Do you remember that scene in The Sixth Sense (1999) where child psychologist Malcolm Crowe (Bruce Willis) is talking to young Cole Sear (Haley Joel Osment) about what he wants to get out of their sessions together?
Cole looks right up at him and says, “Instead of something I want, can it be something I don’t want?”
“Okay.”
“I don’t wanna be scared anymore.”
I was born and raised in a Mormon (Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints) household. My parents and my church-going community instilled a set of beliefs in me about my role in life and how to obey them in order to be saved. There are lots of rules to be obeyed in Mormonism and, good girl that I was, I was happy to oblige the rules.
Until I wasn’t.
There is basically one path in life for Mormons, which is to get married in a temple to another Mormon and raise Mormon children. Then die and go to Mormon heaven, which is the bestest and most exalted of all the heavens, and, of course, only the bestest and most obedient of Mormons can go there. (Forgive me being tongue in cheek, it’s a coping mechanism.)
Through obeying the commandments and the prophet, paying tithing, keeping the Word of Wisdom (a manual on healthy living that prohibits, among other things, drinking coffee, tea, or alcohol and drug use of any kind), and constantly sharing the gospel, admission to Mormon heaven is practically guaranteed.
Don’t obey, well, pick your torments. Banishment from heaven, for one thing. Maybe pitchforks. Fire. Brimstone. Buses with windows welded shut, crammed full of people who don’t use deodorant or believe in AC and it’s 45 degrees Celsius outside.
My problem? (Which I have reframed into opportunity.)
I am a lesbian. I was born this way. I had crushes on girls in junior high and high school. I nearly fell in love in college. When I realised that the innocence of my feelings could be construed as homosexuality, I immediately got married in the temple to the first decent Mormon man I met, even though we had only known each other for six months.
You read that correctly. Within six months of meeting each other for the first time, we got married.
I thought that was what I wanted. I was taught to want it.
For seven years of marriage, I struggled with my identity, with health issues, with depression and anxiety. I ballooned in weight, soon becoming the heaviest I’ve ever been. The final straw came when I lost enough weight and became healthy enough that my doctor said I could bear children.
My husband asked when we could start having kids.
I asked for a divorce.
So I gave myself what I thought I wanted. The feedback I received (poor health, depression, deep dissatisfaction and cognitive dissonance) showed me otherwise. Something was missing, something was off.
I didn’t want to live a lie just for some hypothetical heaven. I wanted to live my truth. While Mormons accept that we are born with a certain sexual orientation, it is against the rules to act on those feelings. Yes, I could be both lesbian and Mormon, but only if I entered a lifetime of celibacy.
No thanks. About a year after the divorce, I left Mormonism entirely and haven’t looked back. I do not deny that this religion provides comfort and peace to many people, but it did not serve me at all, and I’m very happy I left when I did.
I went into the world, eager to start life again at the age of 31.
And found beauty, purpose, joy, and peace that I had never known.
I found beautiful, life-affirming beliefs that transcended all religions, of universal and unconditional love, of peace and stillness of the mind through meditation, and health and harmony for the body through regular exercise and eating heathy foods. I found beautiful women, and had incredible and mind-blowing sex within committed relationships. I found friends who shared my interests. I didn’t need a set of rules to follow. My body taught me what was good for me.
Now Life, abundant and cyclical Life, has taught me the rest.
Time and again, I learn by giving myself what I want (or think I want). I get feedback from my body, my emotions, and life experiences. The whole point is recognising that feedback when it comes and adjusting the course accordingly. (No, it’s not at all easy, it’s extremely uncomfortable and requires a great deal of patience and self-love and awareness. But it’s worth it, a million times over.)
Here’s another example.
I met a girl in 2021, in the middle of the pandemic. We dated for a while, though she lived in a different city. When another lockdown was looming, we moved in together — in her flat, in another city. I packed everything up and left my life, home, and friends behind. I have always wanted a loving, committed partnership with an emotionally stable woman. I thought this was it. I wanted it to be it. The idea of it enchanted me.
It wasn’t it. Two very tough years later, I left. In that time, we had moved to a very small cottage on the outskirts of the city, heated by a wood-burning stove, with a garden occasionally ravaged by wild boars. When I was younger, I dreamed of being like Laura Ingalls Wilder (of Little House on the Prairie fame), so I was happy to give myself this chance of living as close to off-grid as possible. I didn’t account for how demanding the lifestyle was, and that my partner’s needs and the needs of the cottage, the garden, and her pets, would dictate my whole life.
My needs were not met, I constantly sacrificed myself for her (mostly to escape her anger, moods, or being given the cold shoulder). She seemed to need my help simply to maintain her life — for example, if I didn’t cook us a meal, she would just eat tofu spread on bread, and I shared dog walking and cat caring responsibilities. She teased me to the point of bullying, and gave me endless projects to do, to the detriment of my own. I put up with it because I wanted to be in love, I wanted a relationship.
But I didn’t want this.
My body had to teach me again. I had a health crisis which landed me in the hospital. Only a few months later, I left her and returned home to my chosen family in Prague. I found a partnership, but the love was missing.
At least the feedback cycles were getting shorter. Seven years for my first marriage. Two and a half years with this relationship. I was getting better at recognising my needs, my emotions, and my dreams, and giving myself the boundaries and space to fulfil them.
When I returned to Prague, I wanted to live alone. So I found a place near the edge of the city, close to a forest and lake, with a balcony. Everything I thought I wanted. I could take daily walks in the forest and swim in the lake in summer’s heat. I could grow herbs on my balcony and watch the sunset.
I moved here in January 2024. It’s great. I love it. I love my walks in the forest. I love my afternoon swims in the lake. I don’t love how long it takes to get to the city centre to meet my friends for a beer, but that’s okay.
Imagine my surprise to discover that something is still off, still missing???
In another recent piece on Medium, I shared the results of listening to my heart. Allowing myself to feel this way, giving myself the privilege of space and time to process my emotions, has led to me discovering that this isn’t what I want or need right now.
Despite giving myself everything I thought I wanted or needed, I soon realised that I actually need change, I need movement, I need to enter into my next seven year cycle.
I trust myself explicitly. I trust Life. I trust each emotion that passes through me and the dreams that give spice and sizzle to my life. I trust my intuition, and feel my way into the future. I trust my dreams that give me a star to wish on and a light for dark moments.
“The path of awakening is not about becoming who you are. Rather it is about unbecoming who you are not.” — Albert Schweitzer
If you, too, struggle with knowing who you are and what you want in life, you can start with finding out what you don’t want.
Feel your emotions; it is your body’s way of telling you if you are living aligned with your values. Dissatisfaction and numbness are very telling. Don’t be deaf to the urge to distract yourself away from your pain.
Follow your dreams; they are more than the light in your eyes, when you fulfil them you are actually contributing to the world in your own very unique way. (And the world desperately needs these dream-oriented contributions, not the deepfake ones for profit and capitalism.)
Trust the cycles of Life; not every moment is growth, for there is also decrease/harvest where what is valued is what is taken away. (Trees benefit from pruning. Overwatering kills most plants.)
Trust Life itself, that you are part of a great unfolding. Dream your dreams, make your plans, but release your expectations of the future and trust your place in the pattern.
And know this, to your very bones:
I am what I am and nothing can be added or taken away from my nature, regardless of my experiences.
Maybe this is all that Life is meant to be. A celebration of each person’s pure nature and natural genius as myriad pathways are walked between birth and death.
So go and make all sorts of choices! You’ll recognise the path that is meant for you.
