How Kurt Changed My Life

There is one single person who changed my life more dramatically than anyone I know.

His name is Kurt Hummel.

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Yes, you read that right. A fictitious TV personality. You see, growing up Mormon I was taught some pretty vicious lies about homosexuality. One of these was that our country would fall if we ever legalized gay marriage. Another was that being gay was a choice. And yet another, that it was inherently sinful to act on gay *temptations* (including actions, thoughts, and support).

And I firmly believed all of these things. My outlook on the world was heterocentric and bigoted.  Until one day, I saw a coworker post on Facebook about a live concert she had gone to called Glee. And wouldn't you know? Glee was a show on Hulu! And irony of ironies, the very first episode I saw was called "Born This Way".

For those of you unfamiliar, "Born This Way" is a song by Lady Gaga, and it celebrates the differences of humanity. The episode features several cast members coming to terms with the way they were born, and not being ashamed of it. One of these characters, Kurt, wears his shirt "Likes Boys" proudly after returning to his high school. He had been bullied by another student, and endured enormous amounts of violence, including death threats, and so his parents sacrificed to send him to a private school. His bully, a closeted gay, later faces his own demons, but does not fair as well and attempts to commit suicide.

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Every time Kurt was shoved into a locker, every time he cowered in fear, every time I could feel right along with him the pain and the shame and the terror I couldn't help but wonder if what I had been taught was wrong. Here was a boy, a teenage boy with hopes, dreams, aspirations, talents, likes, dislikes, hobbies, friends, and family just like me. Only, he was gay. Didn't that mean he was a bad person?

So how did this sweet, adorable teen steal my heart? Well, at first my response was, Lady Gaga you are wrong. We don't embrace the natural man, we try to rise above it. Everyone has trials to face in this life, for some it is rising above their biology to be like god.

And as we watched more episodes and Santana turned out to be a lesbian, my husband concluded that the subject matter wasn't appropriate for a Latter-Day-Saint family, and I was forbidden to watch it. Ha, like that would stop me. Of course, I agreed at first. How dare I fill my mind with these horrible things. It was the dog poop in the chocolate chip cookie. Sure, Kurt was a sweet kid, but he was gay. Dog poop.

But eventually, I couldn't stay away. It became my guilty pleasure. Thank god my husband ended up in a bishopric so between school and church callings, I had enough time to watch my newest favorite show without him knowing. Yes, I know, horrible ;)

While I still maintained a belief in the LDS god, my feelings about their teachings on so called "same-sex attracted" people changed. It even came to the point that in a temple recommend interview, I admitted to supporting an organization in direct violation of church teachings. This was when gay marriage was about to be legalized nationwide, and I happily supported it. Who was I to say they couldn't marry? My stake president fudged it over and gave me the recommend anyways, but I knew he shouldn't have. By this time my husband no longer believed, embraced Glee as I had, and so the stake president used it as a last stitch effort to keep me strong in the gospel. Didn't last very long. My belief dwindled as I discovered other things about the church I had loved for so long, but there was one event that sent me over the edge.

The leadership of the LDS church came out with a policy labeling same-sex marriage as apostasy, and the children of these unions were not eligible for baptism. And that was the last straw. I had my name removed.

So much hate. I couldn't stand it.

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I kept replying the episode in my head where Karofsky, Kurt's bully, is outed. His social media blows up with threats of violence, hateful slander, mocking and jeering. He couldn't take it. And in a powerful montage, where Blaine sings "Cough Syrup", Karofsky makes the choice to end his life. I watched in horror, realizing this wasn't fake. It was real. Children, adults, teens, all feeling the hate and not knowing how to live with it chose to end their lives every day. Hate and bigotry drive many homosexuals to harm themselves. And when Karofsky's dad finds him, and is screaming for help, shivers went up and down my spine.

Yes, it was a fake story. Yes he was a fictional character. But it is real. The struggle these people face is real. The hate they have to endure is awful. The ridicule, the shame, the comments "have you tried not being gay?"

So in short, I just wanted to thank Kurt Hummel for helping me to see what I had been conditionally blinded from before. That our heteronormative world view is wrong, and it is hurting people. That LGBTQ are human. They are human as much as me. It sounds so terrible that I have to say that, but they really were dehumanized to me. They were sinful creatures, choosing to partake in Sodomous acts. When in all actuality, they are just as much slaves to their biology as I am to mine. I couldn't be gay if I wanted to be. I am 100% straight. And no one is forcing me to be gay. Likewise, no one should be forcing anyone who is gay to be straight. Its so awful I can't even bear to think about it. The LDS church used to have camps and programs to "cure the gay". Not many participants survived it, one man recounted that out of his group, only two didn't commit suicide (source I Am An Ex-Mormon).

It makes me sad to think I was ever one of those judgmental people. Especially when so many of my friends from growing up are gay or lesbian. And I would have hated them, just for being themselves. Kurt helped me to see just how much of bully I was; I may not have been voicing my thoughts, but I was thinking them. It wasn't my fault, it was something I was conditioned to feel. I think it's time we stopped this conditioning and teach children to accept and love everyone for who they are. No one should be meant to feel ashamed for something the cannon control. Asking a homosexual person to not be homosexual would be like asking a person with down syndrome to not give in to their disability. Its mean, its insensitive, and it's impossible.

If you haven't, I recommend watching Glee. It will open your eyes and help you to see and understand your own ignorance.

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My Fist real Crisis of Faith

I can remember the exact moment it started. I was 13, it was November 11th 2000, my little brother's birthday. He wanted pumpkin pie for his birthday cake. We had Costco pizza, grape soda and pumpkin pie. Sitting there on the living room floor, leaning on the coffee table my grandfather made that was missing one leg, was the first time it happened.

I couldn't swallow. I tried, three, four, five times. The pumpkin pie wouldn't go. It's like my thought kept clamping down, and wouldn't let anything past. It scared me. I kept trying. No one noticed, because I was very good at keeping a cool facade. But I ended up escaping to the bathroom and spitting it all out into the toilet.

For the next several months, I starved as I tried to figure out a method for eating. I didn't want to say anything, because I was embarrassed. I'm actually surprised no one noticed what was going on. But eventually, I discovered if I took a drink, I could trigger my swallow. And thus chase food away with liquid. It was effective, and I got back to normal. Well, as normal as I could. My friends and family would make fun of me for being a slow eater, and I just laughed along.

At 19, it happened again. I was a sophomore at BYU-Idaho, sitting in my kitchen about to eat a salad. And the same thing happened, even though I was drinking my food down, my throat was clamping up again. Nothing would go. It was like, I'd try to swallow and the food would shoot forward instead of back. I became frustrated as I drank an entire glass of water and didn't get any food down. I tried to bypass the swallow and ended up coughing and nearly aspirating. I gave up eating. For the next two weeks, I did't have anything but milk and broth. My roommates started to notice something was up. I began losing weight. The stress combined with the frustration left me physically exhausted.

One morning in church, I was sitting, dejected and depressed wondering why god was inflicting this on me. Wasn't doing enough? Wasn't I a student at his university? I was confused and upset. I must have made angry eye contact with the bishop several times because I started feeling weird about it. He approached me when the meeting was over and asked if we could talk. In his office he said he noticed something was wrong and thought I might need to talk. At this point, the flood gates exploded and 6 years of hiding my eating problem just spilled out. I was sobbing. He ended up  giving me a blessing. He promised I would be healed, that I would be able to eat normally again so that I could one day be a mother. And then he told me he would get me an appointment with a doctor in Idaho Falls. I walked out of the office with tears still i my eyes, and saw one of my home teachers sitting there. He told me later he would have asked what was wrong, but didn't feel it was his place.

I took that blessing to heart. Walking home from church, I was filled with hope, that this would finally end and I could be normal again. First I had a study done in town, where I drank a ton of barium. Then a week later, I had my appointment in Idaho Falls. I called the only person I knew who had a car, and that was Ben Betts, my other home teacher. He happily took me to Idaho Falls and I met with the gastroenterologist. He recommended an upper endoscope just to see the structure and see if there was anything obviously physically a problem. A few days later, with Ben, his roommate Blaine and my roommates Sarah and Emma, we went to Idaho Falls. They dropped me off, I had the procedure, and then while still under the influence anesthetic, my friends took me to Walmart and let me buy an assortment of random items, including cream of onion soup.

But that was going to be my miracle. That was going to be the cure. Unfortunately, it wasn't. The doctor told me plainly, he discovered some physical abnormalities that might make food going down difficult, but nothing that would indicate a problem triggering a swallow. He referred me to a speech pathologist. They became agitated with me during a study when I refused to swallow a giant horse pill, and kept telling me to just swallow the food and they would be able to help if I started choking. I was like, are you serious? I kept trying to swallow, and it just stayed in my mouth. Until they gave me a drink, and then I eventually got it down. They had no answer, other than, bollus transfer problem. Stating the obvious with no diagnosis.

I went to see a Chiropractor, who claimed to work miracles. He sure helped my neck feel better, but did nothing for my swallowing. I found an ENT who prodded my uvula with a dental mirror. I gagged and refused to let him do it again. He prescribed me klonopin for anxiety, telling me it was a muscle relaxer and would help me swallow better. When I went home in between semesters, I went to see a neurologist, who did an MRI. He found nothing wrong. When I went back to school, I contacted the neurology department at the University of Utah and was squeezed in immediately. Before I went, I got a blessing from my new bishop. His blessing was specific. He said this will be the doctor. He will discover the problem, he will fix it, and you will be made hole again.

But just for a little extra spiritual oomph, I asked my new home teachers for a blessing too. It was an ambiguous fortune tellers prophesy, but it gave me the comfort and confidence I wanted. I went to the appointment. They told me the reason they got me in so quickly was because of a potential for ALS. Which thank goodness was not the case. I had an EMG study. And then I went home.

A few weeks later I received a hand written letter on the back recycled office paper from the neurologist at the U of U. He said I had deep rooted childhood problems and suggested a seek the professional help of a psychologist. I was irate. And confused. I hadn't made any of this up. I hadn't chosen to starve myself. I was frustrated and upset. Just because he couldn't figure it out didn't make me crazy. I kept that letter so one day I could return it with the answer.

Still, I took his advice and found a psychologist. We met, we talked, he came to the conclusion that I didn't have deep rooted childhood issues surrounding my swallowing. We did come to the conclusion though that I now had anxiety surrounding doctors and eating. Which was understandable at this point. I learned a valuable lesson in all of my doctor visits. Doctors are not created equal; if they don't know what is the problem, you are the problem; they will lie to you about what they are doing or what they are prescribing.

I also learned a valuable lesson in faith. There was no one watching out for me. I received numerous blessings, even though I only recounted a few. Each of them promised the same thing, that I would be healed. Some were very specific, this will be the visit, this will be the one. Each time I walked away from the doctor disappointed, I also walked away feeling defeated in my faith. Did I not have enough? Was the bishop lying? Did god not actually care about me? Why would he give a healing blessing and I not be healed?

It plagued me. It haunted me. Especially as I faced condemnation in every faith promoting Sunday school lesson that said if you have enough faith, nothing will be withheld from you. Nothing is impossible. So what had gone wrong? I fasted. I prayed. I sought blessings and guidance from my ecclesiastical leaders. I followed doctors advice, I went from clinic to clinic trying to do my part and waiting for god to do his.

Angry and confused, I eventually talked to my mom about it. She said, just because you weren't healed the way you thought you would be, doesn't mean god doesn't exist or that he doesn't love you. I asked, well what about those specific blessings I received? Blessings come from god, don't they? Men are imperfect.

So we rely on imperfect men for god's perfect work, and then when things don't happen the way we were promised, its never god's failing. Its our lack of faith, or the presumptuous imperfections of the priesthood leader bestowing the blessing. But it is absolutely, never god.

Against my better judgement, I put it on a shelf. I forgot about it. I convinced myself god had a different plan for me and all of those blessings came from deluded men. My parents bought me a commercial blender, and after many failed attempts, I figured out a way to blend my food. I was able to eat again even though it was far from normal. I lost faith in priesthood blessings, and I had a bitterness and skepticism towards anyone who claimed miracles. My husband gave me a few blessings actually pronouncing increased faith in blessings for me. I hated that. Blessings never did anything for me. Each and every single one I received, including the ones about my swallowing and my ridiculous patriarchal blessing, was nothing but a bunch of ambitious fortunetelling. And I was silly enough to keep putting coins on the table, begging for more.

It was my first real "crisis of faith". The first time I considered that god might not be the benevolent father I had been taught about or that he simply might not exist. But like every good Mormon girl, I put my doubts on a shelf and told myself god would let me know why after I died.

Soap

When I was in the third grade, I successfully convinced a girl in my class she was an elf. The Santa Clause movie had just come out, and my best friends and I played a game that we were elves. I'd read the hair on the back of their neck and tell them what kind of elf they were. This girl in my class, Emily, didn't know it was a game. So when I labeled her a soap carving elf, she rose to the occasion. She went home and began carving all the soap. Her angry mother explained to her it was fake, and I remember her being devastated, telling me through tear filled eyes that she really believed me.

This experience made me think of religion. How people rise to the occasion when they are told by someone they trust how to live their life. And where they might not have gone on Japanese speaking mission on their own, if they think a prophet called them to it, they make it happen, and it becomes a significant part of who they are. When really, they are just being fooled into carving soap by someone playing a game frown emoticon

Take from the Poor

My husband and I were very young when we got married. We were 21. He has just gotten home from his mission, and per my patriarchal blessing, we wasted no time in going to the house of the lord to be married. About 4 months. It probably would have been sooner if Christmas didn't make the most sense for vacation time.

I had found us a little apartment, one bedroom, in an old converted house. There was a tenant above, below and behind us. It was cheap. It was a hovel, but with a little bit of charm. Until the people above us flooded their toilet while we were putting away groceries in the kitchen. And we had potty water all over our food, dishes and hands.

So we moved. To an apartment complex. People walked their dogs and let them poop on the sidewalk in front of our door. Our downstairs neighbors smoked pot. Rent was expensive. So we decided to move.

We found a little duplex. It seems nice, we had a lot of peace and quiet, the neighborhood was beautiful. Our utilities were over $300 a month, and we both worked out of the home. The landlord unevenly split the utilities between us and the other unit, a one room thing on the back of the house. She was a shut in that watched TV and ran her AC all day. We paid for it. So we decided to move. It had been 6 months, and I was pregnant.

We found a basement apartment. And snapped it up because it was the middle of winter and we needed something fast.  It turned out to be a nightmare. The people upstairs stomped and listened to loud music on purpose. They kept our newborn awake all night. They also clogged their toilet and leaked water all over our apartment. We found out a few months later the landlord wasn't paying the mortgage and had the home repossessed.

Our last place in Utah was another apartment, this time on the top floor. We had deplorable neighbors who were non-hygenic and nosy. They let their children run up and down the landing all day, making it impossible for my new baby to nap. They never picked up after the dog. There was food and wrappers always in front of our door. Finally we left and moved to Iowa.

In our first 4 years of marriage, my husband and I moved 6 times. We lived for half of that time almost entirely on my salary and his student loans. After that, it was his student loans and the meager payment he received from BYU as a graduate student. Our expenses due to slumlords was outrageous. Each time we moved we lost a significant amount of money in retained deposits. One even tried to charge us for the new burner pans we had put on the stove.

And all the while, we faithfully paid our tithing. I signed my babies up for Medicaid because we couldn't afford health insurance. Watching an episode of "Reba" one day, I discovered something called food stamps, and decided to apply for it. On medicaid and food stamps, we still paid our tithing. And when parents and grandparents sent us birthday gifts, 10% went immediately to the church.

My first real issue with this was when I was pregnant with my second son. We had just recently moved for the 5 time, newly on food stamps and medicaid, and paying tithing as best we could. Sometimes we had to wait, otherwise we wouldn't be able to afford rent, but we always got it paid sometime. The church had been building a mall in downtown Salt Lake for the last few years and it was finally complete. So, we decided to go check it out. It was the Lord's mall after all. Because gas was so expensive, we rarely ventured out of Provo, and decided to make a day trip of it. The mall was beautiful, City Creek had an actual creek with fish running through it. But what was amazing was that each and every store we went into, there was not a single thing we could afford. Not even the Disney store. The whole mall was stocked with high end fashion boutiques and shops.

I admit, I was incredibly upset. I couldn't believe the church had wasted this much money on a great and spacious building that the majority of their members had no way of enjoying. I couldn't even comprehend how something like this was at all necessary. How do high fashion boutiques further the work of god? Why did they even need to build a mall? Had my tithing dollars gone to help build this monstrosity? I was livid.

After that I started seeing things a little differently. It didn't help that my husband was already phasing out of Mormonism. I tried with all of my effort to cling to the word of god, but all of a sudden the conference center just looked like another money making mega church to me. The temples began resembling mockeries to the poor and destitute. I happily stopped paying tithing, and fibbed in my last temple recommend interview that it was my husband that wouldn't allow me to pay it. Which was true, I just left out the part where I was okay with it.

There I was, the wife of a student and mother of two children on food stamps and medicaid. And my church was still demanding I pay them money. We never received any special blessings for paying. We still had to move five times, BYU still withheld money from my husband. Both of our children were born by emergency C-section. We never received any help from any of the 6 wards we attended for the moves or births. And we still felt bad every time we had to wait another month to save up enough to actually pay tithing.

Its sick. I'm sorry, but it is just sick and wrong that these men prey upon the weak for their money. They stand up there in beautiful suits and ties and tell the members during conference to be grateful for their trials. To sell their harmonica to pay for their next meal. To pay a full tithing willingly to receive blessings. All the while they eat happily, they dress professionally, they fly all over the world in private jets dedicating giant buildings to the making of more money. I honestly don't know how they live with themselves. Add that to the bigoted hatred towards homosexuals and anyone with doubts, which of course trickles down to the lay membership and divides even the most loving of families.

Sometimes I wish there was a Mormon Robin Hood, who would defeat the horrible Prince John (or at least put him in a home) and give the members back their money. I wish I could go back and demand all of the money they stole from me. That they coerced from me through salvation. I wish someone could find a way to stand up against them and say, ENOUGH! You've stolen enough!