You've Been Charged With Hypocrisy: How Do You Plead?

As a New Order Mormon (a Mormon who does not believe in the church but still attends), I get a lot of ex-Mormons and other Mormons who don't really understand why my husband and I are still attending church. Sometimes they argue that we're being hypocritical by continuing to attend church and support an organization that we no longer intellectually affiliate with.

That's a fair charge. And you know what? I plead guilty. I do often feel like a hypocrite and I experience a great deal of stress and cognitive dissonance every time I interact with the church in any kind of official capacity or whenever I interact with TBMs (which is fairly regularly).

So, you might be asking things like how can I sleep with myself at night? Well, the reason is that right now I prioritize other things over my personal integrity and the consistency of my public appearance. Right now, I'm placing a higher priority on my relationship with my family, friends, and neighbors than my personal integrity. Personal integrity is of course important to me, but right now it's being placed on the back burner next to weightier matters such as my relationships with other people.

Let me state up front that we intend to ask for releases from our callings and gradually slide into inactivity between the months of April to July. It's all part of the plan, so don't get too worried.

Allow me to explain our past and current reasons for continuing to attend church as they've evolved over time:

1. We wanted to give our family members time to get acclimated to the idea that we would eventually leave the church. The whole time we were struggling with our faith crisis, we kept it strictly between ourselves. We didn't tell our bishop or our family members because we wanted to work through the whole thing on our own. If we ended up continuing to believe the church was true, then no harm would have been done. If we ended up losing our faith, then we wouldn't hurt anyone else in the process. (Going through a faith crisis is incredibly painful and I don't feel that I have the right to foist that upon anyone else. If someone is already in a faith crisis, I'll be happy to help them work through it---and I have no personal commitment to whatever the outcome of their faith crisis is. Everyone has to decide whether their life is better inside or outside of the church for themselves---and I'm not going to judge them either way.)

After we had concluded that we had officially lost our faith in Mormonism and were going to leave the church, we didn't want to scare our family by just suddenly leaving the church. Our faith crisis had happened over the course of a year and had involved long, intense moments of deep introspection. But to an outsider, it would appear as though we had made a very sudden and rash decision. We knew that would confuse and hurt our family members. And since they are very important to us, we wanted to gradually get them used to the idea that we might leave the church. We hoped this would subtly communicate that we had not made this decision in haste and that we had given the church a fair chance (notwithstanding the 30+ years of giving the church a fair chance prior to our faith crisis). Now that more than a year has passed since we first clued our parents into the situation, the time is ripening for our departure.

2. We wanted to build a social network outside of the church. One time when I was in the middle of my faith crisis, I took a look at the statistics of my social network using Facebook. At the time, 82% of my social network was LDS. And of the 50 or so individuals who comprised the other 18%, only 1 or 2 of those were very intimate, close relationships. (I plan to do a longer blog entry discussing the unique social network of Mormonism, so stay tuned!) This was a bit of a problem for me because that meant that if I were to suddenly leave the church, I would be jumping into a new world with almost no social support. I'm an introvert so I suppose it wouldn't have been that bad; nevertheless, it didn't seem very healthy to me. We wanted to make sure we had some good friends outside of the church before we left it completely. Nowadays, I'm happy to report that we have established some very good relationships with ex-Mormons and never-Mormons that are richer and more meaningful than our relationships with people inside the church. Again, the atmosphere for our departure is getting better.

3. We want our departure from our ward to be a quiet one. I must admit, I do see the appeal of this particular approach to leaving the church:

But setting aside the sheer coolness factor behind leaving the church in a noisy (and speedy) way, the "live out loud" approach advocated by John Larsen (and others) is just too costly for me.

We like our house and we don't want to move. Nearly all of our neighbors are members of the church and we don't want to burn any bridges with any of them. If we are seen as being full-blown apostates to our neighbors, we will begin to be treated differently by them because we'll be viewed as a threat. We won't be able to maintain our relationships of respect and trust with them. Our kids might not be allowed to form friendships with the other kids in our neighborhood. And worst of all: we'll lose all of our baby-sitters.

We think it's better to be viewed by our neighbors and ward members as inactive. If they want to conjecture that we stopped attending church because we were lazy or something, I'll be fine with that. I'll know in my heart that it isn't the truth and that's enough for me. I'm happy to sacrifice my control over my public reputation in order to maintain peace and good will with my neighbors. (Besides, I think it's silly to imagine that I ever had full control over the way I am perceived by others to begin with.)

4. I prefer to keep my religious beliefs private so that I don't hurt the people I love and so that I can keep myself from being hurt. I've come to find profound meaning in Robert Frost's poem "Mending Wall." The poem is about a pair of farmers who go about repairing the wall that marks the boundary between their property. The narrator of the poem says, "Something there is that doesn't love a wall." On one level, he thinks it is silly to build and maintain the walls that separate their farms---especially in places where the wall is unnecessary, such as in their orchards. I agree with the narrator's perspective. I think honesty (the removal of walls) is preferable. I wish we could all just be real with each other, that we could all live without facades. Then we could realize that we are all pretty normal human beings and that we're not so different from one another. We could work through our issues together and reach a mutually agreeable understanding about our differences.

Last weekend, I was talking with a non-traditional Mormon who had just discovered earlier that week that her younger brother hadn't believed in the church for nearly 4 years, but had kept it to himself the whole time. That's the cost of building walls: you can't help each other in moments of pain and dissonance because you're too busy hiding from one another.

But, at the same time, I see the wisdom behind the narrator's neighbor too. The narrator's neighbor simply states: "Good fences make good neighbors." He has a good point. I've been burned quite a bit by being honest with my parents about my faith crisis. We've had some intense exchanges that have resulted in tears and have caused week-long spells of deep depression for me. I've realized that I can't be fully honest with TBMs because it hurts both them and me in really painful, almost unbearable ways. I would love it if only they could understand me, but I think there is some futility in trying to force that understanding prematurely. I think that some day, when we're ready and our relationship is in the right place, I'll be able to be honest. I'll continue to hope and have patience for that day---and if it never comes, I'm resigned to that possibility. But for now, I'm building a few walls to keep both my family, friends and myself safe from pain. I've set some boundaries about what I will and will not share about my personal life. And that's because I want to minimize the collateral damage associated with my departure.

Right now I just focus on expressing myself in forums like this blog or on Mormon Expression or private Facebook groups. And that's good enough for me. I don't think it's unreasonable to keep some aspects of your life private from some of the people around you. That's how all healthy human relationships usually work: you wait to reveal intensely personal things about yourself until you have developed a certain level of intimacy and trust in your relationships. You can still maintain a healthy, casual relationship with people without telling your neighbors, or your co-workers, or your former college roommates everything about your personal religious beliefs.

5. It's hard to reset your life to zero all at once. It should be noted that up until 2 years ago, I had fully bought into Mormonism for most of my life. I sincerely believed in it. I kept all of its rules. I was heavily active in the church because I loved it. It was a very big part of my life.

When something is an integral part of your life, you can't just press the "erase" button and expect it all to go away without a hitch. It has taken quite a while to de-program Mormonism out of our lives. For example, we kept praying over our food long after we stopped believing in prayer because it was a life-long habit. Eventually, the only way we could get ourselves out of that habit was to replace it with a new habit: the Japanese ritual of saying "Itadakimasu" before eating. And that was something as silly as what to do before eating---let alone bigger issues like drinking and what not.

We started by dipping our toes in the waters of ex-Mormonism, and now we're taking gradually wading into the deep end as opposed to jumping head-first into the water all at once. We're getting experienced enough now to where we can probably get rid of the flotation device and start swimming on our own now.

6. I don't want to burn any bridges permanently. One thing that's important to keep in mind about my faith crisis is that it has resulted in being pretty comfortable with uncertainty. I've realized in a very profound way that it's possible for me to be wrong---dead wrong---about really important things. It's a very humbling experience. But I've come to feel okay with it because I've realized that I'm making the best decisions and reaching the most reasonable conclusions with all of the imperfect information that I currently have available to me. I believe it's important that I never keep myself from feeling too certain my current position is right because I've learned that my sense of certainty is almost always misplaced. I want to make sure that I'm always questioning myself and that I never stop searching for truth and more information. I'm comfortable with remaining flexible, with a willingness to update my perspectives in the future as more evidence becomes available. As the famous economist John Maynard Keynes once said when he was accused of hypocrisy: "When the facts change, I change my mind. What do you do, sir?"

Maybe things will change in the future as more information becomes available to me or as my life circumstances change. Maybe I'll move on to a Fowler Stage 5 and become one of those Mormon Stories/Mormon Matters people. Or maybe I won't. Either way, I want to be humble enough to give myself room to change my mind in the future. So, I don't want to burn my bridges with the church in the process.

***

At the end of the day, I've reached a place where I love myself and I love everyone else---no matter where they're at in their own personal faith journey or where they stand on the spectrum of Mormonism. I believe that everyone is making the right choices for themselves based on their own personal circumstances. I respect their right to decide the path for themselves in their own way and on their own timetable. I just hope that other people will extend me the same courtesy.

To the Souls of All Those Who Drink: That They May Have This Spirit to Be With Them

Last weekend my husband and I took a very big step in our journey away from Mormonism: we tried alcohol for the first time. From a purely academic perspective, I had stopped believing in the Word of Wisdom a long time ago (especially the version of the Word of Wisdom as interpreted by the contemporary church). But doubting the Word of Wisdom on an intellectual level is fairly different from experiencing it first-hand. I tried tea for the first time on my anniversary trip to Las Vegas last August. (I know, I know... It's pretty lame to go all the way to Las Vegas just to try an iced tea.) And I had tried coffee for the first time during Conference Weekend last October. Neither tea nor coffee had felt like that big of a deal. But alcohol? That was taking it to a new level.

So, last weekend we gave it a shot (pun intended). Read on if you want to see how the whole experience turned out and what I learned as a result.


The Context
By now, my husband Chris and I have been in a few different social situations where people were drinking and where we could have joined in if we had wanted to. There was a dinner party back in July with Chris's coworkers and I felt acutely awkward being the only couple who weren't drinking. Ever since then, I had thought a lot about if, when, and how I would try alcohol for the first time.

I hate to admit it, but fear was the driving motivation behind choosing to abstain from alcohol for so long. It's a very scary thing to try alcohol for the first time when you've been programmed your whole life to view alcohol as something evil and sinful---a slippery slope into Satan's open arms.

Last week I was was chatting online with my friend Brad (a long time ex-Mormon) about alcohol. I mentioned that for most never-Mormons, your first alcoholic drink is probably fairly unremarkable. On one level, it's a rite of passage. But on another level, it's also kind of mundane and ordinary---the sort of thing everyone does, so it's ultimately not that that big of a deal.

It's anything but ordinary for a Mormon. For a Mormon, it is the psychological equivalent of losing your virginity---with nearly all of the same psychosocial ramifications (only to the nth degree). When I mentioned this, Brad fully agreed. He said that having his first drink felt much scarier than having sex for the first time: it was taking your status outside of the church to a whole new level.

My conversation with Brad eventually drifted over to how Chris and I were probably going to try alcohol soon at a future dinner party this month. Brad started giving me some advice about what to try first and what things to avoid, how to drink appropriately, etc. But the more he was talking about the finer details of alcohol, the more I started to feel overwhelmed by the entire prospect.

Since it became apparent that it was going to be a psychologically difficult thing to do, I began to realize that I wanted my first experience with alcohol to be under ideal conditions. For me, that meant:

• It needed to be in a social or psuedo-social situation. Alcohol's main function is to be a social lubricant, so it wouldn't make sense to try it in total social isolation.
• But it needed to be a safe social situation. I didn't know how I would respond to alcohol in my system. Would I be friendly and sociable under the influence of alcohol? Or would I be really embarrassing or annoying? I needed someone who wouldn't judge me either way.
• At the same time, I felt I needed to be introduced to alcohol by someone who came from Mormonism---someone who would understand if I wanted to take it slow because they knew what a big step it was emotionally. I needed someone who wouldn't get mad if I decided to chicken out. And someone who wouldn't get upset if I took a sip of $60 wine and said, "That's disgusting!"
• Lastly, I needed someone who could humor my husband's need for scientific experimentation. I definitely wouldn't be doing any drinking unless my husband Chris was with me, but he had always insisted he wanted his first experiment with alcohol to be under controlled conditions in which he could closely monitor the effects it had on him. In other words: he needed it to appeal to his intellectual side (which is where he feels most comfortable and safe).

As I thought more about it, I came to the conclusion that I needed my friend Brad to help introduce me and my husband into the world of alcohol. He was the perfect one to do it: he and I had been friends for more than a decade, he was an ex-Mormon and had supported me during my entire faith crisis, he was a connoissuer of fine wines, and he was spontaneous enough to be willing to fly over to Utah to share my first drink with me and my husband. When I mentioned it to him, he was totally excited about it and booked the next weekend flight out from California.

I felt enthusiastic about the decision at the time, but that enthusiasm quickly started to wane and turn into anxiety in the 48 hours leading up to our little alcohol party. Visions of disapproving parents danced through my head. ("You'll become an alcoholic after just one drink! It's in your genes!") I started seeing the signs that I was getting stressed: my muscles tensed up, I started getting migraines, and I began yelling at my kids more frequently. I wasn't sure if I was going to be able to go through with it.

The next afternoon (Saturday), Brad showed up on my doorstep with more alcohol than I had ever seen in my life: two cardboard boxes and 6 grocery bags worth of beers, wines, and liqueurs. The alcohol he brought filled up my entire kitchen counter. There wasn't room in the fridge for much else after putting away all the alcohol that needed to be chilled. I was awestruck by how much cold, hard cash Brad had invested in my first experience with alcohol. (THANK YOU, BRAD! That truly was a beau geste.) And while it was thrilling to see all that alcohol, it was emotionally overwhelming at the same time. (Incidentally, Brad didn't intend for us to drink all of it: just to experiment with the full range of alcohol to see what we liked. See: I told you he understood my husband's scientific mind.) Eventually, I couldn't put it off any longer, and it was time to begin...


What We Tried and What We Liked/Hated
We started drinking around 7:00 after our kids went to bed. Chris had made an elaborate Japanese dish called Nabe that is eaten over the course of an hour. We ate dinner and sampled a few different wines from the gamut of white to red, light to strong. I wrote down that we tried:

• Frog's Leap - a classic Chardonnay (white wine)
• A to Z - an unsoaked Chardonnay from Oregon (white)
• Ridge - a Sonoma County (Geyserville) Zinfadel (white)
• Riesling
• Caymus - an expensive Cabernet Sauvignon (a strong red wine; this was Brad's drink of choice for the rest of the night)

Chris hated all of them. The smell and taste of the alcohol was just too strong for him. For me, the taste was just fine. That's probably because I've always had a very open palette. (I absolutely loved sushi the first time I tried it, for example.) For Chris, some of the wines caused an intense burning sensation going down. I didn't really experience that. I had a light burning sensation, but it was much lighter than the burning sensation I get from drinking something like Coke (which I drink on a fairly regular basis). The only drawback was that since the wines were young, they had a really strong finish. This made it so that the wine tasted stronger (and therefore not quite as enjoyable) with each sip for me.

Later in the evening (like around 9:00 and going as late as 1:00), we moved on to hard liquors. We tried:

• Amaretto Sour (Amaretto with Sweet and Sour mix; had a sweet taste)
• Buttery Nipple shots (Buttershots liqueur with Irish cream; had a butterscotch taste)
• Red-Headed Sluts (cranberry juice and Jagermeister; a drink that tasted like black licorice)
• Long Island Iced Tea (a variety of alcohols in this one such as tequila and gin; imitates the taste of tea)
• Caribou Lou (pineapple juice, coconut rum and 151 proof alcohol; had a tropical taste)
• Lime Ricki (we did it with grape-infused vodka, lime juice, etc.; had a sweet taste)

As for me, the Amaretto Sour was my favorite drink of the night, but I appreciated the taste of all of them (for the most part). The Long Island Iced Tea was a little too much for me because the gin was too strong. Since I have a sweet tooth, I probably would have liked the Lime Ricki a lot better if we had used regular Sprite instead of Sprite Zero.

Chris ended up having a sensitivity to the taste of alcohol and didn't enjoy any of the drinks. He preferred shots because they were over quickly. The Caribou Lou was his favorite drink of the night because, although the 151 was (obviously) a very high proof, it wasn't as noticeable since the alcohol ratio was fairly low compared to the pineapple juice.

We never got around to trying any of the beers Brad brought, so I'll have to report on those later when we get around to opening them.


How We Acted While Under the Influence
Brad talked about the different levels of intoxication. Here's how he defined it:

1. Sober: Little to no alcohol in your system
2. Buzzed: You can start to feel the effects (such as a slight buzz), but they will be fairly light
3. Well-lubricated: You can't concentrate as well and the effects become stronger
4. Drunk: You'll have trouble with coordination and the effects will be fairly strong
5. Blitzed: Your brain won't be in control of your body very much (for example, you'll want to walk one direction and go the other)

Chris and I floated between level 2-3 for most of the night. Brad broke some of his personal rules and floated between 3-4 for most of the night.

It had surprised me how easily and how quickly you could increase your level of intoxication---and also how subtle the differences were from one level to the next. In that moment, it made a lot more sense why alcohol could potentially be abused if you were not trying to deliberately remain in control of your rate of consumption. That being said, I didn't think it was that difficult for me to drink smart and responsibly. I think I will be able to maintain control of my alcohol consumption as long as I make the decision beforehand how far I will and won't go in general.

Going into the evening, I was very nervous about what kind of drunk I'd be. I was really hoping that I would be a happy drunk as opposed to being a quiet drunk, an angry drunk or a sad drunk. Although I'm sure that I might act differently in a different social context, I was pleased to discover that both Chris and I were happy, sociable drunks. I became a lot chattier, I laughed at jokes more easily, and I just generally became more relaxed and laid back. That was fairly pleasant.

After dinner, we played karaoke until 2am. I have a lot of fun playing karaoke when I'm sober, but I would say that alcohol probably made it 10-20% more enjoyable. (The highlight of the night was the hilarious trio while singing Lionel Ritchie's "All Night Long.") I noticed that I paid significantly less attention to the scores I was getting on karaoke (I'm normally very competitive), but I was still able to sing pretty well. Strangely enough, I had a much easier time sustaining the really long notes without running out of breath (or even getting remotely close to running out of breath). That probably means I was singing with my diaphragm a lot more (which makes sense since it's natural to sing with your diaphragm but somehow we get unconsciously socially programmed out of doing it). That was pretty awesome.

One thing that surprised me was that even though I could feel the effects of alcohol on my body, I didn't feel like I wasn't me. I felt mostly normal and able to concentrate (for the most part). My whole life I had thought that being drunk was like this:

Since I had never aspired to be Homer Simpson, I was pleasantly surprised to discover that it wasn't really like that. At the same time, I found that what Brad had said was right: it was much easier to see how alcohol was changing the people around me than it was to see it in myself. I could see how that aspect of feeling mostly normal while intoxicated (when you really weren't) could also lead to potential alcohol abuse or to poor decision-making even though you feel as though you're fully in control. But again, I think if you exercise self-discipline and try to remain self-aware, it wouldn't be that difficult to keep your behavior in check. Better yet: ask your friends to help you remain self-aware.

My social inhibitions were definitely reduced while drinking. Chris looked way more attractive to me---and something that surprised me was that I also perceived myself as being more attractive when I looked in the mirror (during my many trips to the bathroom during the night). Maybe it was that slight flush in my cheeks---I don't know. I also became a lot more open to the idea of having sex and I consequently became more openly affectionate with Chris, which is probably something I wouldn't normally do in the presence of friends while sober (or at least not to that degree). I think for that reason, it's important to make decisions beforehand about what kinds of behaviors you will or will not do while you're intoxicated. It would be slightly harder to make good decisions in the heat of the moment. (But only slightly harder.)


Reactions from the Following Day
Even though we drank a fairly substantial amount, I didn't have a hangover the next morning. That's because, per Brad's advice, we kept ourselves well-hydrated with lots of water (hence the many trips I had to make to the bathroom). We also spread out our drinks over a long period of time which gave our body enough time to metabolize it at a reasonable rate. So, physically there were no problems.

I wasn't really in the best mood the following day, but I'm not certain whether that was a direct result of the alcohol or because I was running on a meager 4 hours of sleep. (The kids got up at 6:30am, the little angels!) Also, in the morning I didn't feel like I was fully able to concentrate yet, but I was well enough to be functional.

The only really negative aspect of it all was that I hadn't been able to find a substitute teacher for my Primary class. I was in a pretty sour mood just by virtue of having to be at church (which generally bugs me anyway) and I didn't have much patience with the kids. It didn't help that I felt pretty hypocritical sitting in church when I had been drinking the night before. Now, when I use the word hypocritical, I'm not using that term to imply that I was experiencing guilt or regret---I didn't feel any of that. It's more like I just felt really lame that I was still stuck in church performing Mormonism and keeping up appearances. I wanted to stop living a double life, to just be out and be done with it. (For the record, we've resolved to leave officially some time between April and July, depending on the circumstances.)

But more importantly, I felt like I had reached a new plateau in my journey out of Mormonism the night before. I felt like I was genuinely not a Mormon any more. It was like an anti-baptism, in some ways. (Heh, heh... Baptism by spirits.) In a certain sense, drinking alcohol for the first time seemed like a symbolic action on par with a religious ritual---entering into a different way of life with different expectations for myself.

I also felt very empowered. I felt like I could exercise constraint and good judgment despite what my mother believes. (Her first accusation upon discovering I wasn't wearing my garments was that I must have started drinking and was on the verge of becoming an alcoholic.) I felt that I no longer had to be motivated to avoid alcohol because of fear or shame, but that I could control my alcohol consumption through self-knowledge and experience. It made me feel a little bit more mature.

The fear of becoming an alcoholic is still in the back of my mind, but it's not a very serious threat to me any more. The only reason it's on my radar at all is because I pretty much enjoyed the taste of alcohol and liked the effect that it had on me socially. But I think that I have the self-discipline to keep from drinking excessively. One reason I think I'll be okay is because I was older than 25 before I started drinking and so my brain is fully mature and more averse to risk-taking than a teenager's brain is. Another reason is that Chris honestly doesn't have a desire to do very much drinking since he strongly disliked the taste of alcohol. So, I won't have very much pressure from him to drink---and he'll be a pretty good watchdog. Mostly I just think the occasional alcoholic drink will help me loosen me up at large parties when I'm in the company of new people---since I tend to be fairly slow to warm up in new social situations. That seems pretty reasonable to me.

The biggest surprise for me was that alcohol is really no big deal. It does help life seem a little bit nicer when you're intoxicated, but it's not like it's a life-changing, mind-altering level of pleasure. It was just nice. And it's not all that horrible and evil as I had been led to believe most of my life. If anything, the effects of alcohol were underwhelming. This weekend I saw first-hand that the church fetishizes alcohol, over-exaggerating its negative effects and making it more important than it needs to be. (A problematic mindset that can actually make you more prone to alcoholism, in my opinion.)

All in all, my first experience with alcohol was a positive one. To be honest, it's how I would want my kids to be introduced to alcohol when they're older, if I could choose the perfect world for them. Thanks again, Brad, for a great weekend!

Now the real question is: where will we hide all the leftover alcohol when my mother-in-law comes to visit in two weeks?