Choose Me

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When I started on my path to understanding the world differently, I believed that the people who were really close to me, who knew me and knew that I was a "good" person would always be on my side. I believed that if they had to choose between me and the Mormon church, they'd choose me. By that I mean that I believed they would choose to listen to me and engage with me rather than simply rejecting me out of hand. I believed that they would continue to believe I was a "good" person whether or not I followed the "rules" of Mormonism.

In retrospect, this was a pretty naïve belief. I'd already seen two siblings leave the church. And had I chosen my siblings? No, I hadn't. I chose the church. That's not how I thought of it, of course. I thought that I was choosing the right. I thought I was choosing sanity and goodness and family and values and Christ and truth. I thought that if they were going to head off in the wrong direction, I was actually helping them by staying where I was and holding a space for them in my heart. When they were ready to return, I'd be there waiting. When they were ready to repent, I'd welcome them with open arms. 

I felt this was good-hearted of me, generous and compassionate. I thought it was stretching my soul to tell myself that I prayed for them every night to see the error of their ways. I never once considered praying to see the error of my own ways. I never asked God to show me how maybe I should be the one changing and growing and that maybe my very ideas of good and bad were wrong. But it turned out that God gave me this unasked for gift anyway, as God usually does. You don't have to pray for something you need to get it, do you? Isn't that what the scripture about asking for bread and getting a stone is really about? Well, maybe it wasn't what I thought it meant back then.

So now when I'm the one who is in the situation of not being chosen over what feels like the church, I try to remind myself that's not what is in the mind or heart of the person who I think is rejecting me. What they are choosing is, in fact, sanity. And goodness. And truth. But they're also choosing what they know. They're choosing safety. And familiarity. They're choosing to remain where they already are. And yes, they probably think they are being kind in waiting for me to step back in line with them. And there is no way for me to explain to them the world from my point of view now. 

I remember all those heart-felt prayers. I remember the sincerity in them. I remember my sense of safety in remaining firm, in holding to the path I'd always been on. In some sense, maybe what people are really choosing is themselves. And I chose me, too. I'm choosing me still, in refusing to go back. I'm choosing my own sanity, because I saw quite clearly at some point that if I didn't start choosing me instead of the go-along and pretend because it reduces visible conflict path that I had been choosing for years, it would lead to either sanity or suicide. This is not an exaggeration or a metaphor. It is quite literal. I chose me. I chose to stay alive. I choose it every day.

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