Exponent II's Blog, page 56

Unfortunate Consequences of Being a Fat, Female Mormon

This is the first in a series of guest posts about being fat and female in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Please consider contributing your own post by emailing exponentabby@gmail.com. 

When puberty hit, it hit hard. I can’t recall ever shopping for a B-cup bra. It seems that one night I went to bed a scrawny little girl and woke up a curvy young woman the next day. I’m quite sure the transformation didn’t literally happen overnight, but all these years later this is how I think about my experience. 

With my new curves came new rules; like longer hemlines on skirts or shorts and higher necklines to hide burgeoning breasts. The messaging behind these new rules was loud and clear: the female body must be covered to make it less noticeable to males. Covering my body did not help. I heard plenty of inappropriate comments about the size of my breasts, and I was slapped on the behind while drinking from the junior high water fountain. And while I don’t remember the specifics of those modesty lessons in young women’s group, the message that female bodies were simply too irresistible for the male gender was being reinforced by the actions of some of them. Unfortunately, I can’t recollect one woman in my life suggesting that perhaps males should be held accountable for their behavior. 

I’m uncertain whether my weight gain arose from my subconscious desire to hide a body that drew unwanted attention, or whether it was genetics. There’s a solid argument for both theories, and either way the result was the same. By the time I went to high school, I had heard the word fat applied to my body. While unwanted attention from boys tapered off as my weight crept up,  girls willingly stepped in to fill the gap and comment on my size or clothing choices. I distinctly remember the day a modesty lesson was presented in seminary, and as we walked across the street to the school, a classmate turned to me and said, “You know you’re breaking the rules of modesty.” Looking down at my jeans and navy cable knit sweater, I analyzed the neck line with confusion. Not even my collarbones were visible. I was wearing pretty much the same item that dozens of girls in the group were wearing, why was she singling me out? I didn’t have to wait long for my question to be answered, “With your chest, you shouldn’t wear clothing that tight.” The words still sting today. 

This message and many others I received around females bodies remained consistent as I went off to college. I attended institute classes and young adult firesides regularly where I continued to hear the same modesty messages I’d heard in my youth. In fact, they seemed to intensify. Now that I was of marriageable age, the stakes were higher and the hormones even more intense during the courtship phase of dating. Females needed to be even more careful how they presented themselves and how they used their body. The trouble was, by this time, when they were talking about how tempting the female form was, I was certain nobody was talking about MY body. 

Mixed in with all the messages surrounding females staying covered for the sake of men, were the messages about making certain female bodies were attractive to them. I heard on more than one occasion the joke that Mormon men should strive for excellence on their mission because the more faithfully they served, the hotter their wife would be. As my friends started to marry, I was questioned about my dating status at their weddings and bridal showers. When I reported I wasn’t in a serious relationship, I was met with either condescending sympathy or unsolicited advice about improving myself in order to be more attractive to the opposite sex. More often than not, this advice included something about weight loss. I listened to female friends share similar incidents and heard stories about being counseled by leadership to shed some pounds in the interest of finding a mate. Perhaps most notable was the gut-wrenching experience of one dear friend whose break up with her returned-missionary boyfriend was the result of him telling her, “I would marry you if you could just lose a few pounds.” I have never been more proud of anyone than I am of her as she responded, “Easy, I figure by breaking up with you I’m losing more than 150!”

Even when the messages weren’t clearly directed at me, I internalized them and the shame increased. I recall a bulletin board in the institute building where the staff would pose a question for the students to respond. One particular week, the question read something along the lines of, “What’s your favorite thing about winter?” In letters large enough to draw attention were the words, “No fat chicks in shorts.” If I doubted the disdain for my body before, in that moment I was absolutely certain of it as my face flushed and I held back tears. I didn’t know who wrote it, but I was certain it applied to me. His message was loud and clear; I needed to cover my body again, but this time for a completely different reason. 

A year out of college, I was enjoying my new career and had shed several pounds. I started dating the brother of a friend and he seemed to love and accept me for who I was. Yet, during our engagement, when I knew he would inevitably see me naked, I felt compelled to explain in detail my flaws: the stretch marks on my breasts from the rapid onset of puberty and weight gain, the less-than-toned stomach, the cellulite on the thighs. I didn’t believe him on our honeymoon when he held me and told me how beautiful I was. I still struggle to believe him now. The messages I have internalized around female bodies are more powerful than the affirmations of one dear, kind man. 

In thirty-four years of marriage, I have still never heard my husband say a disparaging comment about my body, or any other female for that matter. Unfortunately, I cannot say that every member of his family refrains from talking negatively about people’s size. It didn’t take long until his family’s references to weight and body size became so unbearable to me that my husband had to inform his parents we would not attend any family functions if that subject continued to be discussed. Prior to establishing that boundary, the most egregious offense I remember was the night my father-in-law joked about his wife of 30-plus years, the mother of his 5 children, weighing 20 pounds more than the day he married her. He seemed to think he was particularly clever, when he declared with a smirk, “That’s 20 pounds I’m not sealed to!” To this day, I regret that my shock left me unable to speak out in that moment. I wish I would have defended my mother-in-law (and every other woman in the room) by countering with, “That’s 20 pounds of her that won’t need to put up with you in the hereafter!” 

Recently I stumbled across a song called “Fat” by an artist named Kate Yeager. I’ve listened to it many times over, and I often find myself singing the profound words of the chorus:

Didn’t know how to hate myself,

’til I learned it from someone else.

Didn’t see what was wrong with me, 

Just lived in my body

Did my best to lose the weight,

Hoping the hurt would go away,

But damn skinny feels just the same, 

I’ll always carry it in my body

Through the years, regardless of my weight, I’ve carried the emotional scars inflicted on me by the church’s teachings about the female body.  I had to cover my body when it was too attractive and I had to cover it when it wasn’t attractive enough. I recognize that the pervasiveness of the patriarchy means that all women, regardless of their religious background, are conditioned in a similar fashion. I find it particularly troubling that the place I learned to hate my body was the place I was taught I held truth and peace. The same place where I was taught not to question the patriarchy. What is even more tragic is that as a youth, toxic teachings stole my ability to simply exist in my body, and it is something that I’ve never fully recovered. 

Guest author Millicent Collins is an Arizona native with two degrees, a passion for learning, and a new-found desire to write her stories. She is a teacher, wife, mother, mother-in-law, and grandmother. 

Guest Post: Drawing the Line on Gender Assignment

by Anonymous

This past week, we have all seen Olympic outrage on social media even if we have not been watching the Olympics. We have learned about Imane Khelif, Swyer Syndrome, and discussed everything going on in between her chromosomes, her divinely muscular frame, and in between her legs. Many questions about the Olympic guidelines, what it is to be female, and what it is to be male, are being splashed across social media, as if defining gender is more important than … ya know. The Olympics. And other things. As if it were our business.

Many of my friends have shared articles on social media reflecting their position judging Imane Khelif’s gender. A friend of mine, who will remain as anonymous as me, but who I will call “L,” posted an article that labelled Ms. Khelif as transgender. L stated that she believed that Ms. Khelif should have a separate boxing category entirely for “Transgender people like that.” This rubbed me the wrong way. So I commented “I think this article is a poor representation of the situation, and is deeply problematic. The boxer in question has Swyer Syndrome.”

I wanted to walk away. I really did. But this friend is a good friend. A fellow Latter-day Saint. Even if we don’t agree on everything, because who agrees with anyone else perfectly? She and I supported each other through IVF, and other mountainous things that were personal and important. So I sent her a message and we corresponded, which I will paste here (personal identifiers have been removed):

Me: L, I don’t know how you missed this, but my infertility diagnosis classifies me as intersex. Because of so much hatred towards those who are trans, women like me (intersex) around the world are denied medical support, along with those who are trans. Some of us are told by our families that we “should be rounded up and shot.” I have told you this before. But remember, the fall of Adam made us this way. When I had my patriarchal blessing, God told me that I was correctly female, just like I felt I was. And yet, in conservative society, I have to hide. Do not add to the hate. Not just for this boxer, both for others. Please.

L: Thank you for your concerned and discreet message. I’m a little alarmed, because I haven’t looked at FB today, and hope the post hasn’t gone in an unintended direction! I have a niece/nephew, I love dearly, who change gender surgically in the past few years, I was very careful of how I phrased that post so as to keep the ridiculous hatred out of it. The last thing I would want to do is add to the hatred. I thought that post was very supportive in a very real and difficult situation. Men are built physically different than woman, that doesn’t just change enough, even after reassignment surgery. I feel the controversy muddies up some important issues that need to be looked at in a genuine, respectful and fair way.

I absolutely do not believe a person changed from a man to a woman should be competing in that sport against women, especially, when it has always recognised physical differences with categories…which, is why I suggested, certainly, we could come up with a better solution. There was certainly no hate promotion intended. I changed it to transgender.

Me: Oh, dear! But the athlete is not transgender. She has Swyer syndrome. She is female. She was never male. Heck, she’s more female than me! With the blessings of imperfection, she, like me, was born with a condition that deems her, like me, not 100% traditional female. I was born with other characteristics of a different syndrome), deeming me intersex, like her. But our Heavenly Parents see us as daughters. Of this I am sure! I do believe that it is trans-phobia and “othering” hatred for keeping all of us in the closet. I mean, think of women with PCOS- which have increased testosterone levels. Are PCOS mothers—male? (1) Of course not! As I told you before, I had LDS family members who told me I should be “rounded up and shot” for being on the intersex spectrum. If anything, we should greatly admire this athlete for being brave enough to be public about having Swyer Syndrome. I am certainly not brave enough to be public about being intersex!

L: I did not know that. I’ve tried to do more research, before I post things. But obviously, I didn’t this time. I’d like to sort that out, taking it down for now. Thank you so much.

(later)

L: You’re right, the article should have made that clear. I still wonder if they could adjust her category, somehow, as the other athlete said she had never been punched that hard, and obviously was in fear.

Me: I understand, but what category would we be in? Boxing I believe is based on the boxers’ weight. So what would this new category look like? A non-weight category for those who aren’t perfectly female (like me)? But then where does it end? People are violently pushing back on non-gendered bathrooms. And what about the temple? Should the entire temple ceremony be re-written for those who are not perfectly one gender or another? Where would be sit in the temple? The outcasts back row? And where would the line be drawn—would it include those who have had hysterectomies, or had their prostate removed for cancer? Who gets to draw the line of what my gender is? I would like to think that would be left to me.

***

I have yet to hear again from this friend, which is okay. We are busy women and will touch base again on some other topic, likely never discussing this again. I understand this: we don’t want to fight, because we are friends. We have sat side by side in the temple together before and will again. The thing is, though she will likely dismiss this, and even forget about it, I won’t. As soon as gender lines are drawn, because I am imperfect, I FEAR where those lines will be drawn, and who gets to draw these lines?

The Olympic committee has drawn that line for Ms. Khelif, defining her as she defines herself, as a woman. Last year, the International Boxing Association drew the line that said she is not enough of a woman. But the thing is, the lines do not end there. Should we draw lines in the temple? Should my baptism and church membership be rescinded because I am not perfectly female? And with that—who gets to choose my gender?

As it is, there is outrage in the intersex community against gender “correcting” surgery for children, which is decided by parents and the medical community. This surgery is often performed when the child is less than a year old, so the person having the surgery obviously cannot be given consent. Yet when a teen is sure of that their body does not match their spirit, and even with their parents offer support, trans surgery can be denied by hospital boards, governments and more. (2) Because someone, somewhere has drawn a line about gender. I am confident that these “gender line-drawer,” no matter how well-meaning, are never among the 1.7% intersex or the 0.05% trans populations.

One day, the world will stop drawing lines on gender. Until that day, I pray. I pray for Ms. Kheif. I believe her and her family when they all state she is a woman. I believe that she did not randomly “choose” her gender, and that her spirit and her soul are female. I believe she is a saint for facing such global social hatred on a mass scale. And with that, I am worried about her mental health. I have her in my prayers, because I know what it is like to feel the crushing stones being cast by those who deem themselves perfect judges of gender.

Notes:
1. PCOS and testosterone: https://studentaffairs.psu.edu/health....
2. Gender corrective surgery on infants: https://abcnews.go.com/Health/interse....
3. Percentage of Global Intersex: https://ihra.org.au/16601/intersex-nu...
4. Percentage of Global trans: https://williamsinstitute.law.ucla.ed...

Artwork/Image:
Giovanni Francesco Susini, Hermaphrodite, 1639, Metropolitan Museum of Art (Open access) https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collect..., Overall Figure confirmed: 4 5/8 × 17 × 7 1/4 in., Sculpture-Bronze

 

Anonymous likes being anonymous! She could be your sister at church, your friend at work, your classmate at school. She likes music, dancing, smiling, reading, writing, watching movies and being happy. She loves her husband and children with all of her might, mind, and soul.

Burn to Heal

Guest Post by Emmaly Renshaw. Emmaly is a partner, mother of four, agricultural nonprofit director and lover of fields, woods, and everything in between. She lives in Cedar Rapids, Iowa.  You can connect with her at https://thebeautyofgray.substack.com/.  

Within the flames something shifted. 

Our family farm in Northeast Iowa was scheduled for a prescribed burn. Five years ago, we decided to take land out of production and plant a reconstructed prairie. Conservation Reserve Program (CRP) prairies require prescribed burning on a static schedule. Prairies need fire to flourish; it reduces weed competition and maintains system stability and biodiversity. Iowa has lost 99% of its native prairie landscape; this fragmented ecosystem can no longer burn naturally, so we must burn carefully, with intention.

40 acres. This is a precarious tract of land to burn with the ebb and flow of hills and terraces.  This field is sandwiched between two old farmsteads flanked with towering pine trees that serve as prime tinder if the fire jumps the breaks. Though we are in our fourth year of drought, the prairie is greening and requires fire. In a previous life, I did burn crew work so my dad called me to have an extra set of experienced hands on the ground and I drove to the land that gave me birth.

Having four children, moments of quiet are rare and I found myself alone with my thoughts during the drive north. The spring had been challenging, with Relief Society Instagram post, doubling down on garments, and another General Conference that highlighted how much my beliefs have shifted; a keen reminder that my struggle to find my worth as a woman in the church isn’t over, and where I fit in feels increasingly unclear.  Furthermore, I have made the conscious decision not to renew my temple recommend as Iowa prepares for its first temple. There is constant temple fervor filling the air, leaving me caught in a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. I feel misplaced, exhausted, and increasingly angry, but there’s no outlet for this frustration within the religion or culture—I’m expected to carry it all in silence. In the past month, I have become more vocal about these events, and there has been a fury of backlash.

The first step in prescribing burn is to back-burn. Back-burning protects what is crucial—housing, barns, neighboring fields, and life. Back-burning takes time; it’s a regulated and carefully watched process. We burn into the wind and up hills, anticipating it to provide a large enough swath to stop the primary fire from spreading, but fire is precarious and can jump buffers and even roads within seconds. Tonight, the back-burn is one continuous border surrounding the 40 acres but with the rolling hills and terraces, it looks as though there are dozens of fires in every direction, giving it an ominous feel.

I have always led back-burn crews–it’s what controls the fire and protects. As women, it’s what we do: control and protect. We are taught to ensure the little fires are extinguished before they become destructive. How often have I been told to “shelve my anger” or “anger is the devil’s device”? How frequently have I repeated this repression to my daughters as I instruct them to “simmer down” or “drop the drama”? It is ingrained in women that fires should never be allowed to burn. I am beginning to realize how devastating this practice of suppression is.

This prairie burn is at dusk to allow the heavy Midwest dew to damper the fire, and night is coming quickly. My dad beckons me to meet him in the northwest corner of the 40 acres. I hand over the almost completed back-burn, and when I arrive he hands me the torch just as the sun sets. This is symbolic; maybe it’s because he is aging and he’s passing more to us to prepare to transition the land; maybe it’s because he can feel how heavy my load is right now, and he’s not good with words but he is with actions.

I stand overlooking 40 acres; now outlined in a string of smoke and fires. I tip the torch, watching the fire-infused oil drop into the grass. This is a moment of legal arson for men, but for women, it’s sacred to light the world and watch it burn. I breathe in the smoke that now hangs thick in the air from the back-burn and sharply exhale all the anger neatly packaged away. For a moment, there is nothing but silence. I feel the prevailing wind at my back and the heat at my feet making the flames flicker and climb. Within a minute, the stillness is overtaken by the deafening roar of destruction as the oxygen is consumed, and I watch an uncontrollable wall of fire originating from my actions. What was just a tiny flame a moment ago is scorching an acre a minute. Dusk has fallen, the night sky turns pink, and it appears as if the sun is setting in the west and the east tonight.

I follow the wall of fire, walking across the now-blackened earth. There is no horizon where the black earth meets the black sky. The ground is still warm, with smoke emitting from what is still burning beneath. The landscape looks brutal, like a mistake that will never recover. I have scores of burns to reference, but there is always a moment when I think this is absurd. This can’t be right. What did I destory?  But I know the science, and I am reminded that we burn to heal; we burn for growth. These fields will fall silent over the next few days, the birds will not sing, and within weeks, the charred earth will vanish and be replaced with a vibrant and thriving ecosystem.

In actuality, prairies can be difficult to burn due to uneven fuel supplies because of plant diversity. One of the firefighters walks by; the ash clinging to our wet pants and smeared across our faces. He clasps my shoulder and says, “Solid burn, our best three burns this year have all been set by women.” I reply, “It’s because we carry extra tinder to start the fire.”  He laughs and says if he let his wife start the fire, it would burn forever. I suggest he hand her a torch, and he can’t determine whether I’m joking or serious. His confusion is short-lived as he walks away giddy with another night of legal arson and I find myself alone realizing my life is paralleling the events of the night.

After weeks of ruminating about the chatter concerning garments, temples, and the lack of women’s voices in the church, built upon years of my experience as a woman in the church, a bitterness had built in my soul as I carried it without an outlet. I felt the anger dissipate as I lit the fire. This was a reminder that, in some instances, fire is beneficial. Letting it all go and burning it to the ground is the best thing for growth. I don’t know what comes next or what will be the first thing to rise through the new fertile mat of scorched earth. My prescribed burn experiences have taught me the things meant to grow will return, flourish, and crowd out the weeds that have inter-seeded between the burns.

I am certain people see me standing in the ashes of this proverbial charred earth, believing I have lost everything. I am willing to be patient and see the beauty that rises from beneath the ashes.

Strike. Drop. Exhale. Burn. Heal.

Putting Relationships First in Our Increasingly Mixed-faith Families

Improving mixed-faith relationships in families is a rising topic of interest. A recent Mormonland episode featured how Utah Valley University professor Kimberly Abunuwara and her students recently wrote and performed a theater production, In Good Faith, that recreates conversations recounted to them in interviews with members of mixed-faith families. The UVU team noted that some families they interviewed are having open-minded and supportive conversations about their perspectives inside and outside of the Church. 

Familial interfaith harmony is becoming the model for healthy relationships in mainstream Latter-day Saint circles. Faith Matters recently published an interview with therapist and educator Valerie Hamaker that promotes “not fearing others’ faith journeys.” Hamaker asserts that “if we don’t learn how to speak with one another in the church, in the peripheries, inside of the edge, outside of the edge, and in the middle, the casualty is the family. And we are in the business of trying to help families in the LDS faith.” She discusses how parents can maintain close relationships with adult children by respecting their decisions and becoming curious about their perspectives (future quotes by Hamaker also reference this Faith Matters episode).

A family member recently texted me about her desire to focus on building relationships now rather than fixating on a future afterlife, explaining, “when we ‘think celestial,’ we lose the opportunity to heal the world in which we currently live. We value the afterlife more than the world around us; living for the future distracts us from developing the ability to be present. And that presence is often how we show up to truly love.” We can certainly benefit from hope that our relationships with God will continue in a life to come; sometimes I have found it absolutely necessary to lean into this myself. However, we also need hope for connection and healing in the present. 

What if “think celestial” could mean bringing a full measure of love and inter-belief respect into our families here and now? Could it be all of us, religious or not, sitting around the family table as equals, unrestrained in our hopes and support for each other? Could celestial thinking include “surrendering any theology that invites or evokes fear” (Hamaker)?

As an ordinary member on the ground, I’m noticing a gradual and sometimes dramatic shift toward this such thinking. Open-minded approaches are increasingly common, even in families who once had low tolerance for differences. Many families are learning interfaith conversation skills and are no longer treating religion as a non-question. Some of the same individuals who once judged or alienated family members are starting to respond with warmth and understanding. We are healing old wounds, starting to surmount our worst theological hazards, and reshaping Mormon culture. Here are a few real-life examples of the kinds of shifting dynamics I’m noticing, as well as some of the benefits these changes can bring:

A man in his thirties opened up to his family for the first time about how he never developed a testimony. He finally felt he could be open without hurting his relationships with family members. At this point, most of the adult family members had recently gone through some kind of faith transition, largely due to the challenges of raising the grandchildren. The uncle’s honesty signals that it is safe to express your genuine beliefs and to not be a church-goer in the family. He is also an example of living according to many Mormon values despite believing differently.



Two Boomer parents accepted the invitation to read The Ghost of Polygamy with their Millennial daughters. Together, the family differentiated from the standard teachings about polygamy. The parents started listening to and validating their daughters’ concerns about gender inequality in the Church with more openness and care. Both generations supported each other in claiming greater personal moral authority about gender, sex, and marriage. This brought healing from painful truth claims they once felt obligated to uphold.



A young adult questioned her faith after her spouse left the church. After a frustrating General Conference experience when she didn’t feel seen or inspired, she called up her older sister who left the church twenty years before. This was the first time they’d ever talked about the older sister’s struggles with church life. It was healing to both of them. The older sister accompanied her sister through spiritual pain in a way no one else in the family could do. This led to both sisters feeling more seen and loved by each other.



During an at-home testimony meeting, an uncle with an independent approach to his Latter-day Saint faith shared that church is often alienating to him. But he continues to value his spirituality because he can feel Heavenly Parents’ love for him. His 12-year-old niece, who was feeling judged and controlled at church and who was suffering from school anxiety, was touched by his words. Other adults in the family value his honest sharing and his proven capacity to emotionally support grandchildren in the family who have left the church, who identify as queer, and who are facing mental health challenges.



A woman was in pain after her child came out as queer and left the Church. She felt angry at the Church due to policies and teachings that had affected her child. It was a younger sister who had left the church years before who reached out to her to give her the emotional support she needed during this difficult time. They drew closer together than ever before, and this brought a lot of joy and connection into both of their lives. As she continues to work through anger and pain about her relationship with the Church and as she expands in her faith, she benefits from connecting with both her Latter-day Saint siblings and her siblings who are no longer members. Both accompany her in unique and loving ways.



A young adult who left church in recent years lightheartedly jokes with Latter-day Saint friends that the religious majority in his parents’ family keeps shifting as siblings get married and as the young adults’ beliefs develop. It used to be majority non-LDS, but due to an upcoming temple wedding, they will now be 50/50 LDS/non-LDS. His GenX parents are spiritually stretched by having a truly mixed-faith family, something that has never happened in their lives before.



A millennial couple whose teenage children experienced cognitive dissonance and unhappiness at church switched to a low pressure approach to faith. They told the teens that all that they expected is that they attend any spirituality-focused or service-oriented community meeting regularly. They intentionally discussed how they love all their extended family members and respect the decisions and values of those who have left the church. They made it clear they will be proud of their kids whether they end up involved in the Church or not as adults. This is helping the children have more open-mindedness to Latter-day Saint faith because the inclusivity, respect for agency, and humility modeled by their parents is in line with their developing values. The new approach is bringing parents and children closer together and increasing respect and peace in the family.

Why are our approaches to relationships and faith changing? Among other things, a perfect storm for change in attitudes about belief and belonging is raging. Families are being spiritually stretched and are learning to resourcefully leverage diverse and non-orthodox perspectives to better support younger members. Here are elements I see coming together to prompt change:

Teens and young adults are facing increasing pressures and demands to compete and succeed at school, the workplace, and socially. Stable careers, good salaries, home ownership, and in-person community support are less accessible today than they were for older generations in our families.



Partly because of factors above, young people are facing more mental illness and mental health risks than in the past. Anxiety, depression, eating disorders, online bullying, excessive sedentary time, compulsive screen use, and lack of in–person community support have become commonplace obstacles many families are facing. There used to be a bell curve in which young people and older people were the most carefree and happy. The first part of the curve has now flattened out; our teens and young adults are now as unhappy and stressed as people in middle age. (See “Young people becoming less happy than older generations”).



Church life is providing less social and spiritual support to boost wellness than it did for past generations, and church leaders are putting heavy pressures on kids to conform and fulfill institutional goals rather than meeting them where they are at. For an example of trust-damaging messaging directed at youth, note the anxious, condescending and aggressive approach used during this talk given by Elder Kevin W. Pearson last year: “Do NOT Pray About Whether or Not You Should Go On A Mission. DUMB QUESTION!”; “…Active Adult Paying, uh, Tithe Paying Members”). The church is also failing to support or to make space for our queer kids, feminist kids, kids whose spiritual desires and passions are different, and our agnostic, skeptical and questioning kids. There is less wiggle room than ever before for sloppy messaging and boundary-violating or fear/shame-based tactics when our young people are already stretched thin, yet Church leaders are struggling to tune into this and adapt their approaches.



Partly because of decreasing wellness benefits and increasing cognitive dissonance at church, historically Latter-day Saint families are increasingly mixed-faith and spiritually diverse. As Hamaker describes, “[w]e are living in an era where there are very few traditionally fully intact families that are all practicing…[F]amilies with different levels of belief, or activity, or membership is the norm.” This is not only because younger people are struggling to find a spiritual home in the faith, but frequently also because their experiences lead older family members’ faith to shift and expand.

When young people are already facing heavy pressures and mental health risks, the basic needs of our youth to function and thrive become the priority in families. Hopes of kids embracing the faith get pushed lower priority-wise to make way for baseline well-being. This is all the more true when aspects of church life are adding to the distress. As older family members watch the youngest family members wrestle with church, their hearts soften and their assumptions are challenged. Take, for example, these words shared by a woman in Samuel Norton’s book on better ways to lead LDS youth, Come as You Are:

“You know, I never got it, until I saw my precious Grandson struggle. Ten years ago, I was in a different place. I guess I judged some of the young men who didn’t serve. I think I may have even referred to them as ‘failures to launch.’ I feel so guilty about that today…When my Grandson struggled with anxiety and came home from his mission early, as an insider to the full story, and all the things he experienced before and during his mission, I became his most loyal and fierce advocate. At times, it broke my heart. I learned more from watching his courage and his struggle than from any other experience I have ever had” (pg. 51).

Institutional loyalty and the grip of dogma loosen, familial attachment and compassion increase, and faith is reshaped. As Hamaker explains, “when something actually happens with their own child, and [parents] set it next to a theology that says I can’t be with this child for eternity, they know that that can’t be true because deep down they know the nature of God… [L]ife teaches people truths in ways that perhaps an institution doesn’t have the capacity to teach.” I myself am one of these parents whose outlook has dramatically changed. I used to live in terror of my kids leaving the church, and now I feel grounded in trust that God understands and has compassion for every obstacle my family is facing. My own spiritual experiences with divine love and grace are leading me to shed fears of imposed separations, sad heaven, inequality or misery in the family now and in the afterlife. 

Family members who’ve gone through faith transitions or who have left the faith are often called upon to support and mentor young adults seeking support from more experienced mentors who really “get it.” This has been happening to some degree for generations, but I’m noticing increasing recognition on the part of Latter-day Saint individuals that all adults in the family have valuable parts to play in serving as role models to younger generations. As we watch our children struggle, thoughts and feelings change not only regarding the current struggling teens and young adults, but also toward others in the family who have faced pain and alienation in the past. More Latter-day Saint family members are starting to acknowledge that there are many ways to be an upstanding, morally and spiritually-grounded and caring adult, and that for some of us, the Church is not a suitable or even a healthy place to grow and develop. Another factor is that when an increasing segment of the family is unhappy with the institutional church or is out of the Church, families start to sense it is simply time to stop defining everyone first and foremost in terms of religion and focus more on other interests, values, and qualities together.

Some families are starting to act as if diversity of belief and true respect for differences are family assets and strengths. Hamaker notes how having mixed-faith families is “inviting…us to step into a higher level of spirituality” in which we recognize that “being on the same spiritual plain isn’t actually evoking growth in our family system.” Opting into interfaith harmony is choosing a more expansive kind of spiritual development and fortification in the family.

This new approach upholds what boundaries experts teach: religious belief is a personal choice to be honored by family members, including parents and elders.  It is not to be forced, even on young children. It is not to be held over family members’ heads as a requirement for love or acceptance (see the section on religion in Boundaries with Kids by Henry Cloud). This new way also models respect and equality in the face of personal differences, a valuable peace-making skill to teach to younger generations.

Many of our families have been afraid exposure to non-LDS views or unorthodox beliefs could harm the lives of younger family members. Yet a switch to affirming personal choice of belief actually creates a healthier atmosphere for everyone to make authentic and joyful choices. It doesn’t create a bias toward leaving faith behind; it fosters true freedom. And this approach doesn’t mean parents should stop encouraging kids to participate and explore the faith tradition and community when they are young and living at home. Invitations and even expectations for them to learn about and experience religion usually contribute to their spiritual development whether they are life-long members or not (check out the findings reported in The State of Religion & Young People 2023: Exploring the Sacred about the mental health benefits of exposure to religion and spirituality). Honoring agency demonstrates that love, dignity, and emotional safety continue however each family member’s beliefs turn out. 

When people know that they are really heard and loved just as they are, their energies no longer have to be used to make sure they are seen and accepted. This makes space for them to flourish and gain clarity about questions in their lives, including those regarding spirituality. One excellent example of how affirming, caring, and non-confrontational approaches to relationships are the best way to help individuals develop their authentic desires and their motivation to progress, grow, and heal is the research-based therapeutic practice of motivational interviewing. 

Hamaker asserts that “the only way of us having any capacity to persuade someone to grow is just to love them, and allow them to be exactly who they are and where they are.” Jen and Sam Norton, recent London FSY leaders, taught similar concepts during their recent interview with Faith Matters, including when they asserted that it’s “the love that doesn’t seek to change you changes you.” 

Establishing true respect for religious agency in our families is also a way to act in faith that God will provide each individual with the experiences and learning they need. It frames life as a learning experience instead of a test, which is more conducive to mental health and spiritual well-being. 

It is conventional in Church circles to assume that loss or lack of religiosity equals spiritual degeneration. My experience hearing from searching, secular, agnostic and atheist young adults in the interfaith lounge for university students I work in has taught me otherwise. Loss or lack of religious beliefs and differentiated beliefs can lead to immense personal and spiritual growth. When comforting answers about life’s big questions aren’t accessible or working for them, many young people do a great deal of high quality spiritual labor searching for meaning and insights, developing compassion for others’ suffering, and constructing spiritual and moral purpose and meaning in their lives. They ponder what it means to be human and how to be in the world in courageous, insightful and humble ways that many of us Latter-day Saint struggle to access. In our families, differentiated young adults are helping many of us to recognize that despite our Latter-day Saint-based spiritual experiences, love of faith, and trust in God, as humans, we’re all sitting in our lack of certainty and complete knowledge about what’s spiritually true about the universe together. Young people can help unlock spaces for recognizing and enjoying that life is remarkably mysterious and open to new meanings and possibilities, even while engaging a faith tradition. This can bring a sense of shared awe and humility across beliefs. Many Latter-day Saints have shared with me that they are learning that God seems to be more interested in our spiritual growth and in us increasing our capacities to love rather than us having very specific or “correct” beliefs or checking boxes of religious rites of passage.

The turning of our hearts toward family members on unique spiritual paths is a miraculous shift toward putting family unity first and practicing the pure love of Christ. Valerie Hamaker explains that in recognizing the need to put love first in our families, “we are being called upon to truly be like Jesus, which is what we all [committed to do at baptism].” Isn’t the whole point of our covenants with God to become more loving, connected, and spiritually encouraging toward other humans as Jesus did rather than to exclude them or treat them as one-down?

In writing this post, I hope to encourage and support all the families who have gone through courageous spiritual stretching, as well as those who are just starting this process and may feel hesitant, overwhelmed, or alone. We’re in this together, and we’re actually not alone during the times when it feels that way. Joy, love, and growth come out of the dark nights of spiritual stretching. For a thoughtful conversation on the workings and benefits of spiritual stretching, I recommend ALSSI’s recent interview with Amy Watkins Jensen. 

While I am grieved over the mental health crisis happening among young people and inadequacies of the supports the Church is providing for them at this time, I rejoice in how many families (including my own extended family) are bravely stepping up to these challenges by becoming more spiritually flexible and resilient and more loving and supportive to our children than we ever have been before!

Those seeking more thoughts about supporting young people in their spiritual development might enjoy the presentation I shared during a recent Dialogue Gospel Study event. I discuss four research-based principles from the Springtide Institute for supporting teens and young adults in developing their spiritual sensibilities: “Creating Safe, Sacred Spaces Through the Lessons of Alma: Gospel Study with Candice and Dennis Wendt”

The Awkwardness of Salvation

Image – The Good Samaritan, by Vincent Van Gogh

Van Gogh is one of the artists whose paintings have moved me to tears. Not his most well known paintings, though. I have been able to see some special exhibits that have gathered his paintings from collections all over the world. There I have stood, transfixed, in front of paintings that are rarely seen in prints or outside of these special exhibits. When I spent a few weeks in Amsterdam almost 30 years ago, I visited the Van Gogh museum often. Learning about his life, his passion, his seeking, his yearning for acceptance, peace, healing, his drive to create, and seeing how his work developed and reflected so much of this. It was a powerful experience to walk through the museum and feel as though I was observing his extraordinary and complex life. 

The Van Gogh painting that continues to move me the most is The Good Samaritan.

A few months ago, Mike and I were able to spend some time in France. We spent a day in St. Remy so we could visit the hospital where Van Gogh had voluntarily committed himself. St. Paul Asylum is in a beautiful setting, still surrounded by views of fields and natural landscape. As we walked up the lane toward the complex, I stopped at plaques that depicted the paintings Van Gogh had painted while standing in that spot, many of them landscapes showing a view similar to what we saw that day. 

Just inside the main gate, I was surprised to see a marker depicting his painting of The Good Samaritan. It said he had worked on the painting here. I felt I was on sacred ground. 

I looked at the print of this powerful parable. This is the story that has come to me, confronted me when I want to judge or condemn, when I want to excuse my failure to love or extend grace, when I want to deny the ways salvation shows up for me from people I haven’t been willing to see.

The parable lesson that keeps coming to me is this – If there is anyone I don’t love, I don’t love anyone. 

I looked at the image, and I saw all the familiar characters and elements. There was the road, the place of journeying that, no matter how familiar, could become dangerous and deadly at any moment. There was the injured traveler that many fail to identify with, even though Christ suggested he was a part of the orthodox church which had judged the Samaritans to be unclean. There were the ones of high station and calling who had passed by one in need, and hurried on their way. There was the box, once full of the traveler’s riches, now broken open and empty. There was the Samaritan, lifting the injured traveler up onto his own animal, doing all he could to save his life and heal him. 

I have seen so many depictions of this story. Why is this one especially powerful to me?

Unlike most, this one does not show the characters in calm poses wearing sanitized clothing, with the Samaritan easily cradling a wounded, but peaceful traveler who is gratefully accepting help. In Van Gogh’s painting, the vivid colors and strokes depict a setting that juxtaposes a smooth path winding through rough rocks, next to craggy cliffs and turbulent waters. Every brushstroke seems to contain a possibility of peace, or chaos. The supposedly elite people are barely noticeable in the background. 

But the most striking part is the interaction between the Samaritan and traveler. It is awkward, almost clumsy. It almost looks like there is a wrestle going on. The Samaritan is trying to lift the wounded traveler onto his patient animal. Is the traveler struggling, or resisting, or just not able to physically cooperate with his helper? Is he gratefully accepting help while struggling to physically aid in his own salvation? Or is there another kind of turmoil for him? Is he struggling because the rescuer is different from what he expected? This rescuer is not someone he has seen as worthy. Is this more than a physical challenge for the Samaritan? Is he also confronted by the thought of helping someone who has excluded him and his people? Or is his commitment to the God of love the only law for him, and there is no hesitation to provide wherever there is need? Is he truly and completely a savior, no matter how challenging the task to lift this wounded person up?

I can’t help but focus on their faces. The two faces are so close, and at any moment had been or would be completely face to face. In the moment of the painting, the Samaritan’s face seems ruddy with life and exertion, focusing on the task at hand. The traveler’s face is pale, and looking away, almost as if he is struggling to directly face the one who brings him life. Each place where the traveler is in contact with the Samaritan, healthy color seems to spread, overcoming the deathly pale. 

Is this what it is like to offer and receive help, healing, salvation? I think I, like many, want to imagine an idealized scene where I, the wounded traveler who has been the victim of attacks from adversaries, gratefully accept the offering of healing from the kind, handsome, just-as-I-pictured-him, acceptable savior. 

What if help comes in ways I hadn’t considered, from people I could never imagine could heal me? What if I have resisted those who are trying to lift me? What if I struggle to look into the eyes of those whose only law is the law of love? What if I am clumsy, not knowing what to do when healing is offered, and it looks different from what I expected? What if this is not about being surrounded by clarity and light and rising effortlessly to walk with God among the clouds in some distant unknowable future time?

What if salvation is awkward?

The most personal, salvific, healing moments I have had with God have been during times of dark despair. It has been in the messiest moments of deep woundedness when I have finally been open to the intimate awareness and presence of Them. In those moments, there has been no magic removal of pain, no fixing of a problem. There has been such a deep presence, I feel as though I am seen, face to face. The message “I am with you, always” is so loving, there is no room for any thought of unworthiness, or any possibility of being beyond grace. I fumble to understand, to explain, to ask clumsy questions. And They are there through it all. Sitting in the deep, messy wounds with me. Not at some future time in a future life when everything is worked out. Salvation. Heaven is here, eternal life is now. 

Christ spoke in the present tense. The kingdom is within you. You are blessed. 

This is the road you journey. All things are possible. What you treasure is lost. Those you revere pass by. The one you don’t expect, brings healing, new understanding, deeper love. This is clumsy, and unfamiliar. I am with you. This is awkward. This brings new life. You are afraid. I am with you. It is okay if you look away. I am here while you wrestle. When you are ready. Face to face. 

There is nothing more godlike for us to do than to help each other along, however awkward, on our journey home. 

Guest Post: Fourths of July

“In Our Own Words”

Fourths of July
By Cynthia W. Connell

Today, as an Indian,
On these Fourths of July,
In gesture of atonement
You choose me to pray.

In benediction I bow,
Not to hallow your crimes,
Or tender a blessing
Upon all that you took.

Continents embezzled,
Identities despoiled,
To purify your oppression
No gratitude is proffered.

For cliffs, sloping seaward,
Breached by ceaseless tides,
And wagon rutted trailways
I tender no tokens of grace.

In this moment, closing eyes,
To all that you have done,
A combined hush settles
Suggestive of unity.

“Help us remember, Great Lord,
All that thou hast given
Purify this bloodied ground
Shedding each despairing drop.

Untie the bindings, Kind Lord,
Compressing breathless lungs
Constricting anguished hearts
Denying our aching sobs.

Unblind captive eyes, Oh Lord,
To thy glorious sacred light
Heal our sightlessness
Giving mercy filled vision.

Bring your holiness, Dear Lord,
Imbuing with power
To reanimate our souls
Scouring clean faithless pasts.

Sanctify us, Mighty Lord,
Sunder each stone like heart
Untangle twisted paths
Leading us to straightness.

Lord, creator of us all,
Raise the broken rubble
Mold from us mountains
Abiding in beauty.

Amen.”

Year after year I have watched a pattern of behavior emerge among my local community of Latter-day Saints. It is to invite the most convenient Native American to offer either the opening or closing prayer for our Sacrament Meetings on or around both the 4th and the 24th of July.

In an attempt to make everyone feel included, ward leaders fail to understand the complex emotions that this simple request creates among those of us still suffering from the effects of colonization.

Such efforts at inclusion are not the kindness they are thought to be, but rather, are opportunities for the dominant culture to receive a confirmation that all the deprivations of the past are now long forgotten and forgiven. Nothing could be further from the truth.

Many Indigenous members of the Church are not treated in the same way as their White counterparts. We live on the same ground, but don’t have the privilege to experience the same freedoms.

I have been in situations of being denied access to medical care based solely on my racial identification. It is legal in America to require a Native American to present a pedigree chart to a receptionist when seeking to see a physician. It is legal in America to turn away a sick person from a public health clinic if they self-identify as Native American. I have experienced these things.

My skin, hair and eyes are brown. After 9-11, the documentation for flying became much more stringent and I worried that my passport would be flagged because it says my race is White. I decided to call the Records office for the state where I was born and was informed that a Tribal Chief needed to be in attendance at my birth and testify, on paper, that I was Native American. Because my mother was primarily of European descent, I can be denied access to basic services because my father wasn’t.

Recently I attended a gathering of Latter-day Saints where many in there proudly self-identified as descendants of Pocahontas. What they don’t realize is that the same Virginia government official who gave the descendants of White colonial landowners the right to recognize themselves as Indians, required that all actual Indigenous babies have their birth records erased. History calls this a “Paper Genocide.” It means the literal erasing of a people’s history from public record. My people’s history.

When I attend my local Ward, I am seen as a Native American, an Indian, a Lamanite, a descendent of the Book of Mormon peoples, not a descendant of Book of Mormon peoples, a blessing, a curse, but hardly ever as just me.

When someone asks that I give the prayer on these Fourths of July, they probably think I will be grateful, but I’m not. I can’t be honest as I approach the pulpit. I want to pray to have the same kind of freedoms that others in the congregation experience. I want to pray for freedom from prejudice. I want to pray for freedom of movement. I want to pray to be me. But what others want is the freedom to not feel uncomfortable.

Because I don’t have freedom, I can’t give others the freedom from conscience they seek.

Cynthia W. Connell is an award-winning writer of creative non-fiction and poetry. Her writing often reflects her experience of being a multicultural member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. She lives in Springville, Utah.

105 years

July 27th: It was a hot summer and a teenager named Eugene Williams was cooling off with his buddies in Lake Michigan – right off the coast of Chicago.

I love swimming. Lake Michigan is absolutely gorgeous. I can easily imagine this scene: enjoying the reprieve from the sun, enjoying being teenagers, and overall having a good time.

Here’s a picture I took of Lake Michigan when I was visiting last summer. Absolutely gorgeous. You can see the Chicago skyline on the right. That’s where this story takes place.

But their good time didn’t last.

Anyone who has ever been in Lake Michigan (or any other body of water!) knows that sometimes the currents might take you one way or another. Boys having fun likely didn’t even notice their bodies drifting. But they drifted right over an invisible line. The line that segregated the “Black Zone” from the “White Zone.” Eugene Williams and his friends were Black. The Whites got angry and threw rocks at them. One hit Eugene Williams and caused him to drown. The police did not arrest the white man responsible for the death of this innocent teenage kid. Protests and riots immediately broke out – and that summer became known as “The Red Summer of 1919” in Chicago as White and Black people fought: over 500 Chicagoans were injured and 38 were killed.

It’s been 105 years to the day since this happened. Some things are clearly better. For starters: Chicago no longer has White and Black beaches as segregation is illegal.

But 105 years is a really long time and a lot of things are still bad. Breonna Taylor, George Floyd, Trayvon Martin, Tyre Nichols, I could go . Black people being killed unnecessarily because we live in a system built on centuries of racism and accompanying brutality. And those names are just murders I’m listing. But the Eugene Williams case is indicative of a historical context where Black individuals were forced out of public swimming areas which has cost even more Black lives than the murders. Did you know that drowning is the leading cause of injury death for children ages 1–4 years and the leading cause of unintentional injury death for children ages 5–19 years and drowning rates for Black individuals are one and a half times that of white individuals? Worse still, Black kids age 5-8 are 2.6 times more likely to experience fatal drowning and Black kids age 10-14 are 3.6 times higher to drown than their white counterparts (source: CDC). Scholars often attribute such disparities to institutional discrimination resulting in generations of families lacking access to swimming pools, swimming lessons, and water safety education (Gadberry & Gadeberry, 2020; Wiltse, 2007). Imagine being a parent in Chicago in the aftermath of Eugene Williams’ case. It was deadly for Black kids to swim because of the racial tension – I wouldn’t want my kids swimming. Of course families would take a step back from public swimming areas – but that’s resulted in generations of kids not learning to swim and subsequent loss of life every year. Black kids were forced out of opportunity for swim skill acquisition.

It’s been 105 years since Eugene Williams’ brutal racially charged murder. How have we not fixed these problems in 105 years? How are we going to fix it before another 105 years have passed? 

What are you doing to fix the problems now?

On National Disability Independence Day, Rank Your Ward Building

National Disability Independence Day celebrates the anniversary of the Americans with Disabilities Act in 1990, an umbrella that has led to posted signs like this one I saw while at the swimming pool with my kids:

The IBCCES Sensory Guide at a city swimming pool

These signs are showing up more often and I have no complaints. It’s helpful to know what to expect, both for myself and my kids, one of whom is highly sensitive to sound in new environments.  It’s helpful to prepare what we’ll need to manage the environment, like noise cancelling headphones. It’s good to have all the information before we enter the space. Sometimes it means saying no to an environment that just won’t work for us.

What if we were to create informative accessibility signs about our church buildings?

Though church buildings are under no legal compulsion to be ADA compliant, outside of state or local building codes, our emphasis on the doctrine of personal agency suggest that inclusivity and accessibility should be a priority.

Are church buildings places where people with chronic mental, physical, or emotional conditions can independently participate, contribute, thrive?

 Consider some examples of disabilities covered by the ADA that include:

CancerDiabetesPost-traumatic stress disorderHIVAutismCerebral palsyDeafness or hearing lossBlindness or low visionEpilepsyMobility disabilities such as those requiring the use of a wheelchair, walker, or caneIntellectual disabilitiesMajor depressive disorderTraumatic brain injury

I know I tend to myopically think of ADA in terms of wheelchair ramps and braille by the bathroom, but this list is far more encompassing and offers a call to really consider how and when our church buildings foster personal agency and full participation for all, and when they don’t.

The Front Doors

Does your building have heavy doors? Double doors? Multiple doors and a foyer? How wide are the doors? Do the doors have automatic openers?

How many doors does a person have to navigate to get to the bathroom? The cultural hall?

If you had a neurological condition with low grip and strength, would the doors present a challenge? What if you had a sight impairment or used a walker?

But wait, you might say. There’s a nice young man stationed at the main door, ready to open it, and there’s always someone in the building on Sunday to help open doors. Isn’t that a blessed act of service?

Well yes, it is an act of service, but it’s also a dependence. The door opener cannot always be there, but a person needing the independence and personal agency to enter and navigate the building will always exist.

The Hallways

Next look down the hallways. How’s the lighting? The wall texture? The width? If you had autism or ADHD, would these spaces present any extra challenges?

Is there somewhere for someone who needs low sensory environments to go? Is it a random room or closet or the nursery rather than a dedicated or intentionally designed room?

I have watched one special needs child in my ward beg to leave the building. His sensory needs tell him no, this isn’t a place that works for him.

The Chapel

Look at that walk up to the podium. Is it stairs?

I have never found a more symbolically significant message about who is truly welcome than the fact that the walk up to the literal podium where anyone should theoretically have a voice requires the ability to navigate stairs.

Consider the chairs or pews in the chapel. What’s the texture of the fabric? Are they hard or soft seats? What’s the aisle space look like?  

While visiting a ward recently, I watched a lovely elderly woman in her wheelchair park herself up in the front row aisle, blocking the walkway. Technically, she had a designated short pew at the back of the chapel, but it was already occupied and, perhaps, she just wanted to sit in the front. Why shouldn’t she sit in the front if she wants to?

There’s no feasible way for this wise woman to speak from the podium. Someone would have to be willing (and able) to run a microphone to an awkwardly unofficial spot at the front of the chapel for her to speak. How could she possibly and impulsively simply want to speak during a testimony meeting?

How would a deaf person participate in sacrament? A person with PTSD?

My home ward has two deaf women and, while I love that volunteers in the ward learned ASL and translate in all meetings, I wonder if any other ward could be so accommodating if those lovely ladies traveled for a week. What happens when the translators are sick? What if the translators move or decide to cease attending?

I once visited a brand new branch building in the small town of a college roommate. They were delighted to finally have a building. Instead of an organ, the building featured an electric piano with the ability to play hymns accurately while one person kept the rhythm by hitting the same key in time with the song.

The piano was designed intentionally to function independently of a competent pianist. The small branch might not have anyone available.

Has the same care and attention been built into our buildings to ensure that any patrons can enter and be accommodated? To be independent? Given our vast coffers, correlated buildings, and wi-fi enabled buildings, it seems like something could be done.

While I’m thinking about wards being designed to let people participate in their own way and according to their own needs, does your ward still use a Zoom or livestream link? Is it accessible to sight and hearing impairments?

If you could give a rating of your ward building or build the informative sign that should be under “visitors welcome” at the front entrance, perhaps based on your own experience with your chronic conditions, what fine print would you add?

On this anniversary of the signing of Americans with Disabilities Act, while celebrating all that has been done so far, perhaps there’s good work to be done in our church buildings. I’d like to hear your experiences.

Cover photo from Wikimedia Commons

The Exponent II Retreat

Registration for the 2024 Exponent II Retreat will close on August 1st; only a few spots are left!

The Exponent II Retreat is a gathering of Mormon Feminists in the mountains of New Hampshire where meals are provided and everyone’s ideas and power are explored through workshops, singing, and conversations. The Retreat is one of the pillars that stands with the magazine and the blog to celebrate, grieve, and examine the dueling forces of Mormonism and Feminism. This year will be particularly special because of Exponent’s fiftieth anniversary.

This year’s Keynote speaker is Heather Sundahl:

We hope to see you at the Exponent II Retreat!

Guest Post: I Can Pinpoint the Exact Date I Stopped Liking My Body

by Shahnana

I can pinpoint the exact date 35 years ago when I stopped liking my body. Before I tell you about that moment in time, I want to mention that my patriarchal blessing tells me that I rejoiced at the opportunity to get a body. That has always resonated with me. My spirit loved having a body — not just for how it looked but because of what I could do because I had a body. Read! Jump! Dance! Sing! Run! Taste! Cartwheel! Kiss! Until this specific date I am referring to I was a happy, healthy, active girl and I loved having a body.

That changed on June 29, 1989 when I went through the temple for the first time. It was the day before my temple wedding. I was a convert to the church and so was my mother. She had only recently gone through the temple herself and was terrified to talk about any part of it with me. The temple ceremony was different then and there was intense emphasis not to talk about the temple outside the temple, so she was nervous to share anything. I had never even seen garments until the day I stood in the temple wearing them. I didn’t get to attend temple prep either. That wasn’t a thing then. I didn’t understand that by saying I wanted to be married in the temple to my husband I was committing to wear garments for the rest of my life. Sure, I had gone to the distribution center earlier that day and the worker sized me up and I left with a bag of plastic packaged garments, but I had no idea what they were until that moment in the temple when I put them on for the first time.

And honestly, I wanted to cry. My first thought was, “This is what my husband is going to see me in for the very first time we are together?” I felt so unattractive in them. They were ill-fitting and uncomfortable. The weirdest part was that everyone kept telling me how wonderful they were and I didn’t feel that way. I was so confused.

For the next several months I struggled with them. I remember they had an elastic band that went around the leg, and so when I wore them with jeans they would constantly ride up and bunch. I was always picking at them and feeling self-conscious. They had awkwardly placed seams that rubbed me in places I hadn’t experienced before in my pre-garment underwear. The tops had a cups for breasts to sit but they were much too large for my minimal chest and so they looked like under-inflated balloons. I might as well have been wearing a sign around my neck that said “small breasted woman,” and that was especially awful as a newlywed. When I looked at myself in them in the mirror all I could see was how unflattering and unfeminine they were. My underwear looked like my husband’s and that felt . . . wrong.

Over the next 33 years I experimented with new styles and materials and I pushed through. I was as devout a garment wearer as a gal could be. And then hormones changed and a long especially hot Texas summer set in and I found myself in a perfect storm. I kept finding myself in my OBGYN’s office with feminine issues. After several cycles of meeting with him, a course of meds, having things clear up, and then finding myself in the same situation again he said to me, “You know this is your Mormon underwear doing this to you, right?” My OBGYN wasn’t LDS, but he had a long line of LDS patients and an even longer history with me. We had been through 4 miscarriages, 5 births, and 30 years of appointments together, and in that moment I was so grateful for his candor. It had never occurred to me. He explained that my Mormon underwear wasn’t really made for a woman’s body which needed a little more room to breathe. He suggested that I change into something that would allow my lady parts to air out at night while I was sleeping. I could wear them during the day all day but I just needed to allow for a little more circulation. He promised that if I would try that it would clear everything up and I would break the awful cycle I was in without medicine.

And by golly, he was right.
I never had an issue ever again.
It was my Mormon underwear.

I noticed two other things that came from that change as well. I liked my body better when I had the chance to wear something more feminine to sleep in. And because I felt more confident about my body in my new sleep-wear, well . . . let’s just say things got better in the bedroom too. Turns out maybe husbands like to see their wives in underwear that doesn’t look like it was made for men. THAT my friends is what we call a win-win!

I’m still a garment-wearing gal. Most of the time. I rarely wear them when I am working out. I wear them sometimes when I am sleeping, but I have noticed a pattern that I tend to sleep sounder when I am not. But if the purpose of garments is to remind us of our covenants, if I am being honest, I can’t really remember my covenants while I am in deep REM anyway. So it works for me.

Here is what I know: There were a couple of garment smack down talks at the most recent General Conference. Afterward it was a hot topic of discussion among my family and friends. Some felt guilty. Some were resentful to be instructed about such a personal thing. My conscience was clear. I had taken my questions about my garment-wearing tendencies to prayer and gotten an answer that it was all good years before. I am convinced that my Heavenly Parents know my heart and they couldn’t care one iota about my garment-wearing exactness.

The other day I pulled out my patriarchal blessing and re-read that line that I love so much. I am happy to be a mostly garment-wearing, body-loving girl again.

Shahnana and her husband are the proud parents of five children.  Not because they can check certain LDS boxes but because they are just all around good people. She is a Licensed Professional Counselor in private practice in Frisco, TX.   She specializes in working with females 12 and older.  Shahna just completed her 8th year as an adult institute instructor and also serves as her stake’s mission prep teacher. She has sent 387 kids on missions all over the world and looks forward to her full inbox every P-day. She spends her free time watching a lot of NBA basketball games (Go Mavs!), reading, and spending waaay too much time shopping at Target.