Tonight I attended one of my "Religious Transitions" groups. Since I've discovered them, I've tried to attend weekly. It's a room full of people who have lost their religions and, often, additionally, lost all faith in God. We sit and chat about the various ways that religion and the loss of religion has affected our lives. The good, the bad, the ugly. (Mostly the bad, we can be honest.)
It is incredibly refreshing to walk into a room of people who can instantly understand the complicated emotions that arise from losing your entire system of belief and way of life. They are people who understand, innately, what "sunk cost" feels like, and felt the same way about the truth that it landed them where you are at, yourself. There are people who have lost careers, people who have lost family, people who have GAINED incredible peace, and yet still attend this group because of the dynamics that religion plays in their current life, relationships, and internal monologues and beliefs.
As a Mormon, I would have committed crimes to be in that room.
That is a really weird thing to say, but it is 100% true.
You mean, there's a room full of people who left The Church, and all they do is talk, honestly, about why? With no Church Members present?
The secrets to apostasy are in that room, people. The secret successful maneuverings of the devil can be laid bare, there, in that circle of chairs. If I could just attend anonymously a few times, I could figure it all out - then I could help them.
It's funny, because it's a room full of people who would have had the same inclinations. They've already had those thoughts, in their former lives of belief. They are, to be frank, "onto you."
There are no secrets. There is anger, there is fear, there is a LOT of humor, and there is stability. There are questions, there are frustrations, concerns, conundrums, and clarity.
Other people's stories and questions are their own, as is common courtesy in group settings, but a question I found myself asking, tonight, was - "How do you know if some self-righteous religious zealot's preaching is something worth putting down, pointing out, correcting, or just ignoring?"
It's whatever protects YOUR peace.
"Hurt" is a complicated thing. Hurt comes from inaction, from action, from knowledge, from ignorance, from attempts to repair, and from neglect. Hurt IS GOING TO HAPPEN. This is life. It's unavoidable.
The measure of what is "good" or "bad" cannot be found, necessarily, in the hurt that happens as a result. Human beings have a right to feel whatever responses they feel, given their circumstances. Sometimes that feeling is "hurt," and that feeling is valid. But we cannot say that "hurt" equals wrong, or even bad. If you reset a bone, it will hurt like hell, but it is, actually, very good. Thank you.
Does it hurt people to remind them that not everyone in the room is Christian?
Does it hurt people to let the actions and words of an outspoken Christian slide, in assuming everyone believes the same?
The answer, to both, is yes. People may feel hurt.
How are you supposed to know what to do?
While, surely, we owe protection to people, we must include ourselves in that equation. Is telling an LDS missionary to "Stay off my porch!!" going to help ME feel safe, where I am at, today? Getting turned away at doors hurts, yes, but as the human behind the door, I'm having feelings too.
(For the record, if the missionaries knock on my door, I will do everything possible to get them to come in and eat food and rest for a bit, as well as invite them back. They will soon realize I am an ex-Mormon, and be horrified by the kindness I show them, after they realize JUST HOW STRONGLY I feel about the Church, and the fact that I am NOT coming back. I literally played around with the idea of legally changing my name to include the phrase "I Dissent," so that if some well-intentioned niece in the future tries to do my "work for the dead," she will get to that veil, and I will have the last word as she reads off my name.)
As I was saying,
I, the person on the receiving end, am having my own experiences. I am equally entitled to peace.
If yelling at zealots is what protects my peace, then I can go for it. By doing so, I've told someone that "I will not hold the hurt today - you can." If the zealot is a little old grandpa I take mercy on, because he's well-intentioned, if tone deaf and blind? "I will take the hurt today. You can stay ignorant."
More often than not, as evidenced by this blog, I like to call out wrong where I see it. It is what brings me peace. Does it make other people uncomfortable? Often. (If you don't want to read it, for your own peace, just scroll on.) But I can protect my peace, by, in religious talk, telling truths on the rooftops.
- ("Religious zealots? What the hell is she even on about?!")
This last week I went out to lunch with my mum, my daughter, and a dear neighbor, for her birthday.
I sat with my back to the wall, with a clear view of the rest of the room in front of me. At one point in the meal, I noticed that the table beside us, of eight women in their sixties, had called the server over to their table. They held his hands in their own circle of hand-holding as they bowed their heads, closed their eyes, and prayed over their meal.
Former Olive Garden server, me, horror-movie-screamed inside.
My GOSH, what would I have done?!
Their server quietly played along, not a look of approval or discomfort crossing his face, and cooperated while they used their position of power and authority over him to force him to play along with their religious observance. (Which was not very Christian of them, because everybody was watching, and this room was no closet.)
I realized, that even as the godless server I am, I would have done exactly the same thing - played along with their prayer, selling the appearance of my belief, shamelessly, for their approval and, subsequently, their tips.
They would have felt fine, and I would have simmered in anger and religious trauma for days. For me, religion is incredibly triggering, as it reminds me of choices that I felt manipulated into making, beliefs I was sold without options, and the fact that I am currently living my life entirely without my informed consent - the good and the bad. (Wait, you mean... I didn't HAVE to get married and have kids? And I didn't have to believe that I was inferior to men all those years, and develop the subsequent people-pleasing fear I still have of them? And I didn't have to NOT attend my good lesbian friend's wedding... And I... etc, etc, etc.) And to be manipulated into further participation at the price of your paycheck?
All that to say, this room full of apostates are some of the best people I know, and I'm grateful for having found a group that understands the intricate weavings of complex post-traumatic stress disorder, and the irony of becoming everything that ever disappointed you - and loving it.
No, there are no secrets. Just hurt, and people who want to share it.
