I care far too much about appearances.
I feel nervous when making any statements.
I get tied up in knots when I think about sticking my neck out.
I get flustered when I think about someone proving that I am wrong.
I worry constantly about how others perceive me.
You’d think that four years at
St. John’s College would have cured all this, but it didn’t.
In fact, I feel that these core deep inhibitions are part of the reason I didn’t do as well at SJC as I would have liked.
I feel the feminists will hate me for saying that I chose to be a SAHM. I feel the Molly Mormons will hate me for saying that I’m ready to stop being only a SAHM, that I want some thing more from my life than hugging children and baking cookies and that I’d much rather have my husband home with me than serving as bishop. I also find it ironic that the feminist movement – which I view as a movement to liberate women – makes me feel more captive and more cautious about what I want to say.
I think I should just post a blog stating in bold all my deepest darkest secrets. We have $16,000 of credit card debt. I was pseudo-suicidal in middle school. I don’t think I would have ever followed through but I thought about it a lot, mainly as an attention getting grab, and even had a concrete plan for what to do. (I would stop by the drug store between school and work, buy a container of pills – Tylenol or Ibuprofen [I know, hard core drugs] – and take the whole bottle that night.) But I was too afraid of what God would say when I showed up ahead of schedule or of doing it wrong and having to deal with my family after the failed attempt.
I get tired of church teachers who teach without the Spirit. I don’t care if the content is years old, if the Spirit is there I will get something out of it whether it’s just reiterating what I’ve already heard but have yet to learn or it’s something completely new to my thoughts. I get tired of biting my tongue so as not to offend some old woman entrenched in her opinion of the gospel. I really want to have in-depth discussions in Relief Society and Gospel Doctrine instead of spouting off the same old platitudes. I want people to witness of the Savior more. I want to hear their experiences and the things that they question and don’t understand about gospel doctrine. I want to talk about living the gospel and how to move from the ideals and principles to the every day living of those principles. I appreciate that not all of us will live the principles the same way and I want to hear that too; maybe it will give me better ideas of how to live my own Jesus centered life.
I’m tired of being told by non-LDS believers that I’m not a Christian. I know that I don't belong in their club and that's okay; we have many doctrinal differences. But my testimony of Jesus is key to my life and I don't like having complete strangers, who have never heard my testimony or bothered to discuss the matter, dismissing me out of hand as being a cultist who believes in a "wrong Jesus."
I’m tired of sad looks and lame clothes because I’m fat. I’m tired of laundry and dishes and hate that I even have to think of them. I’m tired of feeling guilty about throwing paper or cans away. I don’t eat organic food and I don’t compost all my kitchen scraps.
I voted for George W. Bush. Twice. [Okay, the second time was only because I knew that my state, and thus the electoral votes which actually count as opposed to my itty bitty chunk of the popular vote, would be for Kerry. I figured it was the best way not to vote for anybody.] I used to *love* New Kids on the Block. I would dream about Jordan Knight on a daily and nightly basis. I dreamed about marrying him and having his babies. My bedroom was literally wallpapered (including the ceiling) with posters of them. I like Kelly Clarkston, Air Supply and musicals. I am an incurable romantic. I love, love, *love* romance novels and romantic comedies. I love the whole “boy meets girl, they fall in love, crisis happens, they overcome crisis and live happily ever after” scenario. I love the “grand gesture.” I love fairy tales and weddings. I love declarations of undying love.
I love the song “The Scotsman.” I love that it’s a ribald ditty that I could never sing a church social.
I don’t think you have to be Mormon to make it to the highest degree of glory in the Celestial Kingdom. I think there will be people there who are now atheists, Buddhists, Hindus, Protestants, Catholics, etc. I think God loves us more than we can comprehend and I think His greatest sadness is the vitriol we spit at each other and at ourselves.
I suffer from bouts of depression. I am currently getting out of one such bout. I’m thinking about having to take medication for it, Tom Cruise and Scientology be damned! I also see a therapist on a regular basis.
I love rain. I love to listen to the drops of drizzle or the torrential wind-like sound of a down pour. I love the sun. I love to lift my face to its brilliance and feel the caress of its rays. I love wind. It’s a kiss from God. I love summer – the heat, cooling off in a lake, fireworks and barbecues (as long as I don’t have to host them!). I love winter – snow (as long as I don’t have to drive in it), wind and rain storms, cold days drinking cocoa inside, fires in the wood stove. I love fall – the crispness, the feeling of change, the gorgeous palette of nature and the crunch of leaves beneath my feet. I love spring – trees decked out in pastel blossoms of fluff, bits of green through patches of snow, and the damp smell of earth. I love the seasons in between the seasons. I don’t have a favorite.
I enjoy sex. I love orgasms, but sometimes they are just too much work. I love being naked with my husband. I do, however, prefer to sleep in my own bed and not be disturbed while sleeping, even by said cherished husband. I like to dance. I like to go wild and twirl and drop to the floor. I like to whirl my hair around and spin, particularly with the right kind of skirt. I like to hear a man who can really sing bass; the sound makes my toes curl in the most delicious way.
I’m 32. I have enormous size 10 wide feet. I’m only 5’4” and I weight 225 lbs. I have breasts and hips and thighs and more curves (including love handles) than an earth mother. I love that heroine and heroin are pronounced the same; it makes me feel like a woman is just as addictive as a narcotic. I love feeling sensual and powerful.
I bite my fingers (not my nails, just my fingers). I pick my nose and my ears. I have a planter’s wart on my right heel.
I love dark chocolate in its many forms. Chocolate milk should only be served in its whole milk form; anything other than that is a waste.
I still have dreams of castles, being a princess and Robert as my prince and riding off into the sunset on horses. I want my own horse though so Robert and I can race each other or ride the same horse if we choose. I like to keep my options open.
I care far too much about what other people think and, even more damning, I care too much about what I think they think. I need to give myself permission to live and to sin big, knowing that God loves me and that He and I can work everything else out at our pace, not someone else’s.
I sometimes get tired of paying tithing and think how we could live, much more easily, if we had that money instead of giving it to the church. Sometimes too I wonder if giving it to the church is really giving it to God. There is part of me that would like to bury it or give it to some other denomination.
I had a crisis of faith two years ago and seriously thought about leaving the church and ending seven generations of Mormons.
I nurse grudges and have a hard time forgiving others. I do understand that this is a weakness and it hurts me and I’m working on it but it’s a slow process.
Sometimes I still swear.
I believe in keeping the Sabbath holy. I also believe that I can be too Pharisaical about keeping that commandment. I try not to shop or do anything that would require someone else to work on my behalf (excluding the Lord’s work) but there are so many instances where I'm not sure where to draw the line. In 2006, my sister-in-law invited us to my nephew's birthday party at a miniature golf place on a Sunday. I agonized over this decision for weeks and finally decided not to attend because of the Sabbath. I still wonder if we made the right decision.
I believe strongly in the Law of Chastity and am so amazed, in this day of supposed logical thinking and reasoning, that popular society doesn’t embrace the idea of chastity outside of marriage despite the number of problems this law would remedy or, at least, improve. I believe that women should dress modestly as part of this law. While I disagree that modesty means no tank tops, no cleavage and no leg, I do think that we women should do our part to limit engendering sexual thoughts in others. I do believe that this is a team effort though and I think men are just as accountable. I think they should never be allowed to go topless, even at the beach. Remember those old fashioned one piece men’s bathing suits (I have a picture of my grandfather wearing one probably in the late 20’s or 30’s)? Bring ‘em back I say! (And no, I’m not trying to be sarcastic.) Women are just as capable of lascivious thoughts as men are and we need just as much help staying chaste as they do!
I think more women should stay home with their kids. I take heart from the knowledge that Sandra Day O’Connor did not begin her legal career until after she had raised her 5 children. I do think that I need to be a better mother and feel less guilt about the housework. I think I should find the money for a housekeeper and acknowledge that this is not a skill I possess and THAT’S OKAY!! It’s okay that I can’t clean well, decorate well or get all the stains out of our clothing. Housekeeping is NOT being a mother.
I think I need to have a writing voice that’s as big as my physical voice. I can boom loud enough so that 44 people can hear what I am saying amidst a busy airport. I remember one passenger saying, “I’m glad she’s not my wife!” Now, I need to have a content voice that’s just as big. I need to believe in what I say and own who I am even though I’m not perfect and I’m bound to meet people who disagree with me, contradict me and who even show me that I am wrong.
I have found a gay Mormon blog that I love. I love his voice – it is gentle and full of love for his partner and their family and for the gospel and his journey of trying to live in both worlds and live full of integrity. I really admire him and think he gets much more right than some of the most traditional of Mormons. If I could find his lesbian counterpart, I would love to read her blog too.
I am in love with my children. The sight of them can make me cry. The thought of their growing up and leaving does make me cry but also smile with pleasure at the thought of their being competent, capable and independent adults. I love to hear them laugh. I love their hugs and kisses and that look in their eye that says, more than words, that I am the most amazing mother ever. I can’t live without them. They also drive me nuts. I am so grateful for bedtime! They create chaos. They drain my funds. They generate so many of my struggles and yet I know I would do it all over again.
I think that if motherhood is to be equated with priesthood then we need to redefine motherhood. I think motherhood begins at 12, the same age as boys becoming deacons. I think motherhood is nurturing and loving. Motherhood is the embodiment of charity and closely describes God’s love for and relationship to us. Motherhood has little to do with birthing children and more to do with how we treat ourselves and those around us. Motherhood is femininity, strong and delicate; it is being a woman, only amplified. If the priesthood is the ability to act in the name of God, then motherhood is the ability to act in the name of the Goddess, two sides of the same coin.
I believe in a Heavenly Mother. I know that the church as a whole is silent on Her except for Her existence but I believe that when we reach the other side, we will see that She has been far more involved than we realized or understood. She loves me, just as much as God the Father and Jesus Christ do. And I don’t think She spends Her time cleaning Heaven or knitting but that our immortality and eternal life are just as much Her work and glory as they are the Father’s and the Son’s. (By the way, I find it ironic that spell check doesn’t care if I capitalize male pronouns for God but is offended by my capitalization of the female pronoun.)
I don’t really like animals all that much. I enjoy petting them and snuggling with them when I need to but I don’t really like having pets. I would really like to get rid of our dog and cat. The goldfish I would keep, but part of the reason I would keep him is that there is only one of him and he is residing in an ice cream gallon bucket. I have conflicted feelings about zoos and I feel guilty when I visit them.
I've peed my bed once, as I can remember, as an adult and yes, I was dreaming about going to the bathroom at the time.
I love The Vagina Monologues (except the one where an older lady is introducing a younger girl to her sexuality – how is that not child abuse?!) and cannot believe that bitch and ass can be said on network television without getting beeped but vagina and penis cannot. Since when did accurate names for body parts become vulgar?
I love women. I love how complex we are, I love how we help one another and I’m boggled by the energy we spend hurting one another. I love the relationships between women: mother-daughter; sisters; friends. I love women’s bodies and all their curves. I love that women can be pregnant and carry the next generation. I love that we can nurse our young at our breasts. I loved breast feeding and wish I had done it a little longer.
I love newborn babies. Babies and children are great on the whole but there is something even more amazing about newborns and that first month of life. I love their smell, their delicateness, and their freshly minted qualities. I love that you can feel goodness around them and that my heart swells, and I’m sure my eyes dilate, whenever I even look at one. I love holding them and rubbing their soft spot. I love their tiny skinny hands and feet.
As I write all of this, my euphoria produced “spit in the devil’s eye, I don’t care what any one thinks” attitude is fading and I don’t know what to say. Suddenly the thought of posting this becomes daunting. I shrink back to, “What will everyone think?”
A blog has passed. It was a great blog, full of pithy Latin phrases, angst and comments on 
Perhaps I'll just have to come out of the closet and start looking for my own.
