Today, I had a conversation with a friend that left a lasting impression on me. She is a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and during our chat, she shared something that deeply moved me: ‘I’m so proud of you for speaking out and doing what you’re doing.’ Her words were both touching and heartbreaking—touching because of her kindness and heartbreaking because they reminded me of the courage it takes to voice concerns within a community where doing so can feel isolating

She went on to share some of her own concerns about Mormonism and then exclaimed, “It feels so good to say this out loud! I don’t have anyone I can talk to about these things.”

Her words took me back to a place I know all too well—a place of cognitive dissonance, where your beliefs and your lived experiences clash, leaving you in a state of emotional and mental turmoil. It’s a deeply isolating place, one where you question not only your faith but sometimes even your own worth and sanity.

What struck me most was her admission that she had no one to talk to about her doubts and concerns. This isn’t the first time I’ve heard this sentiment; I doubt it will be the last. When a church culture creates an environment where members cannot openly discuss their doubts, questions, or fears without fear of judgment or ostracism, it raises an important question: Is this truly a space of unconditional love and support?

One of the foundational teachings of Mormonism—and most religions, for that matter—is the pursuit of truth. Yet, within the LDS Church, it often feels as though the pursuit of truth is only acceptable when it aligns with the church’s prescribed narrative. Anything outside of that is dismissed as dangerous, rebellious, or influenced by the adversary. This creates a culture where members feel they must suppress their doubts and concerns, leading to a heavy burden of silence. While some might interpret advice like Dieter F. Uchtdorf’s quote, “Doubt your doubts before you doubt your faith,” as a call to resilience, it can also function as a tool to control behavior and stifle critical thinking. This aligns with the mechanisms of behavior control outlined in Steven Hassan, a cult expert, outlines in his BITE model how environments can manipulate beliefs, information, thought processes, and emotions to maintain conformity. While this advice encourages resilience, it can sometimes feel like an invitation to suppress legitimate questions in favor of conformity, adding to the internal conflict many experience.

I’ve been there. I’ve felt the weight of unspoken questions and the fear of what might happen if I voiced them. I’ve experienced the heartbreak of losing community, friendships, and even trust when I finally found the courage to speak my truth. And yet, I’ve also experienced the liberating power of authenticity—of stepping into the light and expressing what I truly believe.

What my acquaintance said about how good it felt to say her concerns out loud reminded me of the profound healing that comes from simply being heard. To know that someone sees you, hears you, and validates your experience is transformative. It’s a reminder of why I’ve chosen to speak out about my own journey—not to tear anyone down but to create a space where others can feel less alone in their struggles.

The church often talks about being a “community of saints,” but what does community mean if it’s not a safe space for all voices? What does it mean to support one another if we can only support the parts that conform?

My heart aches for those who feel trapped in silence, for those who carry the weight of their doubts alone. I want to tell them: You are not alone. Your questions are valid. Your journey is valid.

Creating spaces for open dialogue is not an act of rebellion; it is an act of love. It is a way of saying, “I see you. I hear you. You matter.” And maybe, just maybe, it can be a step toward healing—both for individuals and for the communities that claim to value them.

So, to anyone reading this who feels they have no one to talk to, know that there are people out here who will listen. To anyone out there who feels they have no one to confide in, I want you to know that I am here. I offer a safe space—a place where you can speak freely without fear of judgment or betrayal. I will not share anything you’ve told me, nor will I try to influence your beliefs or decisions. My goal is to listen with empathy, to understand, and to provide the room you need to process your thoughts and emotions. There are spaces where you can share your beliefs and experiences without fear. And to those who have the capacity to hold space for others, I urge you to do so. You never know the difference it might make in someone’s life.