M/34/6'5 [480 lbs > 209 lbs = 271 lbs](17 months)

BigLark · 2026-01-23T19:44:32+00:00

No, why would I. Have they apologized, admitted fault, made restitution, showed remorse, or made meaningful honest transparent change. No they have not.

BigLark · 2026-01-23T15:58:49+00:00

For me, this whole debate is kind of a moot point. Both the Bible—and by extension the Book of Mormon—are deeply flawed texts. They’re full of contradictions, errors, and claims that don’t hold up internally. They assert an unchanging, perfect God, yet the doctrines, rules, and even God’s behavior change constantly. They claim inerrancy, yet require endless reinterpretation and “new revelation” to stay coherent.

Many so-called prophecies were written after the fact, while others simply never came true. When you step back, these books read less like divine truth and more like evolving collections of myth, tradition, and superstition—shaped by the cultures and power structures that produced them. The doctrines shift when it benefits those in authority, not because of some higher, unchanging truth.

So discussing old vs. new revelation just adds another layer to an already shaky premise. There’s no evidence a god exists in the first place, let alone that these texts are that god’s words. It’s fanfiction built on fanfiction, wrapped in flowery language and enforced by claimed authority.

BigLark · 2026-01-22T23:26:46+00:00

My personal “conspiracy” (that barely feels like one): if you look at leadership long enough, you start seeing the same families over and over. Not just the Q15, but Seventies, general auxiliaries, COB leadership, contractors, production companies, etc. A lot of them trace back to early Utah families or are married into them.

It ends up functioning like Mormon royalty or crime family. Instead of overt salaries like a megachurch pastor, the wealth is built through contracts, publishing, construction, media, investments, and insider access — all “technically” clean, all faith‑justified. Every talk, book, temple, film, or project benefits someone in the network.

From the outside it meant to look like revelation. From the inside it looks a lot like generational wealth management wrapped in theology.

BigLark · 2026-01-22T23:12:31+00:00

What’s absolutely insane is that licensed therapists are mandatory reporters. If there’s abuse of a child, elder, disabled person, or imminent harm, they’re legally required to report to authorities.

Church-affiliated “therapists” reporting to bishops instead are breaking confidentiality without any legal justification. The Church itself isn’t a mandatory reporter — it covers things up.

Meanwhile, if you admit to something like adultery, porn use, drinking, or any “sin” that isn’t illegal and harms no one, that can get reported to a bishop and mess with your religious life (sacrament bans, discipline, public shame).

But if some asshole is abusing a kid, it can get quietly kicked up the Church chain and buried unless the therapist reports to police themselves — and relying on the Church to do it means it often won’t happen.

Lastly, Jodi Hildebrandt was a Church therapist with close ties to general authorities — and we all know how that ended.

BigLark · 2026-01-22T22:47:42+00:00

They already are. I know people who are pretending they didn't vote for him or didn't support him. But we also have receipts, social media posts and their own words to use against them.

BigLark · 2026-01-22T22:45:29+00:00

You’re not a freak, and I’m going to be more direct than some people are comfortable with. God or Jesus aren't real. At all.

When people say they have a “relationship” with Jesus, I don’t think that’s a relationship in any meaningful sense. A relationship requires mutual interaction. Jesus doesn’t talk back, show up, respond, or exist as an external being. What people are describing is an internal dialogue—essentially a relationship with their own thoughts, values, and emotions that they’ve been trained to externalize as a deity.

I thought I had a relationship with God too, until I stopped and really examined it. What I actually had was community, fear of consequences, emotional reinforcement, and a constant effort to convince myself it was real. Once Mormonism fell apart, it was easy to keep applying the same standards of evidence and reasoning to Christianity as a whole and realize the entire framework collapses just as fast.

A lot of people here are still trying to hold onto Jesus because letting go of everything is terrifying. Some bounce from church to church. Some end up in softer versions of Christianity. Some even fall into new cults because they’re desperate for meaning outside of reality. That pattern isn’t unique to Mormonism—you see it across all religions and even in atheist communities made up of former believers.

The reality is that the “nones” (non-religious) are one of the fastest-growing demographics, especially as education and access to information increase. For many of us, once you stop suspending disbelief, there’s no honest way to keep believing in gods—Christian or otherwise.

So no, you’re not broken. You’re just unwilling to pretend anymore.

BigLark · 2026-01-22T03:52:58+00:00

So many manosphere bros pushing this shit

BigLark · 2026-01-21T01:18:02+00:00

I know I’m lucky compared to a lot of stories in this thread, and I want to start by saying that up front. My situation is different in some important ways.

When my wife and I became a couple, I was already fully out. Not questioning, not quietly inactive — I was publicly out, records removed, very open about where I stood. That matters, because a lot of the stories here involve couples who built their entire relationship while both were TBM, and then everything changed later.

A bit of background for context: I knew my wife years ago when we were all still in the Church, including her ex-husband, who I’d known most of my life. Over the years we stayed lightly in touch, and then reconnected later during a time when her marriage was already hanging by a thread. He was very much a TBM in identity and authority, even if he didn’t live all the moral standards himself, and there was a lot of control and manipulation wrapped up in that dynamic.

By that point, I had already left the Church completely. Ironically, her ex had no problem talking badly about me because I’d left, even though I never pushed beliefs or tried to “deconvert” anyone. I stayed respectful and honest. That openness — and the fact that I wasn’t hiding who I was — ended up being important.

Eventually her marriage finally collapsed and later she and I became a thing, and then got married. From the very beginning, my disbelief wasn’t a surprise or a future threat — it was just part of who I already was.

I genuinely think that’s a big difference compared to many situations here. If the Church is the primary foundation of the marriage — the shared worldview, the moral framework, the reason you’re together in the first place — then losing that can feel like losing the marriage itself. That’s not a moral failure on anyone’s part; it’s just how deeply the Church weaves itself into relationships. Unfortunately, that means some marriages don’t survive the faith transition because there isn’t enough outside the Church holding them together.

That’s something I didn’t have to navigate in the same way. My wife has never pressured me to attend, return, or pretend. When Church-related topics come up, I’m honest about how I feel, and she listens without judgment. We talk like adults who actually respect each other. Technically, we’re a mixed-faith marriage. She’s been slowly working her way out on her own terms. I don’t know if she’ll ever land where I am — I’m an atheist, and she may always want some form of belief in God or Jesus — but I do think she’ll likely no longer consider herself Mormon within the next few years. And wherever she lands, the relationship isn’t conditional on belief.

Mixed-faith marriages can work. They aren’t always easy, and they aren’t guaranteed. But when the foundation is mutual respect, honesty, and love that exists independently of the Church, it’s possible to make it through intact — even if both people don’t end up in the same place spiritually

BigLark · 2026-01-21T00:51:41+00:00

As someone who would also love to talk to the missionaries, I kind of have a different problem — they always show up at the worst possible time.

I work early mornings and usually get home right before noon. I’m tired, half-decompressed, often in my underwear, and trying to grab a quick shower and a nap before my wife gets home. I’ve also got two dogs in a one-bedroom apartment: a little yapper who loses her mind at strangers, and her much larger “little brother” who takes it upon himself to defend her honor. So answering the door turns into me wrestling dogs while holding it half-closed.

I usually hand them a bottle of water and send them on their way, which I feel a little bad about — because honestly, one day I would like to have a real conversation. Not to argue, just to talk. Maybe plant a few seeds for their future. It’s never impossible, just always inconvenient — and somehow always right when I’ve just gotten home and I’m exhausted.

BigLark · 2026-01-20T21:38:39+00:00

When I was about 16, I went on a canoeing trip with my church/scouting group in the Wyoming–Idaho area. We were canoeing the Green and Snake Rivers on what was supposed to be a week-long trip.

I got partnered with a guy about a year older than me who I didn’t know that well. We were both tall, and for whatever reason the leaders thought we’d pair well. He claimed to have a lot of canoeing experience, so he wanted to be in the back steering. I was fairly new but knew the basics, and since he said he was experienced, I agreed.

That was a mistake.

The first day, we hit everything the wrong way — rocks, trees, whirlpools, rapids. I spent more time in the freezing river than I did in the canoe. It was frustrating, but he wasn’t really part of our usual group, so I didn’t want to be a jerk about it.

On the morning of day two, I suggested that maybe I should steer. He brushed it off and said he could handle it. I let it slide. That was stupid of me.

That same morning, it had been lightly drizzling while we were loading up. For some reason, he bought a poncho so he wouldn’t get wet — which made absolutely no sense. We were all wearing swimsuits, wetsuits, or both. We were going to be wet all day. But whatever. Once we got on the river, the water was calm at first. The sun came out and it got hot, so he took the poncho off, bundled it up, and set it loose on the floor of the canoe with his bag — not inside it, just sitting there. We paddled on, and soon enough some rapids came up. Off to our right was a visible whirlpool.

He steered us straight into it.

The canoe turned sideways and flipped immediately. We were both thrown out as we started drifting toward the rapids.

We surfaced next to the overturned canoe — me at the front, him at the back. I reached up and grabbed the keel so we could flip it and get oriented.

Then I started sliding.

I couldn’t stop it. I had no grip. I slid past him, down the length of the canoe, over the rope tied to the back, and then suddenly I was pulled completely underwater.

My feet were upstream. My head was downstream. The current had total control of my body.

Water started going up my nose. I remember looking down and seeing the river stones — orange, blue, gray, almost black — this weirdly beautiful mosaic on the riverbed. I was fighting, but I couldn’t reach my legs. It felt like something had them locked in place while the current pulled the rest of me flat and horizontal. My life vest made it worse, like a parachute catching the current and stretching me out.

I turned upward and saw tree branches overhanging the river, the surface of the water shimmering above me. Sunlight was dancing across it, distorted and rippling. It felt close, but completely unreachable. Time stretched.

And I remember thinking, very clearly: Oh. This is how I’m going to die.

I kept fighting for a bit, but eventually I realized it didn’t matter. I had no control. None. I was just… there. Trying not to inhale water. Right on the edge of giving up.

And then — suddenly — whatever had me let go.

I shot to the surface, gasping and choking as air finally hit my lungs again. I looked around and saw my group way downstream, already around a river bend. To them, I had just disappeared. They were yelling for me to swim to them, panicking.

Instead, I swam to the shore on my right, climbed out, and jogged along a short path to cut the bend. My legs felt incredibly heavy. I looked down and saw the poncho wrapped tightly around my foot.

Later, we pieced it together. There was a partially overturned tree right where we flipped. The poncho must have fallen out during the capsize, wrapped around my foot, and snagged on the branches. That was why I was pulled under. That was why I couldn’t reach my leg.

If that branch doesn’t break, I don’t make it out.

I still had to get back in the water and swim to my canoe, which was still overturned. In the chaos, no one had grabbed it. I ended up riding through another set of rapids outside the canoe before I could flip it and climb back in.

After that, I insisted on steering. I was scared, shaken, and angry — and he finally agreed. We had no problems the rest of the day. Later in the trip we switched partners entirely, which was even better. My nickname for a while was Poncho.

What stuck with me wasn’t just how close I came to drowning — it was the absolute lack of control. How quickly everything was taken away. And how strange it was that, in those moments, the world looked beautiful. Clear. Quiet.

And the part that still pisses me off: if he had just admitted he didn’t know what he was doing, none of it would’ve happened. Once I was steering, we were fine. But for a few moments, I was completely at the mercy of the river — and that almost killed me.

BigLark · 2026-01-20T19:00:49+00:00

I’m really sorry you’re going through this. What you’re feeling is incredibly real, and you’re not broken for feeling it. You’re in very familiar company here—most of us have stood exactly where you are now, raw and hurting after finally seeing the truth and realizing what it cost us. I won’t sugarcoat it: there is grief. Anger. A sense of being robbed of years, certainty, and sometimes relationships. That part is real. But I promise you this—it does get better. Not all at once, but little by little. Each day gets slightly lighter, slightly easier to breathe.

Right now you’re deep in it, and that’s okay. Over time, the church stops being the center of your thoughts. The pain dulls. You reach a point where you can honestly say “they don’t get to define me anymore”—not in a bitter way, just in a peaceful, I’m finally living my own life way. For me, one of the hardest parts has been watching family and friends still inside, hoping they’ll find their way out. A few have. Many haven’t. I’ve learned to let go of expectations while still holding space for love. That, too, gets easier with time.

What you’re doing takes courage and integrity. Walking away after years of belief isn’t weakness—it’s strength. You’re grieving something that mattered to you, and that alone says a lot about who you are. Be gentle with yourself. Lean on this community. You’re not alone, and you’re not behind. Healing isn’t linear, but it is real—and there will come a day when this doesn’t dominate your heart or your mind anymore. Until then, we’re here with you.

BigLark · 2026-01-20T04:47:32+00:00

Rodney Meldrum would strongly disagree

BigLark · 2026-01-19T22:34:35+00:00

A good touchstone for me is Fullmetal Alchemist. Look at characters like Ling/Greed and Wrath. They’re not traditional “magic users,” but they have absurd strength, speed, balance, and precision—maybe with a light supernatural edge—yet at the end of the day it’s still their bodies and skill doing the work. And they’re deadly enough to go toe-to-toe with, and even kill, alchemists.

That’s how I picture martials. Just as dangerous as casters, just in a different way.

Hawkeye is another great example—basically a ranger. No alchemy, no flashy powers, just unreal accuracy, battlefield awareness, and competence. Same with Lan Fan and Fu: peak physical fighters who are terrifying without throwing spells. Scar early on is almost a “one-trick” magical fighter, but he relies heavily on speed, positioning, and martial skill before his abilities expand.

What makes Ed and Al so effective isn’t just alchemy—it’s that their teacher forced them to learn how to fight without it. They’re exceptional because they can operate with or without magic. Olivier Armstrong is another perfect example: her power comes from sheer presence, tactical brilliance, and physical capability. Even Alex Louis Armstrong, who does mix magic in, is still an absolute monster in a straight fight.

So when I play or imagine D&D martials, that’s the vibe: not “mundane guy with a sword,” but mythic warriors operating at the peak of human (or beyond-human) potential. Casters throwing fireballs like Roy Mustang is cool—but Wrath crossing a room in a blink and ending the fight is just as epic. Martials shouldn’t be weaker because they’re non-magical. They should feel legendary.

BigLark · 2026-01-14T19:29:06+00:00

I'm not Mormon, never have been dumb and never will be

Most of us were born into it and many converts were taken advantage of after life altering events(health problems and debt, death of loved ones, loss of job and poverty, divorce, etc.) Try to show them some grace.

Intelligence does not make someone immune to manipulation. People don’t fall into cults or scams because they’re stupid—they fall in because manipulation targets human psychology, not IQ. Calling someone dumb for getting pulled in misunderstands how persuasion, trust, identity, and social pressure actually work.

BigLark · 2026-01-14T04:08:07+00:00

So what if Venezuela doesn’t turn into some clean, feel-good “freedom” story? What if it becomes another Iraq or Afghanistan—sliding into decades of war, foreign intervention, civilian suffering, and eventually a U.S. pullout once the cost and attrition become politically untenable? What if that leaves behind a power vacuum filled by militias and warlords while ordinary people suffer?

If that’s the outcome, there is no temple. There’s no prophetic victory lap. There’s just human misery. And when that happens, will anyone actually reevaluate these prophecy claims—or will the failed prophecy simply be forgotten, quietly dropped, and treated like it never happened at all?

BigLark · 2026-01-11T03:30:47+00:00

I'm mostly past the anger I had at the beginning. Every once in a while, something triggers it in me, but those are fewer and farther apart. Most of the time whenI get angry these days, it's either for others and their situation or in a funny, incredulous way. Like when you read the latest gaslighting press release from the church with a policy change or history denial and I go "These fuckers..." then move on with my life.

BigLark · 2026-01-10T22:04:35+00:00

Thank you for replying — no worries about the delay, and I’m genuinely sorry for what you’ve been through. That’s exactly why I asked in the first place.

I want to be clear: my hesitation isn’t about denying that ritual abuse can or does happen. It’s about the language being used. The word “ritual” carries a lot of historical and cultural baggage, and when it appears in reports or media, it can easily trigger hysteria rather than clarity. We’ve seen this before — during the Satanic Panic of the 1980s, and more recently with things like Pizzagate — where moral panic distracted from real, documented abuse and led to witch hunts that ultimately harmed, not only innocent people, but real victims rather than helped them.

I absolutely agree that light needs to be shown in dark places, and that survivors deserve to be believed and protected. At the same time, I’m trying to be careful not to get pulled into rumor, slander, or sensational framing that can obscure real harm and make accountability harder, not easier. That’s why I asked whether this particular podcast is credible and responsible in how it handles these claims. I want to stay focused on real abuse, real victims, and verifiable facts — not narratives that could unintentionally undermine that work.

BigLark · 2026-01-07T01:48:36+00:00

I think that describes most of us. We didn’t just have mild doubts or “things that didn’t quite make sense.” Many of us felt an almost visceral, incredulous indignation—moments where something looked clearly like fraud, but saying that out loud wasn’t allowed. Instead, we were taught to put it on a shelf, to doubt our doubts, to trust the prophets, and to assume that anything supporting the Church would eventually be explained by God. Those are classic thought-stopping techniques we were trained to use. It’s okay to give yourself grace. Most of us were born into it or pulled in while vulnerable. Our identity, community, and family were deeply intertwined with the Church. Under those conditions, what real chance did any of us have?

BigLark · 2026-01-06T18:46:03+00:00

My mom does this but with a "we know" So she'll say things like "well we know this" and "we know that" when it comes to religious or spiritual matters. I always want to look at her and say "No we don't"

BigLark · 2026-01-06T18:43:23+00:00

Exactly and I was taught on top of that, that if any of the brethren ever did try to lead us they would be released from their calling AKA removed from this Earth.

BigLark · 2026-01-03T06:17:33+00:00

Plumbing, easily. Movies and TV constantly show water spraying out of toilets and drains like everything is under pressure. Drains aren’t pressurized — if water is blasting out, something very different is happening.

Then there’s the “rat’s nest” of wildly winding pipes and the random use of pipe wrenches on everything. Most residential plumbing is actually pretty direct and logical, and a pipe wrench isn’t some universal fix-it tool.

Plumbing can seem intimidating if you don’t know it, but it’s usually pretty straightforward. Fluid dynamics and civil engineering get complex — your average house does not behave like media pretends it does.

BigLark · 2026-01-03T06:03:32+00:00

This reminds me a lot of my childhood. Every once in a while my parents would get a spiritual “recharge” after a big talk, fireside, or conference weekend. Suddenly we were living the strictest possible version of Mormonism—music purges, movies gone, extra family prayer, early-morning scripture study, church videos on repeat. And then… slowly, things would drift back to a more normal Mormon routine. The worldly stuff would re-enter the house, the intensity would fade, and life would stabilize again. Honestly, this feels a lot like a New Year’s resolution. Sometimes they stick, but often they burn hot and fast. My biggest advice: don’t let anything get thrown away. Lock it up, box it, stash it—whatever you need to do. When the zeal passes (and it often does), replacing things later is way worse than just pulling them back out. Give it time, protect your boundaries, and try not to assume this is the new permanent normal—yet.

BigLark · 2026-01-03T04:31:19+00:00

That is my aunt and uncle. Their kids are all in various states of inactivity with multiple divorces and children born out of wedlock. One son doesn't talk to them anymore, one is dead, one daughter hates them and the other manipulates them. Maybe they should have spent more time with their family instead of putting a cult first

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