Why We Can’t Talk to Each Other

Sometimes it is sad to me how little I feel able to communicate to Mormons. Part of it is the way things have been set up in advance. As someone who is an “ex-Mormon,” I automatically have zero credibility. I’ve “broken” my covenants. I criticized church leaders public, clearly a violation of my temple covenants. I lost my marriage and my old life. Why would anyone want to listen to me?

But the funny thing is that I actually try very, very hard to remain nuanced in the way that I speak (and write) about Mormonism. Linda Wallheim, the main character in my mystery series beginning with The Bishop’s Wife, is still Mormon and her husband is still the bishop of their ward. I do this not because I’m trying to milk the series financially but because that was my original vision for Linda and she is a character I still love and care about in the same way that I love and care about other Mormons who remain committed to some elements of the church. I don’t hate Mormons. I tend to defend Mormons to ex-Mormons.

I’m aware of the fact that I (and other ex-Mormons) have a tendency to horribilize my experiences in the church and I try to compensate for that. I may not always do it well, but I am actually trying. I moved from believing the church was not true but was good (around 2008) to no longer believing the institution of the church was good (in about 2015) but believing the members were, to realizing that trying to stay in the church was harming me in ways that I could no longer pretend about and I had to leave in order to stay alive.

I really try hard not to use the “c” word when talking about Mormonism, mostly because no one can hear you once you say that word. Mormon don’t feel that they are in a cult. If you tell them they are even though they think they’re not, they won’t be able to hear anything else because it sounds like you’re just trying to smear the church and diminish a conversation with members by setting up their responses to look pre-programmed and unreliable (which is, ironically what the church does to ex-Mormons, as well).

I also try hard to accept that my experiences as a Mormon do not represent “the Mormon experience,” but one person’s experience and that is all. I am just as critical of ex-Mormonism as an institution (such as it is) as I ever was of Mormonism and I must admit that the backlash to that public forum was much, much worse than the passive-aggressive Mormon responses to most of my essays. I’m not a shill for anyone on this side. I don’t particularly have a financial stake in my writing anymore, either about Mormonism or anything else. I write because I’m a writer and I get paid a tiny pittance and rely on my full-time job for income.

But when I hear Mormons saying things like “I love garments and find them comfortable” or “I don’t feel oppressed/controlled” or “Mormonism saved me from addiction/abuse/becoming a murderer,” I remember believing those things. I remember professing those things publicly. I remember trying to convince my publishing friends that Mormonism was a deeply good religion that was all about free will and families and happiness. I will accept that your experience may be different than mine, but I also feel strongly that it’s entirely possible that you don’t know what you may say about your Mormon experience in ten or twenty or fifty years. We don’t always know ourselves. We just don’t. And that’s why sometimes it’s hard to talk across the giant gulf between us. Because I believe you. Mostly. Some of the time.

Except yeah, I also don’t.