Resignation
HOW religion affected my mental health
By Emma Tolman
(Martin Pechy / Pexels)
“I hereby resign from the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, effective immediately. I withdraw my consent to being treated as a member and being subject to rules, policies, beliefs and discipline. As I am no longer a member, I ask that my name be permanently removed from the records of the church.”
When I was two months old, my dad held me in his arms while uncles and grandfathers stood around me in a circle, their hands on each other’s shoulders. They named me and blessed me in the name of Jesus Christ. I was wearing the same tiny white dress that my mother wore when she was blessed twenty-five years prior. This was the beginning of indoctrination.
“I am aware that my resignation ‘cancels the effects of baptism and confirmation, … and revokes temple blessings.’ I also understand that I will be ‘readmitted to the church by baptism only after a thorough interview.’ (Quotes from the current Church Handbook of Instructions.)”
When I was eight years old, I gave my life to this organization by baptism. I wore a white dress with a blue sash that my mom made for me and sat in the front row of the congregation. Tears poured down my face during and after the service. My mom said it’s because sometimes we cry when we feel the Spirit. Sometimes I wonder if, in my heart, I knew what I was getting myself into. If I saw the years of religious trauma ahead of me.
After that baptism, I was officially a member, and by the church’s rules, eternally responsible for my sins. At eight years old, barely old enough to pack my own lunch, I promised my life, not to a god, but to a billionaire patriarchy.
“I have given this matter considerable thought and will not be persuaded otherwise. I can no longer align myself with the policies, doctrine, teachings and practices of the church while staying true to my personal values of acceptance, empathy and equity; nor can I accept the sugarcoated version of church history that the church offers or stand with its attempts to hide this history.”
When I was fourteen years old, my prayers started getting longer and more emotional, but not because my testimony was growing stronger. It was because I was sinking deep into religious OCD. I repented constantly, pleading for forgiveness from having a swear word cross my mind or watching the suggestive dancing scenes in Mamma Mia. Once, while staying at a family member’s house, I wouldn’t charge my phone there because I didn’t want to steal their electricity. It stopped being about God or the church and started to be about following the rules, both the ones set for me and the ones my brain made up for itself.
“I expect that this matter will be handled promptly without waiting periods.”
When I was sixteen years old, I wrote a suicide note to Jesus. I asked him to touch my broken heart, if it wasn’t too late. I received no sign, no promise that things were going to get better. But in the days afterward, I believed that because I survived those pills, it meant that God wasn’t done with me, that he still had work for me to do on earth. Six months and another suicide attempt later, I wrote in my journal “I am not a Christian.”
“After today, the only contact I want from the church is a single letter of confirmation to let me know that I am no longer listed as a member of the church.”
When I was eighteen years old, I took my life back, symbolized by a single email. Pressing send on that email was freeing, but even more freeing was the first time I drank tea. The first time I wore a sports bra and shorts to work out. The first time I kissed someone without worrying about maintaining some arbitrary standard of purity. The first time I said to myself that I am not sinful or broken simply for existing.
Now, at eighteen years old, I still find myself with the urge to pray at mealtimes. Shame and fear still have a strong grip on me. I still look over my shoulder every time I break any kind of rule, wondering if I’ll be smitten by a flaming sword.
But now I can be my bisexual self. I can drink coffee without fear of hell. I can spend my time and money where I know it will do the most good. I can live my life coming from a place of empathy and love, rather than judgment and shame.
And I hope that you are able to do the same.
“Sincerely,
Emma Tolman”
Quotes partially taken from www.exmormon.org/remove.
This piece was written and shared during the IDONTMIND Writing Workshop. Learn more about our free, nine-week course and be the first to know about the next workshop here. Visit Mental Health Connecticut’s YouTube channel for a video version of Emma’s story.
Emma Tolman is the creator of the mental health and poetry blog The Rainbow Wallflower. When she’s not writing, she’s horseback riding or playing with her dog Gryffin.
