When The Going Gets Tough...It Is Exhausting

People used to tell me that if I had enough faith I would be healed. In the energy world it's the secret. The power of positive thinking will make everything work in your favor. I know I have talked about this before but when the going gets tough I always come back to it. Hope is my thing. I am Positively Susie. I plan for everything to go my way. Always! That is the way I live my life. The year that I ended up back on disability my new years resolution was to not use my vacation days for illness. What has been proven to me time and time again is that control is an illusion. That is what people are trying to do with faith and positivity. They are trying to control the outcome. I recently learned that controlling adults had traumatic childhoods. The more controlling they are, the more traumatic their childhood was. Telling them that they are controlling will not heal their trauma. Trust me. I have had many people tell me in my adult life that I was controlling. It has not protected me from having trauma in my adult life. 

So, what happened today to trigger this insight? Why am I talking about faith and positivity again? Let me tell you. 

In March 2020 as the world was turning into chaos at the rise of the covid 19 pandemic, the stars seemed to align and bring me everything I ever wanted. Well, almost. I was still disabled. My husband was still disabled. Some of my relationships were less than perfect and I didn't live on a beach. But! We were able to buy a home that felt perfect and adopt a couple of adorable puppies and go into a ton of debt to make our house just the way I wanted it. It was ok because I had a plan. I was excited. Part of this plan was that my husband would continue to drive for Uber part time so I could pay off the debt. 

Uber was such a gift to my husband. Since he became disabled back in 2000 he has been looking for something that he could do part time, when he felt well enough, and that he enjoyed. He didn't find it until 2017. In Uber he found a job where he didn't have a boss and he didn't have to show up if he didn't feel well. It wasn't meant to be relied upon. It was just meant for fulfillment. 

That was a year ago. What does that have to do with today? 

Let's go back to September 28, 2020. My husband has a rare condition called Multiple Venous Malformations. One of these malformations is in his head and presses against the eustachian tube in his left ear, sealing it off. That caused pressure to build up in his ear. It was uncomfortable. So, we went to an Ear Nose and Throat doctor who kindly offered to put a tube in the tympanic membrane so that air could circulate and relieve the pressure. My husband accepted. Unfortunately, the relief never came. You see he ended up having a bad reaction to the tube. His ear got infected and his tympanic membrane disintegrated.  He was finally referred to a surgeon to reconstruct the membrane. 

Fast forward to January 7, 2021. That was the day of surgery. It turns out that a tympanic membrane is pretty important. Because of the exposure he had chronically inflamed tissue in his ear and the bones in his inner ear had fused together. The surgeon reconstructed the ear canal because it was oddly shaped and made it difficult to work. He replaced the incus bone with a prosthetic, removed the inflamed tissue and used a cartilage graft to make a new tympanic membrane. He anticipated that my husband would be back to rideshare driving within a couple of weeks. 

He was wrong. 

Today is March 23, 2021. My husband is basically deaf in his left ear. He is finally recovering from another infection in that same ear. Since the surgery he has had to go to a hearing and balance center to deal with vertigo in his inner ear. He has had 2 emergency hospital visits because of pressure headaches in his central nervous system.  He has worked with his neurologist to find the cause and treatment to no avail. The vertigo is slightly improved. The pressure headache has improved. But he is still miserable. Today we found out why. 

When humans are babies they have more bones. That is because some of the bones fuse together as they grow. Part of these bones form a container that houses the inner ear. My husband had a CT today. In the CT the doctor was able to see that my husband was missing some of the bone that is supposed to protect his ears. This is true for both of his ears. The doctor believes that when my husband was a child he had a lot of ear infections. Because of the ear infections he formed scar tissue in places where he should have bone. The scar tissue is not able to regulate pressure in the same way that bone does, Because of this my husband has always been extra sensitive to pressure changes. Because of the surgery, this is now worse in his left ear than it was before the placement of the tube last September. 

We don't know if my husband will ever completely get rid of his vertigo. We don't know if he will ever regain his hearing. Most likely he will need to adjust to a new normal. We don't know if that new normal will include driving for Uber. He said that he is starting to get used to the ringing in his ear caused by the hearing loss. He has an appointment to see if hearing aids are an option. He is going to see the hearing and balance specialist for exercises to help with his vertigo. If his situation hasn't improved in 6 months he can decide if he wants to undergo another surgery to repair the bone that didn't form as a child. 

What we do know is that life for my husband is harder than we thought it would be. Before his surgery, in January, we started a vegan diet in hopes that we could be healthy old people. But for us it seems that being diagnosed with new strange things is our normal. Even when we believe it will be different. Even when we think positive and have faith. We get knocked down and we get up again and we say, ¨We got this.¨ But then there is another this to get. and another. and we get tired. 

Tonight I am tired. We have been knocked down too many times. We are tired. 

In this diagram the spongy looking parts are the bones I was referring to. For my husband the bony part above what looks like bunny ears is what has been replaced by scar tissue. It is amazing how very important every tiny bit of the human body is.

Tips for People Diagnosed with POTS after Covid 19 or Any Other Time

Photo by Hush Naidoo on Unsplash

A lot of people who recover from Covid end up with POTS.

What is POTS?

Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome

It is not rare. It is just seldom diagnosed so people suffer and don't know why. 

POTS is a malfunction of the autonomic nervous system. Your autonomic nervous system controls everything that you don't think about. IE: breathing, digestion, heart rate, blood pressure, body temperature... It can manifest as problems in any of these areas. It may be too fast or too slow or flip back and forth. Symptoms include but are not limited to: dehydration, tachycardia, bradycardia, low blood pressure, high blood pressure, constipation, diarrhea, nausea, vomiting, passing out, lightheadedness and more. You don't have to have all of the symptoms and they may not be consistent.

Covid affects the neurological system. The evidence is loss of taste and smell being common symptoms. 

My daughter has POTS and recently shared some tips from her experience. She started suffering in middle school. We lived in Rochester, Minnesota so I took her to the Mayo Clinic for all of her medical care. Still, she remained undiagnosed until she was in her 20s. Her symptoms were so frightening that she was hospitalized several times to try to determine what was causing the symptoms. She has still managed to live a fairly normal life. 

Here is her advice written to someone who was recently diagnosed with POTS from Covid:

A part of me was in denial about your diagnosis. I really don't want you to have pots but I can't stop you from having pots. 

So to sum up 15 years of health education for you here are my words of wisdom.

•Pain management classes:

Even if you aren't in a lot of pain right now they teach you a lot. My parents became disabled when I was 7 and my health issues started when I was 12 so indirectly I learned from their pain management classes. 

(Mom here - My husband and I both attended pain rehabilitation at the mayo clinic. They teach you how to manage chronic pain with minimal medication. They encourage alternative therapies.)

•a breathing specialist:

I saw one for my migraines and in the past 10 years I've learned that you're breathing controls so much of your body. What you learn from a breathing specialist can be applied to a lot of pots episodes. 

(She is referring to breathing exercises to help manage POTS symptoms. This is different than respiratory therapy.)

•a nutritionist:

Your body's going to start reacting differently to a lot of foods and it can become overwhelming. Don't try and track it all by yourself if you can find a trustworthy nutritionist who knows what they're talking about It's a lot faster and a lot easier.

•physical trainer with heart condition experience

I see Dr Goodman the pot specialist at the Mayo Clinic in Scottsdale and he said there's no cure for pots or the damage that it's already done. The best chance is to stay preemptive and ahead of it. exercising is going to strengthen your body so you're nervous system and your heart don't have to work as hard. That being said I've also considered seeing a sleep specialist but I'm 27 and awkwardly stubborn 🤣 let me know if you decide to do that.

Lastly,

•Tight Clothes and Sodium

You want to go back to work and I think you can still do your job. It's just going to be a different approach. It's kind of like learning how to live again, tight clothing I love corsets and super tight workout clothes. I have a cousin who loves bodysuits anything that helps support your body is going to put less work on your heart and that's going to help a lot. The sodium helps you retain your fluid but for some reason when you have pots you don't retain it very well and so your sodium is going to help a lot. 

I'm Mexican and grew up eating Lucas and Tajin and so I like to get the beer salt in the liquor section and just eat it by itself cuz it's flavored. BCAs are excellent, I also rotate gatorade and Liquid IV. 

(Compression helps circulation. compression stockings and abdominal compression are recommended. Lots of salt and fluids are also recommended.)

That being said, avoid chasing a cure. Hope for accidentally curing yourself, but find peace in knowing you might not. 💙 Having POTs can be fun, scary but fun. 

Thank you for reading my novel 💖🤣

Susie again:

I hope you find these tips helpful. I wish I had known what was going on when she was 12 and this first started. It was scary. But she still managed to play football and golf and be very active in school and church. She is amazing. She also has to deal with ADD and Dyslexia. But she does it. She is a success. 

She was told that it was safer to play football than to run cross country because of passing out. If you pass out during football you land on turf which is soft and you are being watched so someone will know right away. She had to give up cross country running because of the possibility of passing out on a street or sidewalk and not having anyone around to take care of her.

I have Dysautonomia which is a more generic form of the same thing. I was told that I need 6-8gm of sodium per day to keep my blood pressure up. This is a new symptom for me. I used to have high blood pressure. But I was still encouraged to consume sodium for my Dysautonomia. I also need to drink a gallon of water every day. This helps with lightheadedness, low blood pressure and tachycardia symptoms. I have to take heart medication every day to slow my heart. Every patient is different so it is important to see a knowledgeable doctor and seek proper treatment. Not everyone can get in to see Dr Goodman. I see a heart rhythm specialist. He diagnosed and treats me. I use a rollator because I need to sit frequently. I cannot stand in lines.

You can have a happy life with a wonky nervous system. 

 

Beauty Rituals

I have enjoyed beauty rituals since I was a little girl. I always played in my mother's make up and closet. She had gold lamé pencil pants that zipped up the side and boots to match. She had long lace robes.
I was really good at make up before I was teen. I remember being an extra for a TV movie and the make up artist let a child do my make up. They all praised him but I was furious because he got eye shadow in my brow.
By the time I was 12 I devoted hours to primping each week. Removing unwanted hair, bathing, lotioning my skin, learning the latest trends in make up and hair. We didn't have YouTube in 1983. My mother paid for classes at modeling schools and department stores. I learned to have the latest styles on a budget.
A friend once showed me that she could wear 7 different colors on one eyelid! I had to go home and perfect the art.
I longed for the high cheek bones of the runway models but I knew that each day I turned the canvas of my face into a work of art that would fit in any video on MTV.

I got older and had children. But no matter how bad things got I would always find a way to make myself feel beautiful.

Once, in a domestic violence shelter, we received a donation from Victoria's Secret. I may have been 19 and pregnant with my 3rd child and I didn't know what was going to happen next but I had silk pajamas for the first time in my life. And a thick terry cloth robe. It felt like safety, comfort and luxury wrapping around me every time I put it on.

My body changed. I got older and hair styles changed and it was harder to keep up. I really tried.

The hardest criticism was when my teenage daughter told me that my make up was outdated. Why did my mom's make up from the 50s and 60s become classic and mine from the 80s and 90s become outdated? It wasn't fair.

Today my hair was weighing me down. I chopped it. I am 49. I am overweight. I don't even know what is in style. I took a shower on my shower chair and tried to pumice the huge calluses off of the bottom of my feet.

What would she think of me now. That teenage girl. I wish she would come and visit and make me feel beautiful again.

Oh wait. this is supposed to be positive and I am making myself cry. I am beautiful. I know that. I am grateful that I could get in the shower today. I was wearing the same pajamas since Friday. I am feeling a little better. My hair is a little lighter (less heavy), my calluses are a little smaller. I am grateful for beauty rituals and memories of feeling like a princess.

What do we do when hope is lost?

When my husband, Antar, and I were young and getting to know each other's bodies I noticed the veins in his left leg were different than anything I had ever seen before. In some places the veins appeared to be on top of the muscle, barely covered by skin. They were bunched up like yarn does when a string has been pulled. I commented that I thought it was related to his problems with his knee. He was sensitive then and didn't appreciate me noticing every mole and freckle. He disagreed with me. We were young.

He had had knee surgeries and they found what they called a hemangioma when he was 19 or 20. He had a surgery to have it removed from his knee. There was no physical therapy. He was stuck in bed for months healing. He ended up having another surgery within a year or 2. This time they were repairing damage to the cartilage. That time he had physical therapy and didn't anticipate having any more problems. He was told that his knee was like the knee of a 60 year old man and would probably always cause him pain.

By the time he was 26 he was married to me and we had 4 children. His knee was causing him a lot of pain. He had another surgery on the cartilage in his knee. The hemangioma was renamed a venous malformation. It was back and we learned that it was bigger than anyone had imagined. It went up into his thigh. Removing it was not an option. So, they did alcohol injections to cauterize it and stop it from growing. It seemed to help. The doctor said the only way to stop the pain in his knee was to fuse the bones together and then he would not be able to bend his knee anymore. Antar didn't even have to think about that. He said no.

On February 16, 2000 he was 31 years old. It was our youngest child's 7th birthday. We got distracted. Antar woke up and his right leg was swollen so much that it was red and looked almost twice the size of his left leg. He never returned to work. He began a journey to diagnosis. He had a venogram at the University of Utah and we saw that there was more vein than muscle in his right leg. We were told he had Klippel Trenaunay Webber syndrome. He became the stay at home parent collecting social security. That wasn't enough to live on so I went to work.

I started at PageNet and within months I was at a brokerage company. While I was there I developed a bad cough. It would get worse when I was at work. I worked in a call center. My doctor couldn't figure it out. The stress of it made me suicidal. I ended up in a 28 day inpatient program at a mental health center. That helped. I was diagnosed with acid reflux while I was in there. That took care of my cough. But it didn't cure everything. I ended up in an outpatient program for a month in Arizona because of my anxiety. I finally got both my physical and mental health under control and was a top performer at work.

Then it was September 11, 2001. I was in Utah but that rocked the world. I didn't know what the world trade center was before that day. I thought my aunt was at the pentagon. I left work. I picked up my children. Everyone told me that I was going against what the president of the United States wanted. I told them I was doing what I needed to do. We spent the rest of the day huddled in the living room watching the coverage on TV. My aunt called me the next day and told me that she wasn't working in the pentagon. She was in a different building. But she had a lot of friends in the pentagon and she was hurting. Over the next several weeks there were bomb threats and evacuations, even in Utah. In October 2001 I was dismissed from my job along with over 600 other employees.

We moved to Henderson, Nevada so that I could find a new job. I went into insurance. We did well for a while but in 2003 we discovered that the health care in Nevada was not up to par. I was telling the doctors in the emergency room how to treat my husband. That is around the time that I first experienced numbness in my arms and chest.

We moved to Rochester, Minnesota to get better medical care for Antar. It turned out that he had been having strokes and he had venous malformations bleeding into his colon. The doctors sealed the holes in his colon and closed a hole in his heart. He stopped taking a medication that was causing strokes. He had brain damage.

Shortly after we arrived we learned that our 12 year old son was having heart rhythm issues. He had several heart procedures. One during the same month as his dad.

I found employment at another brokerage company. I was there for a little over a year before I had to go on disability myself. I had debilitating abdominal pain. That caused depression. Symptoms just started piling on.

Antar found out he didn't have Klippel Trenaunay Webber syndrome. He was being treated by a pediatric cardiologist. He was told that he had multiple venous malformations. They were everywhere in his body from the bottom of his feet to the optic nerve. The best treatment he had was blood thinners but they decided it was too dangerous and stopped. He had some external malformations removed. We learned from his family that he had one removed from his neck when he was 2. There was nothing more to do.

He tried getting a real estate license. He failed the exam by one point. But he didn't have the strength to try again.

He got a diploma in auto mechanics but was only strong enough to fix his own car and sometimes help friends.

For years there was really nothing fulfilling he could do.

I acquired high blood pressure, asthma, diabetes, and rashes in addition to my fibromyalgia, chronic fatigue and depression/anxiety.

Antar and I each went through a program at the mayo clinic to help us deal with pain. I also went through a program to help me with fibromyalgia.

I was diagnosed with pelvic floor dysfunction.

We decided to move to Arizona because my parents were getting old and Antar thought he would feel better in a warmer climate.

After we arrived in Arizona we learned that with both of us on Social Security we made too much money to get medical assistance. We could not live without healthcare.

I returned to work. I did surprisingly well. I worked in finance. We stayed there for almost 4 years. My health suffered. My liver got worse. My doctor thought it was cirrhosis. I had another abdominal surgery. I was sick a lot. I managed to work and go to school.

All of our kids got married and we started having grandchildren.

Our oldest daughter and her husband prepared a powerpoint asking us to come live in their basement in Utah. I wanted to say no but my husband thought it was a good idea. So, we went. It was a good decision. I went back to the brokerage company I had left 13 years earlier. I loved my job. I was doing well.

A few years later my health got so bad that I was forced to go back on disability. I was diagnosed with Sarcoidosis and Dysautonomia and my Asthma got so bad that it sometimes felt like pneumonia.

For 3 years I have looked for answers. I searched for that magic pill that doesn't exist. There's only one treatment that might work for me but my insurance won't pay for it. My doctor says it's because they don't understand the orphan status of my disease.  I finally got there. There is nothing more the doctors can do.

Fortunately for me my husband had dealt with this years before. It hurts so bad. It is devastating. When there is no treatment it removes hope. Without hope.....it is really hard. It feels dark.

The secret is to find ways to have hope anyway. That's why I believe in spiritual coaching, intuition, crystals, oils, burning sage, spells, ceremonies... If a story makes you feel good, it's a good story. I fill my life with good stories. That is where my hope comes from.

Pregnancy, Parentage and Prejudice

So, help me out here. When a girl gets pregnant and she is not married and the year is 1986 and everyone thinks it is a community mystery to solve who the father is....Is that an everywhere thing? An American thing? or just a Mormon thing? Even the baby's father thinks it's up for debate.

My first marriage, my husband and I argued almost every day about the father of my oldest child. It was so stressful. I knew he was the father but he didn't believe me. Do you want to know why? Because I didn't bleed when I lost my virginity.

That is a myth. Do you know that story about an intact hymen proving a girl is a virgin? LIES!!! Which, duh! I should have figured out on my own but I will forgive my naive ignorance. If there was an impenetrable barrier what would have happened with all of my super heavy periods from age 11 to 15 before I was raped? All that blood and guck would have been trapped inside me. I passed some huge clots! But guess what?! It is perpetuated by the medical community.

When I was 15 and pregnant my mom took me to the doctor for my first pelvic exam. Hooray! Not! He said that my hymen was still intact so I was technically still a virgin. My brain didn't know what to do with that. He also said that he had 3 couples ready to take my baby right now! I didn't realize until now how much that freaked me out! We never went back. He scared the shit out of me. And I knew that I had sex with my baby's father multiple times. So, how did it make sense that I was still a virgin. I had been sexually abused, raped and had sex with my boyfriend. It meant that it made sense that I didn't bleed when I had sex or even when I was raped.

So, I left my abusive husband at the tender age of 18. I ended up moving in with another man who I intended to marry. I usually refer to him as my second husband. It didn't work out. Two weeks after I left him I discovered that I was pregnant again. And again everyone thought they needed to solve the mystery of who the father was. All anyone needed to do was ask me and I would tell them. But I guess that wasn't as interesting.

1991 This lady that was a friend of my sister in law, grabbed my baby, pulled up his shirt and lowered his diaper to look at his lower back. Then she declared: "Nope. He's not Mexican. Mexican/American babies have a bruise on their lower back. My kids have it. I will show you." The worst part of this was that it proved to me that my brother and his wife doubted what I said about who the father of my child was. They had clearly been discussing it with this friend.

I will digress for a moment to discuss her proclamation. I have no idea about heritage that causes a discoloration on a child's lower back. Let's give her the benefit of the doubt and say it is a thing. But! It is not a Mexican/American thing. I will tell you why.

Mexican is not a color. There are Mexicans of every color and origin.

American is not a color. There are Americans of every color and origin.

Therefore you could put one Mexican and one American together and get any color or origin. So you would not be guaranteed any one specific outcome.

So, I married a Mexican and we had a 4th child. He adopted the other 3. We were a family. It is great. We combined his culture with our culture. Which is Mexican/American. Our children were exposed to English and Spanish. They went to Mexico for weddings, funerals and baptisms. They attended weddings, funerals and baptisms in the USA. They had aunts, uncles, and cousins in Mexico. They had aunts, uncles and cousins in the USA. They had abuelos(Mexican grandparents) and grandparents.

Let's talk color. I have 2 children with blue eyes, 1 child with chocolate brown eyes, and 1 child with hazel eyes. When they were little we had a game where we would hold all of our arms up side by side and compare skin color. They were all different. No 2 arms were the same color. I still am the fairest. Do you know what I have learned? That can happen in families where all of the children have the same exact biological parents! Fascinating! Right?

Maybe that is why my last husband is the keeper. He never doubted me. He knew that I was telling the truth. Beside that, it didn't matter. It didn't matter because he knew that he was their REAL father. Fatherhood is not about sperm. Yes, I love DNA. I think it is fascinating. But my children only have one real father. He's the one they call when they need advice or a babysitter. He is the one that made sure their needs were met. He is the one that did his best to make sure that they were happy and healthy. He is a Mexican. He was born in Mexico City. That is why my kids are all Mexican/American. His culture is their culture. His family is their family. It was a conscious decision that took a lot of time, thought, effort, money and sacrifice.

The American biodads never did that. They had the opportunity and they rejected it. I asked for help and they denied their parentage. So, if you ever think you know better than I do how Mexican my children are...think again.

Mexican is not a color.

Muchness

My last post was not for the faint of heart. And I learned today that it was too much for one of my dear beloved friends. A friend that I was free and open with my thoughts and feelings because I thought she could handle anything. I found out she can't. I wept. I wept because I don't like triggering my friends. I wept because I want desperately to tell her everything.

I have had hours to analyze this. At first I was just all feelings. I couldn't even put words to all of the feelings. Now, I realize there is no one person that can handle all of me all of the time. Part of this came to me after I hugged my husband and said, "Tell me that I am not too much." He did as he was told. He hugged me and told me, "You're not too much." Then looked at me quizically. I realized in that moment that the reason that I am not too much is because I spread myself out among my friends. There are times when he wants me to be quiet or let him rest.

I was feeling that I was too much muchness for anyone to handle.

Then I told a friend on Facebook that I loved her. She thanked me for speaking up. She said that I give all of the quiet people afraid to speak, a voice. She said that someday she will tell me her story. That was exactly what I needed to hear and I didn't even know it. I told her I loved her even more.

I have decided that I am too much for any one friend or person to handle. And that's ok. I have LOTS of friends. I have LOTS of people who love me. So, if none of them can handle all of my blog posts and Facebook posts and YouTube videos.... That's ok.

I still have wonderful friends. And the one I started talking about in the beginning is one of my favorites. There is one person that can handle all of me. It's me! :D I am uniquely qualified. So, I will go forward in my wild, impetuous, uniqueness. I will expand and contract with the moon. I will continue with my muchness.

Photo by Vonecia Carswell on Unsplash

Joseph Smith: I am officially breaking up with you!

This is a tough post. I am not going to worry about sources or if I am repeating myself. I just need to get this out there.

As a little girl my dad was the ward mission leader. He would bring home the filmstrip of the First Vision. The shiny edited version of 1976. (you can find it on YouTube) I was hooked. That film was the foundation for all of my beliefs in Spirituality and Mormonism. I believed everything happened EXACTLY as it was portrayed in that film.

When I was 14 I had an uber spiritual experience at girl's camp. I literally felt like I was walking hand in hand with my savior. The message I felt was that I was going to do something with my life that was every bit as important as what Joseph Smith did with his life. I was in a zen space. When I got back to my cabin and every one else, I tried to share my experience. I scared everyone around me. I remember being very confused by that. My countenance seemed to frighten everyone around me. I felt so peaceful. Why did they feel fear? I didn't get it. My cabin mom sent me to the priesthood leaders. They didn't know what to do with me. They had a talk with me, acted like I was really weird and sent me back to my cabin.

The following year I didn't get to go to camp. I remember being very disappointed because that was the year of the 3 day hike. I didn't get to go because I was pregnant. You see, my boyfriend wanted to have sex. I was naked in his bed when I should have been at school. When he decided it was time for penetration I said no. He said, "It's too late." I wouldn't know for years that that was rape. Did you know a girl (or anyone for that matter) can say no at any point and it's not too late? Laying in bed naked is a lot different than having sex. You can disagree if you like but it's different.

It was a year of loss. After that I didn't see the point in saying no. I was ruined. I had been taught repeatedly at church that once I was no longer a virgin there was no going back. I was the Mia Maid president (leader of the 14/15 year old girls). I was a finalist in the Miss Teen Arizona pageant. I was looking forward to girls camp. Then I was pregnant. It was all over. I remember the day of the pageant. I hadn't showered or shaved in over a week. I was depressed. My laundry was all dirty. The pageant director called me frantic. "Where are you?" she asked. "I decided not to go." I replied. She didn't know what to say. The truth was I was terrified of winning and being a pregnant pageant queen.

I was 15 and pregnant. That year I thought a lot about the Virgin Mary. She didn't plan on getting pregnant so young either. I felt like we were kindred spirits. She wasn't a ruined sinner like me but she knew what it was like to be pregnant before your body is ready. People told me many times that in the "old days" girls had babies at my age all the time. I felt sorry for all of those girls. My doctor told me that he had 3 couples that wanted my baby. Oh, and that I had chlamydia. Bonus! I got a baby AND an STD. All because I was a horrible girl who had sex with her boyfriend. He had dark hair and beautiful light blue eyes that you felt like you could float away in. But I really wish he would have listened when I said no.

In 1999 I read the Work and the Glory. Actually, I devoured it. I was living in a basement in Murray, Utah with my husband (not the boy who raped me) and four children. I read while I made pancakes and got the kids off to school. I rushed through my chores so I could get back to reading. I finished all of the volumes in a week. I remember reading about Joseph's secret marriages to married women and teenage girls. I remember stopping to sob in my bed. It felt like it ripped my soul. I daydreamed about going back in time and saving Emma. I daydreamed of going back in time and having a talk with Joseph so that he would be a better husband. My mind was not ready to acknowledge how bad he actually was.

I have always defended Joseph. I have hated Brigham Young. It was easy for me to believe he was the only bad guy. He did so many horrible things to so many innocent people. But Joseph. Not Joseph. When I learned that the Church of Christ taught that Joseph didn't practice polygamy I latched on to that. The Work and the Glory was a lie! I could believe that.

It is now 2019. 20 years later. I have read enough sources to know that Joseph Smith was not who I believed him to be. He was the kind of man who would marry a teenage girl and consummate it. He would coerce her by threatening that an angel would come down with a flaming sword and kill her family if she didn't comply. He was in his 30's when that happened. It was not a one time thing. He would send a man away on a mission and marry his wife while he was gone. He would marry the wives of men alive and well in his community. Joseph Smith was a sexual predator and a pedophile. Perhaps the reason the church doesn't like to prosecute pedophiles is because that would force them to look at the original prophet and evaluate his actions. It was not ok to have sex with teenagers in the 1800s.

The church makes everything edited and shiny. Most members don't know the ugliness that has been edited and polished away. Yes, prophets are human. So are pedophiles. Pedophiles aren't acceptable prophets.

I don't need a prophet. I can connect with my spirituality without a prophet and without a God. I do need to grieve though. I am hurt and sad. And angry. So sad that the person I believed to be Joseph Smith never existed. I loved him with all my heart. I wanted to be like him. The journey away from what I believed all my life is painful for me. Please be patient and kind.

I have a sacred grove in my mind. It is a place where I can meet with my ancestors, where I can be one with the Earth. It is my safe place. It is with me always. No one can enter without my permission.

Photo by Ales Krivec on Unsplash