My parents would vehemently deny it, but I know I’m a disappointment. They love me, but I can feel a sadness that presses over them: I haven’t lived up to their expectation of a good, Mormon life; I haven’t become what they wanted. In fact, I’m the opposite.

I was always meant to carry the Mormon legacy—all of my siblings were. We hail from Parley P. Pratt and the Willie and Martin Handcart Companies. “Pioneer stock” runs through our veins and the sacrifice of our ancestors were told with pride and reverence. They were brave and obedient till the end; so, we must strive to be like them. Our people made and lived Mormon history; so, we’re not just Mormons, we’re generational Mormons. 

This means my decision to leave really hurts because I “broke the line” binding these generations together. When we talk about heaven or the afterlife, we sometimes talk about the metaphorical large family gathering where everyone sits down at a feast. Empty chairs wait for us and some will never be filled. My chair is one of the empty ones. There’s still time to repent and “return to the fold,” but I know that won’t happen. It’s not that I’m too far gone, it’s just that I know I can never believe the same way ever again. I won’t be with my Mormon family in the next life—my husband and kids included.

With so much at stake, how can I not be a disappointment? This isn’t just about securing a comfortable place in hereafter, it’s about being together forever. We can’t now, because of me. I’ve become someone my parents raised me never to become. I didn’t “keep to the faith,” “hold fast to the iron rod,” or “endure to the end.” Instead, I failed spectacularly and am lost, just as Laman and Lemuel were lost to Lehi and Sariah. From my parents perspective, they have every right to be disappointed.

The last time my parents said they were proud of me was when I told them my oldest child would be baptized. This happened before our conversations about my disbelief or my slow “inactivity,” but they knew I was struggling.

“I’m so proud of you, September,” Mom said. I knew she meant it as encouragement, but I felt weighed down. Was she proud becasue I was doing the “right” Mormon thing? How proud would she be if this conversation was about my child not being baptized? Would she still say she was proud of me?

I’d taken the time to sit, talk, and listen to my child about this matter, so it was a real possibility that she wouldn’t be baptized. If she was unsure or unwilling, I would’ve put a stop to it immediately. A choice is only a choice if she were fully allowed to decide. Brushing aside her fears or anxieties or pressuring her into baptism wasn’t letting her choose for herself. While I wasn’t surprised over my daughter’s desire or willingness, I did take some comfort in knowing she looked was looking forward to the ceremony and wasn’t at all worried. I also let her know she could always change her mind. 

How proud would my mother be if she overheard that conversation? Would her heart swell or break? Did it matter that I had this conversation, or did it only matter that the outcome favored the Mormon way? How would she react if she knew I told my daughter it was okay to go against he Mormon norm? How could my mother be proud of me when this was my daughter’s decision and I was just being supportive? I wasn’t moving forward because, deep down, I knew “it was the right thing to do” and I hope my mother didn’t think that. I hope my mother wasn’t proud just because I was doing what she deemed correct.

Honestly, when it comes to my parents, I wish I could ask them these questions:

• How proud are you, really? Are you proud of the woman I’ve become, Mormon or otherwise? How far does your pride stretch? Are you proud of the growth I’ve gone through, even though it lead me away from the church? 
  
  
• Are you proud of my thoughtfulness, my tenderness, my empathy, and my intellect? These traits directly lead me out of the church.
  
  
• Are you proud of the many ways I steadied my family and marriage during this turbulent time? Every step I took, I took with care. I knew leaving would hurt, but I was also hurting every day I stayed. Are you proud that I was able to balance my authenticity while honoring my family’s feelings?
  
  
• Are you proud of my voice? I no longer say what you expect, but are you proud, regardless? I’ve become less afraid to speak up and do what I know needs to be done. I’m not quiet anymore. Is that okay? Can you be proud of me, still? Even when we disagree?
  
  
• Are you proud of the ways I’ve pushed forward, dug deep, and didn’t turn when things became heavy? I sat in a lot of uncomfortableness and pulled out parts of myself so I could examine and better understand. Do you know that I sank deep and then swam myself back to the surface, breathless and crying? Would you call my actions brave? Or would you say I’m lazy and easily offended? Do you know how I shook with fear and sadness, but kept moving out of hope? 
  
  
• Are you proud of where I stand, even though the picture of my life is completely different from what you envisioned for me? Does your pride only come when my life looks a certain way? Are you proud that I followed the path that I felt was correct? 
  
  
• Are you proud of the ambition and dreams I possess that have nothing to do with raising children or being married? Do you see how those things enrich my life?
  
  
• Are you proud of me, even though I can no longer call myself a Mormon?

I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to ask my parents these questions. I hope they’re proud of me—even with all my un-Mormon ways. I know they love me, so, for now, that will have to do. We can have this unspeakable wedge between us because we love each other enough to know some things need to stay unspoken—for now.

Truth is, I’m learning to live with their disappointment. There was a time when the most important thing was keeping my Mormon community happy. I couldn’t face their disappointment, so I continued on as if nothing had changed. However, for every day I stayed, I disappointed myself. Leaving, for me, was one of the greatest acts of self love I could muster. Now, the further I move away from the church, the more I feel their disappointment but the more I feel comfortable with myself.

Glennon Doyle sums it up nicely in her book, Untamed:

 “I’ll abandon everyone else’s expectations of me before I’ll abandon myself. I’ll disappoint everyone else before I’ll disappoint myself. I’ll forsake all others before I’ll forsake myself. Me and myself: We are till death do us part.”

I’m a disappointment to my parents, but not to myself. 

Until next time,
September Marden