Final Thoughts on Sharing and Our Mormon Project

I shared this email with my dad via email in a PDF format. My parents’ knew about this relationship and they watched the ups and downs for about a year before they didn’t want to hear about it anymore. It got to the point where my mom wouldn’t talk to me and I didn’t want to talk to my dad because he was very negative. I recognize now that their behavior occurred because they felt helpless and didn’t know how to help me; they also felt my behavior was aimed at them as a way to hurt them (which it wasn’t). I felt hurt that they weren’t there for me when I needed them most and they made the experience about them, but when I decided to kick him out of my life they came right back into my life and were very supportive.

Sending him the essay felt like opening that wound a little bit because it brought out the sadness he and my mom experienced.  But I hadn’t told him about the dream so that clarified things for him and we were able to talk about it through email and then more in depth when I got home. My favorite quote from him about the situation was this: “It probably goes to show how blinded in bad relationships people can become; as perplexing as it is, the loving explanation of one or both parents sometimes don't shed light on the situation for the person involved - even creating resentment which is of course, exactly not what is needed.”

Essay Drafting

Over the course of the semester, our class worked on a personal essay project that taught us how to embrace our identity as Mormon writers while remaining true to our literary roots. We went through multiple drafts, striving to develop focus on topics and moments in our lives that would be engaging to readers while also incorporating connections to the Book of Mormon. This was a difficult process that had frustrations as we tried to find balance and triumphs as we shared our stories and learned just how powerful opening up in a literary way can be.

To help you (future ENGL 268 writers, English Department faculty, friends and family, random internet trolls) understand how we got to this point, we've compiled a record on our experience with developing solid personal essays.

Hooked Final Draft

Sometimes abuse leaves scars you can't see. 

Drops of water slid down the ends of my hair, making gentle impact on the fluffy tufts of my duvet. I could hear my roommates watching television in the living room.  

“Mandy,” he said, his voice echoing through my phone, suddenly serious.

“Yes?” I said with a nervous laugh, wondering what he would say. He’d started calling me on the phone every night before we went to bed. His voice was the last thing I heard before falling asleep, and I loved that.

“I like you.”

It was nice to hear him say it out loud.

“I like you too,” I said.

“No,” he paused. “I really like you.”

He didn’t say anything after that, so I told him I really liked him too. He was pleased, but his tone was still tight.

“It’s just...whenever I’ve really liked someone, I’ve always screwed it up. It never works out.”

“This time will be different,” I said with confidence. “You won’t screw it up with me.”

We said goodnight and I cuddled myself into the wall, my phone tucked under the covers as my favorite text from him flashed across the screen:

“Que suenes con los angeles.” (Dream with the angels)

Action Plan for Personal Essays & Videos

It was hard for me to decide who to share my essay with. I don't want to burden people with it because it's kind of heavy and I also don't want it to seem like I'm seeking their praise by sharing it with them. But after realizing the point of this assignment and the essay itself isn't about me, rather it's about bringing people to the Book of Mormon through the light in our writing, it became clear who I should share it with.

1. My Mom: I kind of hint at this in the free writes and drafts we've done for this class, but my relationship with my mother struggled when I was with the guy. She couldn't stand how unhappy I was, and it got to the point where she wouldn't talk to me because it made her too sad. That was really hard because my mom is my best friend and my confidant. I already felt so alone because of everything that was going on and when she wasn't someone I could go to for comfort things were really dark. I'm going to email her the final video and a link to the essay and then talk with her about it on the phone. I want to hear what she thinks and to see if she's better able to understand what I was going through, especially why it was so hard for me to end it even once I realized it was bad.

2. My friend Macie: Macie was with me for all of it through the year and a half. She was vocal with comfort and also gave advice that I trusted. She's commented on how much I've changed since I got him out of my life, and I hope by reading my essay she'll be able to see the full extent of the progress. I want to give her the essay and then meet up with her in person and talk about it, and also share my gratitude with her for all of the support and love she's shown me.

3. My roommate Rachael: I read the first (and second) drafts of the essay to Rachael for an earlier blog post assignment, so she's asked about where the final draft is going. I will give her a physical copy and see how she responds by talking about it in person.

4. My cousin Kristen: She was in a very abusive relationship for a couple of years and only recently got out of it. I've been connecting with her a lot more recently via Snapchat and Facebook (and at a family reunion this summer), and I would be interested to hear her perspective on my essay.

5. (Maybe) The guy I'm seeing now: I recently got into a happy, healthy relationship. This man and I have talked a little bit about our exes, including the one I wrote about in the essay. I didn't go into much detail about all of it, but some of the insecurities and fears I developed from that unhealthy relationship have resurfaced as I've started to be with this man. He's helping me work through them and willing to talk about things, which is such a blessing. Maybe showing him this will help him see why I struggle with some things and help us grow closer together.

6. Facebook friends: I really love Romney's essay so I'm going to post a link for his essay on my Facebook. I think it's something people who I'm friends with (especially the English majors) will enjoy a lot because of the vivid descriptions and the emotions it evokes.

7.

Taking Back the Narrative

Link to video

This video follows option two (introduce your essay without the Book of Mormon element).

The first five attempts I did felt forced and choppy. I was frustrated that the emotion my essay evokes when I read it at a normal pace didn't come across when I was rushing through it for the time frame. To combat this, I decided to just wing it and see what came out. The video felt significantly more real because instead of trying to inflect emotion into words while reading from a script, the feelings came out naturally when I was candid. This helped me decide what to focus on and led to the second "winging it" attempt, which I shared the link to underneath the screenshot.

I believed I could make things go back to how they were with the guy I was dating if I could figure out what I did wrong and fix it. This thought process is common in physically and/or emotionally abusive relationships. While I had very mild problems compared to the countless men and women who face much more serious abuse, my eyes were opened to the pain that comes when someone mistreats you and blames their behavior on you.

My favorite part of the video is the idea of taking back my narrative. I let this relationship define me for too long, and writing about it and working on these videos gives me closure. I don't hear his voice in my head anymore. Maybe that's because all of the pain associated with our relationship isn't throbbing inside me; now it's channeled into an essay that I hope will help someone recognize if they are in a similar situation and realize they can and should get out.

In terms of the assignment, I'm not convinced this option is the best way to do it, but I also didn't think it's a bad way either. I do think making a place for the Book of Mormon would be ideal if we could do it in a natural way that doesn't come off as preachy, though I struggled trying to figure out how to do that myself.

I'm excited to watch the other videos and see how we can learn from each other to create a project that will allow us to share our stories in a literary, meaningful way.

Hooked (Personal Essay Draft 1)

Drops of water slid down the ends of my hair, making gentle impact on the fluffy tufts of my duvet. My skin was still hot from the shower, and the cold air of my northern bedroom stung my exposed fingers and cheeks. The wind popped the huge glass windows next to my bed, and I could hear my roommates watching television in the living room.  

“Mandy,” he said, his voice echoing through my phone, suddenly serious.

“Yes?” I said with a nervous laugh, wondering what he would say. He’d started calling me on the phone every night at midnight before we both went to bed. His voice was the last thing I heard before falling asleep, and I loved that.

“I like you.”

It was nice to hear him say it out loud.

“I like you too,” I said.

“No,” he paused. “I really like you.”

He didn’t say anything after that, so I told him I really liked him too. He was pleased, but his tone was still tight.

“It’s just...whenever I’ve really liked someone, I’ve always screwed it up. It never works out.”

I didn’t know how to respond to his confession. I wasn’t worried about what he’d said; he was good to me and we had chemistry, so I figured he was just afraid of commitment. I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it.

“This time will be different,” I said with confidence. “You won’t screw it up with me.”

We said goodnight and I cuddled myself into the wall, my phone tucked under the covers as my favorite text from him flashed across the screen:

“Que suenes con los angeles.” (Dream with the angels)

We dated in tumultuous, unofficial cycles for sixteen months. He became everything to me. But I wasn’t enough for him, and that slowly became apparent. I never got that text from him again.

“I just don’t know, Mandy,” he'd say exasperatedly in the car. He kept his eyes on the steering wheel each time we had this conversation, then he’d soften and turn to me as he tried to explain why he needed more time. 

“I can’t keep doing this!” I’d exclaim, annoyed that he needed “more time” when he’d already had a year and a half.

“Then don’t,” he’d say, his cold, blank eyes staring out the window shield.

I’d bristle and deflate at the same time, until he’d quietly say:

“You deserve better than me anyway.”

And there it was: the hook he loved to offer me. And oh, how I loved to attach myself to it. I would immediately feel bad for pressuring him to make a decision, so I’d apologize. He’d tell me how hard commitment was for him, and I’d tell him I could wait, I didn’t mind. We’d make up and I’d climb the stairs to my apartment with an ugly heaviness that manifested itself in ripped out hair and bloodshot eyes reflecting in the bathroom mirror at four a.m. 

I thought the pain meant it was real.  

So I kept getting back in his car; I kept ignoring his constantly buzzing phone; I kept ignoring the way his roommates looked at me with a mix of pity and sickening amusement; I kept ignoring the way he flirted with other girls; I kept ignoring the way my body shrunk into itself when I talked about him to my friends; I kept ignoring how much I missed talking to my mother; I kept ignoring how I hadn’t felt connected to God in months.

But the time came when I wasn’t allowed to ignore it anymore.

The dream came on a Wednesday afternoon after I’d gotten home from work. I don’t take naps, so the pull to lie down was strange, but sleep was immediate.

I realized I was throwing a party. My mother was there, though she lives in Illinois. I heard a knock at the door then he walked in.

Suddenly the party was at the pool where he and I liked to go. We were in the hot tub and I was grazing my fingers across his collarbone like I always did, but I noticed something was coming out of it.

Saliva pooled in my mouth and my cheeks rippled with revulsion as I realized there were hundreds of tiny bones ripping through his skin. They grew multiple inches long, resembling the crispy, jointed legs of a tarantula. And they were waving out of his neck at me.

I pulled away in the water but the bones continued to pulse back and forth underneath his chin. I pinched my eyelids to escape the grotesque scene, but I couldn’t wake up.

“Mandy, we need to talk,” he said, getting out of the water.

I couldn’t stop staring at the bones.

“I’ll go grab my stuff,” he said as he walked away.

My mother came to me then. Her green eyes were so vivid, so present that I was sure she was actually there in the dream with me.

“Why don’t you see him for what he is?” she asked. “All of us,” she said pointing to the rest of the people, “see him. But you don’t.”

Then he was back. He went to shake my mother’s hand but he couldn’t; their hands couldn’t connect.

“Don’t go with him,” she said.

But I did.

We were walking to his car when I realized there was another woman with us.

“Who is that?” I asked.

“Oh, she’s with me,” he said as he kept walking.

I stopped. “I thought you wanted to talk?”

“I do, aren’t you coming?” he asked, turning around.

The woman looked back at me, sensed my confusion, and then said:

“I’ll always be with him.”

She was right.

I ran until I reached the parking lot. I saw my mother and her car so I jumped in the driver’s side and locked the door.

Then I screamed. The loudest, throat-ripping, guttural upheaval escaped my mouth and reverberated around the car. When it was over, my mom looked at me with her knowing green eyes and smiled.

I woke shaking on the couch. 

I didn’t want to acknowledge this dream. God’s given people dreams of warning for a long time, and it was frightening to realize I’d become one of them. Like the man who had to uproot his family from everything they held dear to go on an uncharted and difficult journey across the world, it was time for me to let go of my life too. Like the man who turned away from God and was filled with the absolute torment such sin necessitates, I was now awfully aware of the situation I was in. 

But in the midst of the pain and the remorse and the fear of who I would be without him, I started to become untangled. It was slow-coming, and it required action. So I told him I was done. I stopped answering his texts. I ended my commitments that involved him. And I let myself be sad, because I was.

Each step sent me spinning, but it also slid the hook further and further out of my throat.

Finding Courage in a Friend

I chose to share my personal essay with my roommate who is not a member of the Church. Because our essays aim to include the Book of Mormon along with our personal experience, I thought she would provide a good perspective because she is not familiar with Book of Mormon stories and she would tell me if something didn't flow. Sometimes as members of the Church we forget that not everyone knows these accounts and we need to be mindful of that if our goal is to appeal to people who do not share our faith. 

We began with this draft of my essay. She said she liked the part with the dream; she said the descriptions were clear and helped her feel my emotion. However, she said starting with the story of Lehi turned her off and she suggested I bring in the religious aspect at the end. She also said she wished the essay gave more background on my relationship. While she knows the story with that guy, she said she didn't feel like the second draft gave the reader enough reasoning for why I would experience such a dream.

After hearing her suggestions, I read the first draft to her. I didn’t originally post it on our blog because I was worried it was too personal (I’ve gone back and taken out some identifying details). She loved this draft. She said it was considerably more powerful because it shows I’m a real person and it shows how much pain I was in. She said the first draft I read to her felt preachy and out of place, but the way I incorporated the Book of Mormon in the second reading was significantly more compelling.

Reading the original draft to her was hard; my voice was shaking and I felt really vulnerable. But seeing how moved she was and hearing how she never realized how badly I was hurting made me realize I have something in that draft to build on. That feeling was confirmed when she said she felt it could help people who are in similar relationships (and even people who receive dreams from God) to talk about what they’re going through. This is a story I need to share, not only to help myself heal, but also to help other people understand what it feels like to be in an emotionally abusive relationship. 

Bottled Fruit by Melissa Dalton Bradford

I don't read titles. While I inadvertently do when clicking links for newspaper articles online or selecting titles from the shelves at the library, I unconsciously (until three minutes ago) don't look at them. Maybe that comes from a sense of wanting to let the work speak for itself and trying to prevent the formulation of a pre-conceived opinion, or maybe it stems from overeagerness to start reading. Sometimes it's because I'm lazy! Whatever the reason in this poem, my title-blindness kept me from recognizing I was reading about canning until I hit the third stanza.

It's not that the author is not clear in her subject matter. On the contrary, her elegant, personifying descriptions clearly set the scene when I went back for a second and third reading. But canning, a prominent theme in Mormon home culture because of its ties to food storage, has always been a messy, old-fashioned practice in my mind. It stirs memories of lugging dusty Mason jars up the stairs from my grandparents' damp basement to a hole in their garden to dump expired peaches and pickles. They always made this terrible plopping, oozing noise when they met the earth and it didn't help that the hole started to resemble a fairground port-a-potty.

In "Fruit," however, canning becomes the vehicle for a beautiful ode to the author's mother. Her tone is inviting and nostalgic as she shows her mothers' deep love and desire to provide for her children (both in her life and after she passed on) through her willingness to sacrifice and prepare.

"Let us go then, you and I, to visit those cellars
of all my mothers and their mothers and mothers,
who considered shelf life over self life..."

Her mother would give up the luscious, tangy flesh of a summer peach fresh from the tree and preserve it to satisfy her need to provide. Perhaps one day her stores of fruit and vegetables will outlast her, allowing her to still nourish her children with a meal made by her hands though she has left mortality. The insurance of shelf life was more important to her than instant gratification for her self life, which is a theme that rings true in Mormon culture as well.

P.S. If anyone has time to read the second draft of my personal essay and share feedback on how I can improve it I would really appreciate the input.

More Than Enough

Accounts across history document sacred experiences between man and the Divine; moments when the soul connects with deity and clarity is achieved. These communications vary in their form; some involve visitations from angels, while others bear record of physically seeing the Lord Himself. Many accounts document sacred dreams where the recipient receives a message he or she believes to have come from a divine source.

Lehi, a man living in Jerusalem during King Zedekiah’s reign, received such a dream from God. He was instructed to assemble his family and to leave their material possessions behind to undertake a journey to the Promised Land. Two of Lehi’s children doubted their father and his dream, calling him a foolish and visionary man. God warned Lehi that he and his family would be destroyed if they remained on their current path in Jerusalem, so they pressed forward in faith into the unknown.

This dream was life changing for Lehi and all of his posterity. It prompted a move across the planet and set their lives on completely different paths. The dream brought about difficult circumstances; turning brother against brother, subjecting the family to hunger and strife throughout their journey, and ultimately causing wars in the family’s new homeland. But it also brought immeasurable good because it spread knowledge of Christ and His gospel to countless people, both in the past and today.

These life-changing dreams still happen. God continues to speak to His children, and sometimes that happens through dreams of warning like Lehi experienced. After a year and a half in a very unhealthy relationship, God sent me a dream like that.

It came on an August afternoon after I’d gotten home from work. I don’t take naps, but I felt a strong pull to lie down on the couch. Sleep took me immediately.

I realized I was throwing a party in my apartment. My mom was there, which was strange because she lives in Illinois. I started to walk over to her, but there was a knock at the door and then the man I was seeing walked in.

Suddenly the party was at an outdoor pool where he and I liked to go at night. We were in the hot tub and I was grazing my fingers across his collarbone like I always did. It seemed intimate to touch him here, on this bone that felt vulnerable because it was so close to his heart. I was running the pad of my fingertip along the top ridge when I noticed something was coming out of it.

Saliva pooled in my mouth and my cheeks rippled with revulsion as I watched my tender place distort. Hundreds of tiny bones began to rip through his skin, slowly unfurling like a hand. They were thin and grew four inches long, taking form as the clicking, jointed legs of a tarantula. They were waving at me.

I tasted metallic and pulled away in the water, repulsed by the squirming bones that continued to pulse back and forth underneath his chin. I pinched my eyelids to escape the grotesque scene, but I couldn’t wake up.

“Mandy, we need to talk,” he said.

I couldn’t stop staring at the bones.

“I’ll go grab my stuff,” he said as he climbed out of the water.

My mother came to me then. Her green eyes were so aware; they had the same vivid intensity my deceased grandpa or grandma’s eyes had when I’d seen them in previous dreams. This distinction made me realize that while my body was asleep, my soul was very much awake and there was a message for me.

“Why don’t you see him for what he is?” she asked. “All of us,” she said pointing to the rest of the people at the party, “see him. But you don’t.”

Then he was back. He went to shake my mother’s hand but he couldn’t; their hands wouldn’t connect. An invisible obstacle blocked the contact, so he walked away from her and motioned for me to follow.

“Don’t go with him,” she said.

But I did.

We were walking to his car when I realized there was another woman with us. She was on his other side, an ethereal blonde like Galadriel in Lord of the Rings. 

“Who is that?” I asked.

“Oh, she’s with me,” he said as he kept walking.

I stopped. “I thought you wanted to talk?”

“I do, aren’t you coming?” he asked, turning around.

The woman looked back at me. She seemed to sense my confusion, then she said:

“I’ll always be with him.”

The dream slowed down. Her words confirmed a truth I had suspected but ignored for over a year. I knew there were other girls. But I had always believed he would choose me in the end. 

I was wrong.

I ran from them until I reached the parking lot. I saw my mom and her car so I jumped in the driver’s side and locked the doors.

Then I screamed. A raw, carnal upheaval exploded out of my mouth and reverberated around the car with spectacular force. I couldn’t stop it, and I felt my jaw crack from the strain of the sound.

When it finally ended, my mom turned to me with her knowing green eyes and she smiled.

I woke shaking on the couch in the night.

I had never feared God or His power until that moment. There was no doubt in my mind that this dream was from Him, and His message to get out of my relationship was clear. But I didn’t want to acknowledge it. This was partly because I loved that man, despite the emotional pain I was in throughout our relationship. But more than that I was frightened to join the league of people who receive dreams from God because that meant I was on a really bad path if He felt the need to intervene. 

It took me two weeks to accept the dream and act, and that meant not only ending my relationship but also my commitments that involved him. I’d revolved my life around him for so long that I didn’t recognize myself or my daily routine once he was gone. Not only had our relationship died, but it also felt like part of me had too.

I ached for him and felt my heart rip each time he’d post a picture with a new girl. I ended the relationship but I still cared and it killed me to realize he didn’t. His absence from my life tore me apart once he was gone and the scars are still pink.  

But I never doubt the dream or the actions it inspired. I still hurt. Mr. Right hasn't suddenly appeared. Yet my life is changing and I am starting to be okay. 

Lehi's dream saved his family and millions of souls that came after him. My dream probably won't have such an incredible effect, but it saved me. And that is more than enough.