Anniversaries

It’s hard to believe the year is half over already. There’ve been so many events, so many memories shared and created, so many lost opportunities that can never be reclaimed, so many anniversaries. This particular week is overloaded with emotional anniversaries. It’s one of those rare weeks that I struggle with finding anything good. Please don’t misinterpret – my life isn’t bad and certainly I have learned something from each of them. But at the same time it’s a wistful wishing that I never had to go through the experiences at all.

It was 16 years ago I was baptized into the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Now most people have said to me, “How is that a negative thing?” It’s not – on the surface. I think that religion can play an important role in a person’s life. But it’s the way that religious experience is applied that causes trouble in the long run. I joined the church for all of the wrong reasons instead of the right ones. I was seeking something – family, community, answers, peace. I latched onto an idea and committed myself to following all of the principles and teachings before fully understanding what I was getting myself into. Sixteen years later, I wish I had been more patient and that the missionaries who taught me had realized I wasn’t really ready to accept all of those obligations.

It was 15 years ago that I received my Temple Endowments. Again, even though I had passed all of those items on the checklist, there seemed a big rush (mostly on my part) to hurry this experience along. I must say that I understand more fully the duties and obligations of being a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints as a result of my experiences in the temple. It truly is a very sacred and holy place to be. But I wasn’t ready then. The question could be raised, “Is anyone ever REALLY ready?” I honestly don’t know.

What I know is those two events threw me into a collision course with myself in an effort to be the perfect Mormon wife. We all know that person doesn’t exist. You can remove the word Mormon and still have just as much trouble in finding the “perfect” anyone. But let’s face it. I’m not perfect. I never was, I never will be. Frankly, I don’t want to be. Perfection is too hard and it isn’t real. I just want to live my life, make my mistakes, form my relationships with others and in the end be able to say, I lived the life I wanted. By no means would I say I want a life free of repercussion from choice, but I don’t wish to have my choices limited by others opinions.

For anyone who hasn’t already read my history, I am not currently a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I think the Church has within it a great number of wonderful, loving and inspired people. I believe in the basic teachings of the Church and its history. I have difficulty with some principles as they relate to free agency. In short, I don’t know what I really think about the Church anymore. I’ve really started to live my religious experience as mine and have started thinking about various members as the people they are, not the church to which they belong.

Anyway, I found myself being lost within and struggling to find my way. I finally decided that I knew better than anyone what I needed (ok so I live in a fantasy world sometimes where I know everything – I get that) and intentionally set out to be excommunicated from the Church. It wasn’t as easy as I thought it might be. But 5 years ago, this week, I set out on a very clear path to make sure I got what I wanted. And it worked. I was excommunicated at the ward level in August 2002. And I thought I was happy about it.

It’s a struggle some days. This is, after all, the church in which my children are being raised (with my full consent and blessing). But to explain to them why – why doesn’t momma take the sacrament, why doesn’t momma have a church calling, why doesn’t momma wear temple garments, why, why, why – there just is not an easy way to do so without saying, or at least implying, negative things about the ideas that they believe. Religion shouldn’t be a negative thing. It just shouldn’t. There’s no way that a loving Father in Heaven would ever want his children to believe and practice something that makes them unhappy.

In retrospect, it’s probably the best anniversary I have this week. It’s given me a great opportunity to look at all I had, all I have and all I might have and to make certain of my priorities. It’s given me an opportunity to challenge certain ideas and beliefs. It’s given me certain freedoms to express myself and my behaviors and emotions– freedom I never felt I had as a member of the Church. At the same time, it’s a bit bitter sweet because I also have the opportunity to realize just how much I threw away out of anger.

This week is also the 7th anniversary of the end of an abusive relationship. One I nearly lost my life in escaping. This is one of those experiences I share reluctantly with people because it’s too easy to fall back into the emotions that got me there in the first place. I know that I have value. I know that I am loved and can be loved. I know that I am a good person and don’t need a man to make me complete. I didn’t always believe that. At the time, I knew I was worthless as a wife and a mother. I knew that I had no value without a man in my life. I knew that I was not worthy of being loved and that life had no meaning. And so I put up with more than any one ever should. I allowed myself to be abused in every way possible to prove to myself that the things I knew were true. I don't view this anniverary as "the best" of the week because I knew what was happening and I took no measure to extract myself from the situation until it was almost too late. That, my friends, is stupid. I’m not so stupid now.

I was also one of the lucky ones. Too often in the news we are hearing of women who’ve died at the hands of an abusive partner. Too often in the news we are hearing of children, a product of the abusive households in which they are raised, growing up to abuse and repeat the cycle with a whole new generation. Too often we, as a society, turn our backs to the reality of abuse because we’re scared of its face – scared that it could just as easily happen to us, scared to stick our nose in where it doesn’t belong, scared to be the one to stand up and say enough.

Anyway, I’ve rambled on quite more than I had intended. The long and short of it is this – we all have anniversaries that shape who we are. I hope to teach my children that even the small things they choose to do each day may one day turn out to be an anniversary they’ll remember forever. I know I’ll forever remember these anniversaries.