Zelophehad's Daughters

It is a melancholy object to all of us, whether in the heart of Zion or the fringes of the so-called “mission field,” to see how women who dress to flaunt their shapely knees and calves, or who purchase backpacks with only one strap to wear across the chest and make their double-breastedness evident to all, assail the hapless eyes of the red-blooded and vigorous boys and men around them. These pitiable men are captive to the sight of the female body, with its mincing steps and outstretched neck, on which they cannot gaze without losing themselves utterly to a deluge of lustful and wicked transportations.

Indeed, some women dress so as to turn men into walking pornographers.

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Husband and I just got assigned to speak and the topic is….

::drumroll::

“Crises of Faith” Read More

About a month ago, this comment was posted over at the 100 Hour Board (a BYU-sponsored student Q&A forum):

When I was growing up, my family had very little money and new clothes were rarely in the budget. Read More

Sunday was Pioneer Day, which got me to thinking about our cult of pioneer worship and how, even though we give lip service to the idea that any convert is a “pioneer,” of sorts, I get the impression that many people who don’t have pioneer ancestors (in the traditional sense of the word) don’t feel much of a connection to the holiday.

I propose, therefore, that January 24th (six months after Pioneer Day) be celebrated as Converts’ Day. Read More

My ward’s high councilman warned us recently not to Google “Mormon.”

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I know I still owe the blog the rest of my engagement story, but I wrote this post awhile ago (last year), and I need to wrap up this series since I’m not actually going to be single much longer. In regards to the contents of this post, while I am now engaged, I still think there’s truth to the rant that it contains. Also, I feel like I just got really, really lucky finding my fiance (and that I didn’t find him because I followed anyone’s dating advice).

People who have “succeeded” at getting married often view themselves as experts on dating, especially the type of dating that leads to marriage. Read More

I hope anyone who reads this can do it with an open, nonjudgmental eye.  Like Tirzah has felt in her recent posts, I’m a little nervous to be writing this out since I’m afraid others will react with pity, condemnation, disapproval, fear, or other manifestations of guilt-inducing negativity.  I became part of ZD because I needed a place to write my truth since I felt so completely paralyzed to do so in my “real world” life and I knew others felt just like me.  So…when you comment, please just give me a little kindness if you can.  The only way to ever have a real discussion in this world is with kindness.  Plus, this is a straight-faced fact finding mission as well as a confession-post, so I really would like to hear what you know.

A couple of weeks ago, my husband and I decided to accept a position to work for a couple years over in Europe.   It’s a testament to how tormented I’ve been these past few years about my church attendance since the first, numero uno, number one “pro” about moving there was, “Won’t have to go to church in a ward…or ever…if I want.”

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In commenting, please respect the sensitive nature of this issue. And as is standard for eating disorder recovery discussion, do not use numbers in your comments (weight, calories, etc.)—any such numbers will be edited.

Note: I originally posted this under the name “Tirzah.”

Though my experiences at church have often been painful (as I described in my last post), I do think many LDS teachings have a lot to offer when it comes to countering the demons of eating disorders. I would begin with the most basic idea that we are children of God.  Read More

FMH has been having a fun conversation about the meaning of different Mormon labels. I think these kinds of conversations, about categorization and what it means, are definitely worth having. But almost inevitably in any such conversation, a contingent of people will argue that we should abandon labels altogether.

To put it simply: I think this is crazy.

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I have a smartphone that I love. Last Christmas, I betrayed my sister Elbereth at the last minute (we were planning to both get an iPhone4), and opted for a Nexus S. I morphed into an addict in no time at all; last week I forgot it one day, and found myself ridiculously anxious and unsettled. I spend far too much time on it, using various apps, playing games, reading my email, texting, checking Facebook, and so forth.

The only feature of the phone about which I am ambivalent is the fact that it’s a phone. Because I’m somewhat skittish of phones. Read More

In commenting, please respect the sensitive nature of this issue. And as is standard for eating disorder recovery discussion, do not use numbers in your comments (weight, calories, etc.)—any such numbers will be edited.

Note: I originally posted this under the name “Tirzah.”

I’ve found, unsurprisingly, that one of the more challenging aspects of recovering from an eating disorder is that of living in a culture that is pretty much crazy when it comes to issues of food and eating and the way that bodies are supposed to look. I wish I could say that it doesn’t get to me, but it does. Even when I can intellectually critique these messages, they still sting. I do my best to stay grounded by keeping in touch with the bubbles of sanity in my life: therapists and therapy groups, my comrades in recovery, supportive siblings and friends—people who challenge the toxic ideas that are so pervasive, remind me what I really care about and want in life.

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In commenting, please respect the sensitive nature of this issue. And as is standard for eating disorder recovery discussion, do not use numbers in your comments (weight, calories, etc.)—any such numbers will be edited.

Note: I originally posted this under the name “Tirzah.”

I’m never been afraid of airplanes. Spiders aren’t my favorite, but I can grit my teeth and squash them. I can deal with heights. I’m a little jumpy around dogs I don’t know, but am fine once we get acquainted. I once randomly looked up a list of phobias, and realized how many things I am not afraid of: cats, fog, writing.

But mirrors. Mirrors are a problem. Not so much in the sense of a phobia. More like a substance that might be deadly, but that you still find yourself poking, to see if it is still dangerous. A bad experience with a mirror can leave me reeling, sap my energy, plunge me into a sick despair. And even when I do my best to avoid obsessing over my reflection, in a world in which cell phone cameras are everywhere, I can still find myself unexpectedly confronted with a picture that reminds me that I take up far too much space. Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to live in a premodern society in which mirrors were less ubiquitous and photographs did not exist.

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So, I know that a number of months ago, I made a post about how I got engaged, and then I proceeded to disappear. My life has been pretty insane since then (work, health problems, wedding planning, etc.), but I wanted to give everyone an update on my life.

So, here’s the first part of the story: Read More

Like most everyone I know, I’ve been pretty entertained by this whole the-world-is-ending-on-May-21 spectacle. I’ve gotten a kick of those who are planning post-rapture looting parties, or are signing up to be the caretakers of the pets of those who are raptured. I looked through several fabulous pamphlets, including “Another Infallible Proof” and “I Hope God Will Save Me,” from which I learned that about three percent of the population will be saved; that the Bible contains multiple infallible proofs, related to both the timing of the Flood and the Crucifixion; that God’s message is not meant to be easily understood; and that gay pride is a sign of the end.
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When I was a kid, I would have said that one of the basic problems of my family was excessive geographical closeness. Not only were we all stuck in the same house, several of us were usually stuck sharing the same room. For a while I was with Kiskilili and Eve, and I can remember many conflicts over whether the door would be open or closed at night (I think at some point we had a chart of who got to decide on which day), and arguments which arose from different levels of desired tidiness. I still remember the drama which occurred when one of my toys made its way under Eve’s bed, and she claimed that anything which overflowed into her part of the room could be claimed as her own. I was on the top of a bunkbed, and Kiskililli was on the bottom, and I thought I was very clever when I proposed that our responsibility should be to clean underneath our respective beds. I later shared a larger room with Eve, which did not really ameliorate the tension, since she had to shovel my stuff back into my side of the room, and at one point I had a sheet hung around my bed so that I could hide from her. Then it was sharing with Kiskilili, which had its own amount of drama, as we alternated between playing elaborate games, and fighting. (I also had multiple hamsters, and K had a gerbil for a while, and this added to the general chaos.) Finally I got my own room when Eve left for college, and while I would like to say I was sad that she left, it would not really be true. Read More

[co-written with Melyngoch]

In his forty-two years of political power, Muammar Gaddafi has usually not been shy about owning his position: Read More

I think Shel Silverstein’s The Giving Tree is the most terrifying of all the “beloved” children’s books ever written. Read More