Diving Into Stillness

I dive deeply and then deconstruct, only to dive deeply again, only to deconstruct again. And it’s finally hit me: deconstruction may just be a lifelong process once you’ve been part of a conservative religion, especially during your formative years.

As a Mormon teen, I was steeped in purity culture, perfectionism, and a fear of not making it to be with God in heaven, left instead to one of the lower rungs of heaven, or even worse, hell. The strong sense of community couldn’t override the fear-based realities of the church.

And so I started deconstructing back then, at 16. I remember the first time being right before my patriarchal blessing, which is when a man of the church with the priesthood places his hands on your head and prophesies your future. I felt uneasy going into it and uneasy coming out. I spent the hours between the church service and the start of the patriarchal blessing skimming books about Christianity, agnosticism, and atheism in the Barnes & Noble down the street from the church. 

I still attended the patriarchal blessing, but with great skepticism en tow. My patriarchal blessing felt like a generic message, something you might say to most young women, hoping they’d become mothers and leaders of church women's groups one day. It did mention that I had the gift of teaching, which I do—I always wanted to be a teacher and have been for 18 years now—but something about the way it was said felt impersonal, like anyone could have said it (or maybe even researched it). Between that and finding out that we could become gods of our own planets (and much more), I haven’t been the same since. 

My faith has always felt deeply woven into my identity. So, it makes sense that deconstruction can't be just about rethinking a few doctrines. I'm peeling back layers of belief, expectation, fear, and memory over and over. I'm chasing after truth, wanting to believe what's real, not just what I'm told. And I especially want to shed any fear-based faith. I long to understand at a deep level, and that longing has carried me through many seasons of my spiritual journey. If I want to understand a church or religion, then I have to spend time in it: folding it into my daily spiritual practice, reading the latest theology and apologists, and, of course, attending services, if applicable and available (hence, my diverse spiritual path and, ultimately, inter-spirituality; feel free to reference my previous post).

A calm, contemplative, and scenic view while on a walk in a local forest.

Right now, though, I’m delving deeply into Taoism, the spiritual path that I have researched the least. I think I desperately need its message right now, of releasing control, gentle yoga and breath work, meditation and flow. I think most people see me as a chill and calm person and I think that I am those things, for the most part. But the past few years—pandemic, third baby, big move, new job, homesickness, culture shock, my father's death, adjustment—have been stressful, to say the least. I feel like this go-around of deconstruction is coinciding (or perhaps happening because of) this returning sense of stability and calm that I haven't felt in my life for quite a few years, no matter how often I wore my smile and positive vibes throughout. It's time to flow with life and not against it, to repeat that serenity prayer to myself. I want to cultivate stillness and simplicity. I don’t know exactly where this path leads, but for now, I’m choosing calm over control. After years of striving to please God or meet expectations, I’m learning to simply be and trust stillness.

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