Leaving a religion is rarely an entirely solo experience, even if you are the only one you know who has left. Leaving Mormonism has often been described as breaking a link in a chain. You are the broken link, the one who has made impossible the joining together of the generations who came before you and the generations to come after. It’s a heavy burden to imagine yourself as a broken link in a chain. This image also implies that your value lies only in what homage you make to those who came before and what offspring you are able to produce.
This value system does not ask questions about the people who came before you, nor question whether you do, in fact, want continuity in that chain. Breaking the chain is always considered a selfish act, one that makes the past and the future irreconcilable to each other—and to you.
Tradition is a tenet of Mormonism. Traditions are not easy to break out of. Traditions are not often questioned, and even when they are investigated and found to be less than healthy, we often leave them in place anyway, because… tradition.
My chain goes back to the Mormon pioneers, linking me to a young couple in southern Denmark who listened to Mormon missionaries and, in a sequence of events I can never quite get clear on, ended up in Manti, Utah. They are buried in the small cemetery there, the beginnings of the Mormon family that branched into other rural Utah towns. The idea of disappointing those ancestors, of rejecting what they gave their lives for, played into my decision to stay in for longer than I wanted to.
If you are wondering if your ancestors are disappointed in you, if you are wondering how they feel about you breaking tradition, you probably will never accurately know. And often, this stronghold on knowing is one of the hardest things to let go of. It makes sense to want to be bound to the people who have gone before us. It makes sense to want to respect tradition for people you love, if even in theory. To date though, even Mormons have not been able to prove anything about what death holds for us. There are notions, beliefs, hopes, and faith about what comes next, but no certainty.
Tradition is based on the surety that something is the best way. Actively letting go of traditions can be humbling because you are left holding memories and beliefs that can be difficult to find a place for. You are not a broken link. You are a human living a singular experience in a set of circumstances and in a reality that is different from that of your ancestors. Tradition is best evolved when questioned. Some traditions belong only as a memory.
In this new world, you can create beautiful traditions of your own. You can also use familiar traditions in your own way. Your impulses toward ritual, recurring moments, spaces that transcend the mundane are beautiful ones. Like so many other systems, the Mormon church does not own the market on tradition. You may find yourself dismantling traditions before you know what will replace them. You may find holidays feeling different, even painful without the structure of specific traditions to fill them. You might find yourself filled with energy and desire, but unsure of how to direct it, either for yourself or for your family.
Traditions that resonate will find their way to you. They may be small, they may not be extravagant. Your new traditions might not last years or decades, and honestly, what a gift you are giving to those who come after you in not requiring their allegiance to something you’ve created. Offering future generations the freedom to evolve, discover, and change is perhaps the best tradition you can offer to them.
Your family members might be confused, hurt, or angry that you are actively choosing to not keep up with certain traditions. A baby blessing, a baptism, a temple marriage, giving all authority to the man in the home, getting a patriarchal blessing, going on a mission. Know that setting boundaries with these traditions is an act of sovereignty. Each time you gather the courage to attempt a new tradition, or to not participate in an old one, you are garnering your own power. You are tilling new soil, planting new seeds, growing a garden of your design, not simply tending to the one you believe your ancestors have deeded to you.
It is also quite possible that your ancestors, perhaps the women who were in polygamist marriages, or the men who lost children on the trek west, or any of them who were mistreated in Mormonism’s rough history, are cheering for you. What if instead of imaging your breaking of tradition as a selfish act, you could see it as an act of liberation, not only for you, but for those who came before? You are the broken link in a chain, but maybe it was a chain asking to be broken. Tradition is not your burden.
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