There is a common expression in the Mormon religion: the best two years. This refers to the time in a person’s life when they go out to teach the gospel over the course of—you guessed it—two years. People often say that they learn more about themselves and the world around them during this time, and that everyone should experience the best two years for themselves.
Just over two years ago, I sat in an LDS chapel, watching as every young man my age got up to the microphone and announced where they were going to serve their 2 year mission. Some of these men were leaving in just a few short weeks, right after graduation, while others wouldn’t leave until the fall. As the last of the boys sat back down, eyes started to focus on me. But I wasn’t going up there. I didn’t have a mission call, and I never planned on getting one.
People were always shocked when they found out that I wouldn’t be joining this army of missionaries. Some people thought I’d done something unclean and was unable to serve (which is sort of true now, because I identify as gay, and therefore can’t really teach about the importance of temple marriage and eternal families, but that wasn’t relevant at the time). Others thought I was waiting for the right point in my life to go out and preach (which I originally told people because I didn’t want the finger of blame pointed at me). But at that point, neither of these insinuations were outwardly true. I didn’t go on a mission simply because I didn’t want to.
To me, it’s a ridiculous construct to make all 18 year old members feel like they have to serve a full-time mission. I find that most success comes from an unquenchable desire to do good for the world. Therefore, wouldn’t it be better to emphasize the “want to,” rather than the “have to?”
So I didn’t go. For me, that was all there was to be said, but it wasn’t good enough for a lot of people. For the longest time, people would ask me why I chose to go against what I was taught for most of my life. I’ve even had people ask me what it was that I did to keep myself from serving a mission. My privacy felt invaded, and for a long time, I felt like I had let people down.
Despite it all, I continued to stay active for another 14 months, through my freshman year at Utah State. I liked my ward while I lived in Rich Hall, and I called these people my family. But once I moved into my new apartment and new ward boundaries the following summer, I really struggled. I went to an opening social with my new roommates and didn’t feel welcome. Several members were outwardly rude, and I found myself leaving the activity five minutes after it started. I gave the new ward a chance, but it upset me whenever I went, and I simply couldn’t do it anymore. I asked my work to start scheduling me on occasional Sundays so I would have a reason to stop attending.
But it wasn't until November 5, 2015 rolled around that everything went black. (If you don't know the significance of this day, the Salt Lake Tribune and the New York Times have written different articles on it; feel free to look them up.) It started as any other day, until I realized that I woke up as an apostate of the church, and was no longer accepted as the full-fledged member that I believed I was. I bawled that morning. Even though I didn’t regularly attend church meetings anymore—and I wasn’t out of the closet yet—I still felt betrayed by a church that was supposed to love everyone, or so I thought. I lost trust with the LDS church, and vowed to not set foot in another chapel for as long as I could. I was heartbroken.
I felt completely and utterly alone. I no longer had a religion to fall back on because the one I had been raised into no longer wanted me. I didn’t talk to my family because they were still very active and the gospel was their whole life; I couldn’t upset them. Sure, I had friends, but I felt like this was my problem and I didn’t want to drag them into it. So I lost all motivation. I went to school, but I felt like a failure. I went to my job, but my heart wasn’t in it. I couldn’t turn to anyone because my battle was with myself.
I’ve contemplated suicide twice in my life; the first time was in high school, because I had self-esteem issues. The second time was this past winter. My family doesn’t even know this (surprise, guys!). I was a closeted twenty year old with very deep, very personal issues, and no church to depend on anymore. I was always told to pray when I needed comfort, but those words of wisdom went out the window once I figured that God no longer loved me like He used to. I’m sure my friends could sense that something was off with me during these few months, and now they know why. I fought with myself, but I knew I’d never have the courage to end it, which made me feel even worse and made me want to end it even more. I should have sought out help, but I felt so pathetic and I believed that no one would want to hear my sob story. Thousands of others felt the same way as I did, so people should help those that actually matter first.
Fortunately for me, all of my friends somehow managed to slap some sense into me. I don't know how they did it, but it was because of them that I finally had the courage to come out, believe in myself, and win my fight. It took months, but it was their support, along with the love my family had for me despite everything, that got me through the shadows.
The people I sat in that chapel with two years ago are coming home now. I’ve gone to a few of their homecoming addresses, and it’s the first time I’ve set foot in an LDS church since the policy change. They share their stories of their best two years, and I can see how elated they are, how empowered they feel. I really am happy for them.
Some of these people still sometimes ask me about why I chose to avoid serving a mission. I used to make up excuses, but now I tell them the truth, whether it pleases them or not.
I still do not associate with the church or its policies. I'm not sure if I ever will again. I may have overcome my suffering, but I will never forget what caused it or how it ultimately made me feel. But that’s not the point. The point is that I am happy, that I am whole, and that I love myself unconditionally, something that I couldn’t say 6 months ago. I know my decision will upset a lot of people, and I am forever sorry for any tears I may have caused previously, or will someday cause, but I've thought about my future for a long time, and I see only one option. It is my future, after all.
You know, maybe these two years were my best two years too. Yes, they featured some of my lowest lows, but also some of my highest joys. I found out who I was meant to be, and I now know that my family and friends love me unequivocally, which is something I constantly denied because self-esteem issues do that to you. And maybe I did serve a mission, albeit a personal one; it definitely wasn’t the one that everyone thought I'd pursue, but I taught myself how to live my life to the fullest, and isn’t that what we’re all after?
