letting go….

A year ago, I stepped away from the church, and these books are the last tangible reminder how devoted I once was. I poured thousands of dollars into the shelves of Deseret Book, chasing a light I thought would guide me. I devoured every page, absorbed each word, internalized the messages and wove their teachings into the fabric of my life.

What a fucking waste of time, money, and effort!

(I’m not one to swear, especially not with the F-word, but right now, nothing else hits as hard as the truth in it.)

Sometimes, I think I’ve moved past the anger, but little things—like these books—bring it rushing back. The countless hours spent trying to be the best Mormon I could be, the diligent study of those books, the scriptures, the talks… the emotional damage caused by religious trauma, both to me and indirectly to my children. Trauma that I carried and unknowingly passed on to my children.

A strange twist in all of this is that if I hadn’t read all that material, I might never have recognized the shifts in narrative or the deceit woven by those I once trusted as leaders. Those thousands of pages I consumed, the relentless studying, and the years of not being a “lazy learner” were exactly what gave me the clarity to see the cracks once they appeared. The very diligence that kept me tethered to the faith for so long was what eventually set me free. When the veil lifted, it was impossible to ignore what I saw: the gaps, the contradictions, the truth that refused to stay hidden. And while it’s infuriating to realize how much of my life I dedicated to something that ultimately unraveled, it’s also empowering to know that I had the strength to face it head-on.

So today, I’m letting go. I’m releasing a part of my life that is over. I can’t reclaim the years or rewrite the words that shaped me, but I can write my next chapter. I can step forward with purpose, focused on healing—for myself and my children—and building a life that is vibrant, joyful, and authentically free.