What I Deserved to Hear

I'm still reading Devout.

The next story that stuck out to me was the one where David Archuleta talked about his father's relationship with his sister, Claudia. He talks about how his dad and sister used to be close, but some false allegations of abuse made him become distant. The closeness they'd once enjoyed was gone because it was weaponized against him. Because she wasn't being attended to, she started gaining weight. And their dad was something of a cheapskate and wouldn't buy his sister new clothes and so they became tight.

The Line

The line that literally made me say out loud, "Oh my god!" was when his dad said to Claudia, "Why do you dress like a slut? I wouldn't be surprised if you become a prostitute when you get older. You'd be lucky if anyone wanted you anyway."

She was twelve.

I read that line once. Then I went back and read it again. And then again. I was furious that a father would say that to his daughter. No child should ever hear such disgusting things from their parents or from anyone else.

Then I read the next paragraph that talked about how there were a few times that Claudia tried sticking up for herself. But their father was a very opinionated man and quite unable to admit when he was wrong. He used his authority as a father to bully his children and then to tell them that they weren't supposed to talk back.

The Playbook

It made me think about the commandment to honor your father and mother and how deeply that concept can ruin a child's sense of self. It says that no matter what your parents do, you, by virtue of your relationship, are supposed to submit and obey. And it isn't just parents — the same dynamic plays out with every authority figure the church places over you. Bishops. Stake presidents. The prophet. The structure is identical: someone above you holds authority that is not to be questioned, and your faithfulness is measured by how completely you surrender to it. David's father and my teenage bishops operated from the same playbook. The faces were different. The mechanism was the same.

What's harder to admit is how completely I was shaped by it. It wasn't violent in my case. There was not a specific moment I can point to where I was threatened or shamed into silence by a parent. It was subtler than that — and in some ways the subtlety made it harder to see. The compliance was so woven into who I was that I mistook it for character.

This compulsion to obey was so deeply engrained in me that I don't remember really pushing back that hard against my parents, if at all. There were little acts of independence here and there. But overall, I rarely strayed too far from the religious moorings I was raised with.

A Different Kind of Closeness

I had a long distance girlfriend at one point. Somehow I talked my parents into letting me meet a stranger I'd found on the internet. The internet was so new at the time that maybe they didn't fully grasp the potential danger of the situation. They did insist on coming with me, but once I was with her, we were largely left to ourselves.

Interestingly, I never really talked about what I did with that girlfriend. Not that we did anything teenagers don't normally do. We kissed…a lot. There was a moment where I nuzzled my face into and kissed her neck. I still remember her scent even decades later. But I don't remember feeling the a significant level of shame about those actions. I don't recall ever confessing those particular moments to a bisop. Somehow my mind was able to justify moments of kisses. Maybe it was because it was so intermittent, but it's striking to me that the solitary exploration is what brought more shame.

The Bishop's Office

What kept me going to the bishop was an inclination to look at pornography and masturbate. I was programmed to confess. I submitted to disciplinary action despite the shame of being seen not taking the sacrament. Sometimes I would not take it because I was told not to by the bishop, other times I just didn't feel worthy to take it because of what I'd looked at and done to myself during the week. There were times I was able to reflect outwardly and to wonder what other people thought if they noticed me passing the trays without partaking. But most of the time I was too lost in my own shame to think about anything but what a despicable person I was. I couldn't help thinking, "Why isn't the atonement working for me?"

What the Church Did With Normal

Something that I think is worth pointing out is how the church pathologizes normal human sexuality. I haven't always been explicit about my experiences. I've mentioned normal human desires for closeness and intimacy, but I've rarely been this direct. I feel like if you've followed along with my posts up till now, it's time to lay my cards on the table.

The system required confession not because anyone was harmed, but because the system needed something to confess. It needed a version of you that was perpetually falling short and perpetually returning for correction. That's not spiritual guidance. That's a control structure with shame as its engine.

Grace for Claudia, Grace for Myself

What I think hit me most about the excerpt I mentioned toward the beginning of this post is how detestable it was that David's father told Claudia he wouldn't be surprised if she became a prostitute. I think of the trauma that likely festers in such a wound and it breaks my heart. I can't imagine a father legitimately saying such a terrible thing to his child.

But the question his father's cruelty raised for me wasn't really about Claudia's future. It was about the verdict. The judgment embedded in his words — that her body, her worth, her future were already forfeit — is the same verdict I absorbed about myself, just pointed at different things. He said it out loud to her. The church said it quietly, structurally, to all of us.

But then I wonder — even if she did become a sex worker, would that be as great a tragedy as her father likely thought? That question might seem jarring, but I think it's worth sitting with. Some women who do that work find something fulfilling in it, even if society tells them they shouldn't. They are still human beings with thoughts, emotions, pain, joy, and desires that yearn to be filled. If we can extend grace to them — if we can say that their worth isn't determined by what they do with their bodies or what shame someone else projected onto them — then maybe that same logic turns inward. Maybe the grace I can offer a stranger is the same grace I've been withholding from myself for decades.

Are my own sexual inclinations as dirty and worthy of shame as I was raised to believe? Or am I just a human being with a desire for intimacy that echoes in every heart? I am whole and complete. Wanting to be close to and share experiences with other people is a beautiful thing. If they share that desire, then we have every right to explore it in a way that is comfortable and safe for both of us.

I deserved to hear that when I was a teenager sitting in a bishop's office, drowning in shame over nothing more than being human. I didn't hear it then. I'm saying it to myself now.

If you ever needed to hear those words yourself, I offer them to you now. Your sexual expereinces are not all of who you are. The shame the church inflicted would have you view yourself as bad, but you are not. You are just human: whole, complete, and everything you were meant to be in a cosmos where matter became aware.