people. I was irritated with the white-washed stories I had been taught. I was infuriated that I had given so much of myself to an organization that had not been honest with me. And I was enraged at the way these teachings had hurt me, my family, and my loved ones. (Check out my awesome use of the thesaurus option! So many great words to say “I was really effing angry.”)

I sort of felt like ripping off my shirt (that part is for JT, you’re welcome), making a giant flag, and waving it to tell other people that I will always seek for truth, follow my conscience, and fight to protect the people that I love from being hurt by any institution. Sounds a little dramatic, I know.  Also sounds familiar—like a totally acceptable reason to be angry.

As far as How to Leave the Church Without Feeling Anger, I guess I am not as qualified to write it as I wanted to be. I can’t really teach what I couldn’t do. I also can’t really judge what I have never gone through. No one should expect me, or any other person, to leave behind something we have loved so passionately without any resentment, pain, anger, or scars. I hate that I was so hard on JT, and expected him to not feel or show his anger. I wish I could have recognized that what many saw as a lack of light was just the dark shadows of his hurt and confusion. I hate that I underestimated the level of betrayal he felt from the church. I especially regret that I believed his anger to be a sign that he had lost the spirit, when it was just an emotion that he had every right to feel. I never should have wanted him to suppress his feelings or his pain so that I could feel more comfortable. He hasn’t lost any of the light that he has always radiated. In fact, he is truly happier and filled with more light now than he ever was before.

So, I guess I should change my first How To blog post. Instead of How to Leave the Church Without Feeling Anger, it will be

How to Be You, While Leaving the Church:

• Go ahead and feel any emotion you need to.
• Be sad if you want—I felt like I was mourning the death of a loved one.
• Find people who will accept you and love you and listen to you. Quick shout out to “my people,” the ones who have actually, really, truly, unconditionally, always accepted me with love, kindness, and open-mindedness during this faith crisis. Thank you. If you don’t know who you are, just text me and ask. If I am not talking about you, it’s going to be kind of awkward. Sorry! But if I am talking about you, you will probably feel really good for being such a cool person.
• Shout it from the rooftops if you have to—especially if you already sacrificed two years of your life telling the world about the church, you’re allowed a couple years to tell people your new beliefs with the same fervor.
• You do you, however that looks.
• Try to be patient with yourself and with the people you love. Change is hard for everyone.
• Do what feels right for you. That is all that will ever matter.
• Be brave—this may be the hardest thing you have ever done.

I may not be qualified to give advice about leaving the church. I may look back in ten years and say, “Wow, I totally sucked at leaving the church.” It isn’t exactly a skill that I practiced for my Personal Progress Award in Young Women’s. Sure, I sometimes still feel a lot of anger. That shouldn’t be a surprise. But I have found a way to make room for the hurt and the pain, and I feel much more peace than I did in the past. So, I think I will take a break from How To’s for a while, maybe leave that for Pinterest, and just write what I know.

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Epilogue (My first post with its own epilogue! That’s just the fancy way of saying P.S.)

You should know that it has been very challenging to start this blog. Yes, it is extremely fulfilling, especially as so many people have reached out who have had similar experiences and who have been grateful to feel like they have been given a voice through mine. That means a ton, and keeps me writing. But I know that my audience is varied, with different expectations and needs. I know that if I come across as angry, bitter, and argumentative, I will be discredited to many readers. They may see my anger as an indication or proof that I am in error and unhappy. And yet, if I try to keep it all light, and positive, and optimistic, I run the risk of being disingenuous to myself and end up minimizing my own pain and struggle to make sure others feel comfortable reading.  Hopefully you can see how incredibly difficult that is—to not allow my anger to be louder than my message, while allowing it a place to still be heard. I guess what I am trying to say is be patient with me. I am still finding my voice.

Link to the quote from Joseph Smith http://www.utlm.org/onlineresources/sermons_talks_interviews/smithboastingandpolygamydenial.htm

I found the actual quote here, after years of paraphrasing, when I was determined to defend Joseph Smith and continue to believe that he was not a polygamist. Before the essays came out, and made me feel like an idiot for believing him.