Goodbye, Dad

Dear Dad,

It’s been three weeks since your funeral and a bit more than a month since we last talked. I’ve been sitting with my feelings, trying to sort through some of my memories of us and how our relationship gradually went from something quite negative to something that was at least a bit more on the positive side. We’ve gone a lot longer than a month without speaking before. What’s the longest we ever went? Was it two years while I was on my mission? I’m pretty sure you never wrote me or contacted me while I was gone. Or maybe you said hello when I called home for Christmas or Mother’s Day. I have no memory. I don’t think that was the longest time though. Checking my old emails and text messages, there are emails between us, but it seems I was almost always part of a group. We didn’t really have a personal connection. 

Our lack of connection was not all on you though. Checking my old emails and journals, I find that the last time I really made an attempt was back in 2011. In my journal, I wrote that one of my goals/hopes in life was to become friends with you. We had never been friends or close at all before that, and I felt regret. I wrote to you then with a full account of how I felt, both the positive and negative. I told you that I forgave you for the negative, and I apologized for my part as well. I wanted a dad. I was already in my 30s, but I wasn’t ready to just give up on you yet.

You really surprised me then. You told me that the best way you could think of to actually work on our relationship was to come visit me in person. I was halfway around the world in Taiwan, so that was nothing small. I had some very mixed emotions, but I was hopeful. I imagined all sorts of things in my mind. I’ve watched too many movies where long estranged family members come together again. I think I had my hopes a bit too high. It wasn’t your fault.

When you came, you were just as nervous and uncertain as I was. You didn’t know what to say or what to do. It was no Hallmark movie for sure. At the start, we did a little small talk, but you were jetlagged and in need of rest. I brought you home and let you rest. The next day, you hung out with me in the same room, but neither of us knew what to say or where to go from there. I guess you’d done what you could. You flew all that way. Maybe it was my turn, but I didn’t know what to do either. I saw you playing Sudoku and doing your puzzles, and I just left you to it. I’m sorry. I didn’t know what to do. Over the course of that week, I think there were a few attempts to maybe start something, but neither of us knew how to proceed. The week ended and you headed home.

Despite our inability to “become friends,” I did have an important moment, a realization. In the letter I had sent you, I had said I had forgiven you for all of the bad between us, but I don’t think that was completely true at the subconscious level. After that week you spent with me in Taiwan, I was able to finally let go of it all. I realized that you were just as clueless and lost as I felt. You were just a man. Yes, you were my father, but you were only a man, doing your best to be what you thought you should be. I guess it’s just unfortunate that what you thought you should be was not what I needed you to be. It’s okay though, Dad. I really did forgive you then, and I have no hard feelings anymore.

A few months ago, when you came so close to dying, I flew out to be with you at the end. Since that time you came to visit me back in 2011, I hadn’t made any real effort to show you I cared. I thought it was probably time to say, one last time, that I loved you. We never became the friends that I hoped we could become, but you were still my dad, and I respected you for your effort, even if what you were able to give was never enough or what I needed. Still, you did what you knew how to do, and that deserved respect.

But you didn’t die then. I guess it wasn’t quite time yet. Instead, we had a few more months to interact, and I decided to take advantage of that time. Conversation with you never came easily. I’m sure you know that well enough, and I don’t need to remind you. If Mom weren’t there as well, I don’t know how it would have been. Still, I’m very glad that you were there beside her as we chatted each week. This way, I was able to see you go without regrets. We said everything that really needed to be said – all that really mattered. I love you, Dad.

After you passed, before the funeral, Lindy asked if I had any memories that I wanted her to share at your funeral. Oof. I tried to think of something I’d be willing for her to share, but what came to mind wouldn’t really have been appropriate. Forgiveness doesn’t always imply forgetfulness, and since our interactions were so limited, anything I said could be taken as a pattern, the way you typically were, even if that were not the case. For example, you probably remember that time you slapped me as a teenager. I know I deserved it, but since we didn’t have a lot of other interactions, that one really stuck in my mind for a long time. You’ll remember all the spankings when I was younger. If I brought that up, people might think you were a violent person, but you weren’t really. Once you and Mom decided that method wasn’t effective, you stopped, for the most part. I’m glad you guys improved your parenting strategies over the years. I know you didn’t enjoy corporal punishment. You used it because you didn’t know what else to do. You just didn’t know, and I understand. Parenting is hard.

Besides spanking, benching seemed to be a popular strategy, where you’d tell me to sit on the couch for some amount of time. That wasn’t as bad as spanking. I’m glad you moved on. I just wish you’d have remembered that I had been benched and would release me at some point. I wish we could have talked about what it was I was being punished for. I’m sure there were some good reasons, but my memory of those days was of me feeling sorry for myself, not knowing why I was being punished. Being punished and not knowing why just made me think you didn’t like me very much. 

When I got older, I came to understand that you just didn’t know what you were doing. You told me at one point that your own father was rather hands off, so you didn’t have much of an example yourself. What is a good father? You didn’t know, and you had good excuses. You had one child after another. If you had had just one or two, you’d probably have been a great father. But you had eleven. I’m sorry, Dad. I’m sorry we were too much for you. I’m sorry I was not an easy child at all.

I was third, and I was needy. I don’t blame you, but I don’t blame myself either. It’s just what was. I needed you to be something that you weren’t, something you couldn’t be. It’s not my fault that I was born the way I was. It’s not your fault either. Unfortunately, I lashed out as a result. I was violent and mean to my siblings. What were you supposed to do about it? Of course you only knew to be stern. How could you have known that kindness and gentleness was the only way with me? Does that even make sense? Kind and gentle words for your bully of a son? Of course that wouldn’t have occurred to you. I needed your time. I needed you to talk to me like a friend, like someone you actually liked. How could you have thought to treat me that way when I was not very likable? And then you had a full-time job, eleven kids, church responsibilities, and a wife who you would do anything for. Who was I in all of that? I was the difficult third child. And worse, I was your son, who due to tradition and some gender bias, you expected a bit more from. 

Sigh. I’m sorry, Dad. When Lindy asked me to think of memories to share, I wish my mind had gone elsewhere. I do remember your tradition of taking me out to eat, just you and me, after the priesthood session of general conference. That was kind of cool of you. Of course, we had to cancel that a time or two due to poor feelings between us, but you tried. Thank you. You also took me and my brothers to the Father and Sons Outing that the church put on each year. I know there were some good moments there. I just wish I could remember them. As a child, I focused too much of my attention on the negative. As a result, a lot of those positive interactions that we had got forgotten. I believe there were those moments though.

I’ve written a lot now, and not much of it is uplifting. I think the point is though, that despite a lack of positive memories, I believe you had good intentions, and in the end, I hope my efforts during your last weeks and months made things better between us. You didn’t deserve the anger and silent accusations that I heaped upon you in my mind. Thank you for coming to Taiwan. It might have felt like a failed attempt at full reconciliation, but it meant more than you could have known. 

It’s been three weeks now since I attended your funeral. I’m glad I went. You know I left the church many years ago now. At the start, one of the scariest concepts I had to face was that there might not be any afterlife. Death could be, and likely was, the end of any kind of life. I remember I was suddenly frightened of anything risky, like riding my bike or driving my car. If death was the end, I didn’t want to do anything even remotely risky. Before, I had just thought I’d go when God called me. He knew the end, so I didn’t have to worry about it. Suddenly, with the loss of belief, I had something new to worry about. It took a long time to get used to the idea.

When you died, nearly a week before your funeral, I knew you were probably gone from my life forever. I don’t expect to ever see you again. I don’t believe you will ever read these words. I don’t think you attended your funeral. You’re gone. You’re not in pain. You’re not suffering. You’re not happy or sad. You’re not meeting your loved ones on the other side. There’s just nothing. That is my current belief, and I haven’t found a reason to expect otherwise. If, by chance, you do experience something more, if there is a life after this one, if you do read these words someday, I won’t be disappointed. I’ll just repeat that I love you. I forgive you. I wish you every happiness. You weren’t perfect, but you tried to be a good person. If there’s any kind of heaven, I’m sure you’d belong.

At the funeral, I was glad to be a support to those that were truly mourning your loss. Almost everyone that attended your funeral believed that they would see you again. They believed you were with your family members that had passed before you. They believed you were having a wonderful time with those that you had served or helped in life. They were comforted by such thoughts. I don’t blame them or think poorly of them for having such beliefs. I wish I could believe similar things.

I cried at your funeral. I didn’t cry for myself out of grief or sorrow. I won’t really miss you since our relationship was never close. I didn’t cry for you either. You’re not suffering anymore, and I’m glad for that. I cried for Mom though. I know she’ll be okay, but she misses you so much. You guys were together for 53 years, and now she has to figure out life without you. You loved her so deeply. It’s certainly hard for her. I also cried for my siblings. My experience was not everyone’s experience. Some of them had much deeper, richer relationships with you. There was genuine sorrow at your funeral. You are missed, and you’ll continue to be missed for a long time. So, I went to the funeral in your place, Dad. I went there to hug those you couldn’t hug. You couldn’t be there, Dad, so I decided to be there instead.

I know I’m not you. I’m not anything like you. I used to think we were the same. I blamed you for my own weaknesses and foibles, thinking I inherited them. Sigh. I wasted too much time assigning blame. Nobody is responsible for my life and my choices. My life is what it is. My choices are what they are. I don’t need a scapegoat.

Anyway, I think I’ve said everything I need or want to say to you now. I’ll do my best to continue to be there for the family. We may not have the same beliefs about an afterlife or about a great many other things, but I think we all share a belief in love and kindness. Goodbye Dad. I love you.

Love, 

Tayson

[I gave this letter to ChatGPT for suggestions, and it gave me a ton. I’m ignoring them all though because I think I prefer this to just be my voice with all its imperfections. I hope that maybe this letter will resonate with others out there. Feel free to share your thoughts.
Image below: Top-left is my Dad and me on his shoulders. Top-right is me. Bottom is my dad when he was much younger.]

Time to Speak Up: Political Rhetoric Matters

I’ve been quite busy of late. I have three jobs, I am taking a Calculus class at the community college, and my two kids take up much of my remaining time. Despite this hectic pace, I have found myself increasingly drawn into the political climate here in the United States. For most of my life, I have avoided politics and political speech, but I feel like I really do need to say something now.

Back in 2008, Barack Obama was running against John McCain. I remember that I liked Obama as a person. I didn’t know much of anything about his politics, but he was at least likable. I knew that on the issue of abortion though, he was pro-choice, and that bothered me. I felt that as a matter of principle, I couldn’t vote for him as much as I liked him. As for John McCain, he was republican which meant he was probably pro-life. I couldn’t get excited about him though. He was just another boring politician. In the end, while I couldn’t bring myself to vote for either, I secretly hoped that Obama might win and that his racial background and likability might help heal our racial divisions.

In 2016, I was living in Taiwan, and one of my jobs was teaching conversational English to adults. As part of that job, I was given articles to read and discuss with my students. One of those articles was about presidential candidate Donald Trump. Before reading that article, my only exposure to Trump had been a single episode of The Apprentice a couple of years prior. My friend and colleague was then teaching a business English course and using segments of that series as part of the curriculum. As I watched the episode, I remember feeling uncomfortable with Trump as a person. He displayed a distressing lack of sympathy for the losing contestants. He was not the kind of person I would want to associate with in any way, and just watching him made me feel nervous. One reason I have avoided business in my life is the fear of having to interact with characters like Donald Trump from The Apprentice.

In my English class though, the article we discussed brought up some of the xenophobic comments that Trump had made. My students were appalled at the things he had said and equally at the fact that a significant number of Americans wanted to vote for him. America had long been considered a friend and ally to Taiwan, but Trump seemed to not be such a friend. I had to assure my class that not all Americans thought like Trump. We are a diverse nation with all kinds of people. For my part, Taiwan is a friend.

Perhaps more controversially, I also consider the people of China to be friends. I lived in China for a while and made friends there. I learned that despite their government, the people of China are just people like people anywhere. They want peace and prosperity for themselves and their families. Many people from China have moved to America seeking a better life under a government that would support their basic human rights. They hope to find happiness here and to thrive.

After Donald Trump won the election, politics once again slipped into the background of my life. I had my own personal issues to deal with and couldn’t give politicians any more of my attention. After all, despite all of a president’s presumed power, nothing ever seems to change much from one presidential term to the next. From time to time, I’d hear some xenophobic comment or a stated desire to make changes, but the president has little power to unilaterally make those changes, fortunately.

What has happened though, and what continues to happen, is the normalization of that sort of xenophobic rhetoric. America is a country built on immigration. Nearly all of us that live here in the United States are either descended from immigrants or are immigrants ourselves. We came here seeking freedom, opportunities, and happiness. We come from everywhere, and that’s one of the things I love most about this country. I love that I can meet people from all different backgrounds. We have different religious beliefs. We have different languages. We have different philosophies about life and how to pursue happiness in the best way. And the American government is supposed to safeguard those freedoms that allow those differences. We should be able to believe what we want. We should be able to speak the languages that make us feel comfortable. We should be able to pursue our own happiness as it makes sense to us, so long as it doesn’t interfere with others. 

We should not be trying to restrict the freedoms of others when it does not affect us.  This is why, despite being pro-life on the original issue that kept me from voting for Barack Obama, I’m now willing to vote for a candidate that supports the freedom to make that choice for oneself. If it were my choice to make, I would always choose life, regardless of the consequences. That’s my personal choice. But not everyone believes the same, and to be America, those differences have to be respected. Once the government starts dictating personal matters that don’t affect others, we move away from what made America great in the first place.

I can’t support Donald Trump. From my very first exposure to him, he’s only talked about himself and how great he thinks he is. He speaks very disparagingly about people that think differently from him. His rhetoric creates divides which threaten to end everything that I have loved about America and being American. When I witness the growing discord between America’s political parties, encouraged by Donald Trump, I fear for the future. This can’t end well.

As for the economy, the president doesn’t have much power over it. Every president likes to take credit when the economy is doing well and to blame their opponents or other factors when things are going poorly, but in the end, that’s not their purview. Until we give the president more power, which Donald Trump is working on (He’s already gotten the Supreme Court to grant the president immunity in some cases.), a president’s rhetoric is their most powerful tool. And Donald Trump has said, and continues to say, some pretty awful things.

On the other hand, Kamala Harris is a symbol of diversity. Her words show understanding of and empathy for the people she represents. I hope she wins this presidential election. She is far less divisive and, I believe, would try to represent all Americans, not just those that agree with her personal viewpoints. Because those don’t matter nearly as much. 

New Year’s Resolution #1

It’s early afternoon now on January 1st, 2024. I had planned to go to bed a bit earlier last night to try and start the new year off right, but instead, I stayed up all night. The whole night, I kept thinking I was about to call it quits and head to bed, but that didn’t happen. It ended up getting so late that I decided that perhaps this might be one of those rare occasions where I pull an all-nighter. I don’t like to admit that I’m getting too old for that kind of behavior, but I saw the bags under my eyes when I looked in the mirror earlier. They’re not pretty.

The last time I wrote to this blog was the last day of 2022, meaning that I didn’t write even once in 2023. The last time I skipped a year was back in 2010, and I think I was writing elsewhere at the time. I once wrote that as long as I was writing, I was okay. I don’t think those words meant much to anyone besides myself, but I am constantly thinking about it whenever time goes by and I’m not writing anything. Am I okay? I think I am, but if I’m not writing somewhere, I wonder if it’s the truth.

Anyway, it’s a new year and a new opportunity to make changes. I’d like to make writing something that I do this year. I think I’m doing well. The only thing that makes me unhappy is the fact that I haven’t been writing anything. Life is good though. 

Last time I wrote, I talked about my plan to move away from Washington to some other place. Before writing that blog post but after deciding that I had to move, my ex-wife reached out to me and told me that she planned to move to Washington so that the kids could be closer to both of us. I mentioned that I was leaving Washington but that she was welcome to come wherever I ended up going.

In the end, I told my ex that I had decided on the Kansas City, Missouri area. She made the move first from Utah and I came a month and a half later. Now, we all, parents and two kids, live together in one house. My ex and daughter live downstairs. My son and I share the upstairs. It’s a good arrangement.

There are so many things I’ve thought of to write about over the past year, but I’m really struggling with my complete lack of sleep. I’m worried that tomorrow, when I read what I’ve written here, I’ll be quite embarrassed at the number of typos, grammatical errors, and lack of coherence. Oh well, it is what it is. I’ve got to do this now or another year might just slip away just like the last one did.

The Nomadic Itch

It feels like forever since the last time I’ve written anything. Now, just a few hours away from the end of 2022, I wonder if I’ve even written at all this year. Maybe not. This whole year has passed in a kind of mental haze. I can’t remember what I was doing a year ago or how my life has changed since then. Has anything changed at all? And then I think back to 2021. Where was I? Still here. What was I doing? More of the same probably. 2020? 2019? My kids came to live with me at some point. When was that? This year? Last year? The year before? I can’t keep it straight unless I go read old emails or ask other people. I haven’t written much these past few years – not here or anywhere.

However, if I think back to 2018, I know where I was and what I did. My son had been living with me in my parents’ house in Utah. My ex took him back with her to Taiwan, and I moved to Washington State to try and get over the depression that had been taking hold. I moved in with my brother temporarily until I found a place of my own towards the end of the year. I remember 2018 because it was a year of change. There is less haze when there are life changes occurring.

2017 was just like 2018, a year of change. That year, I separated from my wife and moved with my son to Utah to try and figure out life in the States. It was a hard year, but very memorable. Similarly, 2015, 2013, and 2012 were big years, full of change. Since 2018 though, things have become more still and quiet.

Life in Washington has been good. I have few complaints, and those rather insignificant. Mid-2018, my brother and his wife invited me to come here, and I seized the opportunity. Within a week or two of coming here, I found a part-time job. Then, not long afterward, I found a second part-time job. Before the end of 2018, I found a third part-time job. I was extremely busy, but as I had been so lost after losing my wife and kids, it was good to have something else to occupy my time and mind.

Now, four and a half years later, I have kept only one of those three jobs. I am not in as much need for mental distraction. My son and daughter both came to live with me a while back, and now, my son is still with me while my daughter has returned to live with her mom. The depression that brought me to Washington faded a long time ago, and my mental health has been mostly okay since then. I owe my brother and his wife so much gratitude for their part in that recovery.

So, now what? My purpose in coming here is fulfilled, and that lifelong nomadic itch is becoming increasingly less possible to ignore. I need to move on, but I don’t know to where.

If I count every place I’ve lived in for a month or more, I’ve lived in 28 places. For fun, I’ll list them out:

Aurora, Colorado
Austin, Texas
Boulder, Colorado (1)
Boulder, Colorado (2) Different Home
Chuzhou, Anhui, China
Debrecen, Hungary
Douliu, Taiwan
Downtown Budapest, Hungary
Dunaujvaros, Hungary
Goleta, California
Kirkland, Washington
Kispest, Budapest, Hungary
Laie, Hawaii (1)
Laie, Hawaii (2) Different Home
Laie, Hawaii (3) Different Home
Lynnwood, Washington
Manor, Texas
Miaoli, Taiwan
Mission Viejo, California
Orem, Utah
Provo, Utah
Szeged, Hungary
Taipei, Taiwan (1)
Taipei, Taiwan (2) Different Home
Taitung, Taiwan
Veszprem, Hungary
West Budapest, Hungary
Xi’an, China

As fun as it would be to leave the country again and go on an adventure somewhere, I think I still need to stay in the United States a bit longer. My son will be entering high school and my daughter middle school. It would be good for them to have a stable place to live and make friends for a while. I imagine the next chapter of my life could be another long one as a result, so I hope it can be somewhere nice where my kids and I will feel as welcome as we’ve felt here in Washington. Also, besides being in the United States, I don’t want to move to Utah again. As much as I love my family in Utah, I struggle to feel happy and welcome there.

Okay, I want this out today and I’m running out of time. If any friends or family members out there read my blog posts and are interested in having me living in the area, please reach out to me. There are a lot of factors to consider when choosing a new place, so an invitation doesn’t automatically mean I will move there. Still, if I’m considering a place, knowing that I’m welcome in the area will be a major pull.

My Life, My Heart – 2019-2020

It’s been over 8 months since I posted to this blog and I think nearly 2 years since I gave an update on my life and how things have been going. Back toward the end of last year, I thought about doing a year-in-review post and looked back to my journals and records to remind myself of what all had happened. As I was looking through my sparse notes from 2020 though, I noticed that 2019 seemed to be missing. I had journal records for every year of my life since I was a kid sorted into files and folders, but there was nothing for 2019. All I had were emails that had been sent or received, some blog posts, and memories to tell me what had happened during that year.

One of those events for which I only have memories is the visit of my ex-wife (our divorce was finalized last year) and kids around Thanksgiving of 2019. I hadn’t seen my daughter for two and a half years and my son for over a year. For most of the year, I had been looking forward to being reunited with them. We were going to be a family again, and I had prepared by renting a larger apartment than I needed, buying beds and other furniture, etc. I missed them all so much, and I didn’t want to be apart from them any longer.

Unfortunately, things didn’t work out as I’d hoped. That summer, my then-wife informed me that she’d made other plans and that she and the kids would be moving to Utah instead. The pain was tremendous. I’d gone through so much loneliness and depression with only the anticipation of being reunited with my family keeping me going. I was able to convince her to at least visit me first before going on to Utah.

After learning about my then-wife’s decision and before they came for their visit at the end of November, I began to experience some chest pain. My heart seemed to beat irregularly. I would feel pain as my heart seemed to skip beats or beat too fast. I was scared about what was happening to me, but I didn’t care enough about my own wellbeing to talk to anyone or do anything about it.

When my then-wife and kids arrived, I was genuinely happy to see them, and I tried to express that happiness. At the same time though, I just wanted to cry. I missed them all so much, but they weren’t going to stay with me. They had chosen to live elsewhere without me, and that thought caused pain that seemed more than I could bear. And what seemed coincidentally, the greater that emotional pain grew, the more my physical heart ached within me. I thought I might die at any moment anyway, so they’d be better off leaving me.

Their visit ended and they left as planned. I was heartbroken in more ways than one, but I did my best to distract myself from the pain. I worked for as many hours as my workplace would give me. When work ended, I watched movie after movie. I played hour after hour of computer games. I went to bed late so that I could fall asleep quickly without the time to think too much in the silence. Gradually, the pain seemed to subside, both the physical and emotional.

In early 2020, while COVID-19 was still just a rumor, I got a job with a new school that paid a little better… at least at the start. Soon though, the pandemic arrived with all of the shut downs and restrictions. I was fortunate to be able to work through much of the year by going online, but my hours and pay were cut quite a bit. And then when things hadn’t gotten better for the school by the Fall, I was let go. 

Things could have been very bad at the time, but I was lucky on two counts. First, a brother had moved in with me just before I lost my job. He provided both company and some help in paying the rent. Second, after only two weeks of not working, my previous work seemed happy to rehire me, though they couldn’t offer the number of hours I would have liked. I felt fortunate though to have it as good as I did.

This year, things haven’t changed much. I’m still working as an academic tutor at the same place. My brother is still living with me – though he plans to leave in May. I still spend far too much time watching videos and playing games and distracting myself from too much thinking. Oh yeah, and my ex-wife and I got divorced last year. I couldn’t handle thinking about it too much, so I just agreed to everything my ex-wife wanted and signed where she told me to sign and then went back to my games and videos. 

Recently though, I’ve wanted to finally wake up from this long slumber. My old dreams are gone and can’t be recovered, but I still want to live and have experiences. There are some things I can do now like actively blogging again, and there are other things I’d like to do as well, but I may have to wait until the pandemic has passed. 

As for my heart, it hurt again today as I wrote this post and has been hurting off and on for the past few days as I’ve been thinking about my ex-wife and kids and 2019, so I may have to be careful about my thoughts and what I dwell on moving forward. I don’t understand how or why my heart physically hurts when I think too much about the loss of those I love, but it seems to be more than coincidence at this point. I miss them though. I miss my kids more than I can express. I miss my ex-wife too and love her still. She’s happier without me though, and I have to accept that.

Alright, my heart is acting funny again, so I’m going to put this topic aside for a while. There are plenty of other topics to think and write about in the future, so I don’t need to bring this up anymore. Thanks to all that continue to read my posts and to all that care about me and my wellbeing. 

Depression, Mental Illness, and Suicide in the Mormon Corridor

M.O.R.E.

Early this year, I heard a vlogger decry the many suicides in Utah that happen as a direct result of LDS church policies, teachings, and doctrines. I was curious to know if this was true or not, so I did some research. I didn’t actually find anything to concretely tie the suicides directly to the church, but I did discover some interesting statistics.

In an article from the LA Times, a study was shared in which Utah was found to be the state with the most antidepressant use in America. The author states, “Antidepressant drugs are prescribed in Utah more often than in any other state, at a rate nearly twice the national average.” To be fair, this study was conducted in 2002 and things may have improved since then, but there doesn’t seem to have been any follow up study.

In 2020, Mental Health America, a nonprofit organization…

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Black Lives Matter – Apology Overdue

A couple of days ago, I drove through an intersection where I saw a young protester standing on the corner with a sign. His sign only read “BLM”, but I still felt quite impressed. He was a pasty white kid that looked to be around 18 years old, showing his support for the black community and the “Black Lives Matter” movement. Seeing him there gave me some small hope for the future. There are a lot of young people in my area that really get it and are doing what they can to promote positive change in our communities and in the world.

From other corners, I’ve seen people posting things like “White Lives Matter” or “Every Life Matters.” Although these statements are certainly true, they show a complete lack of empathy for the people that are suffering most right now. When someone is in pain and in need of support and understanding, it is incredibly callous to shout out distracting messages in support of people that don’t need it right now. All lives do matter, so let’s give our love and support to those who need it most right now.

The very next day after seeing the boy on the corner, I saw another couple of white protesters in support of Black Lives Matter. I absolutely love the fact that I live in a predominantly white community that still feels the need to show their support in any way they can. I love the way that the people who drive past wave or honk their horns to show that they also support the movement. In case I haven’t made it clear yet, I am also in complete support of the Black Lives Matter movement.

As a former member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, I want to apologize for the historic institutionalized racism of the church and the extremely racist comments and teachings of its leaders, especially by Brigham Young and other early presidents of the church. I doubt the church will ever apologize for its racism, so I hope that its members will make it clear that they fully reject the racist teachings of these prophets. 

The church has been the direct and indirect cause of incredible pain and suffering over the years, and it has apologized for none of it. I, for one, am sorry. I’m especially sorry that I even believed some of these statements growing up. I was taught racism in my youth, and it took me too long to realize that these teachings were completely false. At least now I can say that I categorically reject all of Brigham Young’s and other church leader’s racist teachings.

In recent weeks, months, and even years, current church leaders have spoken out against racism, but they have neglected to offer the apology that is warranted. For me, it is the same as if a man were abusive to his spouse. At some point, he realizes that maltreating his wife is having negative effects on his goals and direction in life, so he stops. Later, he sees another person abusing their spouse, and he tells the other person that they are despicable and should repent. He preaches that spousal abuse is a terrible sin, never mentioning his own infractions. When confronted about it, he blames his parents. They told me to act that way, he says. I was only following orders. I don’t know why they told me to do it, but I had to obey. Never an apology. Not ever.

When I saw that young man on the street corner the other day, I felt my eyes become teary. I felt mixed emotions as I felt great admiration for what the boy was doing to make the world a better place but also sad for what I was not doing. Over the past few months, I have written at least a dozen blog posts that I have not published. I just keep thinking that nobody really cares. What I write doesn’t matter to anyone. I’m not making any kind of positive impact. 

And maybe all of that is true, but is it really an excuse to say nothing, to stop trying? I wish to apologize yet again for giving up. Maybe, dear reader, you are among those that would prefer that I just stay quiet. However, my personal integrity compels me to speak the truth, even when it hurts or isn’t popular. You can expect more from me moving forward.

Small Families Are Best

As the third of eleven children, I know what it’s like to be part of a big family. And as with most things, it’s not all good nor all bad. I can’t imagine giving up any one of my siblings. I care about them, and I am glad they were brought into existence. In fact, the sibling I am closest to is actually the last of the bunch, number eleven. Without him, I’m not sure I would have survived 2018, the absolute worst year of my life. In large part due to him, 2020 has been comparatively wonderful. There is no way I would want to go back in time and tell my parents that they really should have stopped after me, number three. No way!

Having said that, when I imagine what my life might have been like if there were only two or three of us, I feel like a lot of my life’s biggest struggles could have been either avoided or mitigated to some degree.

Every child has their own unique challenges and needs. They don’t all need the same rules or amount of personal attention. They don’t need hugs to the same degree of frequency. They don’t all need to be told that they are loved every day to feel that they are loved. Some can be left alone for long periods of time without harm. Others need constant social interaction from their parents.

When I raised my own two children, I recognized that treating them both in exactly the same way would be a mistake. So, I treated them differently. I learned how they each feel love, and I did what I could to make sure they both felt loved by me. I taught them to read, differently. I taught them arithmetic, differently. My son, though he does value fairness, was able to understand when I explained why the penalties for breaking rules could not be the same for both of them. Even the rules could not be exactly the same. They were two different people with different needs. Maybe schools and governments have to treat everyone the same, but a family shouldn’t have to. What was important to me was that each child felt loved in the way they needed and that their opportunities for individual growth and life success were maximized.

The more children there are though, the more difficult this approach becomes. I think that, out of necessity, most parents of large families use the much simpler strategy of treating every child the same. They try to show the children that they are being fair and that they love each child the same. At least, this is the approach my own parents seemed to employ. One positive benefit of this approach is that I never got the feeling that they were playing favorites. 

Unfortunately, what all of this fairness also meant was that my own unique individual needs weren’t quite being met. For example, I was not a happy child, but my parents never took any real action to discover why I was struggling. On those occasions where I felt a need to talk to them about some concern, I often had to wait in line. I can remember multiple occasions where I simply gave up and went off to be by myself elsewhere. 

Sure. My parents loved me…, but unless I did something drastic, I could never get the attention I needed. Among the things I tried when I was young were screaming at the top of my lungs, walking out and being gone for hours at a time, breaking walls, doors, and mirrors, getting F’s in classes, stealing, and even getting physically violent with siblings. I was awful, and I needed help. But did I get the help I needed? I got punishments. I got put in time out. I got extra chores. I lost privileges and access to things I enjoyed. They tried to control my behavior by meting out punishments. I don’t remember any time being spent to find out what was really wrong.

Of course, I didn’t know what was wrong either, but I was the kid. I was too young and inexperienced in life to understand my own psyche. I remember the phrase being often used in my house, “they just want attention,” whenever a child acted out. As if wanting or needing attention was a bad thing! In my mind, I was just an awful person, and all of the punishments and parental admonitions just supported that belief.

In middle school, things got especially bad. I heard about the possibility of homeschooling, and begged my mom to let me try. I needed something to change. My mom actually arranged a meeting with my principal to discuss the option, but he told my mom that I would just be running away from my problems. According to him, I needed to face them in order to overcome them. The logic doesn’t sound bad, and I don’t blame my mom for listening to him, but the choice was still wrong for me. Going home at that time wouldn’t have been running away from my problems. It would have been giving my mom a chance to figure out what the problems were, away from so many other distractions. 

A year or two later, my mom let my younger sister stay home to be home-schooled while I attended my first year of high school. High school was a lot better than middle school though, and I started to have some hope for the future. The next year though, in my sophomore year of high school, my mom decided to home-school everyone at home. For the family as a whole, this might have been a good decision, but I’m not sure it’s what was best for me personally. As just one in a crowd, my parents never really understood my own personal individual needs. 

The point of this post is not to criticize my parents though. I believe they did the best they could given the circumstances. If there had only been one or two of us, I’m sure they would have spent more time with me. They would have come to understand me more, and they would have been able to meet my needs better. If they weren’t able to understand what was going on with me or didn’t know how to help me, they would have had more money to spend on a child therapist or psychologist. Perhaps, I would not have had so many suicidal thoughts, a fact my parents never knew about me until I wrote it out in a blog post just a few years ago.

More recently, I have had some unpleasant interactions with my mom that I feel are caused, at least in part, by the sheer number of children she has. I believe that the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints has caused great harm to me and millions of others, and I have written much about this. Until recently, my mom refused to admit that this could be even a little bit true. She finally did acknowledge that the “attitudes of members and the policies of the church have caused [me] pain,” and that “perhaps if [she] had [gone through what I did, her] perspective would be different.”

This partial acknowledgement made me both happy and sad. I was happy that she was starting to see, just a little bit, what I’d been going through all of these years and how the church was a part of that. I was sad that it made no difference to her. Now, this may have nothing to do with the number of children she has, but I can see how it might. If I came to believe that one of my children had been hurt by the members and policies of an organization that I loved, and that that organization was continuing to hurt others without apology, I would want to rethink my relationship with that organization. Even if I couldn’t give it up, I would want to keep my relationship with it a lot more low-key.

However, if I had many similarly devoted children and grandchildren that looked up to me and would see if I wavered in my dedication to this organization, I might hesitate changing any of my behaviors. I think that my mother believes that the church helps and blesses the lives of her and almost all the rest of her family, and I am just one sad exception. In her mind, changing her attitude toward the church might help her relationship with me but hurt many others. She can’t afford that, regardless of how it might affect me. 

To me, it seems pretty clear that numbers matter. What a parent will do for one child alone, they might not be willing to do for that same one child out of a great number. Imagine if all eleven of my mother’s children felt hurt by the church. Would all of her family-directed emails then be full of worshipful statements about the church? Would she then continue to exclaim her great joy that the church is true? Would it permeate all of her communication both public and private? No matter how much she believed the church to be true, even to the point of certainty, I think she would more carefully evaluate whether she needed to affirm that confidence at every step, destroying family relationships in the process.

And so, back to my original point, I think small families are best. When schools, governments, etc. have to treat all the same, regardless of personality differences, psychology, etc., parents should be able to do what’s right for the good of each individual. Parents, especially, should not have to choose between the good of many and the good of one child with unmet needs.

Unity of Mind

As a graduate student at the University of Colorado Boulder, I took two classes which I enjoyed more than all the rest: Cognitive Neuroscience and Philosophy of Mind. These classes presented many studies that challenged what I thought I knew about perception, free will, unity of mind, and so on. I was sure that my religion had it right, but I wondered how these studies and the evidence they presented fit into it all.

One of these studies involved individuals that had had their corpus callosum (the nerve fibers that connect the two brain hemispheres) severed. In this study, the patients exhibited a phenomenon that is now called alien hand syndrome which is where one hand, typically the left, seems to act on its own, independent of conscious control. One example of this could be where an individual goes to the closet to pick out a shirt, reaches for the one they want with their right hand, and their left hand slaps or pushes their right hand away and tries to grab a different shirt. There have been several theories presented for why this might happen, but none have been proven, as far as I know. I don’t know what is actually happening here, but it certainly leads one to imagine that consciousness may not be so neatly unified as we tend to think.

In our day to day lives, we seem to have one, and only one, consciousness that makes decisions and directs our actions. But what if there were more than one consciousness within us that shared our perceptions and experiences? Perhaps, consciousness isn’t even something that can be counted at all, but flows and ebbs like water. I have no idea what the reality is, but I think it’s an interesting idea.

If such were the case that our minds are not a single unified entity, a lot could be explained. For example, the other day, I was waiting for a student that often skips class. A part of me really wanted him to come so that we could do the work that needed to be done. At the same time, I also hoped he wouldn’t come so that I could relax and not have to stress over him. I know there are other explanations for being two-minded about things, but the idea that I could literally be “two” minded at times is interesting. What if every time I have mixed feelings about something, my mind is actually divided in the moment.

In the past, I have often talked about the various “voices” that speak to us, enticing us to go one way or another. In religion, this is often depicted as a demon and angel over each shoulder, whispering into our ears. Indeed, I used to believe that these voices came from without. These voices came from the Holy Ghost, angels, servants of Satan, spirits of the deceased, and so on. 

But what if all of these voices were just me all along? When I pray and calm my soul, what if the feeling of peace that can come is just all of my internal voices coalescing into one? Or what if that peace I feel is just another part of me, telling myself that what I want to believe is good to believe. A part of myself wants something to be true, and I can feel that when I pray or meditate. I sense this feeling as if it comes from the outside, but does it have to be?

In our day to day lives, we hear and see much more than that which we are consciously aware of. For example, each day, I drive to work. My mind is often busy thinking about various things, but somehow, I always arrive at my destination without issue. I see all of the other cars, and I carefully avoid hitting any of them. I don’t run over any pedestrians. I know when the light is red or green, and I go when I’m supposed to. But I feel like I do much of this at a subconscious level. Or perhaps “other-conscious” level? I’m not actively thinking about all of the things that I see and hear, but they still enter my brain and have an effect on my actions. 

To give more examples, I could see thousands of faces in a crowd, but not be able to consciously focus on any of them. But I still saw them, and much of that information made it into my brain. I could hear 10 or more conversations happening at once and only be able to focus on one of them, if that. But I still heard them all. Much of that information also worked its way into my brain. In a later moment, I may even be able to recall some of what I saw or heard and make connections that I couldn’t make at the time. What this all means to me is that I, at some level, know considerably more than what I can consciously bring to mind.

So, if there is so much more knowledge in my head than what I am consciously aware of, and I have some important issue that I’m trying to figure out, wouldn’t it make some amount of sense to want to access that hidden information if it were relevant to the issue I was facing? This is what I think may often happen when a person prays for answers to questions they may have. The answers don’t have to come from outside themselves. They simply need to quiet their mind and allow their subconscious or “other-conscious” to make the relevant connections and allow the information to surface.

I don’t know if this is how consciousness actually works, but it seems to fit the facts as I see them. People often get warm peaceful feelings when they pray or meditate on something they want to believe. People can also receive knowledge that they didn’t know they had or suddenly remember something that they had forgotten. 

What makes me think this is all just the subconscious or another side of our own consciousness and not an omniscient god is that although listening to these voices is generally beneficial, people get things wrong all the time. People are told to go right when they should go left. They have warm peaceful feelings that they believe come from the Holy Spirit, but then discover that what they thought was right was actually wrong. The story I usually hear from these individuals is that they misinterpreted their own feelings as being the Holy Spirit, or that God had some other plan and needed them to go in what only seemed to be the wrong direction for His own purposes. It makes a lot more sense to me that these feelings did not come from an omniscient god at all. It was all them all along, doing the best they could with what was available to their own inner selves.

In short, I believe it is beneficial to pray or meditate and listen for answers. I don’t understand the process (unconscious, subconscious, multiple consciousnesses, fluid consciousness, etc.), but I believe that the answers that may come are generally right and benefit the supplicant. However, because these answers are human in origin, they can be wrong, and people who enjoy this process should be aware of this possibility. No matter how “right” something may feel, there is always the possibility of error. In consequence, people should be open to changing their minds when they are presented with new information or contrasting views.

“I Know”

Sometimes, because of all my writings on uncertainty, I get the feeling that many people have the false impression that I’m just wishy washy, uncertain, and full of doubt all the time. This is not the case. I could be 99.9999% certain about something, but then focus on the 0.0001% uncertainty in order to demonstrate a point. No matter how sure about something I am, there is always a chance that I could be wrong. That chance could be very small, but it’s always there, no matter what I think or believe. The refusal to acknowledge the possibility of my own human fallibility is pride, arrogance, and extreme foolishness.

Having said that, there are some things I believe to a very high degree of certainty. For example, I’m pretty sure that the Earth is not flat. I have seen pictures of the Earth from space. I have seen the curvature of the Earth from airplanes and high mountains. I have traveled a great distance around the Earth, from Hungary to China. Even if I did not have my own personal experiences, there seems to be enough evidence out there to dispel all doubt. I could almost be willing to say I know the Earth is not flat, but what would be the point? When do people really use those words anyway? My complaints about the phrase – “I know” –  come from the feeling that it implies absolute certainty, but perhaps this is only in certain contexts.

Generally speaking, I think most people will simply say, “the Earth is not flat,” and then move on. There is no need to add an emphatic “I know” to the start of it. However, if someone comes up and claims that the Earth is flat and an argument ensues, a person, without sufficient ability to explain how or why the Earth is not flat, may feel pressure to assert their knowledge. “I know the Earth is not flat. It’s just not. I can’t say how I know; I just do.” 

To me, the above case is most like religious expressions of surety. People understand that their views are not universally accepted, but they lack the ability to coherently express their reasons for their beliefs. Therefore, they feel the pressure to fall back on, “I know.” If a person has confidence in their beliefs and clear reasons for those beliefs, they should be able to just say it. “This is the case because…” To me, adding “I know” to the start of an assertion is giving up on trying to reason with someone and trying instead to appeal to faith. It gives the message, “just trust me”. I know this.

Now, having said all that, I find myself in that very situation that I have just described. I am not the expert that can explain everything perfectly, but I am quite sure about certain things. I have tried to express my views for several years and have not been believed or understood. I often feel incapable of explaining all of my reasoning to those who will not or cannot understand. Perhaps it is time to fall back to “I know.”

A long time ago, it was common knowledge that the Earth was flat. This was the reality that the people experienced, and to believe otherwise would have seemed foolish. As time went on though, more and more evidence came to light to prove that the Earth was not actually flat. Gradually, people were forced to reconstruct their reality. The Earth was not flat, and this became knowledge. What would it take for people today to go back to believing that the Earth is flat without forgetting everything we have learned in the interim? I could probably come up with a number of possibilities, but I would not place any of them above a 0.00001% chance of being correct. With confidence, I can say that the Earth is not flat, and if backed into a corner, “I know the Earth is not flat.” This is not absolute, 100% certainty though. I refuse to go there.

When I believed in the LDS church, Joseph Smith, the Book of Mormon, and so on, I knew these things were true to a high degree of certainty. I had no real reason to doubt any of them, and I can remember saying that I knew they were true. Since then, I have gained new knowledge and come to new understanding. I have had to reconstruct my reality, and like those that learned the Earth is not flat, I can no longer go back to believing as I once did. How could I? The new knowledge supersedes the old completely.

Friends and family members that still believe seem to think that I have only lost something that can be regained. This is not the case. Because I have gained new knowledge, I can’t go back and believe as I once did. I have moved on. I am in a new place, and there is no going back. Here are some of the things that I have learned and know to be true (with varying degrees of certainty):

• The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is built on lies, deception, and fraud. Even with my gift for creativity, I struggle to save it. It is more likely that the Earth is flat than that the church is true.
• Moroni 10:5 “By the power of the Holy Ghost, ye may know the truth of all things.” – This is a lie which takes advantage of people’s deepest hopes and desires. Belief in such a principle discourages rational thought and encourages acceptance of things one only wishes were true.
• Church teachings about family, temples, and the celestial kingdom are manipulative and do more to harm family relationships than to help.

That list could be broken down into many other points or expanded, but I think the point has been made. I did not just lose my testimony. I gained knowledge. I did not just casually walk away from the church. I made discoveries. These were not happy and uplifting discoveries, and so people that are taught to follow the Holy Ghost through feelings of peace, joy, etc. can rarely accept them. These things can be traumatic, and do not bring peace or joy, but they are true anyway.

I believe in the considerable value of uncertainty, but I also believe in continuously increasing my knowledge and understanding to lessen that uncertainty whenever possible. The church is false. I know this to the greatest degree of certainty I allow myself. Like the flat Earther that finally discovers the truth, there is no real way to go back. And why would I want to? I only want to believe what is true. My only regret is that I did not learn these things sooner. The greatest mistakes of my life are a direct result of my belief in the church and its teachings. So much heartache, depression, and misery could have been avoided if only I’d seen the truth earlier.

But… could I be wrong about everything I’m so sure about? I will never close the door completely on my uncertainty, but I have been openly expressing my thoughts and feelings about this for seven years now, and it seems nobody is able to refute a single part of it, assuming that’s what the silence means. Or perhaps, I’m just not capable of adequately explaining my position. So today, I have to fall back to “I know.”