Old Wounds

It has been 2 1/2 years since I last spoke with my oldest daughter. During that time my life and hers have experienced some huge ups and downs. If I had to guess I'd say she's seen some of the best and worst that life has to offer. There have been times I wish I could be there to comfort her, but it just isn't in the cards. I don't ever imagine that it will be. Being apart from both her and her brother this way causes a pain I can't describe. Yet, it is the price I am willing to pay for my past choices. 

You see, when it comes to a wound needing to heal you have to give it the proper time and the proper treatment. A small band-aid on a wound gushing blood won't help. And a tourniquet on a paper cut is overkill. Now if a wound has been around for a while, it is going to take longer for it to heal. Once it does heal the scar left behind will always be a reminder. You can do some things to lessen the severity of the scar, but it is still there. 

Some scars are barely noticeable after a while. Others will always be out in view of everyone. I once read a story about a man with a tattoo on his face. So many people judged him for that tattoo without ever asking why he had it. Well, that tattoo was there to cover up a scar, a burn, a memory of a terrible event. The tattoo gave new life where pain and anguish had been residing. We've also heard about the phenomenon of phantom limb pain. Amputees deal with this when an arm, leg, etc. has been removed. The actual injury is no longer there and neither is the source of the pain, yet it is still felt. 

Sometimes these scars are not visible at all to others. Some scars are reminders of a time when you made poor choices and did something less than brilliant. Some scars are caused by accident. Some scars are left behind after you've made an intentional choice. And sometimes the scars are the consequences of our own misdeeds towards others. 

So how do we heal these old wounds or accept these scars? Well it takes work, and lots of it. An old wound will typically need to be debrided or clean out. This debridement is a surgical act of removing all the dead and/or infected tissue to give the wound a chance to heal. It can take only one visit or many to a specialist or wound clinic. If this old wound is something that is mental in nature, it can take so much more to help it heal. If given the chance I'd rather go to a wound clinic week after week vs the many long years I've spent in and out of therapy. 

Don't get me wrong, therapy is a great tool. It can help so much with healing these old wounds. The problem comes into play when you think you've found the source of the wounds yet it's really someplace else. I've spent years dealing with anger issues. I've experienced anger management classes. This taught me better ways of dealing with anger. What it didn't fix were the issues I had with being abusive to my children. I finally took parenting classes run by the state. This did more to help with that issue than anything previous had done. However, the wounds in my children had already been made. I thought, mistakenly, that me changing my parenting habit would fix all past wrongs. It didn't. I still had to face the consequences of those actions. 

Two years ago I wrote a blog basically saying goodbye. I had not planned on being around any further after I wrote that entry. My plan had been to take the nearly 90 days' worth of my husband's medication for schizoaffective disorder and to end my life. Before I did that I called my mom. I wanted to hear her at least one last time. That call ended up saving my life. I admitted to being so broken that I didn't want to go on. My mom encouraged me to keep fighting. Late that night I was admitted into a psychiatric hospital to receive treatment. Even now it is hard to talk about. Suicidal ideation is never far from my mind. I'd love to banish it forever, but I now know that my mental health issues aren't a wound to be healed, but a scar. And not just one scar, but many scars. Scars over time have been healed, but not always with the best remedy. 

My stay in the hospital taught me to look further than I had before to find the true source of the injury. What I didn't expect was to see my own childhood as the source. Like many in Utah, I come from a large Mormon (Latter-day Saint) family. I am the unexpected caboose in my family. One that my oldest siblings were less than thrilled about. A fact that was shared with me over and over. What I didn't realize is this, along with a 4-year gap between me and my next closest sibling, had caused me to feel as if I didn't belong. I was always just on the outskirts of many of my friendship circles. When push came to shove I was the one left on the outside. On top of all of this, I have nephews and nieces as close in age to me as many of my siblings. Some of my nephews and nieces were more like siblings for a while. That isn't true any longer...but I wish it was. 

Through therapy, I have traced years of mistakes that link back to the central idea that I am not truly wanted. In reality, I know this is not true. I know I am wanted and loved. This does not stop the thoughts of not being wanted from coming up. It was this issue that pushed me to stay in a toxic and abusive relationship after relationship. Then I met my current husband. By this time I had been through enough personal therapy to recognize quickly when a relationship wasn't right. With him, it was years of chance meetings without realizing it, that prepared us to be together. Years of chance encounters had been happening. So with him, I knew it was the right place and right time. 

We fought a lot the first couple of years and finally went to marriage counseling to help us learn how to communicate with each other. It was a promise we had made early on that we kept. It isn't always the easiest relationship, but I am eternally grateful that I have him on my side. It has helped to soothe many of the past scars... They will always be there, but they no longer cause as much pain. 

I started off talking about being estranged from 2 of my children. I don't know if this will ever end. In fact, if we remain estranged beyond my dying day then it is the consequences of my actions all those years ago. Part of why this is as the forefront of my mind right now is that I recent learn others were well aware of my abusive behavior. Yet they chose to address it in a way that, instead of helping me, caused me to hide it even more. DCFS came to my home under the complaint of neglect...my house was dirty. I wasn't home when they stopped by. When they did come by, and I was still unaware of the reason, I made myself a promise that I would own up to my abusive behavior when questioned. But it was because my house was dirty. So I didn't own up to physical abuse. Yes, my house was messy. I had 3 kids under 4 and was dealing with postpartum depression. However, my fridge had food. My kids were being fed. I was asked to clean up my home and that was it. The DCFS worker never came back and the case was never actually closed out. For a few months afterward I was calling him regularly to get the case closed and then I learned that the case worker was no longer with DCFS. If it is looked into now it will show that the case is still open. I know this because I have had a background check bring it up. 

I still can't help but think back to that afternoon and what would have changed if those who had reported me had been honest about the abuse rather than skirting it by claiming neglect because of my messy house. I can tell you that the DCFS worker told me that whoever had reported me stated my house looked significantly worse than what he saw. He left me with a few things to clean up, but said that in his opinion the house was not anywhere near as bad as so many others he had seen. He did want to see an improvement before closing the case and we set a date, but he never returned. 

It has been 22 1/2 years since that case was opened. 22 1/2 years and because those that reported me decided to not report what they knew was actually happening it continued to happen for a few more years. As I said before, this is something I, myself, have only learned about recently. The wounds that could have been prevented...the relationships forever damaged...all for a lack of full honesty. It really makes you think. 

Well, here I am all these years later trying to heal from wounds. Realizing that the scars will never go away. And accepting the hard consequences of my actions. Part of all of this is recognizing that I play a part in it all. If, as a teen, I had made the decision to speak up when the opportunity arose then perhaps none of what came after would have happened. Or some of it. I still believe my kids would have been mine, but perhaps the abuse would've never happened. Even coming from generational abuse, I knew it didn't have to happen. I didn't intend for it to happen. I told myself I wouldn't carry on the line of abuse. That it would end with me. Yet, I see it now will end with my kids, but at least it will end. 

If my children do see this, I love each of you for the unique person you are. Thank you for being so much stronger than I was at your age (no matter how old you are). Thank you for teaching me the lessons you've taught in love, kindness, and acceptance. Because of you, I fight harder, love more, and forgive often. Because of you, I know that no matter what life throws at me I can determine how to face it and move forward. And if you have made that choice to walk away permanently, I understand. 

No, not all old wounds heal perfectly. It is in that imperfection that we try to find the light and change how we move forward. Sometimes that light brings joy. Sometimes that light shows the toxicity. It's how we change or don't that will affect our lives for the positive, or the negative. 

Loss of Trust

Once again life has thrown my world sideways. These times seem to be the only time I get the urge to blog anymore. That’s ok though. Lately my household has experienced a violation of trust. We try our best to take to heart the scripture passage found in Matthew.:

Matthew 25:35-40 New Revised Standard Version (NRSV)

35 for I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, 36 I was naked and you gave me clothing, I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison and you visited me.’ 37 Then the righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry and gave you food, or thirsty and gave you something to drink? 38 And when was it that we saw you a stranger and welcomed you, or naked and gave you clothing? 39 And when was it that we saw you sick or in prison and visited you?’ 40 And the king will answer them, ‘Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family,[a] you did it to me.’

We have always been willing to open our home to those we call family. They don’t need to be family by blood either. Just those we consider family. It hasn’t mattered if it is for one night or a few months. We’ve always been willing to help out another. So when a person we considered family asked to stay a few months with us we agreed. Now we did set down some ground rules and they were agreed upon as well as some assistance with the monetary side of things as adding them into the household would cause a financial strain to a certain degree. 

This past week this person left our home and it was upon cleaning the humongous mess they left in their wake that we realized how much they abused our trust. Our agreement at the beginning was tossed to the side within a few weeks. We consistently worked to remind them of the agreement. Then they said they were leaving. That day came and went with them still here. It was so frustrating. At that point the idea that they needed to follow house rules (which we all followed) was tossed out the window. No sooner than a room would be cleaned then they would mess it right back up. Absolutely no consideration was given for anything by this person. 

This lack of consideration put me on alert. I began to double check things and realized things were not appearing as they should. Something was definitely off in this person and the sense of entitlement became prominent. Groceries would be bought and names written on them for the family member which the food was intended to go to, yet when we would go to get that item it was missing from the pantry, freeze, or refridgerator. When asked, our guest would state he didn’t realize it was for someone. He’d be reminded of the name on the written on the item and there was a claim that it wasn’t noticed. The names were not written on subtly, but boldly and in numerous spots. 

It was another 3 weeks before he left. And in his wake we have realized all that was taken for his use without regard to those which the items belonged. It I could list things, but I won’t. Needless to say the financial assistance promised never occurred. Not even when it was evident we were experiencing a financial crisis. Yet this person always seemed to be able to afford alcohol and stuff with which to make cigarettes. If I were to count up the monetary value of all that was agreed upon and all that was taken for his enjoyment it would be in the thousands. 

So where does this leave us now? Heartbroken and devastated. Faith in the decency of people is gone. At least faith in him is gone. So is any semblance of trust. It isn’t often that I state I would never let someone into my home, but that is his status at this point. I would not let him in my home again under any circumstances. My heart was smashed and I will not give it to one such as him again. 

It hurts even more to know that his actions have ended a friendship. He made so many choices that were self serving whilst claiming to be the one who will always jump in to help another. It just isn’t believable any more. Welcomed with love and acceptance for who he is in his imperfection. Now all I can do is pray that wherever he lands that he does not mistreat those he is with the same way he treated us. 

My cynicism is strong right now. I believe in fighting for those who society views as less than...because they aren’t less than anyone. But helping him out meant learning that at times I am too trusting and naive even now. It is a hard lesson to keep learning when you are middle aged. For now I’ll keep practicing what is taught in the scriptures. I’ll do it because it is what is right. It means for that one person who was able to experience it in our home these past few months that he will have those memories but he will not be invited or welcomed back to it again. Actions have consequences or blessings depending on the action. 

I’ll sit back and read the poem which was inspired, I believe, in some way by these verses in Matthew. The poem also inspired the hymn “A Poor Wayfaring Man of Grief”. The poem was written in 1826 by James Montgomery and is titled “The Stranger and His Friend”.

Doubt Your Doubts

Sometimes there are those nights where the doubts and uncertainty of where everything is going just grips you. When you doubt so many of the choices you've made and fear begins to rear it's ugly head. You look back at your journey and all you can see is your failures and where you've hurt others. It becomes impossible to see the good and the triumphant. The moments where the light shined through you and you reached out to others who needed help. 

It makes me think of a scripture passage in Matthew 28:16-18 - 16 Now the eleven disciples went to Galilee, to the mountain to which Jesus had directed them. 17 When they saw him, they worshiped him; but some doubted. 18 And Jesus came and said to them, “All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me.

What catches my eye here is the phrase "but some doubted". They were standing in His presence. He was teaching them, yet there was still doubt. It almost baffles me. Yet it makes perfect sense too. Even at that moment they wavered  in their belief. They needed to discern with faith what was going on around them. 

In the church of my childhood they now teach to "Doubt your doubts before you doubt your faith." At first I thought this was a bunch of garbage. It feels like being told to have faith and disregard what you are doubting. So using Strong's Concordance I rephrased this saying, "Hesitate in your hesitation before you hesitate in your faith." The I thought on this even further and rephrased it again, "Discern in  your discernment before you discern in your faith". And for me it was an Aha! moment. 

It isn't to throw out what you are doubting but to look into those doubts further before you doubt your faith. In my faith journey I have had a few things that I have held to with faith. I believe in divine creation. I believe in the teachings of Jesus of Nazareth. It was how that belief looked that I doubted. I had a hard time viewing myself as being made in the image of God because God was gendered as male. So I looked at this. In biblical times men were people and women were chattel so of course God was gendered as male. This didn't make it accurate. It just made it what was the norm for the time. This did not mean that God was required to be male...or gendered at all. As a friend has said before "Creator God, man and woman united in power and purpose." 

That discernment also meant that God is in every one of us. That idea of a grand design or grand creation. We are all a part of that. Just one small piece of a beautiful puzzle. 

I doubted that scripture was historical. Especially the Book of Mormon. As an amateur historian I just couldn't find the proof of the Nephite peoples. And even many of the biblical stories just didn't ring as truth, but as parable. As story passed down around the campfire. I read stories from ancient times. The Epic of Gilgamesh. The Bhagavad Gita. Oh how I adore the Gita. It was here I found the story of the war in heaven. Gilgamesh tells of a great flood. I searched further and found more stories that crossed the known ancient world. Some were similar to the bible. Others were new stories. Because of this I realize that the ancient people of the bible were amazing storytellers and I did not have to take it as historical. It was an anthropological look at how these societies developed community and the struggles of those who felt called to lead a more pure life. 

In this dark night of the soul with so much doubt in my heart, I've decided to discern what is causing this doubt. Why I have this unknown fear? Where will I go from this point forward? I can tell you this, doubt is not the negative that so many believe it to be. Doubt is a moment to step forward into that unknown. It's that moment when you let faith carry you into the unknown in order for it to grow and blossom into something newer and greater than you'd ever imagine. 

Abuse...

Today I had an experience that I haven’t had in years. I came face to face with someone and the only thing that came to mind was the phrase, “Get thee hence, Satan.” This came about as I found myself face to face with a person that was evil personified. Ok, this is a bold statement. It, however, is not uninformed. As I looked at this person in the face I realized that they wore a mask. Who they are and who they want people to think they are are two different people. They wanted everyone to think that they are a good, righteous person who has been mistreated by their spouse. They have worked hard to disparage their spouse to church leaders, neighbors, family, and friends. They have caused untold harm to their spouse, and they looked at me as if they could convince me they are the poor, picked on person. 

It isn’t often that I feel this way immediately upon meeting someone. I watched as they pulled their mask on and tried to bamboozle me with their charm. It did not work and they quickly realized it. When I left their home I was more concerned for their spouse, my friend, than I was about anything else. 

Here’s the thing, when someone is in an abusive situation it isn’t always easy to see it. In fact, if someone tells you they are being abused you tend to listen to them...or at least I do. Having been in abusive relationships I’ve learned to watch for certain “tells” that signal abuse. One big tell is one person having complete control over all monies. Anytime a partner has to be called and asked for a small sum of money (usually $5-20) there is a much bigger problem going on. Honestly though, let yourself sit back without judgement and pay attention to the behavior of both. More often than not personal discernment will let you know the truth of the situation. 

One thing I do not like is when religious leaders (i.e. bishops, stake presidents, branch presidents) immediately discount one person because they lack the proper genitalia which permits them to hold the priesthood. I’ve personally had my thoughts and experiences discounted because I was not the “head of the household”. A wife’s stories of abuse should not be discounted just because she is the wife. More and more within mormonism I’m seeing this occur. Now when I say mormonism I’m referring to the Brighamite movement. 

All too often the wife is treated by ward members as a pariah since she must somehow be causing said abuse. Honestly, this idea makes me sick. It is a bunch of crap. Never is the abused to blame for being abused. They have not caused it. It is not their fault. They deserve our grace and love. 

Now I’ve written before about abuse. My own as one who was abused and as one who was an abuser. One I refuse to feel any shame for having happen. The other I have sought treatment for so I may move past those events and never repeat them. Neither is a comfortable place to rest. Both come with sorrow and pain. Both come with acceptance and forgiveness. One comes with the added need to ask for forgiveness while understanding it may never be given. That is probably the hardest part of having been the abuser. 

So where does that leave me now? It leaves me in a place where I can more clearly see an abuser because I know the mask all too well. It also means that I must work within myself to never repeat those past choices again. And when I see someone who is being abused it means I step forward and say, “Get thee hence, Satan!” 

So for the friend who is looking at the dark and feels despair I say, “I am here and you are not alone. I will walk this path with you and do all I can to keep you safe.” While you may not know this particular person (or maybe you do), please look for those who are broken in heart and in spirit because of the acts of another person. Reach out your hand and lift them up with love and support. 

If you happen to be someone in such a position of being harmed by someone who should be loving and caring for/about you, please reach out. You can visit the website for The National Domestic Violence Hotline for a phone number to reach someone who can help if you cannot trust anyone around you. They are available by phone or chat. They even have contact info for the deaf/hard of hearing community. I promise, you are not alone.

A New Beginning

Before I write anything I want to thank those in my faith community, my Post Mormon community, and my Mormon Stories community for reaching out after my last post. It was definitely written during the dark night of the soul...or better known as a severe depressive and anxiety riddled mood. I do not regret what I shared. It needed to be out there so that I can more fully deal with the consequences of my prior actions. For those concerned, I have been receiving the proper care through the medical community. I am well and I am on the road to recovery and happiness.

If the events of the last month had happened 3 years ago I probably would have returned to the LDS Church. I would have thought it was caused by me leaving the church because it was so ingrained in me. Now I just accept it as it really is...I have a mental health illness (actually more than 1) and it has nothing to do with my faith journey. I have spent more than 20 years living with depression, generalized anxiety disorder, and PTSD. A therapist told me recently that my fight or flight has been turned so high to fight that it is a wonder I went 20 years between hospitalizations. I'm not completely certain as to what has brought it up to this level, but I have a few ideas.

Since last year when Sam Young started to ask questions about inappropriate questions in Bishop Interviews I have been reliving some very negative events in my life. Not just bishop interview type stuff, but sexual and physical abuse that occurred in my life. Even more than that there was this quiet constant thought process in my mind that I was worthless and unwanted. That it is all of my brokenness and imperfections that make it so no one gives a damn about me. This didn't come from any one place. In fact it came from many places.

These thoughts were emphasized back at the end of February/first of March after a huge fight with a sibling. I called out my sibling for behaviors that I had finally become fed up with. I told this sibling that I love them (and I still do) but I didn't like them at the moment. I also let them know I was taking a break from them on social media. The hatred that spewed out afterwards from this sibling still brings me to tears. Even now, just thinking about it, has tears in my eyes. It ended with a blanket statement that I am a f*cking nutcase and everyone in the family thinks that about me. And I deserve to have my children all hate me. It was within days of this happening that my oldest quit speaking to me.

Here I sit, about 6 months later, my 2 oldest children still don't speak to me. I was excluded from a wedding the past weekend. My siblings don't speak to me except for the occasional text. And then came the post I wrote about the church announcing the issue with the name in the midst of Sam's 23 day fast. I received a message calling me out. I don't have the message anymore. It's since been deleted. But it was the straw that broke the camel's back. I was done with this life. The pain was too much to bear. I couldn't do it any more.

My dear husband had just received 3 months worth of his medication from the doctor. I knew taking all of it would kill me. I even researched it to be certain. I knew my medications for lupus and fibromyalgia would make me sick if I overdosed, but not kill me. His would do the job perfectly. Then I looked at my calendar for some reason. I realized that it would be one of my kids coming home who would find me. That wasn't acceptable. So I sent a message to 741741, the text crisis line. And I messaged my mom and my best friend. I told them what was going on in my head. The insane thoughts that wouldn't leave and I realized I needed to be in a hospital.

20 years of cognitive therapy strategies was failing me. I could tell you what I was thinking, why it was wrong, how to re-frame it, but it didn't help. It was like a broken record. So I sent a text to my husband while he was at work letting him know that I needed to self admit to the hospital for help or I was going to hurt myself. When he came home I did just that. I spent 8 days in the hospital. I am glad that I made that choice. I'm glad that I was refusing to let my kids come home to find me dead. Something in me was still fighting to protect them.

People tell me I'm a survivor. I've even called myself a survivor. I don't anymore. I'm a fighter. I will fight for what I believe in. I believe that kids should never have to come home and find their parent dead. So I refused to let it happen when every other part of me was begging to just die. Even thought I was the parent who inflicted physical abuse upon my kids, I changed and am fighting for further change. I stand tall after my own sexual and physical abuse and fight for change. I spent years being shamed by bishops for having been raped and sexually abused and now I fight back.

I can't say I'm perfect because I most certainly am not. I can't say I won't mess up again, because it could happen. What I can say is that in this new beginning in my life at the age of 44 I am trying to be a better me. I am going to fight for those who struggle to fight for themselves. I will be a voice for the voiceless. I'm going to make noise. I won't be quiet. I am coming back fighting. Fighting for love, acceptance, and change. Roaring like my beloved tigers. Roaring for each and every person who has been hurt by worthiness interviews. Roaring for every abuser who begged for help from a bishop and was given a blessing in place of actually receiving help. Roaring now that Sam Young has been excommunicated. Roaring loud and long. The fight has begun.

The Final Entry

This post has been a long time coming. I plan on some very negative repercussions. Even so, I am compelled to write it.

As a young mother I learned exactly how some LDS Bishops protect abusers. I know this because I had multiple bishops protect me and not report me. You see, as a young mother who lived with depression that manifested as anger, I was rather violent. You could even talk to some of my friends from high school and find out that I was given to violent outbursts at times.

After a violent outburst in where I struck my young child and left bruises, I went to my bishop to confess. He gave me some scriptures to read and gave me a blessing. I had fully expected to be released from my calling as a Primary President, but he didn't think it was necessary. My husband at this time was fully aware of these violent outbursts of mine. He told me to make sure that the bruises were never visible and then just let things happen (a few times it happened in front of him).

A couple of years went by and things weren't changing. In fact, they had gotten worse. Oddly enough, I had been turned in by someone to Child Protective Services for neglect because my house was dirty (3 kids under the age of 4 and I was severely depressed). My kids weren't being neglected according to state definition. My house just needed to be cleaned a little better. But this was a wake up call for me. A new bishop had been called. As a faithful member I went to him and confessed. He admitted he wasn't trained to deal with these situation (along with me trying to face my own abuse which had been physical and sexual). I was referred to a therapist.

This therapist was a life saver in many ways. He had me see a doctor to get on antidepressants. This did so much for me when it came to the anger. I also learned a lot of coping skills. However, I did not tell him I had been physically abusing my own children for fear of them being taken from me. When I signed the agreement to be treated it included a caveat that if someone was in danger from me that the authorities would be notified. So I never said anything.

There were times after this that the anger and violence would reemerge. I would see a doctor and get my medications adjusted. But I still hadn't dealt with the fact I was an abusive parent. Not until my divorce did I speak to a therapist about the abuse. He was so helpful and taught me what to do when I felt that urge to strike out come on. He also recommended that I attend a parenting course run by Child Protective Services.

It was this course that solidified a change in me. I learned how to be the kind of parent I should have been all along. I sat in a class where I was the only parent there voluntarily. Everyone else had been court ordered to attend the class. I expressed my past behaviors and desire to never be that person again. This change has not been easy.

Between the classes, therapy, and medication I was able to change who I was as a parent. But I cannot help thinking that if that first bishop had followed protocol and contacted the police then my 2 oldest children would never have experienced as much abuse as they did. In fact, my oldest took the brunt of it and it has all but destroyed our relationship at this point. You see, my 2 oldest children no longer speak to me. I am the toxic person they have had to cut off...and it hurts.

I can blame the fact that I was raised with a father given to violent outbursts and a mother who sat back and let it happen. But that is just creating a scapegoat. In all honesty, it was me. It was me feeling trapped in a marriage and not valued as a person. It wasn't physical violence that I experienced at the hands of a spouse (until I threatened to call the cops). It was me. It was my choice. I knew that I was making the wrong choice, yet I continued to make it. There is only one person to blame...ME.

Now I don't write this for sympathy or for someone to help me find the excuses for my choices. I write it because too many people have said to quit blaming bishops for not reporting abuse. Too many want these men to be blameless in the process. They aren't. If an abuser comes to you to confess then it is time to turn them in. Don't protect them. When you do protect them you only make matters worse.

If I could turn back time and change things I would. I tell people I have no regrets, but I do. I regret ever hurting my children, whether it was physically, mentally, or emotionally. It is wrong. I'm also aware that my children can still press charges against me and am almost anticipating it at this point. More than anything I want my children to be happy and healthy.

The odd part to all of this is that a few years ago a now ex-boyfriend and his spiteful family reported me twice for physically abusing my children. My children were all interviewed and told the worker that it may have been true at one point but that I did not ever hit them. They even said the only parent who hit them was their dad and that was in the form of a spanking. When I was finally being a decent parent I was accused. When I was an abusive parent I was seen as a good parent. 

If you know of an abuser, don't sit back and do nothing. Step forward and say something. If you are an abuser, seek help that isn't in the form of talking with your bishop. If you speak to a therapist they can help you. If you are there to stop the abuse they can work with you and help you all. Most of all, remember if you are the abuser, that you still have inestimable worth. People love you and want to see you become a better person.

Some day I hope the relationship can be restored between my children and myself. If that never happens, then it never happens. It will always hurt, but I will move forward. This needed to be written. This needed to be out there. I'm not the woman I was at 18, 19, 20, or even 30. I've learned and changed. However, the consequences will need to be faced. And it looks as if that time is now.

It is my own behavior and choices that have caused me to support Protect LDS Children. It is knowing that the current system fails and change needs to happen. I can't go back and change anything. I can't change what I did. I'm not asking for forgiveness from anyone except those I've harmed. And even in doing so I accept that forgiveness will never come. I accept that I have zero right to ever be in my childrens lives again.

To my children, please know that you are loved beyond measure. If I could go back and protect you from the hurt I've caused then I would. Please know that you will forever be in my prayers and you will always be my heart. Love, Mom

This blog will stay up but I will no longer be writing. Thank you to all who have been loyal readers especially as writing became sporadic.

What's Wrong with the Name?

This week "The Church" released a revelation regarding the name by which they are called. No more should members refer to themselves as LDS or Mormons, but Latter-Day Saints or members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. The press release stated that Mormon is ok as part of a title, i.e. Book of Mormon, or descriptor, but not as a term to describe the religion.

So why the big to-do over a name. Especially now? After all even Shakespeare has written about names. Yet if you ask someone who has changed their name, they can tell you that a name means everything. When I divorced my first husband I had the right to change my surname back to my maiden name. This hurt my ex and elated my dad. When I remarried I considered not taking my husband's name and this hurt him. He wanted to know why I would consider not sharing his family name. When I dropped my maiden name my dad was again hurt. I told my dad that "once a Facer always a Facer" even if my legal name didn't state that name.

When my son came out as transgender and changed his name I was caught between loving the name he gave himself and mourning the name I gave him at birth. As I thought about it I remembered that my son had also participated in a naming ceremony when we lived near a reservation. Through his love and respect for the tribe he was given an indigenous name. It is a name he still holds dear.

Then my youngest came forward as non-binary and chose a name that is non-gendered. Again I was troubled by them changing the name I chose for them, but I care more about their self esteem than about them changing their name.

In both these cases my children changed their names as a way to honor who they are becoming. It was to show the growth they are experiencing in their lives. Because of this I honor who they are. This isn't to say there haven't been times when I've misspoken and used the wrong name or pronoun. In fact, their names are also similar in some ways to the names I chose for them.

All of this name stuff led me to think about the fact that my faith community also went through a name change. They ceased to be the Reorganized Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints and became Community of Christ. This name change was to show where they are going. It also helped to further disassociate them from the LDS Church. I wasn't a member during this time so I can't speak to what member thought. I do know that there was a divide and not everyone agreed with the change. But this change has moved them forward.

Why do I bring all of this up? Well the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints isn't going through some grand name change. In fact, they are doubling down on their name. They are saying they want their name choice respected. Yet they are unwilling to respect the name choice of those in the transgender community. They are saying they don't want to be called by their 'nicknames' anymore, but they themselves promoted the nickname of Mormon 4 years ago.

As a child, my nickname was Shanny Shoes. Some still call me this, but not many. For a long time this name was an embarrassment. Now it is a joy to be called by this name. It may not embrace who I am right now, but it embraces a part of who I was. It embraces part of my life journey. Nicknames are fun. They are terms of endearment. They aren't typically thought of as disrespectful.

So what's in a name? Names only have the power you give them. In the world of Doctor Who no one, save River Song, knows the name of the Doctor. In that universe the name Doctor has different means depending on how he/she has been seen by a certain society. Doctor typically denotes healer to many, but to others it denotes warrior.

As I have pondered (not ponderized because that word is ridiculous) this issue of name I've come to realize that this issue the LDS Church is having with their name has nothing to do with a new direction but doubling down. Here's the thing, until this press release when someone googled 'Mormon' or 'LDS' the website for Protect LDS Children came up as one of the first hits. Since the press release it can take up to a couple of pages before you find the website. Also buried now is Mormon Stories. Two websites that have gotten a lot of attention. Two websites that show the LDS Church in a less than glowing picture. Proof that the church is not perfect, and is actually seriously flawed.

I don't buy, not even for a moment, that this has anything to do with a revelation. This is more of the frantic ramblings of a group of frustrated old men. They see something they want but can't name. they can't get their hands on it. So they are resorting to misdirection. They are like the spoiled child who suddenly isn't getting attention. This is nothing more than a childish temper tantrum. As for me, they will always be called the Mormons or LDS Church.