So I decided I need to get out my thoughts. About everything. Politics, religion, racial issues, feminism, you know, all the fun topics. Now is the time to write it all down. Then in a few decades when everyone comes out of the nuclear bunkers, maybe someone will find my writing and know what life was like for a white liberal in 2016 in a part of Ohio that actually voted in favor of Hillary Clinton. (Sadly, Mahoning county was one of only 7 Ohio counties that didn't vote for a racist demagogue who is probably going to lead us into nuclear war). But the Trump supporters are here, nonetheless. I can barely look at fellow white people in the eye because I know they probably voted for the monster. Our county only voted for Hillary because Youngstown has a fair amount of POC, who, as a group, are clearly smarter than us white people. Also, the average white American is pretty fucking racist.
But I digress. This blog will be written in the style in which I talk to myself in my head. Which includes a fair amount of profanity. I can't talk like that out loud because most the people in my life are Mormon and they don't like it. But sometimes (a lot of the time) I have thoughts that words like "frick" and "dang" just don't do justice for. Where did I get such strong feelings? It's a mystery. Everyone in my family seems content to express even their strongest opinions with words no stronger than "dang." That just doesn't do it for me.
On to my newfound coffee addiction. It started about 2 months ago when I finally told my sister Holli about my decision to leave the church. She said she wasn't too surprised (but I'll come back to that). She was the first person besides Derek that I told. Just telling someone gave me the mental freedom to do something I'd always wanted to do: taste that delicious smelling coffee that had been strictly forbidden my entire life (see Word of Wisdom--as Mormon a thing as there ever was). There was a sample table at Sam's Club handing out cups of their brand of joe. I put some cream and sugar in it, because that's what people do, and wandered the store with it. It was as delicious as I had always imagined. And the rest of the day I wasn't tired. I didn't have my 1:00 pm exhaustion crash that I usually have. A few days later I got the famous Pumpkin Spice Latte from the Starbucks at Target, a favorite of white girls everywhere (I was even wearing a sweater with leggings and boots). I've been hooked ever since. Derek knows. My kids don't. I'm not ready for them to slip to Grandma that mommy drinks coffee. She's still coming to terms with me not being part of the church. So I only get it on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays after dropping Lily off at school. I stop at the McDonalds drive thru on my way home then come home and add vanilla creamer (that shit costs extra at McDonalds). Which reminds me, I need to hide my creamer before my mom comes to visit this weekend. The only one that sees me drink it is Violet (currently 18 months) and she's not telling anyone.
Why do I think anyone might want to read my thoughts? Well, first, I don't plan on sharing this anytime soon. Maybe someday. But also, if Tomi Fucking Lahren has a big enough following for a TV show (is it a TV show or just on the internet? Don't care enough to google) then clearly the bar for sharing thoughts is pretty fucking low. So here I am.
So, why did I leave the church. That's a complicated question that won't be fully answered in one post. In a nutshell, I've struggled my entire life to believe what I've been taught. I never had the burning, "I Know" feeling that I was taught would come if I had enough faith. I never got answers to prayers to help me make big decisions. It was so freeing to me when one day, several years ago, I decided to just make decisions with my own logic and feelings instead of waiting for God to tell me what to do. When I was 20 years old I had my interview with the Stake president to get married(Bob Homer--I'll never forget that guy) and he told me all kinds of regressive bullshit, like that my education was secondary to my husband's, that I should have kids ASAP because my planned 3 remaining years of college were too long to wait (lol, I got baby hungry earlier than I expected and Jack was born in my last semester of nursing school). That interview was what really changed my relationship with the church forever. About 3 years after that I stopped wearing garments regularly and it felt so. good. to have a breeze on my skin again. But it still took 6 years after that for me to tell my family that I was done with the church (and I still added the clause "for a while" because I knew it would be easier for them to take if they thought I might come back someday, but I don't actually ever see that happening). I could probably write a book about everything that went through my head in the 9 years between my temple recommend interview and the day I told my family I was done with the church. Maybe someday I will.
I'll be back with more thoughts the next time I have some. For now I'm off to work on the afghan I'm making for my mom for Christmas. I decided to make it on December 5th so I'm crocheting like a madman to get it done on time. See, I still have some cultural Mormon in me.
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