The Fall of the Patriarchy

This was hard to write. I wondered if I should write it. And if I should share it. But I did write it. And want to share it because the thing that helps me most in my questions of faith is knowing that I am not alone and that struggling is not inherently a sign of weakness. So if you are in that space, I hope this helps. I wasn’t sure how vulnerable to be, so I tried to pick a middle ground, but this does lie close to my heart.

In fall 2014, I considered myself a part-time feminist. 

This was because I generally considered feminists as bra-burning, man-hating, revolutionary figures whose cause could occasionally be just but their methods wrong.

In fall 2018, I had a two month long breakdown as a full-time feminist, a time period I call in my head:  “the fall of the patriarchy.” Specifically patriarchy in a Latter-Day Saint context. My “feminist awakening,” so to speak, started earlier than autumn that year though. In fact, it had been building slowly over the past half decade but intensified by memorable incidents such as reading “The Meeting” by Elouise Bell, dealing with romantic relationships that ended because I did not want be closed off from working outside the home, and being bothered by certain wordings and practices in the temple.

Summer 2018 was a more intensive build up to my larger breakdown. I read a lot (see A House Full of Females by Laurel Thatcher Ulrich among other books and articles). I thought a lot. I had a mini (okay big) emotional collapse on a Utah temple trip extravaganza with a friend and his family where I felt totally inferior as a woman and the question entered my head, “Does God love me less because I am woman?”

The fifth (?) temple we visited on this mini road trip was the Jordan River Temple. I insisted on doing initiatories (a blessing ordinance) because these are my favorite part of the temple. This time was no different and I felt a great sense of peace amidst all of my inner turmoil while there. As I waited outside the temple for my friend and his family to finish the baptismal ordinances they had started, I picked up a conversation with an old man sitting outside by the fountain. He, of course, asked my marital status and when I told him I was single, he assured me I’d find someone as the nice human I seemed to be. Then he mused aloud about how Jesus appeared to a woman first after his resurrection and told me to remember how important I was as a woman. 

This positive experience left me as less of a blubbering mess than I had been and I let my question about God’s love for his daughters fall to the back of my mind.

And then the fall came. 

I listened to General Conference, like I do every six months, but something was different this time; certain themes and observations pulled that question back to the surface.

It is important to note that I believe that the messages of General Conference are created in a place of love and concern for members of the Church and other listeners. I believe in prophets and apostles as special witnesses of Christ. However, this belief did not prevent me from leaving five sessions of conference feeling drained, belittled, unsettled, and restricted because of implicit and explicit messages about the role of women in the church. 

I went to the Indianapolis temple the week after conference, searching for peace. I decided on initiatories, where women bless women, because I felt that this would be safe. 

This has been a safe space in the summer after all.

But I was too raw still and had overestimated my emotional stability. In the temple, I saw pictures of men blessing other men and even though they were beautiful pictures, I lost it. I sobbed for an hour and a half in that quiet space. My dear friend who had come with me listened patiently as I wept over questions of love in regards to perceived inequality and sexism in a place I held (and hold) sacred. 

A tender mercy came not in the form of an old man sitting outside the temple this time, but in serendipitously running into a friend from my mission who was working in the temple that day. I didn't even know she lived in Indiana. She told me I wasn't alone in my questions (which I echo to EVERYONE with questions) and gave me a much needed hug. 

I’d like to say that was the end of that, but things got worse before they got better. This marked the beginning of weeks of crying almost every time I walked into a church building, where I still regularly visited (though admittedly not for the whole three hours of meetings). 

Nothing in church had changed. But suddenly seeing all men sitting on the stand of church, all men conducting sacrament meetings, all men blessing the sacrament, all men having leadership positions aside from one female organization in our young single adult branch, all men determining worthiness, hearing frequent references to our Father in Heaven without his female counterpart Heavenly Mother (an amazingly singular and feminist belief actually), realizing the absence of God covenanting with women in the scriptures--it was too much for me.

It felt a little bit like finding out that Santa Claus had been giving me gifts, but only ones that the boys were picking out for me and all of the other girls. 

I felt betrayed. I felt lost. I felt misunderstood. I felt confused.

When I told others about my struggles, I didn’t want them to explain to me why things were the way they were. I just wanted them to listen. I didn’t want them to tell me why the church was wrong. I just wanted them to listen. One of my friends told me that I am really good at “sitting in the mud” with people; this was something I really needed from others at this time. I am amazed at the outpouring of resources during these trying months. Friends from my mission, friends from my time at BYU, friends from growing up in Colorado, friends in Indiana, family members, and even random strangers from church circles took the time and energy to sit in the mud with me for a little bit. To say, wow, that must be really hard to feel that way. To consider these personal weights. 

I cried out for weeks to my Heavenly Father, to my Heavenly Mother, to my Heavenly Parents. I wanted them to take away the pain I was feeling from structures that felt marginalizing. I needed to know that I was loved as much as my brothers, that I was valued as an individual and not just for my potential for motherhood. I yearned to see examples of women leading rather than supporting.

I wrote in my journal during week two of my crisis that “copious amounts of pumpkins [were] the only thing that redeemed this week.”  It felt like there was an inner war between my Mormonism and my womanhood and I couldn’t get it to stop.

The last Sunday that I broke down in tears during church was the beginning of December during a lesson on the priesthood. It wasn’t something I was ready for, so I found myself leaving after ten minutes and finding a classroom where I could try to calm myself down and be real with my Heavenly Parents about how I was feeling: I was hurt that my access to them through priesthood blessings always had to come through a man. I was sad that I couldn't seem to forget about the little things that pricked at me. In this quiet classroom at church, I came across this testimony Glenn L. Pace had given in 2010:

"Sisters, I testify that when you stand in front of your heavenly parents in those royal courts on high and look into Her eyes and behold Her countenance, any question you ever had about the role of women in the kingdom will evaporate into the rich celestial air, because at that moment you will see standing directly in front of you, your divine nature and destiny.”

This gave me sorely needed comfort and satisfied some of my yearnings for the feminine divine in an incomplete yet seemingly personal way.

I want to say I’ve resolved a lot of my questions of faith because church has been a largely positive experience since that December Sunday. But I’m not sure if resolution is actually the key. I made it my goal last summer to try to appreciate certain tensions in my life, especially spiritual tensions. There is beauty in things that are yet to be resolved, however difficult it can to be see that. I am at a place now where I believe that my Heavenly Parents value me as their daughter just as much as they value their sons. I believe in the core doctrines of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints and love seeing the process of restoration. I seriously do love this church. Its gems and the opportunities I’ve had for more spiritual and intellectual growth have been an incredible influence on so much of who I am. I believe that faith in and of itself is an elevating principle. For all of its imperfections, this church is one of my spiritual homes. I’m in the process of building belief that extends beyond institutional faith, that gets to the core of my religion, namely, building a strong relationship with my Heavenly Parents and learning how to become like them.

So I’m trying to head into the upcoming conference weekend with a willingness to appreciate spiritual tensions and to recognize the growth that comes from those tensions. I’m trying to patient with myself, with others, and with structures and to practice kindness towards and hope in all three.