---
date: 2025-11-08
description: "A brief retelling of my experience leaving the Mormon faith."
image: ""
lastmod: 2026-02-03T09:21:07-07:00
showTableOfContents: false
tags: ["religion", "life"]
title: "Why I Let Go of the Rod"
type: "post"
draft: true
---

## First Nephi

I recognize it's important to establish some things before heading out any further because the audience I could be
reaching is extremely broad. So, before I get in to tell my tall tale, lets clear the air so I don't run the risk of
losing anyone along the way.

- As of the time of writing, it is a commonly held preference not to say Mormons, and instead say members of the Church
of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints.

- I'm not writing this to persuade anyone. This is my story. If you feel attacked or validated by my experience, I am
going to put that onus on you, the reader, to draw what conclusions you deem appropriate.
- My motivation to write this is to have something thought out and prepared when people ask why I left. This request
typically comes from friends and family still a part of the faith, which I always appreciate. Your brain is left
whirling a bit when you leave the Church, so hopefully this can clarify things for both of us.
- If you the reader don't know much about the (more commonly recognized) "Mormon" faith, then this post may be hard
to follow. It will waste no time explaining concepts and assume the reader is familiar with the doctrines, history,
and positions of the church. I will do my best to delineate between commonly held **facts** and my _opinions_ and cite
my sources.
- If you the reader take issue with how I've portrayed things, please reach out! I mean it. There's no real way to
express my sincerity through high contrast pixels on your device of choice, but its true. I feel strongly it is
important to always keep these conversations open.

_Hopefully_ I haven't lost you, dear reader, and I want to thank you in advance for any of the effort you take to
understand and empathize with me. You keep my faith in humanity <3

So, without further ado, lets "begin at the very beginning"

## "Born of goodly parents"

I grew up in a loving home with parents that did their best to give us kids a great life. I'm the middle kid, the
glue you might say *smirk. My involvement in the church informed much of my life. My friends were typically the boys in
my ward's Sunday school class or in my boy scout troop. My views of the world were most entirely shaped by my religion.
There was some anxiety as a kid in the calculus of membership of everyone around me. I learned quickly to look for the tells: multiple ear rings, tattoos, swearing, revealing clothes / garment lines under adults clothing, and of course, the lack of brightness in someone's eyes. It felt crucial to determine the activity of someone was a member because it meant Friends houses that weren't
members of the church felt unsafe.
When I was 8 or 9, I remember feeling immense responsibility, mixed with privilege and dread, thinking that God had
restored His One True Church to my neighborhood! Relief washed over me when I learned that there were actually millions
of us, not just the two hundred in my ward. lol.

