I just read a post on feminist Mormon housewives and have to give it a spin here on my own blog. fMh Lisa, the author of the post, called my attention to the fact that women in our culture are socialized to devalue their accomplishments. In fact, while men consistently tend to overestimate their awesomeness, women consistently tend to underestimate their awesomeness. Why is this the case? Why is a healthy sense of pride desirable in men, but undesirable in women? Humility is certainly a virtue, but self-deprecation is not.
Think about it, ladies: what would you do if another woman complimented you on, say, your toned upper arms? I'd probably waggle one around to make it jiggle and say, "no way, look how flabby they are!" If I were to compliment Husband in the same way, I know exactly how he'd respond. He'd put on a gruff voice and say, "I'm a big strong man!"
I have been attempting to stop myself from devaluing compliments for several years. I try to accept all compliments with sincere thank yous and no qualifiers. But it's so darn hard! And that's to say nothing of volunteering why I am amazing on my own.
With that in mind, I am going to give it a go right here and now. I am going to tell you my secret shame: why I am proud of myself. I have a strong urge to downplay these. I have a strong urge to admit that so-and-so is better than me at this or that. I have a strong urge to give into the chronic plague that is the imposter syndrome. But I refuse to give place to those urges. So here is a lovely list of ten reasons why I am fabulous:
1. I'm smart. I’m a female scientist. At BYU. I have participated in lots of research. I have formed lasting relationships with several excellent professors who think very highly of me. I am an excellent genetics TA. I'm good at giving presentations - and actually enjoy it.
2. I’ve been accepted into a PhD program.
3. I did a summer internship in Germany and was successful there.
4. I can sing really well. I am astounded at the progress I’ve made in
sight-singing in the past five years. I’ve sung in a choir for twelve consecutive years now.
5. I have an aptitude for dancing. I have varying levels of experience with ballet, tap, jazz, contemporary, ballroom, swing, and hip hop. I’m currently learning to belly dance, and I’m good at it!
6. I've got a nice tush! Seriously, ask anyone.
7. I’ve got class, charisma, and culture (and I'm good at using alliteration!). I'm adept at writing genuine thank-you notes. I like to help people around me. I volunteer at a battered women's shelter, where I give real service to people who have great need. When I want to, I can command the attention of a room. I have a sizable knowledge of art, literature, music, politics, history, religion, and of course science.
8. For two summers, I volunteered at the Pageant of the Masters in Laguna Beach, California, where I was painted from head to toe (practically) on a nightly basis and posed as a tableau vivant! In other words, I pretended to be paintings and sculptures. To about 125,000 people each year. Here's one of the pieces I did (I was the one on the left).
9. I'm left-handed!
10. I dare to be an outspoken, liberal, feminist Mormon! I'm no longer afraid to say what I'm thinking in church. I'm no longer afraid of people who think or live differently than I do.
Whew! I won't tell you how long that took. Or how difficult it was to refrain from self-deprecation. Then again, are these last two sentences my way of implying that I really am humble? Curses! Oh well, I did my best, I suppose.
As some commenters at fMh have said, ultimately I hope we will all be able to believe in our own un-qualified awesomeness without having to list our accomplishments. Someday I hope to embrace my value like the fabulous woman I know from my home ward, who is always saying, "I have unusually high self-esteem for no reason in particular. I just look in the mirror every morning and think, 'I'm fantastic!'"
It's your turn, dear readers! Tell me why you are fabulous, with absolutely no qualifying statements. Okay go!
Thursday, April 5, 2012
Saturday, March 10, 2012
The Story of My Faith Transition
I wrote this to a bloggernacle friend, and have decided to put it on my blog. I want everyone to know the story of my faith transition, especially those who are going through the same thing.
Growing up, I was the golden girl of the young women's program. I was everything a young Mormon woman should be, I suppose. Except that I didn't babysit and was adamant about becoming a geneticist and going on a mission, which threw some people for a loop. (I identified as a feminist even then, but this was southern California, not Utah, so I didn't get too much flak for it.) Well, I got married instead of going on a mission, so I guess that's another check mark on the list. In high school, I prayed at least twice a day, studied the scriptures daily, had perfect attendance in early-morning seminary, was bright and perky and knowledgeable about sacred and secular topics, was president of the laurel class, was the pinnacle of chastity, was involved in choir and student government, etc, etc. It's kind of nauseating to list. But at the same time, I was happy. The church, the gospel, school, being involved, feeling like I was doing things right, it made me happy. I had a great group of stalwart Mormon friends, and we were always doing silly, fun things. I also had lots of wonderful non-Mormon friends. I got into BYU, and off I went.
I was recently reading the memoir of Mindy Kaling, one of the writers of The Office, who also plays the ditzy Kelly Kapoor. It's a hilarious read. Anyway, one of the chapters is called "Don't Peak in High School." Whoops. My mean happiness level has steadily decreased since high school. Perhaps it's because my little religious habits have waned. Perhaps it's because my group of friends has disbanded somewhat. Or perhaps it's just a part of growing up. Like I thought I was busy in high school . . . psh!
Whatever it was, my testimony did not begin to falter until more recently. I started dating my husband (a democrat with a beard) about two years ago, and with his influence I began to see life from a new perspective. He isn't so much about looking righteous externally as he is about being righteous internally. I think being with him was the impetus of my faith transition. He looks at life through an unorthodox yet faithful lens. He acquired this lens from his parents, whom I adore. I discuss my faith transition openly with them all the time, and they understand because they've been there.
At some point while we were dating, he confessed to me that he suffers from depression and is medicated for it. I loved him and tried not to judge him for it, but being 100% orthodox until then, I believed the folk-doctrines and harbored some ill-feelings toward the depressed (like that it's because of sin or self-absorption). Plus, my mom told me growing up not to marry someone with a disability, because it will make life harder (it sounds so terrible now, but it seemed practical at the time). Things became worse after we got engaged. His depression often messes up his sleep schedule. He kept blowing me off for things because he was asleep. I'd be so excited to see him, I'd wait and wait for him, but he wouldn't come. It felt like having my bubble burst on a daily basis. I was unsure if he actually loved me, or if he was just done being single (which he had said repeatedly), and was settling. I was unsure if I was supposed to marry him. I prayed and cried and prayed some more, but never got an answer. I felt alone in my anxiety. I felt like God wasn't listening.
Then I went to the temple. Despite my fear about God not listening and/or not condoning my choice of mate, I was so excited. I yearn to know the "mysteries of God", and knew that the temple would be full of them and would expand my understanding. I had been through several rounds of temple prep, where teachers had been appropriately frank about the ceremonies. I had read scriptures about signs and tokens. I had also been sealed to my parents at age 20, so I knew about the garb. I thought I was prepared. I don't know what else I could have done, but I certainly wasn't. I wasn't prepared for the sexism I saw there. The temple told me that God doesn't love women as much as he loves men. That I am somehow unworthy to minister as a priestess to God directly. That I am doomed to forever be a servant to my husband. That he gets the crown and I get to be veiled, hidden, and silent. That may not be what most see, but that's what I see. I went home, shut my bedroom door, and cried myself to sleep. I've only been back twice, and I've cried then too. I met with the temple president about it, but it only made things worse. Going to the temple puts me in a funk for about a week. I keep rehashing doctrinal inconsistencies in my mind until I just about go insane. What about "God is no respecter of persons?" What about "God is love?" It appeared that exaltation would be hell for me, not heaven. This compounded the issues I had already been having regarding God listening to me.
I talked to my wonderful mother, mother-in-law, and sister-in-law about it. They all said essentially the same thing: the temple ceremony is inspired by God, but written by men. It has changed in the past, and many women are waiting for it to change again. That answer opened up a whole new can of worms. Prophets are never wrong . . . right?! But if they do make bad calls sometimes, how can I trust them? How can I trust anything they've said? How can I be sure that God is actually in this religion (after all, he didn't seem to want to talk to me, and the temple God was the antithesis of my God)? And all the questions I had suppressed my whole life came bubbling back up. Polygamy? Heavenly Mother? Priesthood ban? Priesthood/motherhood dichotomy? Gay marriage?
So for the last several months, I've been re-evaluating my beliefs. Before the onset of my faith transition, I believe I suffered from "zeal that is not unto knowledge." Hugh Nibley wrote a great essay about zeal without knowledge, based off of a quotation by Joseph Smith. The gist is that if you only have zeal, when your faith is tried you will "shatter like glass." That is exactly what happened to me. Now I'm picking up the pieces and trying to reconstruct a new, real faith. I firmly believe in Jesus, in the atonement, in a Mother and Father God. I believe that God loves everyone equally, and any evidence to the contrary is the byproduct of humans not loving everyone equally. I believe that charity is the most important attribute to gain in this life. I believe in universal salvation as exhibited in the plan of salvation (everyone is resurrected and receives glory in the end). I want to believe in personal revelation, but I'm still working out how to receive it. With a belief in personal revelation, it becomes much easier to navigate the prophet issue. I can still believe in prophets as people who receive revelation sometimes, interpret revelation in funky ways sometimes, and are left to their own devices sometimes. I must then use my own personal revelation to determine which statements fall into which category. I'm still working out the kinks, as you can see.
This whole thing has required a lot of pondering, crying, loathing, loving, and studying. I've read more about my religion in these past few months than I probably ever did during my orthodox days. Feminist Mormon Housewives has been indispensable. Husband and I clashed about it at first, but he's come to see things from my perspective and is now sympathetic and totally supportive. In fact, I finally feel completely confident in my decision to marry him, because precious few Mormon men could handle the person I have become! I'm the unorthodox one now! I appreciate where my faith is at the moment: it's less about a righteousness checklist and more about loving and being genuine. I am not as happy as I was in high school, but I feel wiser. Ignorance is bliss, I suppose.
Your turn. Have you had a faith transition (not necessarily a Mormon one)? What was it like?
Growing up, I was the golden girl of the young women's program. I was everything a young Mormon woman should be, I suppose. Except that I didn't babysit and was adamant about becoming a geneticist and going on a mission, which threw some people for a loop. (I identified as a feminist even then, but this was southern California, not Utah, so I didn't get too much flak for it.) Well, I got married instead of going on a mission, so I guess that's another check mark on the list. In high school, I prayed at least twice a day, studied the scriptures daily, had perfect attendance in early-morning seminary, was bright and perky and knowledgeable about sacred and secular topics, was president of the laurel class, was the pinnacle of chastity, was involved in choir and student government, etc, etc. It's kind of nauseating to list. But at the same time, I was happy. The church, the gospel, school, being involved, feeling like I was doing things right, it made me happy. I had a great group of stalwart Mormon friends, and we were always doing silly, fun things. I also had lots of wonderful non-Mormon friends. I got into BYU, and off I went.
I was recently reading the memoir of Mindy Kaling, one of the writers of The Office, who also plays the ditzy Kelly Kapoor. It's a hilarious read. Anyway, one of the chapters is called "Don't Peak in High School." Whoops. My mean happiness level has steadily decreased since high school. Perhaps it's because my little religious habits have waned. Perhaps it's because my group of friends has disbanded somewhat. Or perhaps it's just a part of growing up. Like I thought I was busy in high school . . . psh!
Whatever it was, my testimony did not begin to falter until more recently. I started dating my husband (a democrat with a beard) about two years ago, and with his influence I began to see life from a new perspective. He isn't so much about looking righteous externally as he is about being righteous internally. I think being with him was the impetus of my faith transition. He looks at life through an unorthodox yet faithful lens. He acquired this lens from his parents, whom I adore. I discuss my faith transition openly with them all the time, and they understand because they've been there.
At some point while we were dating, he confessed to me that he suffers from depression and is medicated for it. I loved him and tried not to judge him for it, but being 100% orthodox until then, I believed the folk-doctrines and harbored some ill-feelings toward the depressed (like that it's because of sin or self-absorption). Plus, my mom told me growing up not to marry someone with a disability, because it will make life harder (it sounds so terrible now, but it seemed practical at the time). Things became worse after we got engaged. His depression often messes up his sleep schedule. He kept blowing me off for things because he was asleep. I'd be so excited to see him, I'd wait and wait for him, but he wouldn't come. It felt like having my bubble burst on a daily basis. I was unsure if he actually loved me, or if he was just done being single (which he had said repeatedly), and was settling. I was unsure if I was supposed to marry him. I prayed and cried and prayed some more, but never got an answer. I felt alone in my anxiety. I felt like God wasn't listening.
Then I went to the temple. Despite my fear about God not listening and/or not condoning my choice of mate, I was so excited. I yearn to know the "mysteries of God", and knew that the temple would be full of them and would expand my understanding. I had been through several rounds of temple prep, where teachers had been appropriately frank about the ceremonies. I had read scriptures about signs and tokens. I had also been sealed to my parents at age 20, so I knew about the garb. I thought I was prepared. I don't know what else I could have done, but I certainly wasn't. I wasn't prepared for the sexism I saw there. The temple told me that God doesn't love women as much as he loves men. That I am somehow unworthy to minister as a priestess to God directly. That I am doomed to forever be a servant to my husband. That he gets the crown and I get to be veiled, hidden, and silent. That may not be what most see, but that's what I see. I went home, shut my bedroom door, and cried myself to sleep. I've only been back twice, and I've cried then too. I met with the temple president about it, but it only made things worse. Going to the temple puts me in a funk for about a week. I keep rehashing doctrinal inconsistencies in my mind until I just about go insane. What about "God is no respecter of persons?" What about "God is love?" It appeared that exaltation would be hell for me, not heaven. This compounded the issues I had already been having regarding God listening to me.
I talked to my wonderful mother, mother-in-law, and sister-in-law about it. They all said essentially the same thing: the temple ceremony is inspired by God, but written by men. It has changed in the past, and many women are waiting for it to change again. That answer opened up a whole new can of worms. Prophets are never wrong . . . right?! But if they do make bad calls sometimes, how can I trust them? How can I trust anything they've said? How can I be sure that God is actually in this religion (after all, he didn't seem to want to talk to me, and the temple God was the antithesis of my God)? And all the questions I had suppressed my whole life came bubbling back up. Polygamy? Heavenly Mother? Priesthood ban? Priesthood/motherhood dichotomy? Gay marriage?
So for the last several months, I've been re-evaluating my beliefs. Before the onset of my faith transition, I believe I suffered from "zeal that is not unto knowledge." Hugh Nibley wrote a great essay about zeal without knowledge, based off of a quotation by Joseph Smith. The gist is that if you only have zeal, when your faith is tried you will "shatter like glass." That is exactly what happened to me. Now I'm picking up the pieces and trying to reconstruct a new, real faith. I firmly believe in Jesus, in the atonement, in a Mother and Father God. I believe that God loves everyone equally, and any evidence to the contrary is the byproduct of humans not loving everyone equally. I believe that charity is the most important attribute to gain in this life. I believe in universal salvation as exhibited in the plan of salvation (everyone is resurrected and receives glory in the end). I want to believe in personal revelation, but I'm still working out how to receive it. With a belief in personal revelation, it becomes much easier to navigate the prophet issue. I can still believe in prophets as people who receive revelation sometimes, interpret revelation in funky ways sometimes, and are left to their own devices sometimes. I must then use my own personal revelation to determine which statements fall into which category. I'm still working out the kinks, as you can see.
This whole thing has required a lot of pondering, crying, loathing, loving, and studying. I've read more about my religion in these past few months than I probably ever did during my orthodox days. Feminist Mormon Housewives has been indispensable. Husband and I clashed about it at first, but he's come to see things from my perspective and is now sympathetic and totally supportive. In fact, I finally feel completely confident in my decision to marry him, because precious few Mormon men could handle the person I have become! I'm the unorthodox one now! I appreciate where my faith is at the moment: it's less about a righteousness checklist and more about loving and being genuine. I am not as happy as I was in high school, but I feel wiser. Ignorance is bliss, I suppose.
Your turn. Have you had a faith transition (not necessarily a Mormon one)? What was it like?
Saturday, March 3, 2012
The Red Pill: Learning the Language of Sexism
Well my last post certainly generated some controversy. When writing it, I thought a long time about how to phrase everything, constantly thinking, "is this too controversial?" Husband told me it was good, and eventually I just said screw it and hit publish. I genuinely feel bad that some people think that my emerging feminism has made me little more than a whiny complainer. I have been told by several people that I'm looking solely for the bad and ignoring the good. One person even suggested that the negativity on my blog attests to my need to see a psychiatrist and be medicated. Let me borrow a metaphor from this article.
I took three years of Spanish in high school. Before freshman Spanish 1, I was barely aware when Spanish was spoken within my hearing. It blended into the background, a part of the white noise that hums along unnoticed. Once I started learning the meaning of those words and syllables, Spanish jumped out of the white noise. It suddenly had meaning. I heard it everywhere. In fact, it was everywhere. Similarly, have you ever learned the meaning of a new word and suddenly begun hearing it all over the place? Did everyone learn that word at the same moment you did? No! It was being used all around you the whole time, but you didn't know what it meant, so you didn't notice it.
Learning about sexism and other forms of discrimination is akin to learning a new language. You learn what it sounds like, what it looks like, what it feels like. You learn the common usage first (say, sexual harassment in the workplace), and move on to more advanced topics later (understanding the scope of the patriarchy and rape culture). As you learn, your eyes are opened. You see what "wasn't there" before. What used to be unremarkable business-as-usual jumps out and proclaims its true meaning to you. In reality, it was there the whole time; you just didn't see it. As you become more fluent, you see sexism everywhere (because it is everywhere). With time, you start to see that it is inescapable. It is our world. It is in the air that we breathe.
So here I am now. I see sexism everywhere. I feel like Neo, who has recently discovered the matrix. Oh, I saw a few flaws in the matrix before I took that red pill (why have I never read a book in school written by a woman? Why do all the ladies in young women's look uncomfortable when I talk about becoming a geneticist?). But now that I'm fully unplugged, the world looks different to me than it did before. It looks different to me than it does to those who have not learned the language, who still think the matrix is reality. And you know what? The view from where I now stand is profoundly frightening, infuriating, depressing at times. I'm not going to lie, it's hard to be a feminist and stay positive. I often feel like I'm the only one who is aware, who speaks this language, who sees the matrix for what it is. I feel like everyone else is content to live a virtual life, to be hampered in by the patriarchy. I feel like I'm struggling against an insurmountable enemy.
This is why I don't write shiny happy unicorn and rainbow posts. I do see good, but I can discuss that with anyone, anywhere. That is not the purpose of this blog. I write in the hopes of finding people who speak my language, who notice the green tinge of the world. I write so I can at least pretend that someone understands me - so I can express my thoughts and feelings somewhere. I write to show the world a small portion of the inequality I see in't, in the hopes that someone else will start to see the matrix for what it is.
To you who chose the blue pill, know that I sometimes envy you. I often wish that I could go back to my life of unquestioning faith. I wish I could believe in a just world. I wish I could believe in the benefits of rigid gender roles. I wish I could believe in infallible, non-racist, non-sexist leaders with black-and-white answers. It really is so comfortable to believe every word of your culture and religion, to feel like you belong. But that world is no longer mine. I made my choice. I left the cave, went down the rabbit hole. I can't go back - it's not possible. Sorry to disappoint.
I took three years of Spanish in high school. Before freshman Spanish 1, I was barely aware when Spanish was spoken within my hearing. It blended into the background, a part of the white noise that hums along unnoticed. Once I started learning the meaning of those words and syllables, Spanish jumped out of the white noise. It suddenly had meaning. I heard it everywhere. In fact, it was everywhere. Similarly, have you ever learned the meaning of a new word and suddenly begun hearing it all over the place? Did everyone learn that word at the same moment you did? No! It was being used all around you the whole time, but you didn't know what it meant, so you didn't notice it.
Learning about sexism and other forms of discrimination is akin to learning a new language. You learn what it sounds like, what it looks like, what it feels like. You learn the common usage first (say, sexual harassment in the workplace), and move on to more advanced topics later (understanding the scope of the patriarchy and rape culture). As you learn, your eyes are opened. You see what "wasn't there" before. What used to be unremarkable business-as-usual jumps out and proclaims its true meaning to you. In reality, it was there the whole time; you just didn't see it. As you become more fluent, you see sexism everywhere (because it is everywhere). With time, you start to see that it is inescapable. It is our world. It is in the air that we breathe.
So here I am now. I see sexism everywhere. I feel like Neo, who has recently discovered the matrix. Oh, I saw a few flaws in the matrix before I took that red pill (why have I never read a book in school written by a woman? Why do all the ladies in young women's look uncomfortable when I talk about becoming a geneticist?). But now that I'm fully unplugged, the world looks different to me than it did before. It looks different to me than it does to those who have not learned the language, who still think the matrix is reality. And you know what? The view from where I now stand is profoundly frightening, infuriating, depressing at times. I'm not going to lie, it's hard to be a feminist and stay positive. I often feel like I'm the only one who is aware, who speaks this language, who sees the matrix for what it is. I feel like everyone else is content to live a virtual life, to be hampered in by the patriarchy. I feel like I'm struggling against an insurmountable enemy.
This is why I don't write shiny happy unicorn and rainbow posts. I do see good, but I can discuss that with anyone, anywhere. That is not the purpose of this blog. I write in the hopes of finding people who speak my language, who notice the green tinge of the world. I write so I can at least pretend that someone understands me - so I can express my thoughts and feelings somewhere. I write to show the world a small portion of the inequality I see in't, in the hopes that someone else will start to see the matrix for what it is.
To you who chose the blue pill, know that I sometimes envy you. I often wish that I could go back to my life of unquestioning faith. I wish I could believe in a just world. I wish I could believe in the benefits of rigid gender roles. I wish I could believe in infallible, non-racist, non-sexist leaders with black-and-white answers. It really is so comfortable to believe every word of your culture and religion, to feel like you belong. But that world is no longer mine. I made my choice. I left the cave, went down the rabbit hole. I can't go back - it's not possible. Sorry to disappoint.
Sunday, February 26, 2012
Stone Throwing in Relief Society
I left Relief Society literally shaking with rage today.
The lesson? "Standing in holy places", from an address given by President Monson last October. Sounds like a typical Relief Society lesson. I surmise I could make something decent out of it if I had been asked to teach it. Unfortunately, the well-meaning teacher started out with this question:
How have you seen the world worsen since you were younger?
Oh yes. Well. It started out alright (depravity on TV, increasing sexualization of women and children), but quickly devolved from there.
One woman mentioned the horror that is sex education, especially since abstinence is no longer taught. (False. I guarantee the majority of sex ed classes will at some point say that abstinence is the only sure-fire way to prevent pregnancy and STDs. However, it is clear that teaching abstinence alone does not work with teenagers.) She gloried in the days when parents didn't have to talk to their children about sex at all (because who wants to talk to their innocent children about something so dirty and vile?).
Another told us that her high school now provides daycare services for its students. (I admit it is legitimately sad that this school needs a daycare). She then went on to say that when she was in high school, one girl got pregnant, and she never saw that girl again. She implied this was a good thing (because of course girls who get pregnant in high school ought to be hidden and denied their education [the boys responsible require no such punishment]).
There was mention of women choosing to have children without husbands. According to my Relief Society, such women should know that God does not approve of them being mothers and that a house without a husband is "unstable" (even though it was acknowledged most women who choose this are well educated, high-earners in their thirties. But apparently it's not okay to want a child unless you're married.)
Of course homosexuality and gay marriage were mentioned. (I don't know how I feel about this anymore. My gut says to let everyone live their lives as they will. I certainly regret my involvement in the California brouhaha.)
People on welfare were subtly put down, and one girl explained how sad it was that there are oodles of moms on TV with careers, and how "the stay-at-home-dad is often the funniest character on the show." (This one hits home as I had a working mom and a SAHD growing up.) She ended with a familiar spiel about the unique nurturing capabilities that only women have (deep breaths).
The teacher then read this quotation from President Monson's address: "It is essential that we reject anything that does not conform to our standards, refusing in the process to surrender that which we desire most: eternal life in the kingdom of God." I raised my hand. I said that we must differentiate between "reject" and "judge." I openly admitted that the conversation was making me uncomfortable because I felt like there was a lot of judgment going on. I said that we should stand by what the prophets say (a statement I only partly agree with), but that doesn't mean we should judge people who don't live our way of life. What's going to happen when you meet a homosexual person? Are you going to reject him or her? Jesus told us to love everyone. What did he say to the woman taken in adultery? He told her that he didn't condemn her. Just love people and leave judgment to God.
I should have said more. I should have said that no one is perfect. I should have said that Jesus told those accusing the woman that they, as sinners, have no right to cast stones. I should have said that I bet there are women in the room who have struggled with some of the things that are being bashed. That at least one woman in that room will have a child who is gay or who gets pregnant out of wedlock. That, in my opinion, President Monson meant that we should live our own lives in accordance with our standards, not shun all who do not live their lives in that way. That President Monson's talk was actually about prayer. That being a SAHD or promoting sex ed is not the same as "surrender[ing] . . . eternal life in the kindgom of God." I should have said that such judgmental opinions are the exact things that give Mormons a bad name and drive people away from/out of the church.
We hardly got through any more of the lesson. It ended up being little more than a bashing session. Some smiling lasses carefully responded that we have to make righteous judgments everyday. Ugh. There was just so much, dare I say it, hate going around that room. Husband said it sounded like Rameumptom day in Relief Society. "We thank thee, Lord, that we are so much better than everyone else." That's not what religion is supposed to be about.
It's days like this that make it hard to be Mormon. I believe the core doctrines, but I just can't stand the people sometimes. Then again, I don't want to judge Mormons either. I know these ladies, and on the whole they are very nice. What is it about Mormanity that takes devout, well-meaning people and drills such bigotry into them?
Any answers?
The lesson? "Standing in holy places", from an address given by President Monson last October. Sounds like a typical Relief Society lesson. I surmise I could make something decent out of it if I had been asked to teach it. Unfortunately, the well-meaning teacher started out with this question:
How have you seen the world worsen since you were younger?
Oh yes. Well. It started out alright (depravity on TV, increasing sexualization of women and children), but quickly devolved from there.
One woman mentioned the horror that is sex education, especially since abstinence is no longer taught. (False. I guarantee the majority of sex ed classes will at some point say that abstinence is the only sure-fire way to prevent pregnancy and STDs. However, it is clear that teaching abstinence alone does not work with teenagers.) She gloried in the days when parents didn't have to talk to their children about sex at all (because who wants to talk to their innocent children about something so dirty and vile?).
Another told us that her high school now provides daycare services for its students. (I admit it is legitimately sad that this school needs a daycare). She then went on to say that when she was in high school, one girl got pregnant, and she never saw that girl again. She implied this was a good thing (because of course girls who get pregnant in high school ought to be hidden and denied their education [the boys responsible require no such punishment]).
There was mention of women choosing to have children without husbands. According to my Relief Society, such women should know that God does not approve of them being mothers and that a house without a husband is "unstable" (even though it was acknowledged most women who choose this are well educated, high-earners in their thirties. But apparently it's not okay to want a child unless you're married.)
Of course homosexuality and gay marriage were mentioned. (I don't know how I feel about this anymore. My gut says to let everyone live their lives as they will. I certainly regret my involvement in the California brouhaha.)
People on welfare were subtly put down, and one girl explained how sad it was that there are oodles of moms on TV with careers, and how "the stay-at-home-dad is often the funniest character on the show." (This one hits home as I had a working mom and a SAHD growing up.) She ended with a familiar spiel about the unique nurturing capabilities that only women have (deep breaths).
The teacher then read this quotation from President Monson's address: "It is essential that we reject anything that does not conform to our standards, refusing in the process to surrender that which we desire most: eternal life in the kingdom of God." I raised my hand. I said that we must differentiate between "reject" and "judge." I openly admitted that the conversation was making me uncomfortable because I felt like there was a lot of judgment going on. I said that we should stand by what the prophets say (a statement I only partly agree with), but that doesn't mean we should judge people who don't live our way of life. What's going to happen when you meet a homosexual person? Are you going to reject him or her? Jesus told us to love everyone. What did he say to the woman taken in adultery? He told her that he didn't condemn her. Just love people and leave judgment to God.
I should have said more. I should have said that no one is perfect. I should have said that Jesus told those accusing the woman that they, as sinners, have no right to cast stones. I should have said that I bet there are women in the room who have struggled with some of the things that are being bashed. That at least one woman in that room will have a child who is gay or who gets pregnant out of wedlock. That, in my opinion, President Monson meant that we should live our own lives in accordance with our standards, not shun all who do not live their lives in that way. That President Monson's talk was actually about prayer. That being a SAHD or promoting sex ed is not the same as "surrender[ing] . . . eternal life in the kindgom of God." I should have said that such judgmental opinions are the exact things that give Mormons a bad name and drive people away from/out of the church.
We hardly got through any more of the lesson. It ended up being little more than a bashing session. Some smiling lasses carefully responded that we have to make righteous judgments everyday. Ugh. There was just so much, dare I say it, hate going around that room. Husband said it sounded like Rameumptom day in Relief Society. "We thank thee, Lord, that we are so much better than everyone else." That's not what religion is supposed to be about.
It's days like this that make it hard to be Mormon. I believe the core doctrines, but I just can't stand the people sometimes. Then again, I don't want to judge Mormons either. I know these ladies, and on the whole they are very nice. What is it about Mormanity that takes devout, well-meaning people and drills such bigotry into them?
Any answers?
Monday, February 20, 2012
I'm Coming Out
So lately I've been talking more openly about my unorthodox opinions - in church, on Facebook, one on one, and on this blog.
And guess what?
Suddenly, everyone wants to be my friend.
Suddenly, everyone is coming up to me and thanking me for my comments.
Suddenly, everyone is telling me their secrets and problems.
It would appear that more people are on my side than are willing to publicly admit it. And you know what? I'm loving life. Not only are my feelings being validated. Not only am I feeling less like an isolated dissident in a sea of unquestioning drones. I'm making more friends. And, best of all, I feel that my capacity for charity is growing.
People who know me in real life know that charity is my number one gospel focus. This was the case even before embarking upon my faith transition. In my view, charity, or pure love, is the defining characteristic of God. And I'm trying to be like God. I believe that charity is the greatest of all spiritual gifts, and that it is impossible to cultivate it in yourself. Perhaps God is giving me a little more of this ultimate gift as a comfort for all the bad feelings that have been coursing through my veins the last few months. Or perhaps as I throw away my excessive zeal and orthodoxy, I am opening myself up to people I wouldn't have in the past. Perhaps God is giving me this gift as a reward for continuing to stay my judgment.
All I really know is that everyone deserves love and respect, regardless of circumstances, dispositions, or choices. Who am I to judge another when I walk imperfectly?
I realize now that nobody is perfect. I understood that superficially before, but I know it now. Everyone looks so perfect at church, but it's not real. Everyone has skeletons in the closet. Everyone needs help sometimes. In the quiet heart is hidden sorrow that the eye can't see.
When I show kindness to all different sorts of people, I feel happy. I feel humbled. I feel closer to God. I certainly did not expect to come closer to God by taking this unorthodox, potentially heretical route. I did not anticipate that this would be my road to charity. But it appears that this is my lot. And if that's what it takes, that's what it takes.
I'm certainly never going back.
And guess what?
Suddenly, everyone wants to be my friend.
Suddenly, everyone is coming up to me and thanking me for my comments.
Suddenly, everyone is telling me their secrets and problems.
It would appear that more people are on my side than are willing to publicly admit it. And you know what? I'm loving life. Not only are my feelings being validated. Not only am I feeling less like an isolated dissident in a sea of unquestioning drones. I'm making more friends. And, best of all, I feel that my capacity for charity is growing.
People who know me in real life know that charity is my number one gospel focus. This was the case even before embarking upon my faith transition. In my view, charity, or pure love, is the defining characteristic of God. And I'm trying to be like God. I believe that charity is the greatest of all spiritual gifts, and that it is impossible to cultivate it in yourself. Perhaps God is giving me a little more of this ultimate gift as a comfort for all the bad feelings that have been coursing through my veins the last few months. Or perhaps as I throw away my excessive zeal and orthodoxy, I am opening myself up to people I wouldn't have in the past. Perhaps God is giving me this gift as a reward for continuing to stay my judgment.
All I really know is that everyone deserves love and respect, regardless of circumstances, dispositions, or choices. Who am I to judge another when I walk imperfectly?
I realize now that nobody is perfect. I understood that superficially before, but I know it now. Everyone looks so perfect at church, but it's not real. Everyone has skeletons in the closet. Everyone needs help sometimes. In the quiet heart is hidden sorrow that the eye can't see.
When I show kindness to all different sorts of people, I feel happy. I feel humbled. I feel closer to God. I certainly did not expect to come closer to God by taking this unorthodox, potentially heretical route. I did not anticipate that this would be my road to charity. But it appears that this is my lot. And if that's what it takes, that's what it takes.
I'm certainly never going back.
Saturday, December 31, 2011
I'm, as It Turns Out, Not Perfect!
The other day I was visiting my brother-in-law's hardware store. The conversation turned to Brother-in-Law's very large Toyota Tundra. I jokingly said that it might even qualify as a compensation mobile. He simply replied that that's a pretty sexist thing for a self-proclaimed feminist to say.
If anything ever cut me to the quick, that did. After mumbling some embarrassed syllables of admission, I shuffled back to the car with my head hung low and fought back tears all the way home. Of course he was right. If he had intimated that women cursed with undesirably small . . . breasts, say, carry bigger purses so men will still want them, I might have bludgeoned him to death with my extra-large handbag. And yet I have been making the occasional joke about something equally sexist for years. I felt like the ultimate hypocrite. I sometimes get the impression that my (unusually open-minded) extended family thinks I just put on a feminist persona for appearances. This incident is excellent evidence of exactly that. How could a true feminist say something so obviously inappropriate? How could I possibly espouse complete equality if I fight the battle in only one direction? I felt rather depressed and lethargic for the rest of the day.
And several days later, I am still dwelling on my hideous faux pas. Am I just doing the "feminist thing" for show? Do I really want equality, or am I simply using feminism as a reason to feel angry and superior? If it is all a ruse, what do I do now? Start deferring to patriarchal authority again, trash my career plans, return to the temple and blithely agree to be less-than for eternity? Make comments in church about women's superior spirituality and role as gatekeepers of sexuality? Vilify working moms and stay-at-home dads?
The thought sends shivers down my spine. At this point, I realize that I'm not faking it. I actually believe in this stuff. Maybe I just make mistakes sometimes. As one of my psychology professors wisely stated, "gender roles are in the air we breathe." Even the most progressive individuals are going to slip up every now and then, because sexism is inescapable. We feminists are fighting the good fight from within and without. In a way, I am grateful that my brother-in-law opened my eyes to a hidden bit of sexism that I needed to root out (and I'm sure there are more yet to be discovered). I do wish that I could have taken on this traitorous bit privately, without the added element of public shame. Learning the hard way is never fun, but then again aren't we Mormons always talking about difficulties making us stronger?
So even die-hard feminists make the occasional sexist remark sometimes. Please forgive us, for clinging to feminism in a gender-polarized world is no mean feat. And if Brother-in-Law reads this, please accept my apology and realize that this post is, in reality, penance for my transgression. Now back to the battlefield.
If anything ever cut me to the quick, that did. After mumbling some embarrassed syllables of admission, I shuffled back to the car with my head hung low and fought back tears all the way home. Of course he was right. If he had intimated that women cursed with undesirably small . . . breasts, say, carry bigger purses so men will still want them, I might have bludgeoned him to death with my extra-large handbag. And yet I have been making the occasional joke about something equally sexist for years. I felt like the ultimate hypocrite. I sometimes get the impression that my (unusually open-minded) extended family thinks I just put on a feminist persona for appearances. This incident is excellent evidence of exactly that. How could a true feminist say something so obviously inappropriate? How could I possibly espouse complete equality if I fight the battle in only one direction? I felt rather depressed and lethargic for the rest of the day.
And several days later, I am still dwelling on my hideous faux pas. Am I just doing the "feminist thing" for show? Do I really want equality, or am I simply using feminism as a reason to feel angry and superior? If it is all a ruse, what do I do now? Start deferring to patriarchal authority again, trash my career plans, return to the temple and blithely agree to be less-than for eternity? Make comments in church about women's superior spirituality and role as gatekeepers of sexuality? Vilify working moms and stay-at-home dads?
The thought sends shivers down my spine. At this point, I realize that I'm not faking it. I actually believe in this stuff. Maybe I just make mistakes sometimes. As one of my psychology professors wisely stated, "gender roles are in the air we breathe." Even the most progressive individuals are going to slip up every now and then, because sexism is inescapable. We feminists are fighting the good fight from within and without. In a way, I am grateful that my brother-in-law opened my eyes to a hidden bit of sexism that I needed to root out (and I'm sure there are more yet to be discovered). I do wish that I could have taken on this traitorous bit privately, without the added element of public shame. Learning the hard way is never fun, but then again aren't we Mormons always talking about difficulties making us stronger?
So even die-hard feminists make the occasional sexist remark sometimes. Please forgive us, for clinging to feminism in a gender-polarized world is no mean feat. And if Brother-in-Law reads this, please accept my apology and realize that this post is, in reality, penance for my transgression. Now back to the battlefield.
Adventures in Ageism
Apparently it's been five weeks since my last post. Although this is by far my longest period of silence since the inception of this blog, I do not feel guilty. Within that time, I have:
But children are a different story. My astute niece even asked me why I don't like children the other day. I sort of lied and said I just don't have much experience with them. Well, the experience I've gained over the last few weeks has not helped my opinion of the little imps. I just can't understand their thought processes. They can't seem to understand that screaming what you want over and over is not an effective way to solve your problems. They also fail to grasp that their issues are minute. I want to widen their viewpoint, to show them the ease and comfort of their lives. I guess I see it as ungrateful. How can you be so upset about not getting to go to the toy store when you just got about a hundred shiny new toys for Christmas? Their parents are always bending over backward to ensure their health, safety, and happiness, and yet they scream and cry and act like the world is going to end because they have to take a nap (and how dare they turn up their noses at the heavenly luxury of napping?!).
I believe my prejudices are fueled by my belief that I was a perfect child. At least that's how my mother tells the tale. According to her, I rarely cried as an infant, slept all night long, woke up at nine or ten, weaned easily, potty trained easily, etc. Of course, I imagine parenting is much easier when there is only one. My parents never had to listen to squabbles about sharing because I had no one to share with. I never felt the need to act out for attention because I got all the attention I could ever want. I rarely fought against my parents' rules because I felt I was just another adult in the house. And when I did try to manipulate them, they didn't give in and quickly conditioned me to use more appropriate methods. Perhaps my parents should go into more detail with me about my childhood. I have heard a few tales involving vomitage, and remember a tantrum or two. Although my mom admits that the one time I ever yelled at her, she deserved it!
Or perhaps I resent children because I envy them. I wish I had it so easy. I wish I didn't have to control my emotions. I wish I didn't have to work and do hard things and be responsible. I wish I had someone to wait on me hand and foot. And if I did, I'd be thankful, you hooligans! I shall earn the title of crotchety old lady yet!
Look, I know my feelings about children are unfair. I know that their reasoning abilities are limited. I know that when they whine and scream and cry they are simply expressing their confusion and frustration at a complex world with complex rules. I know that their immune systems are still developing, which leads to frequent spewage. But that knowledge does not keep me from getting annoyed (or from hiding in my room for several hours a day to escape them). I guess I lack compassion for children. The true manifestation of my ageism, though, is that I feel no compulsion to remedy this void of charity. I am making no new year's resolutions to fix my skewed perceptions; I do not feel the need to talk to God or my bishop about it. And I have no idea why. At least I'm admitting it, right? That's supposed to be the first step to . . . something, right?
I do not want any parents reading this to feel as though I am attacking them or their parenting abilities. I do not blame parents for having annoying children because, as far as I can tell, they all get to me to some degree. Therefore it is the very nature of children that irks me. Aren't I terrible? I'm sure I'll get some angry parent commenting and saying that children are a blessing from God and I am going to hell. Well, if I'm going to hell, lacking patience for children is the least of my offenses.
Thank you for making it to the end of this very stream-of-consciousness post (which I have written while attempting to tune out the dulcet tones of screaming toddlers). Feel free to verbally crucify me in the comments.
- Written a plethora of excellent papers
- Aced all of my finals
- Gotten straight As in all my classes (booya!)
- Performed in the annual BYU Celebration of Christmas concert
- Experienced my first Thanksgiving and Christmas sans family
- Taken the GRE (did tolerably well)
- Witnessed and participated in the weddings of my dear cousin and brother-in-law
- Traveled to Orange County, San Francisco/San Jose, Virginia, and Washington D.C.
- Visited one of my top choice grad schools (and I'm pretty sure they want me)
- Visited the Smithsonian for the first time (was unimpressed by the Hope Diamond, was baffled that the Star of Bombay was so inconspicuously displayed, and appreciated the human evolution exhibit)
- Endured living with multiple small children for almost two weeks.
- Driving to San Jose with Husband's loveable, crotchety-old-man of an uncle, during which he inadvertently merged onto the wrong freeway and continued on't for several hours while spouting off a fountain of angry, one-sided political "truths", fumbling with new-fangled devices, and grumbling that the world has gone to pot.
- Driving to Washington D.C. with the same loveable yet crotchety uncle, when he voiced some exceedingly racist opinions and refused to see them as racist (because it's not racist if it's true, dammit!).
- Sitting in the splash zone on the way to Muir Woods with my sister-in-law and her two kids. Yes, there was vomit. A lot of vomit.
- Experiencing more vomit with my niece at the airport.
- Witnessing dozens of logic-free childish meltdowns.
But children are a different story. My astute niece even asked me why I don't like children the other day. I sort of lied and said I just don't have much experience with them. Well, the experience I've gained over the last few weeks has not helped my opinion of the little imps. I just can't understand their thought processes. They can't seem to understand that screaming what you want over and over is not an effective way to solve your problems. They also fail to grasp that their issues are minute. I want to widen their viewpoint, to show them the ease and comfort of their lives. I guess I see it as ungrateful. How can you be so upset about not getting to go to the toy store when you just got about a hundred shiny new toys for Christmas? Their parents are always bending over backward to ensure their health, safety, and happiness, and yet they scream and cry and act like the world is going to end because they have to take a nap (and how dare they turn up their noses at the heavenly luxury of napping?!).
I believe my prejudices are fueled by my belief that I was a perfect child. At least that's how my mother tells the tale. According to her, I rarely cried as an infant, slept all night long, woke up at nine or ten, weaned easily, potty trained easily, etc. Of course, I imagine parenting is much easier when there is only one. My parents never had to listen to squabbles about sharing because I had no one to share with. I never felt the need to act out for attention because I got all the attention I could ever want. I rarely fought against my parents' rules because I felt I was just another adult in the house. And when I did try to manipulate them, they didn't give in and quickly conditioned me to use more appropriate methods. Perhaps my parents should go into more detail with me about my childhood. I have heard a few tales involving vomitage, and remember a tantrum or two. Although my mom admits that the one time I ever yelled at her, she deserved it!
Or perhaps I resent children because I envy them. I wish I had it so easy. I wish I didn't have to control my emotions. I wish I didn't have to work and do hard things and be responsible. I wish I had someone to wait on me hand and foot. And if I did, I'd be thankful, you hooligans! I shall earn the title of crotchety old lady yet!
Look, I know my feelings about children are unfair. I know that their reasoning abilities are limited. I know that when they whine and scream and cry they are simply expressing their confusion and frustration at a complex world with complex rules. I know that their immune systems are still developing, which leads to frequent spewage. But that knowledge does not keep me from getting annoyed (or from hiding in my room for several hours a day to escape them). I guess I lack compassion for children. The true manifestation of my ageism, though, is that I feel no compulsion to remedy this void of charity. I am making no new year's resolutions to fix my skewed perceptions; I do not feel the need to talk to God or my bishop about it. And I have no idea why. At least I'm admitting it, right? That's supposed to be the first step to . . . something, right?
I do not want any parents reading this to feel as though I am attacking them or their parenting abilities. I do not blame parents for having annoying children because, as far as I can tell, they all get to me to some degree. Therefore it is the very nature of children that irks me. Aren't I terrible? I'm sure I'll get some angry parent commenting and saying that children are a blessing from God and I am going to hell. Well, if I'm going to hell, lacking patience for children is the least of my offenses.
Thank you for making it to the end of this very stream-of-consciousness post (which I have written while attempting to tune out the dulcet tones of screaming toddlers). Feel free to verbally crucify me in the comments.
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