Many people in my family are Mormon (LDS).
My mom was born into the church, although she became inactive. When I was 9, my mom finally gave into pressure from her father, my grandpa, to baptize me and send me to church. Other family members, of course, encouraged it as well.
Growing up in a small town, a lot of people were Mormon. I grew up okay, I guess, although I had always had questions, particuarly about my gender. An on-going issue since I was quite young, six or so when I mentioned it to my mom. She was told to push me into doing male things and finding male role models, but it didn't do much to make me less effeminate.
When I graduated and left home, I began to question more, and of course the bishop brought me in and pretty much told me the gender stuff would go away and that I should go on a mission -- "It would make you a man," he said.
My family, as usual, pushed me to go on a mission. I went to Las Vegas. I hated it.
During my mission I was sent to a psychiatrist and underwent church counseling for my "gender issues" as well as my lack of faith in the church. Basically, it was like taking, "How to be a man, 101."
I was given a cocktail of pills, which totaled 32 pills a day.
I tried to do all kinds of things to go home -- including running away twice, before being caught eventually and put on more pills and watched more carefully.
My mission president, meanwhile, was busy sexually abusing missionaries -- including trying it on me a few times. "They won't believe you if you said anything," he'd say, "you're the crazy one and on so many pills you're helpless."
it's strange that so many people on that mission were medicated to cover up the abuse that went on -- families wouldn't believe the abuse, the church wouldn't allow it, but it happened for years. My family still doesn't believe in me.
The good thing was that a year in the mission president left and a new one came in. It wasn't his time to leave, but the church was in trouble and was quickly trying to cover up. After abusing so many people, someone's family finally listened and acted. Apparently, in this case, he showed a group of women missionaries x-rated videos in an attempted to show them "what they were missing by being on a mission." The cover up went like this: every single missionary got to go to the movies. The church rented out part of a major Vegas hotel and we used there theater. We watched a PG movie. This doesn't happen normally on missions. Why did it happen? So that if anyone asked about the movie, all of the missionaries would reply, "yeah, we saw it." Yay public relations and cover ups. (As far as I know, the mission president was never charged. All of the women missionaries were sent home or to other missions).
As for my part (yes, I took advantage of the situation), I contacted another psychiatrist in Vegas, who was appalled with what kind of treatment I was getting. He was surprised that I mentioned the church psychiatrists -- I found out that the church doc wasn't legally allowed to practice and had two wrongful death fillings. So the church, essentially, was hiring a doctor with out a license to practice.
Shortly after, investigators were hanging around asking missionaries for information. They didn't get to me because I was sent home pretty quickly. I remember that they made me sign a bunch of papers, along with reading a letter from the prophet that should anyone ask me "strange questions" about what went on my mission that it was my duty not to say anything.
I came home in a crumpled mess. It took me years to recover. I no longer take a cocktail of endless pills (I was off them pretty quickly). Of course the pills didn't make me more faithful or less transsexual as they church hoped.
Well, let me strike one thing out -- most of my family didn't believe me, except my mom. It was then I found out that she was raped by the bishop when she was 14. No one believed her then. No one believed the other women who were raped by him. He's still in the church, and still has a high position.
So, anyway, that's my experience with the church. I haven't gone back since I got back home to Canada. And for that, I'm glad. And after years of recovering from the traumatic experiences I had, I'm finally the woman I was always meant to be.
My family doesn't talk to me. There was a time that they made a half-effort, but when I told them that was going ahead with the transition I became dead in there eyes. Including my brother's eyes, he refuses to acknowledge that I exist any more.
I can't help to think that it's the most ironic thing ever; the church proclaiming, "Families together forever," yet it is so far from that.
Life after church as been great for me -- despite my family's constant reminders that I'd live a horrible life because I left -- and went a head with the transition. I am so much happier now, and a better person as well.
I keep the church stuff behind me now a days. I talk about it sometimes, but it can be painful to talk about. I mostly focus on where I'm going now rather than where I've been. I have a full life ahead of me -- I've become a beautiful woman with a lot of potential.
Anyway, sorry for the ramble.
**Edit / add on**
I should mention, that I didn't leave the church soley because of the abuse -- although, ironically, it's the mission and abuse the pushed me enough to leave. I know the church doctrines inside and out; I used to be one of those know-it-alls in the church. Strangely enough, the more I knew the more things became absurd and it came to the point that I could no longer believe in it. Before the mission, there was enough emotional and social connection to the church that the church thought I could have been saved -- ie, believe in the church and give up on the idea that I was a woman. I think, however, even without the abuse I would have left, simply because I couldn't put off knowing that I was a woman inside and that I should do something about it.
I once had a plan that once I left home I'd start transitioning. I was 16 then. The church talked to me one that plan got out, and then I promptly tried to kill myself after what they said. I knew then it would be a long journey.
I'm glad that I'm doing it now. Sometimes I hate that so many years were taken away from me -- such a big chunk of my life torn apart by what happened, and the years to recover -- just to function normally. I'm still affected, and probably will always be.
But now, things are going great and I'm doing what I need to do for myself. It's the best thing I've ever done for myself. And in a weird way, all the fighting and standing up for myself that I had to go through for my entire life (the church didn't only abuse me, I lived in a very abusive home as well) -- all of that has only made me stronger. Things only look better form here on in.
