What the Church Cost Me: Not My Dreams, But the Ability to Dream

I was watching Alyssa Grenfell's video titled The Real Reason I Left the Mormon Church. In that video she said something that hit me like a lightning strike.

The greatest tragedy of my Mormon faith wasn't that I didn't achieve my dreams.

It's that I never allowed myself to dream to begin with.

Growing up in the church, there was one path:

Baptism -> Priesthood -> Temple -> Mission -> Marriage -> Children -> Endure to the end.

Everything outside of that wasn't just discouraged. It was unthinkable.

Or at least I didn't allow myself to think it. Because it didn't fit the path.

I didn't know I had the right to ask.

And if there's something to grieve about what the church can do to people, it's that.

The Predetermined Path

From the time I was old enough to understand, the trajectory of my life was already decided:

Infancy: Born into the covenant. Blessed at church to be a faithful member.

Age 8: Baptism. Become accountable. Sin carries consequence.

Age 12: Receive the Aaronic Priesthood. Begin preparing for greater responsibilities.

Age 14-18: Participate in Duty to God. Focus on worthiness. Prepare for a mission.

Age 18: If female, prepare for marriage. If male, temple endowment in preparation for mission.

Age 19: Serve a mission. Two years teaching the gospel, building the kingdom.

Age 21: Return home. Find an eternal companion. Marry in the temple within a year or two.

Age 22-25: Start having children. Build a righteous family. Raise them in the gospel.

Age 25-death: Serve in callings. Pay tithing. Attend the temple. Endure to the end.

That's it. That's the path. The only acceptable path.

Every Sunday School lesson reinforced it. Every Young Men's activity pointed toward it. Every General Conference talk assumed it.

No one ever asked: "What do you want to be when you grow up?"

Not in a real way. Sure, men were allowed to have a career aspiration, but even that was funneled for me, at least. I felt pushed toward becoming a CES educator. Seminary teacher. Institute teacher. Maybe administration. A career that served the church while supporting a family. An "acceptable" ambition.

Women aren't so lucky. Their divine mandate is eternal motherhood. Sure, getting an education isn't prohibited explicitly. But everything in the church is also funneling women towards motherhood.

They told me: "You'll serve a mission, get married in the temple, raise a righteous family."

The future wasn't something to imagine. It was something already defined for you.

How the Path Was Reinforced

It wasn't just taught explicitly. It was woven into everything.

For the Strength of Youth outlined worthiness standards. All pointing toward temple marriage and mission service.

Mutual activities were designed to keep you on the path. Service projects. Temple trips. Testimony meetings.

Seminary taught that the gospel was the most important thing in life. Everything else was secondary.

Patriarchal blessings told you what God wanted for you. And it was always the same path. Serve a mission. Marry in the temple. Raise righteous children.

General Conference talks framed deviation as danger:

• "Don't put off your mission for education or career"
• "Don't delay marriage to travel or explore"
• "Don't let the world's priorities distract you from eternal ones"

The message was clear: The path is set. Your job is to walk it.

Questions like "What if I want something different?" weren't answered.

They were dismissed. Redirected. Treated as temptation. Not even asked in the first place.

Because the path wasn't negotiable.

The Questions I Never Got to Ask

When the path is predetermined, certain questions become impossible:

What do I actually want?

I have no idea. I never asked. I was too busy doing what I was supposed to want.

Want to serve a mission? Of course. That's what worthy young men do.

Want to get married in the temple? Obviously. That's the only way to be with your family forever.

Want to have children? Naturally. That's the purpose of marriage.

But did I want those things? Or did I just want to be obedient?

I don't know. I never separated the two.

What am I curious about?

I spent my youth studying scriptures, attending seminary, preparing for a mission.

But what was I curious about outside the gospel framework?

What subjects fascinated me? What questions did I want to explore? What would I have studied if "building the kingdom" wasn't the only option?

I have no idea. Because curiosity outside the gospel was treated as distraction.

What would I do if I could do anything?

Travel the world before settling down? That's selfish. You should be serving a mission.

Pursue art or music or writing as a career? That's irresponsible. You need a stable job to support a family.

Take time to figure out who I am before committing to a life path? That's faithless. The path is already clear.

I never got to ask "What would I do if I could do anything?" because the answer was already decided:

"You'll do what God wants. And God wants you on the path."

What would make me feel alive?

I don't know.

I know what made me feel righteous: scripture study, mission prep, temple attendance, church service.

But alive? Energized? Passionate? Fully myself?

I never asked. Because feeling alive wasn't the goal. Being obedient was.

The Cost

Here's what I lost:

I never got to find out who I would have become if I'd been free to imagine it.

What would I have studied if I hadn't been focused on "practical" degrees that support a family?

Where would I have traveled if I hadn't needed to save for a mission, then marriage, then children?

What relationships would I have built if I hadn't been rushing toward eternal marriage?

What hobbies would I have developed if I hadn't been told they were distractions from more important work?

I don't know.

And that's the tragedy.

Not that I failed at my dreams. But that I never had them in the first place.

I spent decades living someone else's vision for my life.

The church's vision. God's vision (as interpreted by the church). My parents' vision. The culture's vision.

Except me. Because I was never asked to have one.

What I'm Grieving

I'm not grieving that I served a mission and wish I hadn't. Though that pain is real.

I'm not grieving that I never got married, though that loss is real.

I'm not grieving specific choices I made within the path. They helped make me what I am.

I'm grieving that the path was the only option.

That I never got to stand at a crossroads and choose.

That curiosity was treated as distraction. That exploration was treated as wandering. That asking "What do I want?" was treated as selfishness.

I'm grieving the decades I spent not knowing who I was because I was too busy being who I was supposed to be.

Learning to Dream Now

I'm in my 40s now.

And for the first time in my life, I'm asking: What do I actually want?

Not what the church wants. Not what my family expects. Not what would make me a good Mormon.

What do I want?

And it's hard.

Because I don't have practice. I've spent my entire life ignoring that question, suppressing it, redirecting it toward "What does God want for me?"

Now I'm trying to separate: What do I want? And what was I taught to want?

And I'm finding it's almost impossible to tell the difference.

Did I want to serve a mission? Or was I just terrified of disappointing everyone if I didn't?

Did I want to get married young? Or was I just trying to follow the script?

Did I want children right away? Or was I saying that I did because that's what was expected?

I don't know. And I'll never know. Because I never asked at the time.

But I'm asking now.

And I'm giving myself permission to not know yet. To explore. To try things. To change my mind.

I'm learning to dream. At 40-something. For the first time.

What Dreams Look Like Now

I'm discovering that I'm curious about things I never allowed myself to explore:

I'm curious about philosophy. Not just apologetics defending the church, but actual philosophy. Questions about meaning, ethics, and existence. Asking questions without needing them to point back to the gospel.

I'm curious about writing. Not just journaling to process testimony or record spiritual experiences, but writing as craft. As art. As exploration of ideas. As a way to share my voice and to help give others a language to share theirs.

I'm curious about rest. Not as something to earn through productivity, but as something inherently valuable. As part of being human.

I'm curious about relationships that aren't goal-oriented. Not friendships built around church service or home teaching or building the kingdom. Just... connection. For its own sake.

I'm curious about what I would do if I didn't have to do anything.

What would I choose? What would bring me joy? What would make me feel like myself?

I don't know yet. But I'm finally allowing myself to find out.

The Permission I'm Giving Myself

I'm giving myself permission to dream now. Even though I'm decades behind.

Permission to want things that don't serve a higher purpose.

Permission to explore things that aren't "productive" or "eternal."

Permission to change my mind about what I want as I learn more about who I am.

Permission to grieve the dreams I never had while simultaneously discovering new ones.

And permission to be angry about the decades I lost.

Not just the specific harm the church caused: the shame, the control, the impossible standards.

But the opportunity cost.

The person I might have become if I'd been free to imagine it.

I'll never know who that person would have been. That possibility is gone.

But I can become someone now. Someone I actually choose to be.

And that's something I get to want.