A Deconstruction Chronicle: Harper Scout

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My experience as a Christian began as many do—my parents were Christian, so I was. My mom is a devout Mormon, my Dad was a devout Lutheran, so I was exposed to both denominations growing up. Mormonism is a much higher demand religion however, so even at baptism age (8yrs for Mormons), I knew I had to choose Mormonism to keep my friends (I live in a very heavily populated Mormon area). Even then I was ostracized and seen as less than for having a “non-member” father. People were/are cruel and cliquey. In my experience, when you’re in a high demand religion, there is no worshipping the way you want, or the way you feel comfortable with. The way that aligns with your conscience. It’s doing certain things prescribed by others, like it or not. It’s about being obedient over anything else. They say it’s about “love” and “families” but these come with different definitions and with huge caveats. “Love” means doing everything the prophet says even if it hurts your loved ones, and “families” ONLY get to stay together if you’re all “worthy” and “active” and go to the temple (which among other things, you have to pay 10% of your income to even enter—so we literally have to PAY MONEY to keep our family. Serious spiritual blackmail). 

When you’re a Mormon girl in a Mormon town, you go to a Mormon college just long enough to get a Mormon husband. It was understood that once you got married, women stayed home, had babies and catered to their families. 

(BTW, we’re not supposed to say Mormons now. The current prophet says that if we use the term Mormon, we offend God and please the devil. Our longhand name is The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints.” Holy crow, I would hate to answer the phones at the church office building). 

Anyway, I did have a fairly good college experience, sans one devastating thing. The good was that I was on the speech and debate team, which made a life long impact. The devastating was not fully realized by me until I was out. 

In a Mormon school, you are assigned a “family home evening” group. These small groups had both men and women, and of course, the men “presided” because they had the “priesthood.” Every Monday nite we got together and did churchy things and then an activity. 

One evening after FHE, I was escorted back to my apartment by one of the FHE “brothers,” and he violently raped me. It didn’t even occur to me to go to the police. I went to the highest authority I knew—my bishop. What he did was almost more traumatic than the rape itself. Of course he didn’t report it to the police. The bishop chastised me for leading a “good young man” astray. He told me that as part of my repentance process, I was to never miss any church meetings for any reason, and was put on academic probation (my college degree was on the line). I was told that I wasn’t worthy enough to take the sacrament until he decided I could, which was months and months. So every week, I had to sit in church and be passed a sacrament that I could not partake of—passed to me by my rapist (who obviously didn’t get into trouble since he was still “worthy” enough to pass the sacrament). I had to worry every second if my college credits were going to be revoked. 

Thing is, I DID NOT REALIZE HOW SCREWED UP THAT WAS UNTIL I LEFT. 

I did not realize how screwed up I WAS until I left. 

I thought I was unworthy. Low hanging fruit. I rebelled a little. When I was 18, I got pregnant and married to a boy I hardly knew. My mom refused to have a baby shower for me because of the “situation.” She insisted we go through the repentance process and go to the temple. We did. We swore oaths in that temple to “suffer our lives to be taken” if we ever said anything bad about the church or the church’s anointed. We wore “sacred garments” that could only be removed for bathing and sex (and put right back on after).  Fast forward a few years, and I was a divorced, single mom with two kids (social pariah in the “active member” community).  I went back to school (of course I quit when I got married). I had two kids to raise on my own, and I needed a degree. I got my education degree with a teaching certification in speech and debate—as a single mom with no ex-husband support—and a full time job. 

Over a decade later, I met and married a wonderful man, who I briefly dated the first time I went to college (we were on the debate team together). Back then, I thought he was asking me out because he felt sorry for me (I thought I was “low hanging fruit” and he was WAY out of my league. Glad I got over that). 

I taught high school for a decade, then university for nearly another. My husband was devout Mormon so I became devout again. I taught at the church university. 

There were many good things about that university. The department I taught in, had (has) the finest people on the planet in it. 

There were things I learned very early on that didn’t set well with me. 

First, the university was a heightened version of an already high demand religion. Everyone was policed—for EVERYTHING. I got my degree from a non-church university, where I learned things about patriarchy, racism, sexism, and homophobia, and I took these newly discovered beliefs and became a feminist and ally, while still “towing the line.” Priesthood was the ultimate authority, and that meant men over women. BOYS over women (because they got the priesthood at 12). At this university I was told that: 

—I wore too much makeup. 

—I didn’t wear enough makeup. 

—my hair was too red (I am a natural redhead). 

—my hair was too short. 

—my hair was too wet (when my hair was longer, I wore my wet hair in a bun one day to teach). 

—I shouldn’t wear pants. 

—I shouldn’t wear sandals (toe cleavage oh no). 

—I should wear pantyhose no matter what. 

—I should only wear one pair of “modest” earrings. 

—I should only wear modest clothes (which did not include capri pants which I got in trouble for wearing to the hardware store one Saturday). 

—I shouldn’t wear “man clothes.” 

All of these comments came from “priesthood leaders,” some of whom were my students. But hey—they had the priesthood. 

I had many students come out to me, and my heart broke for them because they were suffocating at a church university. Some of them didn’t make it, and that galvanized me with significant grief, so cracks began to form. 

While I NEVER EVER said anything in my classes that was against church teachings, I also didn’t allow disparaging comments about LGBTQ or feminists. That ruffled more than a few feathers. Anonymous “concerns” would go to my department chair almost every semester. People would search my social media and include my affirming posts. My husband would then be called, (yes my husband, not me), and he would accompany me to be “gently chastised.” I was called in by my bishop because I posted a congratulations photo of my best friend marrying his husband. One anonymous letter made it to the president of the university, so the dean called me in and told me to be silent or be fired. I chose the latter. 

With the internet came a great revolution of knowledge. This has not been good for Mormonism. My education degree was in social sciences (history, government, debate, civics), so I learned how to source and cross source things. I started questioning some of the doctrines and teachings of my church (HUGE no-no for members). I learned some AWFUL things about men I thought were prophets. I learned some AWFUL things about church history. I also learned that I was flat out lied to by “God’s one true church.” I SAW how LGBTQ people and feminists were treated. I heard the church say “we never taught x,” when I KNOW that they did, because I still had the church manuals that said so. My church was gaslighting everyone. 

When two of my kids came out to us, I decided that I could not in good conscience sit in the pews of a church that would not accept all of my children. 

I lost my job. My community. My church. My “eternal family.” My earth family. My “salvation.” 

This was STILL no comparison to what LGBTQ youth lost. 

I’d had enough and my shelf broke hard. It’s hard to unsee things now that I could not see before. 

It’s been about a decade since I left. With intense therapy and a great husband, I got through some really hard stuff. I dealt with what happened to me at college. I faced the fact that I had been abused (sexually, physically and mentally) by many men over the years, some of whom were my church leaders. 

It’s still not easy. I feel like I am a lone woman on an island. Isolated. In a high demand religion, it’s your LIFE—your conversations, your activities, what you bond over, what you share with loved ones…what you breathe. 

My loved ones still in the church feel pity and sadness for me. They think I am choosing sin and rebellion instead of integrity and conscience. They literally don’t know how to communicate with me, so they don’t. If, by some rare unicorn they broach the subject, it’s only to admonish, or to listen. 

Even though I knew I couldn’t stay I mourned. I still mourn. And my whole life I thought that we were supposed to mourn with those who mourned. I guess that only applies to active members. 

Optional Prompts:

What deconstruction means to you and your spiritual journey:

Deconstruction is freaking hard. But today I feel more spiritually aware. Because it’s ME that owns my spirituality. I didn’t receive it from a man, or pay 10% of my income for it. I still believe in a Divine. I believe some of that Divinity is within humans. I question everything because it’s an adventure, not a rebellion. 

Top thing you wish people understood about deconstruction:

That it’s not about sin and Satan, it’s about integrity and conscience. 

What resources supported you:

Actual historical, cross-sourced sources. A marketplace of ideas instead of “correlated materials.” Listening to other’s journeys, and relating. 

How to best support people you know how are deconstructing:

Recognize that it’s a process, and we’re all on different points in the timeline. And because of that, give grace and patience to those who are further back on the timeline than you. Hold space for what they currently believe, even if it’s different than what you believe.

-Harper Scout

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I hope you were as moved by Harper’s story as I was. I will never ceased to be amazed by the bravery of survivors to speak and I honor that bravery. If you would like to share your story, you can contact me at ournomadicsouls@gmail.com.

All my heart, Meg.