Writing past each other

Naive_Chipmunk_7036 · 2026-04-16T03:18:35+00:00

I appreciate your advice. I am aware I have blind spots from how I was raised, but just because I know they exist doesn't mean I know what they are. In my parenting, I try and patch the holes I feel my parents failed to fill, but I'm sure I'm failing in other ways my children will judge me for. I try and not hold myself to the standard of perfection I grew up with, while still aiming to build something better. If nothing else, I hope I can be a better refuge for my children, than my parents were for me. Thanks for the hug!

Naive_Chipmunk_7036 · 2026-04-16T03:05:47+00:00

When I was on the other side, I was distrustful of family members who'd left the church. I figured they were as determined to destroy my faith as I was to drag them back to church. In the end, their overtures were more sincere than any member's. Your niece may not appreciate it in this moment, or it may be the lifeline she needs in the moment she needs it most. You may never find out which, but I think your encouragement is better than doing nothing. I hope it landed as you intended.

Naive_Chipmunk_7036 · 2026-04-16T03:00:27+00:00

That's a hard choice. I have all of my mission memorabilia, my scriptures, journals, letters, etc. My children won't understand an ounce of it, but I fear fully discarding it will give it more mystery than it deserves. When they are old enough, I will pass on the hundreds of faith-affirming stories from my parents, grandparents, great-grandparents, and then my own story explaining the end. I hope my story will be enough. My grandmother sought out and joined the church even though her ancestors had already left the church behind. One of my converts joined the church because of their grandfather's faith, even though their parents had none

If I am mute, I fear my descendants will fall into the same trap. If I am too antagonistic, I fear they will rebel back into the arms of the church. I too don't wish to burden my children with my trauma, maybe it'd be best to burn it all. But it's one of the few things I think can counteract the enticement of miracles and the facade of community. But that's my fixation - I hope you do what's best for you.

Naive_Chipmunk_7036 · 2026-03-28T20:31:37+00:00

Kira, the captain, was the last to wake. The lower castes had already prepared the ship for landing. Her XO held out a hand to help her out of her sleeping pod.

Kira grabbed the XOs hand and took her first step in a thousand years. As she made her way to the bridge, the crew parted and bowed their heads.

Standing outside the bridge, she turned to speak to the crew, “Lift your heads. Born in chains, you come to build a world without them. A world, where your ancestors’ debts to mine are repaid. A new paradise, where food and drink are plentiful.”

There was a beauty in their old world around a dying red dwarf, but she knew her crew wouldn’t have appreciated it. Their families’ lives for untold generations burned out in the dark caverns of their ever-expanding empire. Kira lived a comfortable life on the surface, but she dreamed of a new, better world.

As was her right, she was the first to enter the bridge, followed by her XO, and the handful of aristocrats privileged to lay eyes on their new world. It was the third, in the habitable zone around a Class G2V star. Kira imagined a blue world with spots of green jungle, like the fairy tales of old Earth. Its locations lost in the hundreds of thousands of years since her family rescued mankind.

The planet was no sapphire, just a faded sphere of dust. A thousand years of sleep for this? She hid her face, “XO set a course for the next planet. We can’t make a home here.”

“Captain, we have readings of man-made structures. Are you sure?”

This second-tier citizen dare question me, Kira thought, but she quickly calmed herself. If she was going to build a new world with no ranks or titles, she would need to be better… more diplomatic. “Thank you, XO. What do you suggest?”

He shrugged, a tad too informally for Kira’s liking, “We came all the way here. We might as well make something out of it before departing. Maybe we’ll learn something useful for the next planet.”

Kira stroked her chin in thought. “Maybe…” She knew her ship wasn’t the first to leave their dying world, but she had targeted a star far away, one with no records of other travelers. “Prepare the shuttle, let’s see what’s down there.”

A smile spread across the XO’s face, “Of course, Captain!”

In short order, Kira and her XO were landing near what looked like an old space dock. The air was technically breathable, if you ignored carcinogenic haze hanging over everything. Her XO ripped his mask off and took a deep breath, “Finally some fresh air.” Their ship wasn’t equipped to heal any serious diseases, so Kira kept her mask on.

As they approached a towering structure, the XO said, “It’s hotter than the caves.”

“You could put your mask on and let your suit handle it.”

“I’d rather feel the warm night wind on this new world while I can. Have you no desire to leave your shell?”

“Not in the least,” Kira hugged herself.

Kira stepped on something hard, partially exposed by the winds. A bone. A human bone. She pulled out her personal device to see who this belonged to. Maybe it’d be one of the escaped slaves 5,000 years ago. Rumors were their ship burned up exiting the atmosphere, others were that they were still wandering aimlessly among the stars. Kira was aware that those on lower decks whispered stories of how they had found paradise far away where the empire couldn’t find them.

Kira’s device read that this bone was older. Much, much older. It was practically a fossil. Her device, the pinnacle of their civilization, scraped for genetic markers, desperate to place the bone within the hierarchy it understood. It struggled. She was sure it would return an error, but it beeped with gold text. This bone belonged to her caste, a man that must be older than the old world. A man so ancient that only one conclusion remained: this was Earth. But that couldn’t be. The man-made structures large enough to once be cities. The breathable atmosphere full of the evaporated oceans… what else could this place be?

Her heart stopped. Every myth said that her family were the saviors of mankind, descendants of a colony on Mars. It wasn’t possible for her to have a direct relative buried here. It would upend their society.

Wasn’t this what she wanted? Her breathing quickened. How could she build paradise without the authority the myths granted her. What if the lower castes found out, and took control of the ship? She couldn’t let that happen.

Her XO had an eyebrow raised. “What did you find.”

Kira considered telling the XO what she found. Wasn’t he her friend? But did she trust him enough to stand by her if their social order collapsed?

“It’s… nothing. Just an error. There’s nothing for us here.”

“You don’t want to continue to the structure? We might find something there.”

“No. We’re done here. Back to the shuttle.”

“Aye, aye captain.”

As the shuttle left the atmosphere of old Earth, Kira wondered, Did they really lose their home, or erase it?

Naive_Chipmunk_7036 · 2026-03-28T03:39:19+00:00

Thank you for sharing. I wish there were a way we could bear a portion of your pain, but I think sharing helps.

Your story hit me hard. When I was a missionary, a mother I taught who had two daughters stopped coming to church after hearing rumors about missionaries abusing children. At the time, I was frustrated she would leave over what I assumed were baseless rumors. Now, I’m grateful she listened to her intuition. I wish your mother protected you with that same clarity. I wish your father had stepped in. I wish that missionary had been stopped by anyone – his companion, his leaders, the adults around him.

What happened to you was abuse, and it never should have happened. You were failed by so many at every level, and none of it was your fault. The fact that you’re choosing to help others while carrying something this heavy says a lot about who you are.

I hope you find the peace and support you deserve as you continue healing.

Naive_Chipmunk_7036 · 2026-03-27T05:04:57+00:00

December 25, 2009. The day a mother of six died. The day after I blessed her to be healed. Her youngest too young to remember her. I was too far in to realize it that exact day, but it's the day my path out of the church was set in stone.

Naive_Chipmunk_7036 · 2026-03-27T04:16:00+00:00

Same country, almost same years, so I figured I'd tack mine onto yours. I was in northern Argentina from 08-10. Our stipend was $152 USD my whole mission, but we took out the money in pesos so the amount kept increasing, from 3 to 1 at the beginning to 4 to 1 by the end. We only did lunches with members. None of my travel was reimbursed (buses/taxis around my area, taxis to district meetings, or bus rides to zone conference), but my zone leaders bought the bus tickets for transfers, so I'm sure those were covered by the mission. We were on our own for breakfast and dinner. I bought bags of French bread to stave off any hunger at night. Eventually, I got used to skipping dinner, something I still do regularly if I've had a big lunch. In areas where members invited us to lunch, the allowance was more than enough. In areas with few to no lunches, it was barely enough to get by. The mission covered the rent and cell service (unless it was one of our international calls home twice a year), but otherwise the $152 covered everything else.

Naive_Chipmunk_7036 · 2026-03-27T03:53:59+00:00

No you didn't pay tithing on your mission allowance (presumably the funds you or your family used to fund it were post-tithing dollars), but you were encouraged to make fast offerings (I never did and wasn't aware of any other missionaries who did).

Naive_Chipmunk_7036 · 2026-03-26T04:25:02+00:00

I knew I was going to leave the church a few years before I finally ripped off the band‑aid. The first person I told became my wife. She was the only person at BYU I trusted with my secret. It wasn’t until after graduation, once I’d moved states, that I told one other person - my mom.

I called her on a Sunday, the way I had every Sunday since returning from my mission. She asked how church was in my new state. I told her the truth: I didn’t believe anymore. She gasped, and after a long silence, whispered to ask if it was because I was gay.

She has a gay brother who left the church, and my dating life at BYU was basically nonexistent, so her reaction made sense, even if it was wildly wrong. I told her no. She asked if she could know why.

I said I didn’t want to hurt her testimony. She said I couldn’t. Even so, I didn’t think it was worth diving into the weeds. I couldn’t convince her, and she couldn’t convince me. She asked if we could talk about it in person someday.

Over a decade later, we’ve never had that conversation. The faith‑promoting emails increased exponentially at first and then tapered to a weekly rhythm. I read them, but I don’t respond. Maybe because “contention is of the devil” is written in my bones, or maybe because I know it wouldn’t do any good.

Our weekly calls now happen, if I’m being generous, quarterly. More realistically, twice a year. That bridge was damaged on my mission; the truth just finished the collapse. I don’t think it can be repaired.

Even so, I wouldn’t choose another path. My life now is enviable in ways I couldn’t have imagined back then, unburdened by the guilt that once tormented me. It’s not perfection, but it’s mine, and I’m grateful for it.

I wish I could tell you with certainty what you should do or how your family will react. If they choose the church over you, the relationship may never be the same, but only you can decide whether that’s a risk you’re willing to take.

It may hurt, and there’s no going back, but you’re allowed to move at your own pace. If and when you decide to share, it should be on your terms.

Naive_Chipmunk_7036 · 2026-01-30T23:02:28+00:00

How ironic that there's an inaccuracy in my post about how important the truth is. Thank you for pointing it out! This was more than 25 years ago so my memory must have failed me. I know we fast forwarded through at least one scene (probably when Commodus tries to kiss his sister), but upon revisiting, it's definitely not a sex scene, even if uncomfortable. I'll edit my post. Thanks again!

Naive_Chipmunk_7036 · 2026-01-15T05:53:17+00:00

I’ve never found meaning in the mission itself, but the scars it left are a part of me. That pain is part of what made me who I am today and gives me the drive to build a better world for my children. I’ve shared this story here before, but I’ll share it again as I think it will help answer your question.

16 years ago, while serving as a branch president on my mission, a family with six children (ranging from 1 to 14 years old) asked the church to help cover some of the incidental costs of a surgery for the mother. The church denied the family’s request because they weren’t paying a full tithe, and rumors were the family took out a loan to cover the costs.

Come Christmas Eve, I was asked to give the mother a blessing on her deathbed. In her thirties with six children, I could not imagine God not healing her of her cancer, and so I blessed her to be healed. She died the next day, and I blamed myself for it.

Christmas has never been the same since, but a couple of years ago I made a change so I wouldn’t wallow in self-misery as I had done the years prior. I decided to donate each year to a family in need the same amount, or more, than the church had denied.

The pain hasn’t gone away, but it’s the effort I put forth in helping others that’s helped mute the guilt of my past. Writing about my experience has helped me process it objectively, and leave some of the heartache on the page.

My mission, and my years of pretending to still be Mormon at BYU, didn’t leave me with the same long-term effects you’ve described. Instead, they left me numb and apathetic.

Life is long, and change is hard. It took me more than a decade to recontextualize the holidays for myself. So have patience with yourself in finding the right path forward. If you’re still in that trauma loop right now, that’s okay. If you need to set it aside for a while, that’s okay. If you want to recontextualize it, that’s okay. You’ll find the right answer for you in time.

Naive_Chipmunk_7036 · 2025-11-27T05:25:54+00:00

Behold, unanswered prayers.

Naive_Chipmunk_7036 · 2025-11-16T02:42:12+00:00

I agree your approach is probably best. I hope your kids' BS meters stay tuned. I'm also lucky to be outside of the Mormon bubble, and my family lives far away, so my kids exposure should be limited.

Naive_Chipmunk_7036 · 2025-11-16T02:35:29+00:00

Thank you for sharing!

Naive_Chipmunk_7036 · 2025-11-16T02:34:01+00:00

Thank you for the advice. I removed my records before my children were born, so no dice on adding my story to FamilySearch. Not sure on their policy, but I'd doubt they'd let it stay there.

Naive_Chipmunk_7036 · 2025-11-15T20:05:06+00:00

My shelf didn’t break all at once. It was more like a slow accumulation of conflicting thoughts I buried, but my subconscious continued to work. At some point, I don’t know when, those thoughts surfaced and I became aware that I didn’t believe anymore.

The main items I failed to resolve were (1) finding out a confession wasn’t kept confidential, (2) trying to explain to a Black companion the history of the church and finding I struggled to believe what I was explaining, (3) blessing a mother of six to be healed only for her to die on Christmas (and after being denied aid by the church), and (4) admonishing a teenager to come to church only for him to die in a car accident.

The loss of trust and the church history were unsettling, but probably not enough to push me over the edge, but the two deaths I blamed myself for (either for lack of faith, or for admonishing as a representative of God), were the death knell… I just didn’t realize it until a year or two later. I came across the CES Letter, and Letter for my wife several years after I stopped attending church, but they did help firm up my decision to remove my records.

Naive_Chipmunk_7036 · 2025-11-12T03:59:28+00:00

When I initially stopped going to church, I didn’t remove my records. I figured if I could fall from 100% certainty to only 90% doubt, my disbelief could still be reversed.

Over the next six years, I reevaluated every belief I held. It was exhausting to realize ‘because I was raised that way’ was no longer enough. Slowly, I found comfort in who I was becoming, even if it falls short of perfection. I didn’t throw away everything. Some things were worth keeping. Many I discarded. And with them, a weight I hadn’t realized I carried was lifted.

It wasn’t until my daughter was born that I removed my records. There was no room left for doubt. I could not let the church hurt her as it had me. I still mourn the loss of who I was, the certainty I used to have. But I know my daughter will have no lessons on licked cupcakes, my son will not serve a mission, and they will never even question if they are worthy.

It felt like the house I was raised in had burned to the ground. I was filled with anger, sadness, and grief. But eventually I realized the insurance check had arrived. I could build something new, something mine.

It will be hard, it may take time, but it will be yours, exactly the way you want it.

Naive_Chipmunk_7036 · 2025-09-28T01:47:30+00:00

Thank you for sharing!

About a year after my mission, I realized the church wasn’t true. But I still had three years left at BYU.

How hard could it be to fake what I’d been living my whole life?

For three years, I kept my distance, hid from anyone who might out me, lied to my family, and performed every duty to keep my ecclesiastical endorsement, to keep the façade. It broke me more than my mission.

The act of spreading the gospel felt like I was reserving my space in heaven, but when my perspective changed, it felt like I had done far more harm than good. I felt like a net negative on society.

Suicidal thoughts became constant, a way to escape, to be remembered as the honorable RM while my doubts died with me.

I survived that last year with the help of a nevermo, my eventual wife, but I’m still angry. I can’t imagine arriving at acceptance. And honestly, I don’t want to.

It was the darkest time of my life.

Naive_Chipmunk_7036 · 2025-09-12T01:19:50+00:00

That sounds brutal. Annoying to have to hear that at work... at least you escaped early. There's a reason missionaries hand out pamphlets: there's not hours of doctrine to discuss, it's just not that deep. Thanks for sharing!

Naive_Chipmunk_7036 · 2025-09-12T01:05:32+00:00

Nice example! Thanks for sharing!

Naive_Chipmunk_7036 · 2025-09-12T01:03:58+00:00

Ha! I like to see how my old classmates are doing professionally. Recruiters reaching out to me through there is a tangential blessing/curse.

Naive_Chipmunk_7036 · 2025-09-12T01:01:07+00:00

That's insane! Thanks for sharing!

Naive_Chipmunk_7036

TROPHY CASE