Oh My God, He Actually Made It All Up

My Journey Out of Mormonism

The First Cracks in the Foundation

It’s hard to pinpoint the exact moment my doubts about Mormonism began, but one memory stands out: the day I learned Joseph Smith practiced polygamy. My heart sank—not just a “few” wives but many, and not in some distant, past-life hypothetical sense. Up until then, I’d bought into the love story of Joseph and Emma: eloping, called by God, her steadfast loyalty. This? This shattered that fairytale.

Questions weren’t welcomed in my home. Doubt was a tool of Satan, and the cure was simple: pray more, read scriptures, and immerse yourself in church activities until those pesky feelings disappeared. Anti-Mormon literature was treated like radioactive waste. People who read it were pitied: “It’s so sad they left the church. The church is true whether they believe it or not.”

The church itself? It was less of a comforting presence and more like an overbearing, know-it-all uncle. Meetings stretched for three hours (back then), and every Sunday, I dreaded the hard chairs and self-righteous teachers who seemed to delight in calling on me when I was deep in a daydream. Occasionally, it morphed into a “quirky aunt” phase: obsessing over marriage and babies, Bennet sisters-style.

Strict Rules, Tithing Tantrums, and Teenage Drama

Looking back, some of the rules my parents enforced in the name of righteousness feel absurd. Like the time I’d saved for what felt like eons for a Pokémon game, only for my mom to ask if I’d paid tithing on my allowance. Spoiler: I hadn’t. Cue heart-sinking realization that I’d need to earn even more money before I could buy my beloved game.

They were strict about everything: paying attention in church (no tic-tac-toe or note-passing), staying awake during General Conference, and never letting my head rest on their lap after I turned 8. This militant approach to “spirituality” taught me one thing: church was about appearances, not connection.

The absurdity reached a fever pitch during my teenage years, specifically with my dating life. I dated a never-Mormon boy in high school, and the stress my parents put me through was nothing compared to the next relationship—with a returned missionary! They lost their minds. I remember thinking: This can’t be normal. This is MY eternity. Why are they acting like it’s theirs?

The Breaking Point

The final straw came when Alex suggested we take a break from church. I agreed, more for the kids’ sake than my own. I wanted to protect them from the harm I’d endured—the guilt, the strained parent-child relationships, the pressure to conform. At that point, I still believed the church was true.

Then I read "A Letter to My Wife". I didn’t just lose faith; I slammed the door, locked it, and threw away the key. The letter laid bare everything I’d been afraid to confront. It was a seismic shift—from “maybe we’ll come back someday” to “F*** this institution.”

The freedom was immediate and overwhelming. It was like shedding a 100-pound backpack I didn’t even know I’d been carrying. Sure, I was an emotional wreck realizing it was all a lie, but for the first time, I could see the church for what it really was: a massive, unnecessary burden.

Why I’m Staying Out

Leaving the church has been the most empowering thing I’ve ever done. I didn’t know what empowerment felt like until I left. That “still, small voice” they teach you about? Turns out, it’s your own body—your instincts, your feelings. Who knew?

I’ve gained so much: self-confidence, emotional intelligence, empowerment, and freedom. I’ve even lost weight (those guilt-induced eating habits were no joke). And for all I’ve gained, what I left behind doesn’t compare. A community built on conditions? Superficial friendships? No thanks.

Balancing Pain and Humor

Of course, deconstructing my faith hasn’t been without its absurd moments. The most hilariously ironic part? Realizing I didn’t trust myself. At all. Growing up, the church demanded complete obedience, and that conditioning left me disconnected from my own instincts. It’s wild to see how many healthy adults just… have that skill.

Then there’s the rules: magic underwear, tithing on lemonade stand earnings, the Word of Wisdom. Don’t even get me started on callings. Once, I was assigned to nursery—a volunteer position I specifically said I didn’t want. “Oh, God must really want you there,” they told me. I cried for a week.

A Message to Anyone Questioning

If you’re questioning your faith, here’s what I want you to know: Whether you stay or leave, it doesn’t matter—as long as you’re happy. But you deserve informed consent. Don’t take someone else’s word for it. Explore. Question. Learn.

I used to think I was “happier than ever” in the church, too. I wasn’t. Not even close. It’s scary to step away, but I promise you: there’s life, love, and joy outside. More than I ever imagined.