A Manifesto

When I was 17, I had a baby.

I find it difficult to articulate my situation more acutely than President Kimball:

“If pregnancy results from the sin, … it is the girl who suffers most. She must not have an abortion, for that would add serious sin to serious sin. She carries most of the burdens, while the boy often seems to go penalty-free. The girl must go through the uncomfortable nine months with its distress, deprivations, limitations and embarrassments, and then the pain and expense of delivery and the difficult life afterward. It is a cowardly boy who would not propose marriage, pay the costs, share the deprivations and embarrassment. Yet many young men have walked away and abandoned the girl to all the devastating payments for the sin of them both. Parents frequently excuse the son on one pretext or another, and leave the girl to suffer for the sins of them both. Sometimes, parents of the boy curiously feel magnanimous when they offer to pay the actual financial costs of the delivery, not taking into account that the financial is a one-time experience, while the girl has the problems throughout her life, and they are heavy burdens.” (The Miracle of Forgiveness)

To be cliche, I was young and naive. While I have never blamed anyone but myself for my choices, as an adult I see that I had a difficult family life that was full of demanding expectations and devoid of love. I did not have access to comprehensive sex education, nor access to birth control. I see that being a young, sexually active woman in a small Mormon community, it was nearly impossible to find sources of decent, clinical information not steeped in religious rhetoric. And most poignantly, I did not have a source of unconditional support. There was not a single person in my life to tell me congratulations. Not a single person to tell me my life wasn't over. Not a single person who looked at me without judgement.

This is the part that I remember most. I have forgotten most of the details of my relationship with the birth father. What I remember is the way people looked at me with so much sadness. Just so you know, sadness and pity are not helpful sentiments. Most of my friends stopped talking to me because they didn't know how to "deal". Everyone else offered me advice to place my baby for adoption with someone they knew - an offensive suggestion that at once declared me an unfit parent and suggested that I liked them enough to give MY BABY to their distant relative. I do think that people did not mean to be hurtful, but really it was none of their business to tell me what to do with my uterus. I distinctly remember the embarrassment and humiliation of being 17 and clearly pregnant.

There were a select few people who were actually helpful. My school counselor proactively helped me graduate in November so that I did not have to endure the impossible humiliation of being a pregnant teen in Spanish Fork High School. My bishop, who told me he would support me no matter what decision I made, even to keep my baby - a statement that I knew went against the church's policy. My therapist. The Apartment, who barely noticed I was pregnant at all. I can't write this without acknowledging the kindness of these few people.

I had committed the sin that the church places next to murder. Bringing a child into the world at the wrong time is not much better than taking a person out of it at the wrong time. In Spanish Fork, there were plenty of reminders of this fact. Yet, spiritually, I never felt anything but love from my Father in Heaven. It was easily the most constant, spiritual connection I have had with heaven during my life. I felt carried and supported, and distinctly loved. I prayed constantly for guidance, and I was given the answer to keep my baby. To clarify, my answer was that no matter what I did, I would be okay -- which still allowed me my agency, and simultaneously did not make the choice for me. I chose to be a parent at 18, and change the course of my life.

I left this experience a bit beaten and bruised, and humbled to my core. I had been so severely judged by my community that I was unable to judge others. When I was on the receiving end of pity, I saw very clearly that sympathy is no more than judgment. I saw that those who were so sad for me were not being helpful, they were judging me as less than themselves. I saw the statement of "love the sinner, hate the sin" as nothing more than just hate. If you disagree with me, you have never been on the receiving end of those words. I saw that I could never again make a judgement of someone because I had never been in their shoes.

THE ENTIRE POINT IS I knew that judgement was God's job, and it was only my business to love people unconditionally.

Soon after this experience, my best friend came out to me as gay. I felt excited and hopeful for him in his new pathway. I felt empathy for the experience he was having within the same community that had condemned me. I loved him wholly and entirely for his choice. I respected him for being who he is. When he found a life-partner, I acknowledged that monogamy deserves respect in any form. I was, and still am, literally unable to place a moral judgement on his life. I have never been able to "love the sinner, hate the sin." I am only able to love him as my brother, and never doubt that God loves him too and is supportive of his happiness.

Contrastingly, I learned that a young man who I dated briefly in high school had committed suicide because he was gay. I will never forget when I was first told, and the person said, "He thought he was gay," a statement I immediately recognized as delegitimizating his orientation as fictional. I knew immediately, from my experience with sexual sin, that his feelings did not come from the Lord. I knew first-hand that God does not offer anything but love for people like me who struggle with sexuality, and that Dave did not hate himself so deeply because the Lord made him. It was his community that planted those feelings of hurt and anger that drove him to take his own life. It was the judgement and pity of his community that caused him to hate himself so deeply.

The closeness of this experience to me has helped me to generalize these feelings to the whole gay community. I have nothing but love and support for these brave, sensitive people who are trying to make their life work in this bizarre world that doesn't give dignity to their love. My heart breaks when they are persecuted and hated so openly, and they have the bravery to stand up for themselves and ask for acceptance and, at very minimum, tolerance.

In the last year as I have moved back to the community where I received similar persecution, it has been very difficult for me to adjust to the status quo of accepting the LGBT community as merely mentally ill or spiritually led astray. I am in the same place where my sexuality was splayed out for everyone to view and point at, and I cannot help but remember very clearly the experiences I have had. I have stumbled upon the incredible need for advocacy for the gay community. It is not enough for me to say that I have gay friends. It has become necessary for me to actively ally with people who have to stand up for their dignity. It has become imperative for me to say that God does not hate people who are gay. It has become necessary for me to point out that sympathy is a disguise for hate, and the actions of many Mormon's toward the gay community is nothing less than hateful.

My biggest fault is that I DO make judgments toward the intolerant. Harshly, openly, and full of sarcasm and pith. I have very little patience for narrow-mindedness and bigotry. I do struggle with going to church and listening to the light homophobia that colors lessons and conversations. I do struggle with this church that financially supported anti-gay legislation, even though they have a policy of not getting involved in politics. Though I feel firm in my testimony that God loves the gay community, I do not see that reflected in the actions of the church. Actions speak far louder than words.

So when I get all pro-gay and defensive, its 'cause its personal. I can't escape my empathy for people with sexuality and gender issues, because I am one of them. I just happen to be heterosexual.