“Even those who, like a headstrong, unruly child, become angry with God and his church, pack their bags, and storm out the door proclaiming that they’re running away and never coming back.”

Elder Dieter F. Uchtdorf, Apostle for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints

Let me tell you the tale of an unruly child.

This unruly child was born into a faith-filled home. Growing up, church wasn’t just a place to go every Sunday—it was a way of life. This unruly child was very concerned about being everything God wanted her to be. She faithfully prayed and diligently read her scriptures. She listened to her leaders and obeyed her parents. Tithing was paid without complaint, as well as attending early morning seminary, dressing modestly, and working hard to achieve her Young Women’s Recognition Award. As a young adult, she attended BYU and was sealed in the temple to a worthy priesthood holder.

This unruly child was never a “checklist” type of Mormon, but she checked all of those boxes anyway. She did it because she knew it was what God wanted and God promised it would make her happy. Be a good daughter, receive exaltation.

This unruly child was actually pretty happy. Life worked out very well for her.

This unruly child also had some concerns. While she had received her spiritual confirmation that this church was true, some topics made her squirm. Why would God deny black people the priesthood? What was the real purpose of polygamy? If men and women were truly equals, then why didn’t it feel that way?

But those things only bothered the unruly child for short amounts of time. After all, she knew this church was true and there were just some things God hadn’t allowed us to know yet. One day, God would make everything crystal clear and the church would be on the right side of history. She was as certain of it as she was certain the church was true and the Book of Mormon was the work of God. 

So, the day she stumbled upon the church essays, this unruly child was overjoyed. Here would be the answers she faithfully waited for. This unruly child was careful to never delved deeply into church history. Anything published outside of the church was tainted and couldn’t fully be trusted. Here, though, was something from the very church she loved and it would shine a light in all the dark corners she always refused to explore. 

By the time this unruly child was done reading, she was heartbroken. How could this be? It wasn’t just the new information. Actually, a lot were things she had heard before but always dismissed as anti-Mormon literature. Except, all those dismissed things were actually historical facts. If she could be this wrong about something so near and dear to her heart, what else could she be wrong about? What else had she dismissed as “anti-Mormon” were actually true? What else had the church never told her?

This unruly child sat with her doubts for a long time. She didn’t know where to turn. She tried to read apologetics from faithful church members, but they left her feeling even more confused and uncertain. The arguments couldn’t stand up against her logic and reason. What could be explain, wasn’t explained well. They didn’t hold the answers she desperately needed. 

The more she researched, the more stones she overturned. Every stone brought with it another uncomfortable truth or fact. It seemed that every aspect of her beloved church held a different version than what she had been taught in church, seminary, and BYU. Nothing felt safe or sacred anymore.

This unruly child laid awake at night, listening to her husband breathe and wondering what was better: divulging her doubts, fears, and worries to her husband or silence for the sake of keeping the only life she’s every known. 

This unruly child chose three years of silence. 

This unruly child did her best to keep it together. She served her callings, turned a blind eye the tithing leaving her bank account, and continued praying. She would read the scriptures and conference talks she felt could be comfortably read. She taught lessons, being careful in her wording to only teach the things that felt true and necessary. She was determined to carve a place for herself in this church. Except, the more she chiseled, the more she realized she was actually chipping away at her soul.

Funny how this unruly child only became “unruly” when she stopped being silent. 

When this unruly child started packing her bags, she did so carefully and purposefully. This wasn’t easy on anyone, and she knew it. Kindness and love were her words of choice, but not everyone was receptive. Some dismissed her and said cruel things. No one asked her why, though. They all said they were sorry to see her go, but if that were true, wouldn’t they try to find the answers she so diligently searched for? Wouldn’t they try to better understand her decisions and build a bridge between her disbelief and their belief? Or was she only of value to them when she stayed silent and pretended? Was her contribution to this place worthless now that she chose authenticity over painful silence?

Of course, I am this unruly child and this stubborn, unruly child didn’t leave in a knee jerk reaction of emotions. I did everything I could to make this work, even in the face of cruelty and willful misunderstanding. I kept my mouth shut and called it respect.

But you know what? If being the unruly child was the only way to be heard, then that is a badge worth wearing. Being the headstrong, unruly child means seeing the world and heavens for what they are and not through the filter of someone else’s glasses. Speaking up and demanding to be heard means opening that door for others. For every voice that screams out, others nod in agreement, silently whispering “That’s my experience, too!” 

You may call me headstrong and unruly. You may say I’m just a petulant, ungrateful child throwing a tantrum. You may brush aside my demands as unreasonable or “too much.” You may do all of those things, but I am the one who holds truth in her hands. I am the one who picked up the pieces of my shattered faith, looking at each one and carefully rearranging them into a beautiful stained glass window. I am the one who shined a light into the dark and scary corners of my belief. What I found there wasn’t a monster, but a woman with more strength and integrity than your little finger. Because it took courage to speak about what was happening to me and it took strength to steady myself in your whirlwind. Not only did I do it, but I did it with a heap of kindness, love, and patience. You cannot rewrite the version of who I am to best suit your needs. It’s not my fault you cannot see the things I had to offer while you minimized everything I’ve gone through. You are the ones who refuse to understand and accept me. 

So, to the headstrong, unruly children of this world: keep at it. Silence was a heavy price to pay for love, but the greatest, most authentic love I experienced only came after I was deemed “unruly.” I wouldn’t have it any other way.