On Finding Purpose

Chapter 16: Letters to a Leaving Mormon

I’m sharing this chapter today because my kids are back in school, and I am embarking on an annual tradition of mine, the existential crisis about who I am, what I am doing, where I am going. Something like religion, with strict rules and quick availability to answers was a pacifying structure for me. Even six years beyond Mormonism I sometimes find myself feeling like I am swimming in an ocean far too big for my abilities. It’s easy to feel like everyone else around me has something figured out that I can’t quite grasp, and then it’s easy for me to unravel that feeling back to my Mormon upbringing. Granted, some of it is actually my Mormon upbringing, but some of it is just being a human, of recognizing that we all know so little, even if we pretend to know a lot.

This idea of grappling with my purpose has maybe been the most difficult part of the past decade. It’s a combination of getting older, of losing the scaffolding I’d built my life around, of opening my eyes to a thousand possibilities in front of me, of fear about taking one of them. While difficult, this figuring out has been gratifying, surprising and has often shown me a glint of beauty that I had not seen before. So much of this journey has been simply surrendering to the idea that maybe I don’t have to have a “purpose” at all. I’ve learned to settle into moments that exist just to me. I’ve accepted that everything will change a thousand times over, and I don’t really have control of that. I’ve learned that once a year, when kids are back in school, I will wonder about all of this again, and maybe the purpose in that is enough.

On Finding Purpose- Chapter 16

It may be your experience that all of your “jobs,” value, and self-understanding existed within the framework of Mormonism, and so in the crumbling of that framework, you may find yourself standing in what feels like a pile of materials that you don’t know how to make into something else. 

You may find that you are overwhelmed by the lack of a structure in your life designed  to keep you safe. You may also be disappointed to understand how little your part was in building and maintaining that previous structure. This ego death inevitably happens when leaving an institution in which you are told you are not only powerful, but perhaps one of the most powerful and important beings on the earth.

Of course, at the same time that the structure of Mormonism is falling down around you, the internalized structure on which you hung your intellect, ego and purpose is also coming apart at the seams. 

It’s okay to be sad about this loss. You are not required to toss aside your feelings out of embarrassment, self-punishment, or any other reason. For years, your purpose, your understanding of self, and a clear path forward were probably driving factors in every action you took. Your relationships were likely based on the idea that both of you were in on some kind of secret knowledge that the rest of the world did not have access to, and that makes for a lovely and exciting time. 

It’s possible that your life choices were founded on Mormonism—when and if you got married, when and how many children you have. If you did not do either of these things, you probably felt that you lacked purpose. It’s possible that you made career choices based on your understanding of doctrine, desire to do missionary work, need to provide financially for a large family or a family started at a young age. Your education might have taken a distinct path because of your belief in your divine purpose. 

I’m not saying any of this with a smirk, or to diminish how sincere these decisions were. Mormons do not lack genuine sincerity. You probably made these decisions with all the clairvoyant sincerity you could muster. 

When I was first taught the LDS doctrine of motherhood, I steered all of my life choices in that direction. I felt vindicated when I got my patriarchal blessing and the patriarch said I would both “marry a man in the temple” and “become a mother in zion.”  I didn’t take those words lightly.  It was so calming to know, from a very young age, exactly what my purpose was—to be a Christlike mother and wife. From the time I was thirteen, long before I had even gone on a date, I planned my career choices to be an artist and a writer based on the fact that I could do both from home. To know this purpose is a luxury that most humans are not afforded. Many people wander and wonder about their purpose for many years, and even when they are settled, feel unclear. 

If you’ve left Mormonism, it’s possible then that you are at the outset of this existential crisis. It may be impossible to escape. I know that the closer I got to leaving Mormonism, the more I could see my own crisis on the horizon. In part, I had set myself up pretty nicely as a progressive Mormon writer and thinker, and for the first time in my life, was experiencing the power of speaking and having people respond. For me, finding that purpose came along with more self-confidence than I had ever felt, and I knew leaving meant giving that up. 

My purpose in motherhood and marriage was and still is a sacred part of my being, but clinging to those roles as my sole purpose was both smothering to the people I love, and disappointing to me—I could never do it well enough. In my writing and speaking, I found renewed purpose as a member of the church.At a certain point though, as I made the final decision to step away from my faith, my purpose as I had understood it evaporated. Of course I was still a mother and a spouse, but my kids were growing and no longer needed me every minute. I was not prepared to fill my time in other ways. My marriage to exist as we learned a more deliberate and honest way of being with each other, but our joint purpose was no longer to raise a family that would remain faithful to the church, go to the temple, go on missions, and obey the prophet in order to make it into the highest level of heaven. Everything about my roles shifted because the rest of my world was no longer functioning by the same Mormon rules. 

So much of what I have to say here is based on my own work in progress. My understanding is not definitive or comprehensive, but allowing the word “purpose” to disintegrate from my vernacular has been a healthy way of navigating my world beyond Mormonism. People, ideas, and opportunities, will continue to show up for me, in turn, will continue to show up for them. Your “purpose” does not belong to an institution. You do not owe the work of your life to anyone. You do not have to decide on an unchangeable purpose with which you make life decisions. Your purpose in life might shift daily. Your purpose might be so expansive and connected to a thousand other purposes that it may take you a lifetime to begin to understand it. Mormonism may have kept you occupied, even obsessed with having a particular purpose, whether it was missionary work, parenting, serving in the church, rising in the ranks of church leadership, understanding church doctrine or history, or becoming completely selfless and Christlike. These purposes likely shaped you into a thoughtful, generous, caring person. The point is not to make a value judgment on them, but rather to acknowledge that they may not belong to you anymore. You might feel resentful, confused, angered, or lost when you see how much of your life was centered around these purposes and how little of that knowledge and worldview is transferrable into your life post-Mormonism. 

It’s okay to feel lost. Of course you do. It’s okay to wander—of course you will. It’s okay to relieve yourself of the duty to save the world from sin. That was a big job! It’s okay to re-adjust your understanding of your role as a parent or spouse. It’s okay to not have a clear purpose. It’s okay to be lost. You will be found, most importantly, by your own self. It will take time. You will feel a need, even a deep desire, for someone to tell you what your purpose is and how to best achieve it. Resist this impulse to believe that you are only valuable when you have a personal mission statement and job. Your job is to rest, to love, to be honest, to attempt and fail, to try new things, to do your best. My guess is you already are. My guess is that you have been doing your best for a long time. 

You are here. You are needed. Your experience is valid. You are a rock turning in the sun, a hundred different angles waiting to glitter in the light.