What About Us

What About Us?

A few years later, not much had changed. My husband was often preoccupied with his own interests while I managed everything else. Yet, we still attended church together every week, presenting a united front. We never addressed the reality that he didn’t share my beliefs. He enjoyed the social aspect, so joining me was never an issue. I think, because we went together like all the other families, I avoided confronting the fact that we weren't truly an eternal family; we couldn't be if he didn’t believe.

Each week, I tried to suppress those thoughts, but one night, I had a vivid dream that took me to the field behind my parents' house. It was a beautiful summer day, and the field was adorned with wildflowers. I wandered alone in a dress I had worn to church, and the scene felt idyllic. Yet, amidst the beauty, an overwhelming sense of sadness and loneliness enveloped me. I can hardly describe it, but the sobs that welled up forced me awake, and I was relieved to find it was just a dream.

Clearly, the thought of being alone in heaven weighed heavily on me, prompting me to seek solace in what I knew to be true: that God loved me and understood my situation, and He would take care of me. Once I acknowledged this, I tried to let it go. However, this introspection led to other questions about my place in the church. I began to realize that much of what was discussed felt distant from my own experiences. Frequently, I found myself thinking that the way others spoke about God was different from how He had revealed Himself in my life. I even remember once remarking during a conversation about prayer that God didn’t care whether we used "thee" or "thou"; He simply wanted to hear from us. The puzzled looks I received made me feel even more isolated.

Soon, I began to realize that my time in church was largely spent in Primary, which meant I was receiving a very basic education about the church I belonged to. This was fine by me at first, but it also highlighted how much I didn't know about church doctrine. I believed God was present within The Church, so whenever I encountered unsettling information, I reassured myself that there were things I simply didn’t understand yet, and I reminded myself to be patient until clarity came.

That changed around 2015 when my husband started listening to Mormon Stories podcasts. He would share what he learned, primarily about polygamy. Although I was reluctant to hear him out, I felt compelled to listen, responding with a calm, “No, I didn’t know that… that IS weird,” while pushing the unsettling information to the back of my mind. Yet, I couldn’t shake the discomfort; everything he shared felt deeply troubling. Surely there had to be an explanation, or perhaps they were exaggerating?

After two weeks of this, he mentioned that Joseph Smith had married women who were still married to other men. I felt my face pale in shock; why would anyone do that? It was bad enough that he had married single women behind his first wife, Emma's, back, but it made no sense at all that he would marry women that were already married. That moment ignited a determination in me to uncover the truth for myself. I retreated to my room, sat on the floor, and grabbed my phone. I prayed for guidance, asking God for the truth, no matter how difficult it might be.

When I googled "Joseph Smith Polygamy," I found Bryan C. Hales' website. I quickly learned he was an expert on polygamy, a former Stake President, and an active church member, which gave me a sense of safety regarding the information. As I began to read, I felt increasingly ill. From Joseph's marriage to Fanny Alger, to deceiving Emma by marrying women secretly, to coercing young girls into marriage under the threat of divine retribution, the revelations were horrifying. I was stunned to discover that a 14-year-old girl, Helen Mar Kimball, was pressured into marrying him with the promise of securing her family's place in heaven. How had I been completely unaware of all this? I looked up and asked God, "Why? Why would you allow this?"

In that moment, clarity washed over me: God wasn’t behind any of this. Everything fell into place—why I had always felt out of place, why I was confused about so many teachings, and why my understanding of God differed so greatly from what was preached. I suddenly realized what God was trying to tell me all along.

From that point on, I was determined to uncover everything. I dove into research, exploring the validity of the Book of Mormon, the Temple ceremonies, the influences of Freemasonry, racial issues regarding the Priesthood, and various accounts of the First Vision. Within a couple of weeks, I felt I had a comprehensive understanding. While part of me was relieved—after all, the church had never truly resonated with me—I was left reeling at the magnitude of deception. All the time, money, and trust that had been invested into it felt like a betrayal, and I was infuriated to know that others were still being misled.

Despite this clarity, the reality of leaving was daunting. I had callings, neighbors, friends, and family—all part of a community tied to the church. I had just been called to teach my youngest daughter’s Primary class, so I decided to stay until the year was over, waiting until she transitioned to Young Women’s. When the time came, I planned to slip out quietly.

I was honest with both of my daughters about my discoveries and my decision to leave, allowing them to choose their own paths. My youngest continued attending Young Women’s for a time due to her friends, while my oldest revealed she had never truly believed and was relieved to be done. Personally, I embraced the liberation of stepping away from church life, free from guilt, pressure, and confusion. The hardest part was facing judgment from ward members, family, and friends, while feeling unable to explain my choice. I found solace in the thought that if they knew what I knew, they might consider leaving too. I learned that everyone must navigate their own journey in their own time, and I hoped to be a supportive presence for others when they were ready.

Throughout this transition, what helped me most was reaffirming that my understanding of God was not flawed. Connecting with friends and a few family members who had also uncovered the truth was invaluable. Hearing their stories, often heartbreaking, brought tears to my eyes. Each account of someone whose life revolved around the church made me realize how fortunate I was—not something I ever imagined I would say. For them, discovering the truth turned their worlds upside down. I, on the other hand, had only had one foot in the door due to circumstances, so for me, the impact was less devastating.

This reflection brings to mind all those hurt and betrayed by Joseph Smith and The Church—polygamous wives, those still trapped in polygamy today, pioneers who sacrificed so much on their journey to the Salt Lake Valley, early African American members told they were cursed by God, the LGBTQ community grappling with the belief that they are inherently flawed, individuals abandoned by family, those with broken marriages, and those struggling with suicidal thoughts due to feelings of inadequacy. We all invested our time, money, and trust into an organization that ultimately deceived us. In the end, the question lingers: What about us?

The Manti Temple

"What about all the times you said you had the answers..."