15 years ago I stopped participating in the Mormon Church. I wanted to sin… In Mormon terms this is breaking promises we made inside a Temple. I wanted to try alcohol and drink coffee and experiment with tobacco and cannabis. I was born-in-the-church so I still believed in what I was taught.

Initially I felt guilty for breaking rules but I was rebellious and it was fun. I was in graduate school at the time and after exam week it helped blow off some steam. My Mormon wife panicked feeling like she was losing her husband. Our wedding was not your run of the mill marriage ceremony. We were sealed for time and all eternity and made promises to each that we would never break.

I was breaking some of these rules and disregarded threats from church leaders that I would end up miserable and lost. I was judged harshly by church peers and felt isolated; so naturally I found other friends who were not Mormon. Many church leaders stress upon their followers: those who leave (only do so) because they want to sin. They want to drink alcohol and fornicate and take drugs and live an illicit lifestyle.

This is not the case for many thousands who leave. In fact those who leave do so for a variety of reasons, some for history, polygamy, peep stones, treasure digging, kinder-hook plates, stealing other mens wives, and a host of other historicity problems. They do not like to be lumped into the sinning group like me who was lazy and reckless.

In addition to being a rebellious twenty-something by no fault of my own I was a book nerd. Strangely I fell in love with Non-Fiction, history, autobiographical, and biography. And would later learn I had an insufferable stamina for boring literature. If I started to read it I would likely finish it.

This meant the Bible and Book of Mormon were not only read once but completed multiple times. The Book of Mormon once claimed to be a historical body of work. Today the Mormon’s are not only distancing themselves from the history claim but the name Mormon as well. Fact checking is not a common practice with mormon leaders.

A few years of drinking and smoking cannabis and tobacco and sowing some teenager seeds in my late twenties lead me back to church: Briefly. The incessant nagging and passive aggression from my wife on Sundays agitated my guilty conscience. The shame of being a sinner was magnified because I lived in Utah and my neighbors were mostly mormons.

I still believed in Mormonism. I still believed it could save my soul if I changed my ways and gave up my bad habits. How hard could it be to be a good mormon…? The meetings were boring and the speakers dry. The tone left me uninspired feeling more rebellious. I felt uncomfortable and judged like I was foreigner.

It was 2004 and my reading interests took a u-turn from World History to Mormon History. From my earlier missionary days I was well-versed in the early history of the church and its founder Joseph Smith. Unfortunately it was the white-washed version. Kind of like Christopher Columbus being friends with the Native Americans rather than the real story of genocide.

When I read No Man Knows My History by Fawn Brodie it answered many questions (I never knew I had) until reading this biography. On one hand I was relieved because I had felt like a mormon sinner: on the other I was upset that no one told me this information existed. I had to find it on my own in a book I was told was anti-mormon lies.

Married 7 years 3 little girls and this was the last thing I expected to stumble into. If I had a do over: this would be the moment… Remember this moment!!! Because right after my new discovery I fucked it all up. Today I blame no one; not even myself. I was mad because I felt betrayed by my religion, this religion, whatever the religion, it lied to me, it lied to everyone.

I was lied to from my leaders from my prophet who I trusted as a mouth piece for God. I lied to myself and occasionally to others, but I was a sinner and had a low self-esteem. Ironically this made me an easy target for my religion. This made me trust in others over my intuition of what was right. But I had neither the courage or the strength to make my own choices.

I had more to read and many more questions to ask. This was 2005 and very few humans navigate beyond their prescribed boundaries. When I started to ask questions I was met with scornful allegations and blinking warning signs. I was reading the wrong books over the right books. I discovered an itch or a blatant curiosity infesting my mind.

I couldn’t stop reading my own history — my own religiosity had sown seeds of truth; like a magicians hat it vanished… Reeling in its place I was left alone without any truth, without my religion, gone was my safety net. Gone was my prodigal return from a life of sin and debauchery.

I had no one to turn to, no one to ask questions. I knew no one who was struggling to find these answers, a safe place to talk. So I raged quietly and kicked and screamed like a child. Amidst my existential crisis I was broken: not from my recent betrayal; from my childhood of never measuring up.

In a strange way I expected my religion to betray me… It had to, they all do, they all have to. I recently read how myth is essential to our congenial existence of large populations. Without our common beliefs in ideologies social scientists have discovered we fall apart as a large society. We want to kill each other.

From Amazon and Apple to Mormonism and Scientology they are imaginations we created in our minds. We need to believe in something imagined that not only you and I believe but millions believe also. This is what allows us to live in harmony.

My marriage ended in 2009 and I lost my daughters. I resigned my membership with the Mormons and months later was granted leave with a reminder. That my Baptism and Temple blessings and eternal family was cancelled in the next life. I smiled at their words and the choices they make to believe those words can or will punish a soul.

I ran from this religious ideology for my freedom, my awakened beginning on Earth from slavery and bondage. I have continued reading and reading and have learned that my running from that prison to my perception of freedom was another illusion. We run from one prison only to be engulfed by another.

I have not joined another sect, or ideology, or tribe or belief system. I have learned how much we need each other, how social we are as a species. We need love and acceptance and validation. It’s crucial for our growth and development and well-being. Which is why religion can work, which is why gangs and communities work.

What never works is a narrative where people are left out and side-lined. A story incomplete and horribly unreliable fails all of us: not just the marginalized. I started out by being a sinner and later left my religion. I was rebellious and unruly in manner and speech. I challenged authority where I was taught not to and I’m not sure where this comes from…?

Walking away from a family tradition, myth or culture is not a bad thing; in fact it can be a beautiful thing. We are incomplete as a species when viewed from only one perspective. When we share in our struggles and our frailties everyone wins. When we take the time to listen to a story, our story, their story we grow together.

I think we can include all stories where no one triumphs as the best or the worst. Because a single triumph is just one story and the courage it takes to share that story. Because your story like all stories is another bridge not burned but saved. Saving another soul is not about heaven, it’s about life, connection, unity and acceptance.

And that doesn’t give a shit about sinners…!!!