I don’t
write this as a means for anyone to feel sorry for me. I only write this for
awareness. So that we are aware of what goes on and what will probably continue
to go on inside and outside of the church.
As much as
I put on a face of security and confidence, I am insecure.
When I was five there wasn’t so
much concentration on the word “bully” and it didn’t have such a defined meaning
as it does today. And my experience might not be very dramatic, and it might be
incomparable to what others have experienced, but it did affect me and still
does.
Today in Sunday
school the teacher was talking about missionary work and asked everyone to
seriously consider the question, what does the gospel mean to you? For me it is
always the same answer: I’ve seen both side of the fence; I know what’s on the
other side and I decided a long time ago that I don’t want that.
I can’t blame
decisions I made on anyone else, but their actions influence me and pushed me
away from the church.
From the
time I was little I was verbally abused by a couple kids in primary who should
have been my friends, who could have been Christ like, and who could have made
me feel accepted and loved. But did I feel that way? No. No I didn’t. In a place where so much of my soul was shaped
to conform to the teachings of the gospel, I was also treated very unkindly. Mean
words of mockery were continually spoken to me. I was pushed into the piano
bench on one instance and on some occasions laughed at because I didn’t have
the right answers. I admit I was a very sensitive child; and even so today,
although I like to put on a tough face to try and disguise the hurt I still
feel. On another occasion a boy from church stole my lunch box on the bus. In
an effort to get it back I crawled under the seat and was kicked in the face.
Sure there was physical pain, but the real pain still remains—feelings of being
treated unkindly. The kindness I did experience was by people I didn’t relate
the church to; one person in particular, a really good friend, who wasn’t a member,
was one I felt the most acceptance and love by.
Later on in
life at age twelve we moved and I attended a different ward in a different town.
I was shy, insecure and had a notion that no one from church liked me. And
every attitude toward me that was less than positive was automatically viewed
by me as negative. If someone didn’t talked to me or ask to hang out with me it
was because they didn’t like me. The part of this I always leave out is that my
mother chose to homeschool me. And being made fun of for this a time or two, I
always blamed the reason for not being accepted on the notion that I was
homeschooled. Even today I avoid telling people about that aspect of my life.
And when I do open up there are still times I feel rejected for a part of my
life I didn’t choose nor that I can change.
All of the
experiences from childhood and adolescents allowed me to develop acceptance
issues. In high school I felt more accepted by people who were not connected to
the gospel; therefore that’s who I chose to hang out with. I always knew the
gospel was true, but I steered away for a bit.
In
sacrament as I was thinking about all of this and what the gospel means to me,
I realized that I have been seeking acceptance from people who may never accept
me. And no matter how they treat me I will always put up an emotional
protection wall (particularly for anyone who attended the wards I did as a
child). No matter where I go or what I do, I am insecure, I worry about being
accepted. I feel like I have to hide a piece of me not only to protect myself
from rejection, but to protect myself from the memory of pain it all has
caused. I realize that some children are unkind, some people are unkind, and the
church is true but not all the people behave in Christ-like manners. The sad
thing about this story is that I’m convinced that the parents of the children
who treated me unkindly projected negative attitudes on their own children. And
to make matters worse, treating someone unkindly or avoiding friendship towards
someone that might have a different experience is too much of a commonality. I
felt like a targeted victim who had one thing different that everyone picked
and prodded at.
All of
this, although it still affects me, has taught me how to accept those others
might not, to tolerate and celebrate differences, and to love people most think
I shouldn’t. The other day as I was entering the checkout stand I saw an older
man with tattoos and the smell of smoke. I looked at him and gave him an
empathetic smile. I related to him in ways most won’t understand. After doing
so I thought about how many smiles he gets from my side of the word (Mormon,
young women, BYUI student); and thought probably not a lot. He’s probably ignored
and avoided because of what he looks like or smells like.
The moral
of my story is to be kind, speak kind. Accept those you might not have before.
Teach your children to be accepting, loving and kind. And even when we are
victims of unkindness inside and outside of the church, realize who you’ve
become because of your experience. Gather strength and change from pain and
hurt.
