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Prologue

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I wrote a post over a week ago that I have discussed some with my therapist and my husband. It is a pretty vulnerable post that lays bare some stuff from my past that may bring some repercussions back on me. Before I post it, I want to be emotionally prepared for the choices some people may make that will hurt me.

Eighteen years ago this month, I married a wonderful man in the Salt Lake Temple. I knew a little of the problems within his family of origin when I bound my fate with his that day, but I had no idea the many challenges that would lie ahead for us and the tremendous courage and determination I would have to have to survive; to protect myself, my husband, and my children from the web of deception and victimization I entered into.

First of all, I want to say that if I had it to do over again, I would still marry my husband. He has many good qualities and when horrible choices had to be made, he has done the right thing. I don’t blame him for the situation, I only admire him for the courage and loyalty he has shown to me as we have worked together to forge a better family for our own children.

This three part series of posts is about abuse, particularly abuse within the LDS community. By this I am not talking directly about the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. The church itself is one facet of a much more complex social system that has arisen around it. My observations have been that abuse within our membership is not systematic. It is not like Warren Jeffs or David Koresh where the leadership is abusing the congregations. It is more like the abusers are like parasites that live and profit from church structures while disguising themselves as faithful members. They create and thrive within a culture of silence and manage to deceive and foster sympathy from leadership and get access to victims. Because of vulnerabilities within our system that make it easier for them to operate, they thrive and often receive inadequate consequences if any at all. The Lord is not pleased. We can do better.

This is not to say that the church is bad or that the doctrines are incorrect. I am mindful of the man who tried to steady the ark in the Old Testament, and I pray that my Savior will have mercy on me as I tell my story in an effort not to fix His church, but to help the fallen souls who bare His name in this world. There is a difference between doctrine, ordinance, and authority, and our poor efforts to put them into practice in a fallen world. If we can help one another purge sin that has taken root within our society, we will all be blessed.

Much like the Jews at the time of the Savior, it wasn’t the law of Moses that Jesus Christ rejected and criticized, it was the cultural traditions and practices that were sinful and harmful that he confronted. In the end, the law of Moses was fulfilled and new ordinances and practices were put in place. Similarly, we believe that Joseph Smith, the American prophet of our time, was sent to restore sacred truth, confront harmful interpretations, and lay the foundation for a better society that would eventually become Zion, the New Jerusalem. One of our mandates as members is to work toward the “perfection of the saints,” and the realization of that Zion society in which we live in perfect harmony with God’s law. In order to bring Zion to reality, we must confront uncomfortable truths. We must bring sins from the darkness into the light. We must reject the culture of silence.

So that is why I am writing this post. Abusers create webs of lies and entrap their victims with confusion and helplessness. There are victims within our membership that have been willing to share their stories. Patrick Risk is one of them. Jan Broberg is another. I am now sharing my story. I am a relatively minor character in this drama. The predator that I became entangled with revealed himself to me early and that protected me from his manipulations. I watched him for years feeling helpless to protect myself or others from him. I have many regrets about what I didn’t say or do and that is part of why I want to tell my story. I want some relief from the guilt I feel. Hopefully as we share our stories we can embolden present and future victims and give them courage to fight abuse. It is much harder to do than you might think.

My second post in this three part series is mostly about Jan Broberg and the documentary I watched on Netflix. It has created a lot of emotional turmoil as I have processed through the experiences I have had in my husband’s family and the trauma I have experienced both directly and vicariously through the suffering of those I love and have considered family for the past eighteen years. This post has several practical principles that if applied correctly, can help us cleanse the church of the predators that live among us.

The third post is a detailed account of the predator in my life and his activities from my viewpoint. I have tried to avoid the use of names to identify individuals. This post is not intended to shame anyone. Even the predator himself was part of a larger system in which he himself was victimized. What I was told and what I saw is what is written in the third post as accurately as I can remember it. It’s purpose is to inform the reader of one example of an abusive predatory system that was protected and enabled within an LDS family.

Waiting

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Today I helped a new sister clean her house before she moved in.  I usually never do stuff like this, but I decided to today for several reasons.  For one thing, this lady was assigned as one of my ministering sisters. Another thing, is I am trying to be supportive of the new Relief Society presidency.  Another thing is, it’s good for me to serve and socialize even though it isn’t my favorite thing to do.

When I arrived, I saw familiar faces from church standing in a circle and chatting.  I had just dropped off my baby with the sitter and was eager to get started, but I engaged a little in the small talk about the house.  I thought it interesting to see how each sister chose a different part of the house to clean. I chose the tile grout. Why?

I like getting deep into the dirty parts in the foundation.  A clean floor is a clean house to me. Other sisters wiped out cupboards or did other stuff.  I didn’t really pay attention to them. I just focused on my job. As I listened to the other sisters talk, I thought about all the reasons I don’t fit in.  I remember long ago my counselor talked to me about women and the way we compete with one another for status. Being thin, pretty, a good housekeeper, a devoted mother, having a wealthy husband, having a successful career…..these are all values that we compete in.  Inevitably, I find myself feeling inadequate as others jockey for position within the female social framework. Why? I am reasonably thin, well educated, and otherwise successful. What makes me ashamed? It is self-knowledge.

Self-esteem has always been a tricky thing for me.  You can’t esteem what you don’t understand and I don’t really know myself.  This depressive episode has charted more territory in my self-discovery than ever before, but I don’t always like what I find.  Self-discovery can be painful when I confront my own illusions, my motivations, my fears, and everything else that I prefer not to look at.  Also, as I discover more about myself, I realize that who I am is not under my control nearly as much as I wanted to think it was. I am a product of forces like my community, my family, my genetics, my habits.  These things are like concrete. At one time, they may have been flexible and moldable, but over the course of the forty years I have been alive, they have hardened into the shape of me. This shape I am still discovering, but one thing I am certain of:  no amount of working out at the gym, reading to enrich my mind, or self-improvement effort is going to make me over into the person who can, with authenticity, present myself to others as anything but a deeply flawed person. I am convinced that the only way I want to live is with authenticity, so I don’t have much to say in superficial conversations that seem to involve posturing.  

This is tricky territory I am wandering into.  I don’t want to imply that I am judging and condemning other women for their posturing.  I would just as soon condemn my dog for licking her bottom. It is what dogs do. As women, we posture and compete and jockey for position.  It’s what we do. I just don’t do it and I never really understood why before, but today I think I made some progress. Sometimes I thought something was wrong with me and that was why I seemed disinterested, discouraged, or even annoyed during these social interactions.  Now I see that what is right with me is what is wrong with me. My own self-knowledge of my flaws, coupled with my determination to live with authenticity, result in my overall disenchantment with superficial human interaction in general.

So what I thought in the past was social anxiety, seems to be to be something else.  It is a tendency toward self preservation; a need to live authentically and be accepted for who I truly am, not for a projection I’d like others to think I am.  So as I scrubbed the stains from the tile floor, I considered myself, in that space, being me, observing the other sisters around me, and seeing everything from this new perspective.

And then, I started thinking about the people who were not there–the previous owners of the home.  Of course, they had foreclosed the house and left it in a sorry state, so no one was very complimentary of them.  We were engaged in cleaning the grime of years that had accumulated in what had been their home. Then the thought occurred to me, that these faceless, nameless people had been in our ward.  They were not members of the church, but they had lived in my ward boundaries and as such, they were technically in my ward family. They had struggled and suffered and lived out their days in my neighborhood and only now did I spare a thought for them.  Why was I cleaning their house now, and not months or years before? Why was this family worthy of my help and the other wasn’t? Were they not just as loved by their Heavenly Father? At this moment, that family is probably moving into another home somewhere, but surely God is aware of them and loves them just as much as he loves me.  Seeing myself within this picture of other divine children both on the covenant path and off it, helps me to understand my own place in this world and what he would have me do. I’m not the woman I wish I were, but perhaps I am who he needs me to be.

That is where grace comes in.  I am not the woman I wish I were.  Still, the Savior died for me. He loves me that much, so I can give myself a little grace.  I can look into my dark places and give myself some forgiveness that I fall short. I can restrain the inner critic and unleash the inner nurturer and allow myself to be; to exist without judgement.  There is no greater gift one person can give another; suspended judgement.  

When something imperfect is allowed to exist, it reminds me of the plan of salvation and the wisdom of my God.  He created this world, an anomaly within the cosmos, a temporal vaccuume in the fabric of eternity, a place where justice and perfection are suspended and sin and death are allowed to exist.  This place, the training and testing place of the spirit sons and daughters of God, is a crucible of pain and growth. One of the hardest things to learn in life is to do as God has done. To suspend judgement.  To allow our fellow men to make their choices and love them regardless of what those choices are and how they affect us is to approach the throne of God himself. That is what he has done. He suspends his judgment until the end.  He has given us the hope of salvation through the sacrifice of his son. And he waits. He waits for us to find ourselves and one another in the mess that is this world. He waits for us to feel after him and remember ourselves; not the shallow images of our vain imaginations, but the God that lives within us.  He waits. He waits for me.

Self Care and Validation

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The day after school started, I was sitting on the couch watching T.V. My mind was going over and over all the things I should have been doing, but I felt unable to stand. Austin was down for a nap and Pepper was sleeping in my lap, but this was more than just an afternoon mood slump. I felt overwhelmed, anxious, and paralyzed.

The first day of school is something I look forward to and dread at the same time. The major shift in routine and schedule is hard for me, and then I worry about my boys. Are they safe? Are they with their friends? Is their teacher(s) going to provide them what they need? There are a million reasons to feel anxious on the first day of school.

In the midst of this mental turmoil, I gave myself some compassion and encouragement. Then, I engaged in some much needed self care. I took a bath and washed my hair. The triple digit heat the last few days had left me feeling sticky and gross. Then Ben and I made a plan for how to help me get through the next two weeks until preschool starts for Austin. Ben made dinner and I signed papers and gathered school supplies for Devin. We went to bed early.

In the morning I had some dreams, which I recorded. I dreamed I went on a bike ride in Sugar City, Idaho, where I grew up. I was with my kids. I stopped to pet a couple of dogs that didn’t have teeth. They belonged to a Mormon family with lots of kids who were all piled on a single bicycle. They looked happy and seeing them made me happy too. Then I went to Walmart where my kids ran off. I felt overwhelmed and used positive self-talk to motivate myself to complete the shopping, gather my children, and ride my bike home again.

According to Google research, bike riding symbolizes being an active participant in life and taking steps to reach your goals. Dog teeth symbolize power and virility. They fact that they belonged to a Mormon family might mean something about the way I see the people of my faith. Perhaps I see them as defenseless against danger. Perhaps the image of them piled on the bicycle is indicative of my idealized version of a Mormon family, everyone happy and balanced. The Walmart trip and the feelings I had there mirrored my depressed and overwhelmed feelings the day before. The positive self-talk was helpful to me in my dream as it had been in my waking life.

The next day, I knocked some things off my procrastination list, made some contacts for babysitting, and watched a movie a friend loaned me about watercolor painting. I made it through a tough patch, and I am still functioning and I credit that to my self affirmations and self care.

We talk a lot in my church about financial self reliance. That is important. Lately there has been a twist on the concept to include spiritual self-reliance. I think there is something to be said about emotional self-reliance. Learning how to give yourself love and encouragement gives you the strength to push self-doubt and self-defeating behavior aside. It’s easy to consider self-affirmations as encouraging self absorption and narcissism. For me, it has the opposite effect. It helps me to stop worrying about myself and frees my resources up to actually get stuff done. Self-care, as my therapist is always reminding me, is essential for my well being. As a full time care giver, it isn’t optional. When I’ve cared for myself, I am better able to care for my family.

A New Chapter

Broken Handmaid of the Lord2 Comments

The ward Relief Society Presidency and the Primary Presidency were both reorganized this week.  Both changes impacted me greatly because I have a calling in the primary, my team teacher was called to the Relief Society Presidency, and of course, I am technically a member of the Relief Society, although I haven’t been active in it for almost a year.

I thought I would be full of gratitude and hope with the changing of the RS Presidency.  I do have great hopes that the new leadership will be able to make a safer and more inclusive environment, but my relief at seeing the old leadership released was full of mixed emotions.

How could I have done things differently?  Could I have done more to support the leadership?  Could I have prayed for them more? Could I have been less combative?  Between managing my three year old scribbling on one side, and my nine year old drawing a Yoshi character on the other, I tried to journal some of my thoughts during sacrament meeting.

I tried to be fair.  I have gone through a period of tremendous growth this past year and a half.  As an introvert with major depressive disorder, going through one of my worst depressive episodes, going to weekly therapy sessions for over a year and taking several medications, this has been a hard time.  Instead of understanding and support from my Relief Society, I got judgement and shame and minimizing of the difficult burdens I carry. I believe that it was not the intent of the sisters to hurt me. They simply misjudged me as people are apt to do.  Still, Satan used them to magnify his messages in my mind, to drive me to despair, to delay my recovery. The effects have been real and significant and I refuse to minimize them. They were insensitive and slow to listen.  

On the other hand, I see the difficulty of a lay ministry, untrained and unpaid, put in the unenviable position of being the go-to people to help all the sisters in the ward.  There is no possible way to prepare for such a calling. This is no way to possibly please everyone. There is the creation of activities that people ignore or complain about, there is the inevitable cruelty and cliquishness that women engage in, there is the laborious efforts to write and distribute a weekly message that is most often unread.  (I probably read two or three of the weekly newsletters in the past year.) To be in leadership is to be criticised, blamed, and then expected to keep giving the same amount of effort with little to no appreciation.

Who is to blame?  Where do I point the finger that is itching to find someone responsible whom I can vent my furious outrage?  I watched the former Relief Society President walk to the stand and with a defiant tone, commit to support the new president and charged all of us to do the same.  She offered her sympathy to the new leadership and her relief that her service was over. It was a strange talk closing a strange chapter in my church life. Could I have prayed more for her?  Yes. Could I have made things easier for her? Perhaps. But by making her life easier, I would have been forcing myself to stay silent and uncomfortable. Would that have been preferable? For whom?

I tend to think that it’s better to speak out, to make my feelings known, to be honest.  Even when it makes everyone else a little uncomfortable, I still think it’s often the right thing to do.  Thing is, in every human construct, there are people who are comfortable and people who are uncomfortable; people who fit well and people who feel like outsiders; people who speak and people who listen.  Problems come when the people who are comfortable and fit well are the only people who are allowed to speak. The people who feel like outsiders and are uncomfortable are forced to endure the pain in silence to make everyone else feel good.  That’s not right. People who are uncomfortable and outside need to be heard from too. People who are comfortable and fit well and church is working for them, need to understand that it isn’t that way for everyone. That’s okay! It doesn’t even necessarily need to be fixed, just heard.

I’ll use an example.  My dad has a bad ear. He doesn’t have a hearing problem exactly, its more of an auditory processing problem.  Certain sounds are almost unbearable to him making him irritable and anxious. A crowded chapel full of chatter, the microphone static, the organ; all of these things can cause severe distress to him.  I’m sure he would never expect everyone to change their behavior or stop using the microphone or organ, but it might be nice for people to understand that if Brother Cutler walks out of the meeting holding the side of his head, it’s nothing personal and its not a moral failing.  Maybe some days he skips sacrament meeting all together. Before you judge him, try to understand him. The fact is sacrament meeting can sometimes be significantly draining and not the spiritual boost that I would like it to be. There are others who have confided to me their own struggles with the meeting.  Claustrophobia, PTSD, and panic disorder can all be triggered by sacrament meeting. That isn’t anyone’s fault, but it’s good for those who are sitting comfortably in their seats feeling the spirit to understand that it isn’t the same for everyone, and there are many reasons there are empty seats in our chapels that have nothing to do with someone being unrighteous.  The easy path is judgement and condemnation. The harder path is love and compassion and understanding.

So now that we have new Relief Society leadership, where does that leave me?  The fact is, the same sisters are in there. There are new leaders, but that doesn’t mean that anyone has changed their opinions of me and there’s no guarantee that I won’t be hurt again.  I definitely don’t feel like waltzing back into a RS class and spilling my guts. Still, I am hopeful that I can build some relationships of trust and start widening my circle of support with more sisters.  Will I continue to make things uncomfortable? I don’t know. I’m going to follow the promptings of the spirit and hope for the best.  

As disciples of Christ we are commanded to be one body and bear one another’s burdens.  The head can’t say to the foot, I have no need of thee. If a finger is in pain, the other members tend to it, they don’t ignore it or cut it off because they don’t want to deal with it.  As a church, we can do the same. The first step is to listen.  

So I am going to start a habit of praying for my leaders, particularly for my bishop and RS president.  I’m going to pray that they will always listen before they speak, always understand before they exhort, and always consult before they dictate.  I’m going to pray that they seek the Lord’s approval and praise, and not the member’s approval and praise. I’m going to pray that they can know when to say they’re sorry and have the strength and courage to do it.  And finally I’m going to pray to know what I can do to make their jobs a little easier while still being heard. Hopefully this new chapter will stimulate a flowering of love and compassion within our ward family where we can more closely mirror the example of the Master whose name we all take upon us.  Amen.

Triggers of Awful

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Sometimes the pain is so deep it takes the breath from my body.  It seems that whatever small event has happened has set off a chain reaction inside me, like the small squeeze of a hand, a single finger moving less than an inch, the small piece of metal on a gun giving way.  And then my whole world changes. Everything that was light is darkness. Everything that was happy is misery. I assume this is what they mean when they say a person has been “triggered.” 

I lay in bed this morning sincerely panicked.  My three year old said, “Momma, you get me some breakfast.”  How could I manage to get him cereal? I couldn’t even pull back the blankets on my bed!  Worse, I didn’t know what to do to make myself feel better. Then the feelings of shame and despair compounded my problem sinking me ever deeper into my mattress.  

I was able to convince myself to come and write.  That gave me the glimmer of hope I needed to fuel my marathon journey out of the bed, to the kitchen to take my medicine, and then up the stairs.  My thirteen year old was on his phone. When he saw me he expected a lecture, but he knew right away that I was not in a state to be that kind of parent.  With a pleading in my voice I asked him to get some cereal for his baby brother. To my pleasant surprise, he jumped out of his chair and went downstairs immediately.  God’s tender mercies!  

So here I am at the computer desk, hoping to sort through why I have been triggered.  Whenever this happens, my initial reaction is to denigrate myself and invalidate my feelings.  My inner critic says, “This is no big deal. Stop being so sensitive! Stuff like this happens all the time.  Let it roll off.” Behind these words is the primal fear of the loss of control that comes with the depth of emotion I am being subjected to.  That terrified, bossy, controlling voice in my head cannot bare the fact that at my core, I am not in control of these emotions. They simply exist and I can no more control them than I can the weather or the shape of my nose.

So this is me giving a speech to my inner critic:

“Leave her alone.  Let her feel her feelings.  You have no right to decide whether she has a right to feel them.  Calm your fear. The feelings will pass, as they always do. Surrender your need to control what doesn’t belong to you; the instrument that God has given you, the divine ability to feel emotion.  This instrument does not belong to this world and cannot be suppressed by mortal will. Your fear clouds your understanding. She is in travail and will soon give birth to new insights and ideas. The process cannot be rushed or arrested.”

My trigger for today’s feelings of despair is betrayal.  Betrayal triggers a complex set of memories that I have walled off from my consciousness.  If my brain circuitry approaches those memories, it recoils in horror and veers away like a frightened animal.  It is what might be called a “complex”; the memories and experiences I am unable to process because they are too painful.  To cope, I avoid and deny their existence. Unfortunately, these memories are part of me and because they fester like a buried sliver causing pain and inflammation, they impact my emotional health even if I don’t know they are there.

I wish I knew how to heal myself– A pill, a bottle of oil, an internet article about the phases of the moon, or a hundred other coping strategies that seem to help others.  The first step is understanding and I think that will be enough today. I have been triggered. Betrayal. That is enough. I have calmed my fearful inner critic and now I have freed enough emotional energy to get out of what I like to call “the vortex.”  The vortex is the feedback loop that my brain gets caught in. Fear, shame, desperation, and paralysis swirl like water down a drain of misery.  

So now I will ask for help, give myself compassion, eat, and continue to claw my way out of the pit.  For those of you who read these words and see yourself in them, bless you! Keep fighting. You aren’t alone in struggling through the labyrinth of your mind and heart.  Take my torch and use it to refresh yours. Together we can find our way through the darkness. Eventually, when I get out of crisis mode, I will work on processing the painful memories of betrayal that I stumbled upon this morning.  Not now. The dog is scratching at the door. My boys need their mom. There are flowers in the garden, boo-boos to kiss, books to read, and life to be lived. There is joy as well as pain and I can and will go out and find it.

Judgments of Fear

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As I’ve studied the New Testament this year, I have had a truth testified to me over and over again. God doesn’t see people the same way you do. God cares about one thing; how much love we have in our hearts. Every society has its throw-away people. I’ve heard them called, the near dead. They are the ones that we turn our eyes away from. In the Savior’s day they were the lame, the blind, and the leprous. Likewise, the publicans and the harlots occupied the fringes of society. Just close enough to be of use, but not so close as to tarnish the reputations of the hypocrites who exploited them. They cast them out, despised them, and blamed them for their problems. The disciples asked, “Did this man sin or his parents that he was born blind?” We want to believe that we have some control over the circumstances of our lives. No one wants to end up as a throw-away person. It is comforting to think that we have the power to prevent ourselves from suffering such a fate.

Today we have our near dead; our throw away people. Most of them are mentally or emotionally ill. They walk the streets of our cities, fill our homeless shelters, stand in line at our soup kitchens. They strip in our clubs, they sell their bodies, they inhabit our jails and prisons. They are enslaved to the substances they have become addicted to. They are victimized, abused, and forgotten by friends and family. It is so easy to do as the disciples in Jesus’s day did and ask, “Did this person sin or was it his or her parents that he is mentally ill, that he is addicted to substances, that she is stripping in a club?” It is comforting to think that someone is to blame for the unfortunate circumstances these miserable people find themselves in. This judgment calms our fear that we or someone we care about might end up there.

The Lord commands us to exercise righteous judgement. He showed us the way when he was confronted with a situation where an adulterous woman came to him, wept on his feet, washed them and dried them with her hair. I imagine the connection those two must have had in that moment. The near dead woman, and her Savior……as she expressed her love and he forgave her sins. I can hardly imagine a more tender and sacred scene. And the Pharisee and master of the house missed it! In his concern for rule following and building a hedge around the Law of Moses, and seeing with his fallen mortal eyes, he thought the Savior was in error. The Savior tried to help him see. He explained that a person who is forgiven much loves more than someone who is forgiven little!

Now there is an irony! Those who find themselves trapped and tormented by serious sin in turn have a greater love and adoration for the Savior who delivers them. If all God really cares about is how much love we have in our hearts, the throw away people have a greater spiritual potential than anyone else. So ironically, the publicans and harlots that were healed by the Savior in His day had hearts full of love and gratitude to the Savior. They were allowed into the Kingdom of Heaven. In contrast, the outwardly righteous Pharisees and Sadducees were shut out. Why? Because the Pharisees and Sadducees didn’t love Him. They didn’t need Him. They didn’t ask for His forgiveness and so their sins remained.

In exercising righteous judgment, perhaps we need to cast out our fear. Perhaps we need to let go of the need to assign blame to “this man or his parents.” Perhaps the existence of the near dead and the throw away people of our society is so that God can show forth the glory of His power to save; to exalt those who have been cast down and rejected of men. Think of the possibilities! This is maybe my favorite video that the church has put out.

I love the look on her face as she talks about the moment when she saw the sister missionaries and she knew that her prayers had been heard and answered. How much love did she feel for her Savior in that moment? Like the woman who washed the Savior’s feet, her love was greater because of her sins. Because she loved Him, she was saved. This woman’s story inspires me, as do all the stories of those who have survived the horrors that this world has thrown at them and managed to find their path to salvation.

One of my spiritual gifts is faith. I honestly and truly believe that God can do anything. I believe that the only thing that keeps us from having his will realized is our own lack of faith. I know that my Savior has the power to save. It doesn’t matter how shabby your life, what is in your past, or whether or not you are accepted by your fellow men. In fact, if you find your heart is broken and your spirit is contrite, you just might be on the path to salvation. You might find your heart is full of more love and more light than any of the “righteous people,” who judge you as unworthy. In the end, the Lord just might see you as more fit for his kingdom than they are! Its happened before.

It always used to confuse me when I read in the scriptures, “And the last shall be first, and the first shall be last.” What?? The Lord’s ways are circuitous and convoluted. He doesn’t follow societal rules of fallen man. He is no respecter of persons. I am still working on understanding the ways He finds to bless His children, but one thing is certain. God doesn’t see people the way I do. God sees the heart, and that is all that matters to Him.

Decision to Facebook Share

Broken Handmaid of the Lord4 Comments

I decided to share my last post to Facebook. I got over thee hundred views. I was hopeful that my insights and testimony would be appreciated. They were for the most part. Except for one person.

I took my featured image off of a public Facebook post. I couldn’t remember where I got it. I shared the post to our tour group page and mentioned that if anyone wanted credit for their image to let me know.

A girl commented that the sunset photo I had featured was hers. Throughout the evening she was very critical of me and demanded that I take the photo down. She was upset that I had misspelled her name. Later she denigrated my experience on Saturday night. “You slept through the whole thing.”

I cried for an hour. I couldn’t sleep last night. I tried to focus on the positive feedback and interactions I had with others on Facebook, but the experience hit a trigger for me. My blog is poison. It hurts people. I express myself and I do it “wrong.” I should just keep my writing to myself, hide my authentic self behind a mask, or better yet, a concrete wall. I’m a fool to think that my perspective and my willingness to share with vulnerability will lead to anything but pain.

I’ve also become increasingly discouraged with my ward relief society. They seem incapable of directly confronting the problems they have created, preferring to ignore them and plow forward making the same mistakes. I can forgive them, but I can’t change them or make them safe for me.

It sucks living in a fallen world! My sensitive nature makes me ill-equipped to handle the bumps and bruises here. I guess the Savior didn’t fit here either. Why should I expect that I would if I tried to follow him?

The world loves their own. If I was of the world they would love me. I would fit and be comfortable here. The fact that I don’t fit means that it isn’t where I belong. I belong with Him.

He judges me by my heart and he knows the secret thoughts of all. He knows all the sins of those who put on a pious show. He sees into the dark places. In him my soul shall find needed rest.

I ask Him, show me my sin! Show me my sin that I should repent. He says, “Your heart is pure before me and I will take thine adversity and count it to thy favor. Fools mock, but they shall mourn. In that day they shall not have comfort for they gave none.”

Bridling the Tongue; Virtue or Vice?

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Yesterday I attended Sunday School in my parent’s ward. I could tell right away that too much input from me might make for a controversial situation. I wanted to avoid creating a scene, so I decided to zone out. I made a couple of innocuous comments, but tried to avoid voicing anything that would make anyone really engage their brains. At the very end of the lesson, I came out of my self induced mental fog to hear the instructor quoting a list of requirements to live a moral life. It was repulsive to me. Every other item on the list was “bridle the tongue.” It seemed that the purpose of the list was solely to dissuade people from rocking the social boat. I considered asking where this list had come from and questioning its doctrinal validity, but decided against it. I bridled my tongue. And I deadened my brain. And I was angry at myself for it.

I pondered yesterday about the way I was trained to not be a problem, to disengage my brain, to make others comfortable. I did that for almost forty years of my life. I have made others comfortable, but destroyed my relationship and trust in myself. I’ve damaged my self respect because I have not lived honestly. I haven’t spoken when something needed to be said. Like a plant that allows other plants to steal its sunlight and water, I have withered and failed to reach my potential in a misguided effort to allow others to thrive. My Savior has encouraged me to find my voice and make a space for myself. Unfortunately, he spoke truly when he said that he was not come to bring peace on Earth, but a sword. It seems that whenever I assert myself, I get a lot of pushback.

I had another unfortunate incident with my relief society leadership. It involved another sister in the ward with severe depression. I made the mistake of trusting someone in the leadership to handle the situation with discretion. In the end confidences were violated and many people who should not have been involved became involved. I confronted the sister with an attempt to prevent a similar situation in the future, but she became upset and defensive. I learned what I should have already known by now. I can’t depend on support from the official leadership of the church when it comes to these sensitive mental health issues. Unfortunately, that means that we who suffer must suffer alone, or with limited and many times inadequate support.

Since this incident I have felt blocked in my writing. I have a potent fear of the power of my voice to create controversy, conflict, and discord. I have bridled my tongue. But is that what my master would have me do? He was the speaker of uncomfortable truth. He was the King of confronting and overcoming what others turned their faces away from. He spoke, he engaged, he reprimanded, and he shared his light. What would he say to me as I allow my fear to silence my voice? Would he say “Well done! The light makes others uncomfortable. Best to keep it safely hidden under the bushel.” I don’t think he would. So I’m giving my reins a little slack today. I am giving my tongue a little freedom. To testify of my Savior and remind myself that silence is not always a virtue. Sometimes it is a coward’s excuse. I can speak out without being responsible for the problems that my words reveal. I can forgive myself for making others uncomfortable because I am pleasing my Lord. He is Mighty to Save! Blessed be His name!

Becoming Peter

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Last night I was feeling discouraged. Satan can take the greatest successes, the most triumphant moments, the hardest fought victories, and somehow reframe them in my mind as failures. It is his superpower and my kryptonite.

So last night I prayed for a while to help me feel a sense of meaning, purpose and direction. Several women I love have shared their stories with me. I had the fantastic opportunity last week to introduce two of three of them to one another and watched them build trust, share their stories, and experience the immense relief that comes from acceptance, sisterhood, and love. As we sat at the Costa Vida, the sun slowly sunk from view, and the employees began stacking the chairs on top of the tables. Still we talked and shared, laughed and hugged, and made plans for our next get together. It’s hard to describe the joy and sisterhood that I felt that night. When we share these kinds of burdens in a safe environment, we realize that we aren’t alone, that there is purpose and meaning to our suffering, and that when we let go of the fear of judgement and rejection that drives us to hide our pain, we can get the sweet reward of support and genuine friendship.

I want everyone to have that! I want every friend that I know and love who suffers with burdens and is afraid to share them to feel the way we felt at Costa Vida. I want that for them and I want it NOW. Unfortunately, nothing about emotions can be rushed. Everyone shares when they are ready to share. It takes such tremendous courage! There is often a vulnerability hangover where we question the crazy decision to share our worst experiences. I’ve spent weeks afraid to get out of bed after a vulnerable post for fear that I would awake to a world of judgmental stares and cold shoulders.

As a listener, there can be an empathy drain where you feel overwhelmed by the suffering of others and the realization that evil and terrible things really do happen to good people. The world can be a horrible place where victims are blamed and shamed and their abusers are enabled and rewarded. Listening to victims shatters the illusion of safety and security. The vain hope that if you are a “good person” that you will somehow avoid being a victim is gone forever. The illusion that you can’t be hurt by church leaders or members or trusted friends or law enforcement officers is comforting, but untrue in a fallen world. Injustice, re-victimization, humiliation, and victim shaming are everyday occurrences in this fallen world, this planet of sorrows, this place where Satan’s chains circle the globe.

Still, as I witnessed in Costa Vida, victims can become survivors. Through the grace of Christ, and the charity that flows from Him, we can have the strength to rise above Satan. We can have the courage to share, even if it is only with ourselves at first, maybe in a journal. Later, a trusted friend. Gradually the circle of trusted friends can grow and eventually the fear is gone; replaced by a burning desire to advocate for others.

Last night I struggled to go to sleep, as I always do. I read ahead in my Come Follow Me gospel study to the book of Acts. Sometimes when I read the scriptures, the words come alive on the page for me. I have read Acts before. I even studied it in college, but last night it was like I was reading it for the first time. Peter, dear sweet, sensitive, impetuous Peter! I cannot fathom the pain and despair he must have experienced from the loss of his mentor, friend, and Savior. The suffering he must have gone through for those days when he was separated from his God must have been excruciating. When he saw Him again on the shore, he leapt from the boat and swam to meet him. Imagine the joy as the two embraced! Imagine the salty tears! In those precious days when Peter and Jesus were reunited, Peter’s soul was restored. Then he was given the Holy Ghost to strengthen him. Even though the Savior left, the Holy Ghost would always be with Peter, just as the Savior had been.

As he walked up the temple steps, I imagine his shame as he replayed the emotions of doubt and terror as he denied knowing the Savior. Here he was at the same place, and yet he pushed those emotions aside. He saw a disfigured man sitting begging outside the temple and he knew what to do. He walked up to him and in the name of his precious Master, he commanded him to rise and walk. The man entered the temple courtyard with Peter. He didn’t walk in, he danced! Imagine the spectacle they made! Then Peter, who had denied knowing Jesus Christ just days before, testified boldly of Him. The people rejoiced! Their Messiah was gone, but here was this man who channeled His spirit, healed in His name, and spoke with His conviction. For the people, it was as though Peter was the resurrected Christ, and in a way, he was. He was the leader of the Christian church; he would preach His doctrine with courage and confidence. All the forces of Hell had combined to destroy Jesus Christ and his message, and yet, in the fires of their hatred, Peter was forged. He was a mighty weapon of God!! Nothing could stop him. He was arrested, imprisoned, flogged, and eventually crucified, and yet his testimony has echoed in the hearts and minds of countless generations; lighting the fires of our own testimonies and showing us the path of a true disciple of Jesus Christ.

I relate with Peter. I’m impetuous, sensitive, and self-loathing at times. I’ve had doubts and fears. I’m the type of person who would cut off the ear of the servant in a misguided attempt to defend someone I love. Peter’s weaknesses are my weaknesses, his strengths my strengths. I need my Savior like he needed Him; in the waves as he tried to walk on the water; in the grief after Golgotha; in his ignorance and inexperience. He was not Jesus Christ. He was His instrument. His love for his Master fueled his testimony and with it, he changed the world. What if Christ has chosen me, just as he chose that humble fisherman in Galilee? What if through my words, I can bring souls to the Savior to be healed like Peter did?

There is a message He wants me to share with you. It is a message of hope and healing in a fallen world. HE IS THE HEALING PATH! It isn’t found in a counselor’s office or a baptismal font or a Priesthood blessing, or a bottle of medication; although He may lead you to any of those places and to any of those things. Just as Jesus Christ put mud on the eyes of the blind, he can use the things of this Earth to heal. Just as Jesus Christ’s apostles healed in his name, he can use his servants to heal. Maybe in a counselor’s office, maybe in a Bishop’s office, maybe from a bottle of pills; all of these things have been part of my healing path. Still, I have to remember that it isn’t those things that heal me. It is HIM. He is the author of my recovery.

A friend and I came to an understanding last week. She said, “I just want to make something clear……I don’t believe that.” I had just said something about God bringing us together. She continued, “As long as you are okay with that, I am okay that you believe differently.” At first I was a little surprised. Then as I thought about it, it made perfect sense. When a person has suffered and watched the people they love suffer, been manipulated and mistreated by those who call themselves Christians and even hold positions in the church; how can you believe in a loving God who would allow that to happen? Unbelief is the most natural and expected place for the brain to go. If you are in that place, I respect that. You don’t need to believe in Jesus Christ for him to bless you, guide you, and help you. His love is so great and so unstoppable that it cuts through your unbelief just like the sun cuts through the branches of a dense tree canopy. His light will find you. You can even put an umbrella over your head, but His love will bounce off the ground, walls, and windows to find you. I have faith that He is enough for both of us!

As I celebrate the resurrection of my Lord this week, I’ve been listening to the song, “I am the Resurrection and the Life” by Rob Gardner. This song captures for me, the spiritual ecstasy of the resurrection. He lives! He loves us! He has conquered this world and the evil in it. Through his Grace, I can do all things. Nothing is impossible to Him who is Mighty to Save!

Ministering for Mental Wellness

Broken Handmaid of the Lord1 Comment

One of the biggest hurdles people face when they have mental and emotional problems is finding safe people to talk to about it. We aren’t naturally gifted with the ability to communicate productively with those who suffer from mental and emotional disorders. After carefully observing and imitating the counselors I have worked with, I have picked up a few things. I’m not qualified to be a therapist, but I feel pretty confident that I can be a supportive friend.

I joined a Facebook group called “Mental Health Awareness.” It has been a very interesting experience to see people posting and responding to posts. A couple of days ago a girl posted about an abusive marriage. She was just getting to the point where she recognized a problem, but not confident enough in her own perceptions to be sure. She said, “Hey everyone. I’ve had to make a Facebook account to make this post, as I wanted to remain anonymous, as I’m unsure if I’m ‘overreacting’.” After that she described a typical abusive marriage, expressed her feelings of dependence on her narcissistic husband and inability to cope. My gut feeling was to validate her belief that her husband had Narcissistic Personality Disorder and tell her to leave the marriage immediately. Many of the comments said as much.

In mental health, I have learned to be a little more careful in my judgments and my first impressions. Some things that appear to be one thing, can be something else. I prayed to know what I should post. The spirit helped me see things about this person and her situation that I wouldn’t have if I hadn’t taken a little while to really see her and what her real needs were. I settled on this:

“Love you girl! Whatever you choose to do, you can always ask for help. You are worth it. No one can diagnose NPD without evaluating the person, but it sounds to me like he may very well have it. He has his own journey to get healthy. You have yours. Focus on you. It sounds like the relationship has really eroded your sense of self and confidence. This moment doesn’t define you. Joining this group is a great first step.”

I chose not to attack her husband. That was because she likely loves him very much. Even a narcissist is a child of God with many good and lovable parts to them. By labeling and judging the husband, you ironically turn the wife against you. She has an instinctual need to defend her husband against the unfair judgment of others who don’t know him. She might feel disloyal for talking about him and her problems. I chose instead to counsel her to focus on herself. That counsel will probably come across as reasonable to her. It won’t put her on the defensive. If she does follow the counsel, it will disrupt the codependent pattern that has developed in the relationship. If the narcissist chooses to change, then the marriage will improve. If he does what narcissists usually do and resists, the situation will get worse. That may seem like a bad thing, but sometimes things have to get worse before the victim of abuse will take the actions necessary to end the abuse by terminating the relationship.

I also praised her willingness to post on the Facebook page. For a victim of abuse, talking about the situation can be very difficult. Victims take great pains to hide the abuse, minimize it, and defend their abusers. The courage it took this woman to post was likely immense. Many of the replies were likely unhelpful because they said, “Leave him!” That is like telling someone who just ran a marathon to go climb a mountain. By telling the victim that I support whatever decision she decides to make is validating her ability to handle the situation, something her abuser has eroded. Then I told her that there is help available to her. Abusers take great pains to make a victim feel there is no help available, so that is key. The goal is to give the marathon runner a pat on the back, a cool drink, and a bench to sit on. You can talk about climbing mountains later.

After thinking on it for a day, I feel good about how I responded to her. I pray for her and then hope for the best. Another woman posted this:

“Losing my mind….
All in a weeks span I lost my place and my job.
I have completely hit rock bottom and am in a rut not just physically but mentally too…
Idk where to start I just want to crawl in a hole and cry and never come out
My depression is super bad right now ugh”

My first reaction was to want to fix it. I imagined how I would feel if I were homeless and jobless. I wanted to give her a place to live and a way to get back on her feet. I wanted to recommend counseling and therapy. As an empathetic person, I have to watch that tendency in myself. I can’t fix this woman’s problems. I don’t even completely understand them let alone know how to solve them. I chose to post this:

“That sounds like a scary and devastating place to be. When I hit rock bottom I found the courage to make changes to my life. I couldn’t have been so bold and taken such risks if I hadn’t gone to that dark place. You won’t feel this way forever. Don’t be afraid to reach out for support like you are with this post. You are not alone! Hugs!”

I tried to empathize with her feelings rather than try to equate my experience with hers. She may have trashed her apartment. She may have mouthed off to her boss. She may have completely caused her own predicament. That doesn’t change the fact that she feels how she feels and that its hard. Rather than try to tell her how things will work out for her, I instead shared my own personal experience. I told her she wouldn’t feel this way forever. When wandering in the dark tunnels of depression, the mind cannot see the end of the suffering. The truth is, it does get easier. Even if the problems don’t go away, the hurt comes and goes. The most important thing is to avoid isolating yourself. That’s why I counselled her not to be afraid to post and reach out for support. I assured her that she is not alone. That is key. In depression, you feel totally alone, like no one understands the pain you are in or cares to.

In reading these posts and thinking about the ways I try to help others, I am coming up with a few principles that might help others who are trying to support people with mental health issues.

1-Seek first to understand. Even if you think you know what this person’s problems are and how to fix them, you don’t. Take the time to really listen to what is being said. A person is an extremely complex being with a unique way of communicating and processing information. Try to get a sense of the unique way that the person in front of you sees the world.

2-Suspend judgment. Let’s say the person you are talking to keeps lying to you. Your first reaction might be to think, “This person is a dirty rotten liar! I’m done talking to them.” If you can, suspend judgment. Yes, this person lies, and that is good to be aware of. That doesn’t mean the person has no value or can’t be helped. Just make sure you don’t place too much weight on what they say or you might not get an accurate view of a situation.

3- Think before you respond. This is really hard for me especially in face to face interactions. My first reaction is usually not the best one. After I take a few moments to consider, I have a better sense of what I want to say and how to say it to get the result I am after. Often people say what makes them feel better. They make rash judgements and recommend drastic action, and then they are resentful when their dubious advice is unheeded. Often these people turn around and blame the victim. “If she just would have left that jerk she wouldn’t be so depressed! I told her! She deserves what happens now.” This can make a victim reluctant to confide in anyone in the future.

4- Be patient. Realize that changes in mental processes and systems take time and tremendous effort. Sometimes it will seem like no progress is being made at all, but never underestimate the power of a seed. Planting a seed can change a life. A changed life can impact generations.

5- Rely on the spirit. God knows what his children need. He wants to use you as an instrument to support them and help them grow and be happy. The spirit can help you discern what a person may not be able to explain, recognize when he or she is minimizing a behavior, or see the abusive patterns of a relationship that may not be evident right away.

I hope we can all become more aware of ways to support those who suffer from unseen wounds. They are worth our best efforts!