Last Sunday, during the morning session, I was chatting with an old mission friend on Facebook, and during the course of our conversation, I told him that I basically quit Church. This mission friend had left the Church years ago, but was surprised to hear that I had gone inactive. In his words, he never would have imagined me to be someone going inactive.

Neither had I. Yet, it’s been almost a year since I’ve last set foot into Church.

Sometimes I wonder how I ended up on this side of things. As a youth, I loved Church. I can vividly recall the moment I gained my testimony of the Atonement. I was 13, sitting in Sacrament, and I don’t know what caused things to click for me, but it just all of a sudden hit me – and I was sobbing my eyes out, as I understood what Christ had actually done for me. What that meant.

I remember praying about serving a mission, and the answer I received: powerful, and feeling it truly with every “fiber of my being”. The appearance of angels wouldn’t have felt more clear. I needed to serve.

And still. I no longer attend. I think things started to crumble about a decade ago, when my best friend left the Church, and said no one even dared looking into Church stuff like Polygamy. So, I said I’d look. I was not afraid. If something was true, I thought, it will withstand investigation and criticism, and if it was important to my friend, I would look.

But my journey into polygamy left my testimony cracked. I did not throw out my faith in Joseph Smith at that point. However, I also could no longer believe that he got everything right. I could not believe polygamy was inspired or the will of God. I just couldn’t. It must have been a mistake, a moment of weakness, or a sin so serious that his martyrdom was actually God taking care of his prophet who had gone astray. I wasn’t sure, but I was sure about polygamy not being divine.

And so I entered a new path of faith, where I had to make room for the possibility that leaders, even prophets, could mess up.

Over the years, various policy decisions by the Church along with stories from friends combined with actions from local leaders steadily chipped away at my trust that our leaders are inspired and good most of the time. Instead, I slowly started to lean more towards the notion that our leaders, local and at the head, are probably just as inspired as I am – with the occasional truly inspired and clear direction. But most of the time, decisions are just made based on personal opinions and beliefs, combined with available worldly knowledge and any personal hunch of what may be God’s will in this.

When we moved to a new ward about 4.5 years ago, my dwindling faith in leaders was really put to the test. We kept running into problems that could have easily been resolved with any sort of good will and communication. Yet, things somehow stayed the same or got worse, despite various attempts to address the issues we were facing (that were affecting our children) directly with the responsible leaders, as well as with the Bishopric and Stake leaders. Nothing changed.

Church attendance was fraught with regular white-knuckling it through meetings. And as the years passed, I noticed that I never got any callings or invitations to talk or pray, even though our ward consisted of 40 members, where all hands were needed on deck. Mine weren’t needed though, it seemed, which really ate at me. I loved serving in the Church, and the sense of not being needed along with the constant conflict with leadership, made Church a place that became less and less enjoyable for me with each passing Sunday.

Then the November Policy hit, and I finally had enough. That Sunday, my husband and I were fighting all the way to Church about why we were even going. We were just about to turn around and go home again, when we decided to push through this. To try one more time. To not give up. To have faith. To believe.

By the time we arrived, only a few minutes of Sacrament meeting were left. So, we took our kids to nursery, and waited there for meetings to end. Suddenly the door opened, and the Bishop snapped at us. No hello. No “how are you doing”. Just an immediate conflict ridden “conversation” with all the issues of the past. I had enough.

I haven’t been back since that Sunday.

In conversations with other ward members one day, who had recently left the Church, we talked about these conflicts with our local leadership. I always chalked up all the problems to communication problems. That our Bishop was just not a good communicator. Then this family took me aside and said I needed to stop making excuses for the Bishop’s behavior. He was not a nice guy. In fact, he had said X and Y about me.

I was in shock. Despite all the conflict, and all my personal frustration and anger, I always believed that we just weren’t understanding each other, and that each party involved was trying their best. I had always believed this. I had believed it about every leader in the Church I perceived to be failing and doing wrong. I always assumed that they were all trying their best, doing what they thought was right. From their perspective, based on their best knowledge.

And yet, here I sat, listening to disparaging comments my Bishop had apparently made about me in front of others.

When I came home from that visit, ironically, my Bishop had just pulled up to the house next to mine. So I did what I had to do. I walked over to the car, and asked him directly if he had said those things. He laughed and said he had not said those things. Instead he had said X – which was another disparaging word.

I thanked him for his answer, and left.

He never called me. We never talked about this again.

And I have not given any of this any more room since then. Until last Sunday.

When I wondered how I got here. When I had friends ask me why I don’t just leave, and let Church go, when I posted my frustrations about Elder Ballard’s talk on Facebook. When leaked videos were popping up all over the internet, showing us what might go on behind closed doors with our leaders.

It all came back. Because what can I really do as a member of the Church, who wants to believe? How can I give my leaders the benefit of the doubt, when my trust gets broken over and over again? I used to give that benefit constantly. I’ve learned since that this benefit is not given to me.

I did not see the benefit of the doubt in the questions and verbiage of the apostles in those leaked videos. There was no trust that members will find their own right path under the guidance of the Holy Ghost that was bestowed upon them at baptism.

I did not see the benefit of the doubt in Elder Ballard’s question of where members, who leave the Church, will go. There was no trust that members could walk away from the Church, and still walk with Jesus, that they might have left with answers to their prayers, knowing where to go.

I did not see my Bishop give me the benefit of the doubt. I did not see trust that I was receiving inspiration for my family, that I was trying my best to be faithful and obedient to their directions, and that I was worthy and honest.

In fact, I’m not sure I’ve ever experienced personally that a woman in the Church has been given the benefit of the doubt over a leader.

I’ve been asked to trust my leaders. To try over and over and over again to cling on. And as I listen and struggle to hear anything inspired, I’m reprimanded for trying still. Why not leave? Why try when you don’t like it? Because when we let go, we are of little faith. And when we cling on, and do not find nourishment, and say so, we should let go or try harder. No matter how long – the restoration is a process. So, we always lose.

And to top it all off, today news published a video recording of Donald Trump that was unsurprisingly disgusting. It was so vile that it may (finally) collapse his campaign. Yet, as I listen to his foul words about trying to “f@#ck” a married woman (while he was married himself), I have the words of Elder Robert Oaks running through my head. A man, who endorsed Donald Trump, calling his values solid. A man, who was a general authority.

Why should I give any leader any longer the benefit of the doubt? They want to speak for God, and cannot even recognize a vile, immoral person when they are placed right in front of them? They speak poorly about one of their flock, and laugh when it’s brought up to them? They chuckle as they refer to “church broke” people? They call as a general authority a man, who has voted for a war, hoping it would prepare the way for the Church, and who has not honored the trust of confidentiality and loyalty to his constituents put in him as a senator? They lie for decades to their own spouse to hide a “principle” that supposedly was from God, and marry teenagers? They ask where you’ll go, if you want to leave, but refuse to hear your worries to keep you? They tell you God doesn’t want children of perceived “sinners” of one kind to get baptized – in the name of love? They demand disciplinary councils for gay members who marry, while it’s optional for murderers?

I wanted to believe. Always. I wanted to give the benefit of the doubt. Always.

But my trust has been broken. It cracked, then crumbled, and now is completely shattered. I do not find God in their actions. I cannot feel Jesus in their words. And as much as I wanted to stay the course, and try one more time, again and again, clinging to the things I love about my faith, I feel like I need to go somewhere else. Where? I don’t know, Elder Ballard. I don’t know. Somewhere where I can feel Jesus again. A place free of glass shards all around. And a place, where I am given the benefit of the doubt.