Finding time and freedom after Mormonism

For most of my life, my time wasn't really mine. It belonged to church on Sundays, to the meetings and activities during the week, and to a long list of things I was supposed to be doing for someone else. When that list finally went away, the first thing I noticed was time: hours in the week that nobody else had a claim on, that we could just spend together as a family.

I want to write about how we got there, because the freedom only makes sense next to what came before it. I wouldn't say my experience applies to everyone raised Mormon. Plenty of people grow up in the church and have a very different story. This one is mine.

I also want to be clear about something before I start. There are thousands of wonderful, kind people in that church, genuinely some of the best people I've worked with. I do think kids growing up in it have a harder life than they should because of the religion. But I don't hate anyone in it, or in any religion.

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I was raised in a home that was not only overly strict but controlling. We couldn't even hang out with kids who drank coffee. Coffee. That's insane. It says a lot that a friendship could be ruled out by what was in someone's cup, before anyone asked what kind of person they were.

Arguments were worse. Every discussion that got heated and turned into an argument was treated as the devil working through us and taking over our home, and my father had to banish the devil. It was overly dramatic and emotional, and looking back, it was all to maintain control.

When disagreement is the devil, there's no such thing as a fair argument. The person who pushed back wasn't just wrong; they were the thing the house had to be cleansed of. I don't think you learn how to work through conflict in a home like that. You learn that the safest thing is not to have it.

Not all of that is tied to the religion. Controlling parents exist everywhere, in every faith and in none. But the religion supports it. In our house, scripture backed it up: the man owned and controlled everything. When a father's authority comes with God's name on it, questioning him stops being disagreement and becomes rebellion.

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Years later, my wife and I had two young kids of our own, and we had to decide what we wanted their childhood to be. We realized we didn't want them indoctrinated into a life full of catch-22s.

I mean the phrases you hear over and over: "Doubt your doubts." "Just have faith; not all questions need answers." They sound humble, even comforting. But that is the root of the problem, isn't it? The same system that tells you not every question needs an answer also wants you completely certain about what this life is for and what comes next. You're expected to be sure of the biggest answers and incurious about the questions underneath them. And if you do doubt, the doubt is what's wrong with you.

Voltaire put it better than I can:

Doubt is not a pleasant condition, but certainty is an absurd one.

Voltaire, in a letter to Frederick William, Prince of Prussia, in 1770 (translated by S. G. Tallentyre).

Doubt isn't comfortable. Voltaire admits that much. But it's honest. It leaves room to learn something, to be wrong and to change your mind. Certainty closes that room, and when certainty is required, the people asking questions become the problem. That wasn't something we wanted to hand to our kids.

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Then COVID-19 hit, and we finally got a long break from drinking the Kool-Aid.

Before that, so much of our time had gone to church on Sundays and extra events during the week that time with our family was low. Now we didn't stress about Sundays or about finding time for the kids. We were just together. The pressure was gone, and freedom was present in everything.

One Sunday morning stands out. A couple of weeks had gone by, and it hit me: we could just spend the next few hours building a Lego set, my son and I. No pressure. We made some breakfast and wasted the morning away. By the standards I grew up with, that's exactly what it was, a Sunday spent on nothing. But it didn't feel like nothing. We bonded, and we enjoyed that time together more than ever before.

I don't think we understood how much the schedule had been carrying until it stopped. Some of the weight was the hours themselves. More of it was the feeling that our time was already spoken for, and that any hour we kept for ourselves needed a reason.

The bigger realization came later, talking with people who weren't raised in a religion like mine. What felt like a revelation to me was just ordinary life to them.

That is normal. Freedom is normal. Spending your time how you want is normal. You don't have to be doing something for someone all the time. You won't go to hell if you don't.

Written out, it seems almost too simple to need saying. But when you've been taught that every hour should go to doing something for someone, and that eternity depends on it, it does need saying. Sometimes more than once.

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Some time later, I turned to my wife and said, "Does this really make sense to you? Is this really who we are? Is this the life we want for our kids? I think I'm done. I don't think I can stay in this church anymore."

Her answer was, "It's about time. I've been done for over a year, but I just kept pushing through it. How can I raise my kids knowing what could happen to one of them if they happened to be gay? Or pressure them to be active and a part of something that even I'm not convinced of? There is no proof. Only ample evidence against it."

From that moment on, a new door opened for us. We could be open with each other and talk about anything: think through problems and solutions, or just vent. There was no limit to it anymore. It was like we were finally one.

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A couple of years on, we've really enjoyed being separated from the religion. It hasn't all been easy. My wife's family has been very supportive. Mine is more mixed. I come from a big family, eleven of us, and there wasn't one reaction. Some have followed the same path I did and have been very accepting. Some were distant before and still are, and part of that may just be me; I've never been great at making and keeping relationships. And a couple have definitely put distance between us. I won't go into the details.

To those of you who have supported me: I see it, and I'm grateful for it. It has meant more than I've probably ever told you.

Leaving gave us freedom, but it didn't give us a framework. We found we did need some guiding principles, something to come back to when we make decisions as a family. After a lot of discussion, my wife and I came up with three:

1. Do everything with consent.
2. Be curious.
3. Love everyone.

Looking at them now, each one answers something from the way I grew up.

Consent is the opposite of control. In the house I grew up in, one person decided and everyone else went along. Consent means everyone's choices matter, our kids' included, and nobody gets to decide for someone else just because they're in charge.

Curiosity is the opposite of "doubt your doubts." A question is welcome, even an uncomfortable one, even when we don't have the answer. Not knowing is allowed.

Loving everyone is the opposite of a rule that decided who I could be friends with based on what they drank. It doesn't come with conditions or a checklist of beliefs.

Nothing in those demands anything from anyone. Nothing forces an opinion on anyone else. They aren't rules to obey or a test to pass. With them, we can be our best selves, find whatever path we want, and be great people to be around while we do it.

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I don't know exactly where I'm going with all of this. It's an ever-growing journey, but I'm happy to be on it. The way I was raised, not knowing where you're headed was a problem to be fixed. Now it feels more like room.

None of this would have happened without my wife, my partner and best friend. We've been an incredible team, leaning on each other, learning from each other and pushing each other to keep going.

If you're somewhere in the middle of your own version of this, I hope you find what we found: freedom isn't something you have to earn. It's normal.