Back in March, I had the pleasure of meeting Lila Tueller when we were guests on the same podcast. During our conversation, she mentioned she was collecting personal stories about spiritual abuse for a book she was working on. Her request resonated with me deeply, and I knew I had something to share. A few days later, I sat down to put my own experiences into words.

Fast forward a few months—and I’m truly honored to share that a portion of my story is now part of her newly released book, Shattered Trust: When Religion Causes Harm. You can find it here on Amazon if you’d like to get your own copy.

For those unfamiliar with Lila, she is the daughter of former LDS (Mormon) General Authority Hartman Rector Jr. and a mother of seven and grandmother to ten at the time of this writing. She now uses her voice to advocate for those who have experienced religious harm, creating space for truth-telling and recovery. Her own powerful story is shared in a Mormon Stories podcast episode where she talks openly about her upbringing, her family, and her faith journey.

Lila’s book brings together a chorus of voices—each one representing the courage it takes to speak out about the wounds caused by spiritual abuse. I am humbled to be among those voices.

When Lila invited me to share my experience, I knew I wanted to be honest—both about the pain and about the resilience that followed. What I wrote came straight from the heart, and it now appears in Shattered Trust alongside so many other powerful accounts. Here’s the portion of my story included in the book:

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The Cost of Belonging: Spiritual Abuse in the LDS Church

Spiritual abuse occurs when religious beliefs, practices, and authority are used to control, manipulate, or instill fear in individuals. While I once believed my devotion to the church was freely chosen, I now see that my faith was shaped by coercion, fear, and deeply ingrained trauma. The high demands, the fear of eternal separation, and the conditioning to suppress doubt and independent thought had shaped my life in ways I had not fully understood.

The Manipulation of Agency and Eternal Consequences

From the moment I could comprehend doctrine, I was taught that my eternal happiness—and the happiness of my family—depended on my obedience. Every rule, every covenant, every expectation carried an unthinkable consequence if I failed: separation from my family for eternity.

Obedience to the Word of Wisdom wasn’t just about health—it was about worthiness. If I drank coffee, I could not enter the temple. If I could not enter the temple, I could not make or keep the necessary covenants for exaltation. And without exaltation, I would not be with my family in the celestial kingdom. A simple choice—a sip of coffee—wasn’t just about personal preference; it was about risking eternal separation from those I loved most.

The same applied to tithing. If I failed to give 10% of my income to the church, I would be unworthy. If I failed to uphold every covenant made in the temple—covenants I never knew I was making until I was already there—I would be unworthy. And unworthiness meant loss. Not just personal failure, not just divine disappointment, but losing the very people I loved more than anything. The church teaches that families are forever, but in the same breath, it dangles that eternity as a conditional prize, always just out of reach, dependent on a lifetime of strict, unwavering obedience.

For a church that claims to be family-centered, I find it astonishing how often it weaponized the very idea of family. It was not a sanctuary of unconditional love, but a system of high-stakes manipulation. My agency was not real if every choice was bound to devastating consequences. That is not free will; that is coercion. And when faith is coerced, it ceases to be faith at all.

The Suppression of Critical Thinking

Beyond obedience and eternal consequences, the church also conditioned me to suppress critical thinking. Questioning doctrine or leadership was discouraged, and seeking answers beyond church-approved materials was seen as dangerous. I was taught that faith meant trusting without doubt and that doubting was a sign of weakness, if not outright rebellion. This suppression of critical thought ensured compliance, making it nearly impossible to objectively evaluate my beliefs without guilt or fear. The spiritual abuse here was subtle but effective—my mind was trained to equate obedience with righteousness and questioning with sin.

Interestingly, I didn’t step outside of approved doctrine to begin questioning. It was within the published words of the church itself that I found myself unraveling everything I had been taught. The Gospel Topics Essays, written and released by the church, revealed contradictions, omissions, and troubling historical truths I had never been exposed to. Rather than reinforcing my faith, these essays opened a door I could no longer close, forcing me to confront realities I had been conditioned to ignore.

I have found that many of my never-Mormon friends ask how I am and acknowledge how difficult this decision must be for me. They listen, validate my experience, and love me through my deconstruction. On the other hand, the harshest comments and greatest lack of understanding have come from those still within the church. Instead of asking how I am, I am often met with statements like, “Well, I’m not leaving,” or “That isn’t how I was taught or how I feel.” These responses shut down conversation and dismiss my pain. I have written about this in several blogs, recognizing how the church conditions members to react defensively rather than empathetically when their beliefs are challenged

Conditional Love and Temple Covenants

Love within the church also came with conditions. It was made clear that true acceptance depended on worthiness, obedience, and unwavering testimony. If I strayed from the prescribed path, I risked losing not only my place in the celestial kingdom but also the love and support of my faith community. Losing the only community I knew was heartbreaking. I came to realize that many of the “friendships” I had with other members were superficial. Unless we shared the same belief system, I was no longer truly welcomed. The lack of actual Christlike love is saddening.

Then there were the temple covenants—promises I never knew I was making until I was already there, dressed in ceremonial clothing, surrounded by people who seemed to understand what was happening while I struggled to grasp the weight of the covenants I was taking. I had no opportunity to review them beforehand, no real choice in whether to accept them or not, because by the time I was in that room, I was already committed. I had already been told that these covenants were essential for my eternal salvation and that rejecting them meant turning away from God. That is not informed consent. That is coercion, and it is spiritual abuse. It was made clear that true acceptance depended on worthiness, obedience, and unwavering testimony. If I strayed from the prescribed path, I risked losing not only my place in the celestial kingdom but also the love and support of my faith community. I have seen firsthand how those who leave are treated—as lost, deceived, even dangerous. The fear of losing love and acceptance kept me bound to a system that dictated every aspect of my life.

The Impact of Purity Culture

The church’s teachings on purity and modesty inflicted deep harm, instilling shame and fear in women and girls. We were taught that our worth was tied to purity and that maintaining not only our own virtue but also the virtue of those around us was our responsibility. Dress modestly, or you might cause a man to sin. Stay pure, or you’ll be like a chewed-up piece of gum—forever damaged, never whole again.

These messages shaped how I saw myself and my body, leaving me with deep religious trauma. I viewed my body with disdain and shame, believing that sex was a horrible sin—next to murder. That belief bled into my marriage, impacting my relationship with my husband in ways I am still working to untangle. The patriarchal structure of the church reinforced the idea that women were less than, their value measured by their ability to conform to male-led authority. These lessons left wounds that I am only now beginning to heal. Purity culture within the church was more than just a moral guideline; it was a tool of control that shaped my identity, my relationships, and my ability to feel safe in my own body.

The Church’s Treatment of Native Americans

As I’ve unraveled my indoctrination, I’ve confronted another deeply painful reality: the way the church treated Native Americans. I have enough Native blood in my ancestry to feel a strong connection to that identity, yet I never fully embraced it. Why? Because, without realizing it, I had been conditioned to believe that my darker skin was a sign of unrighteousness.

I once admired Spencer W. Kimball for his supposed dedication to Native American communities. I believed the church loved and cared for them, that it sought to lift them up. But I now see the horrifying truth: the LDS Church didn’t honor Native identity—it erased it. It rewrote the history of an entire people, forcing upon them the fabricated identity of the Lamanites, descendants of a cursed, wicked lineage. And worst of all, it promised that through faithfulness, they could be ‘redeemed’—that their skin would become ‘white and delightsome.’

I recently came to a painful realization: I had spent years distancing myself from my own Native heritage. The Book of Mormon had taught me that righteousness and whiteness were linked. That message seeped into my subconscious, and for years, I longed for something I should never have been ashamed of. It wasn’t that I was racist against my own people—it was that I had internalized a false belief about my own worth based on the church’s teachings.

And then there was the heartbreak of learning about the Mountain Meadows Massacre. The sheer horror of what those LDS men did—murdering innocent men, women, and children—was devastating. But what shattered me even more was how they tried to shift the blame entirely onto the Native Americans. Once again, my ancestors were cast as villains to protect the image of the church. Once again, they were used and discarded, their dignity stripped away to serve a greater lie.

Finding Healing

The cognitive dissonance I experienced for years—many without even realizing it—manifested physically. My body was attacking itself as I fought an inner battle, one I now recognize as the result of the spiritual abuse I endured in my 44 years as an all-in, believing member. The weight of trying to conform, of suppressing my true feelings to appear perfect as the church encouraged, took a toll on my mental and physical health.

As I sought counseling, I began to recognize the hold the church and its teachings had on my well-being. When I finally confronted and rejected it as truth, something remarkable happened—my physical ailments, including an autoimmune disorder for which I had been on chemotherapy and immunosuppressants, disappeared. I am now healthier than I have ever been. I listen to my body, honor my emotions, and live in authenticity. No longer do I bottle up my feelings in an attempt to maintain an illusion of perfection. Instead, I embrace the full spectrum of my humanity, and in doing so, I have found healing.

I used to believe the cost of belonging was worth it. Now, I know that real belonging should never come with a price at all.

Ruth Butler

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Sharing my story in Shattered Trust was both vulnerable and empowering. It reminded me that even in the aftermath of spiritual abuse, our voices can help light the way for others. If my words resonate with you, I hope they offer comfort, validation, and the reminder that you are not alone in your journey toward healing.

If you or someone you love has experienced spiritual abuse, I hope Shattered Trust offers the comfort of knowing you’re not alone, and that your story matters. Healing often begins when we share the truth, and I’m grateful for the chance to do so alongside others who have walked this difficult path.