Milestones within The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints (commonly known as Mormons) are deeply emphasized by doctrine and culture. Joseph Smith, the prophet and founder of the faith revealed in his own translation of the Book of Genesis that children would reach an age of accountability once they were eight years old, it would be then that they could be baptized if they were worthy. As a child I was taught from an early age that I should desire to be baptized, that I must do all I can to be worthy for that special moment when I would make a covenant with my Heavenly Father and join His church. Little did I comprehend what the notion of worth would truly mean as I grew into a young woman— or the burden it would come to carry in my life. Blissfully unaware of the events to come later in life, I joined eight generations of faithful members of the Church when my father baptized and confirmed me a member by the authority and power of the Holy Melchizedek Priesthood — the power of God. 

As a child, baptism was the complete focus of my leaders and parents, however, as a young woman a new milestone was placed: receiving a patriarchal blessing. Prophets and leaders counseled me and other youth in the Faith to live worthy to receive this blessing as a patriarchal blessing would serve as a sacred roadmap, promising blessings not only in this life but thereafter. I was taught that this blessing would be unique to me and offer “meaning and insight” into my life that would come directly from my Heavenly Father through a Patriarch, who would serve as the vessel for God to give this blessing (Bennett). I had an intense desire to receive this divine reward from God; I yearned to know the path He had designed for me should I be a worthy daughter of Him. However, unlike my baptism where I was eager and had a full sense of worth and readiness, as a teenager I began to struggle with the belief that I was unworthy of such a profound and personal gift. I did not feel pure enough to receive personal revelation from God. I watched as those I grew up with receive theirs and testified of the blessings and spirit they felt, yet the idea of my own patriarchal blessing began to fill me with dread rather than hope. 

Anxiety surrounding the blessing grew slowly but steadily, fueled by constant self-doubt for a spiritual perfectionism I hoped to achieve. I began to view the patriarchal blessing as my own fruit of knowledge; I felt as if God had placed me in a paradox of choice where this blessing, like the fruit, would offer “the possibility of some unspecified future that will include ‘knowledge of good and evil” (Kholeif 113). The thoughts plagued me for years. What if I wasn’t ready? What if I was disappointed? I watched as each one of my peers received their own blessing, testifying to how wonderful such a gift was. They seemed so at ease with such a heavy burden; however, I could not move forward, so I delayed receiving mine for years, despite counsel that I should obtain one. I wrestled with the feeling that I had not earned the right to God’s divine direction. Though I struggled, I came to a point where I knew I needed to partake of the fruit of knowledge if I wanted to follow God’s plan for me.  

On November 11th, 2018, I went to the home of my patriarch, an older man whom I had known my entire life. My parents joined me as witnesses to the sacred blessing that would be conducted. After a moment of prayer, the blessing began with the laying on of hands, an act where the placing of one’s hands on a person’s head allows a male priesthood holder to confer “ordinations [and] blessings” (Hands, Laying on Of). Through this gesture, the power of God — the priesthood — was used to deliver divine revelation meant specifically for me. What followed was nothing short of profound. In that moment, all the years of fear, anxiety, and self-doubt vanished. Not only was the life God had planned for me beautiful — it was perfect. Never had I felt such divine closeness, not even my baptism could compare as I experienced an overwhelming spiritual connection. Finally, I felt completely known by my Heavenly Father and truly knew that he saw me, understood me, and loved me. He knew that during that time I needed reassurance I was on the right path, and that through Him I could achieve my dreams of success and love. I left that day with a newfound religious zeal and determination to live worthy of the life God had designed for me. This faith, so absolute in its intensity, would crumble come one fated evening when my worldview would shatter. 

One question posed by a close church friend would forever change the trajectory of my life: “Have you read the CES Letter?” This friend confided in me a deep distress and confusion over what this document contained, turning to me with the hope that I could help make sense of the contents that shook his faith. Though I had never heard of this letter, I was fully confident in the truthfulness of The Gospel. I assured my friend that I would look over this document and come back to him with the truth. That night I read the CES Letter, fully expecting to dismiss the work as ridiculous anti-church rhetoric that my parents and leaders had warned me about. What I read cracked something open inside of me. The floodgates burst, and what poured out was utter horror, betrayal, and a deep sense that I had been deceived my entire life. In that moment I was forced by the CES Letter to confront historical and doctrinal inconsistencies that I had never known. These inconsistencies completely changed the foundations of what made my faith. Despite the evidence this document brought forth, I was desperate to hold on to the testimony I had built, after all, God had a beautiful life planned for me in His Church, I could not toss aside my faith and the faith of my ancestors based on one individuals work. For months after that fateful day, I buried myself in official church records, determined to prove the truth I had always known to be right. Nothing could sway me back to the path of The Church — the veil had been lifted. I could no longer bare a testimony that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints was the one true church, or that Joseph Smith was a prophet of God in these latter days. The faith of my ancestors, some of the first members of the church, became more painful and twisted with each new piece of information I uncovered. My faith was completely lost, and I grieved for the person I could no longer be.