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This past week in Relief Society we talked about conversion. Specifically, we addressed that new converts need to feel not only converted to the gospel itself, but also the church culture. There is a new language, new rules, and new etiquette to learn. And often when converts do not feel like they understand or belong, they fall away.

I am not a convert, but in this discussion, I felt like I better understood myself and how I view myself in relation to the church community. I know the language, the rules, and the etiquette, but sometimes I still feel like I don’t really belong.

“Imposter Syndrome” is a name for the sense that you are a fraud among your peers. It is a psychological term describing the inability to internalize one’s accomplishments. For me it is passing off my academic successes as luck or not believing my writing is any good despite what anyone says. Many of you have probably felt this in regard to careers or education. Yet, recently I’ve discovered it is one of the better ways to describe how I feel at church.

Generally in life, it is easy to imagine that everyone you interact with is taking a special interest in discovering your flaws, despite that notion being vastly untrue. But the extra layer with the LDS community is there are a lot of people who are actually judging you. We’ve developed a judgmental culture, especially in the central hub of Utah. We take notice when ward members’ attendance begins to decline. We notice when they post pictures or statuses of their participation in activities we deem inappropriate. And we tell ourselves that we don’t really care what they are doing because they have their agency. But if we truly didn’t care would we notice at all?

But there are some that take this to the next level. They choose to confront those they disagree with and point out the flaws they perceive in others’ faith. It may not be the majority of LDS church members, but few of us can say we have never experienced some sort of judgment from our peers. So the idea that people are honing in our doubts and shortcomings, that we are going to be discovered as a fraud, is founded in something a little more concrete than neurotic anxiety.

For me, this flares the imposter syndrome more than usual. I am fearful that someone is going to discover I am not as faithful as I may seem on the outside or that my personal beliefs don’t completely line up with what is accepted as correct by the masses. I’m worried that someone will deem me a “Bad Mormon” and that it will be held against me by other members and even leaders. And I am fearful of this because I’ve seen it done to others. I’ve even experienced it a bit myself.

It comes in forms of passive aggressive comments in Sunday School or as unsolicited advice and correction from strangers online. It comes when you’re told that your understanding of something is unfounded or apostate. You feel it when you express doubts and questions about doctrine or policy and you are told that if you were truly “faithful,” you wouldn’t have questions at all.

And then slowly, you start to wonder if you are actually wrong. And that you have placed yourself in a community where you don’t really belong, just waiting for someone to find you out. Then that fear keeps you from coming to activities and making comments during lessons. It tells you leaving after sacrament meeting is okay (it is). You start to get questions about whether you are even active anymore (yes, but you’re just trying to figure some things out). And for those of us more blended, this self-perceived fraudulence is almost invisible to the naked eye. You attend every meeting and party, silently wondering if you should be there at all.

You’ve developed your internal identity as the imposter in church. There are a lot of us, each remaining in attendance for different reasons. Some to appease family, some to work on our faith and understanding, and others because it’s simply too hard to let go. For me, realizing that I have doubts and concerns about a gospel I grew up loving was not easy to come to terms with. I’m supposed to know it’s true; I’ve been that taught since I was young. But the truth is I don’t know. I’ve even grown comfortable with the fact that I have questions. I’m just less comfortable with the idea of other people knowing I have them.

It’s easier to pretend you aren’t wavering or doubting. It’s easier to pretend to not have questions than to put them out for the public to see and criticize. So we conceal our doubts away and only reveal them in trusted company, only to tuck them back into their hiding place before anyone else can see.

Some of you have developed a surety and confidence in your personal understanding of gospel teachings, even when they don’t match the culturally accepted interpretations. You bear testimony of change, acceptance, and love. You preach of Heavenly Mother, inclusivity, and equality. You actively call out the cultural faults while in the company of people you know will disagree with you.

I hope to one day reach that level of certainty in my beliefs, if it is even possible. But for now, I’ll sit in the back of Relief Society trying to piece together what I believe. I am not a fraud or an imposter. I am just a human trying to figure things out. My hands are tired from frantically grasping to the truth I do know. And maybe one day, I will understand my place. I have to believe that I will; it’s the only way I can stay.