“You aren’t offering me anything better!” 

Talking to my husband about his changing beliefs was one of the hardest things I did and I can remember saying something like that, probably on a number of occasions. I was so frustrated. I had something in my life that felt so good and here he was, telling me he didn’t see how it could be true anymore. 

He is one of the smartest people that I know. I couldn’t shake the feeling that if he was struggling with this, there was a reason. I hadn’t seen anyone struggle as hard as he did to feel God, understand what God was telling him, and try to make sense of how God spoke to him. It just wasn’t working for him. That was so hard for me to see and was part of the reason why I believed what he had to say held some weight.  

One thing that I think was hard for me to realize, because of how much pain I was feeling, was that he was in pain too. Sure the cognitive dissonance he’d felt trying to force himself to believe didn’t have to be there when he admitted to himself that God might not be real, but we both faced great loss. I was so blinded by my loss at the time and saw him as the person who made me face it, that it was hard for me to see his pain. He also didn’t want to make mine worse, by sharing his own fears. 

Also, he wasn’t done figuring out things for himself. He had already done a lot of research, soul searching, and pondering before talking to me, but he wasn’t done. 

I believe that the loss we both felt and the fact that we both were in the middle of figuring things out, made it hard to be at our best and to know what to say, how to cope, and how to make the processes easier. 

Where I am at now, I see things differently. I no longer feel as emotional. I’ve had a chance to grieve some of my losses. I’ve been able to see things in a new light. I’ve also learned that some of what I feared, isn’t as bad as I thought. I’ve realized that I haven’t just been asked to give up light for darkness. 

I recently read something that someone shared that brought up how they feel that those who have left the church don’t have anything better they are offering, but just want to tear it down. I felt this in my greatest moments of pain. I see where they are coming from and I think they have some points, but that that statement isn’t all true. 

I think that it is human nature to focus on what we don’t agree on, especially for topics that are very important to us and when we feel attacked. This doesn’t mean there aren’t things we both agree on, but I think it’s hard to validate what those are. I just recently was having a conversation with someone and this got brought up. I was very struck by their thoughts on how they thought that doing this (just responding to what they had a question about or didn’t agree on) had potentially hurt a relationship. I thought it was brave and very wise of them to see and admit. I also admired them for trying so hard to do better now and could see how as they did that, I felt much more understood. It made me realize the value in sharing what we agree on as well. 

Where I am I going with this? How does this tie back to, “You aren’t offering me anything better!”? 

I think that often we are going about conversations wrong. I think it would be much more powerful if we could shift how we communicate. 

What would happen if we not only shared the areas that we differed on, but also the areas we agreed on? 

For example, I’ve realized that I care even more about being a good person now than when I could fully believe in the teachings of the LDS church. I plan on sharing my thoughts on this in a later blog. My point is, I can still agree that having charity, being kind, being loving, being grateful, being humble, having empathy, etc. are all wonderful things! That hasn’t changed. I still have that light. 

Yes, as I said, I have faced some loss. In that aspect, perhaps some good was lost and not replaced with something that feels better. Although, I don’t know how it can. I used to have complete faith that I would live after death, be with my family forever, be able to become like God, and that this earthly existence was just a small moment in eternity for me. I struggled with depression as I realized that I no longer could believe that with certainty — that other possibilities existed that weren’t as wonderful. 

As I reflect back on my earlier struggle as my own beliefs shifted while talking to Haru, I wonder how it could have been better. I don’t have all the answers, but I think I’ve thought of something that would have helped. I wish that what we agreed on could have been focused on more. Even if that was that it was hard losing hope in things that had been so wonderful for both of us. It would have been nice to agree that it had felt great to believe that we’d have an eternal marriage and wouldn’t just end after this life. What if we’d been able to establish that we still felt it was important to be good, charitable, thoughtful people? In some ways we did. Our conversations weren’t without these elements, but they weren’t the focal point. What we disagreed on and were struggling with was the focus. I wonder if it would have been easier to figure things out, if instead of focusing on the two different sides we thought we were on, we built a bridge and met somewhere in the middle? 

What would happen if we worked to validate each other and find a middle ground for hard topics? 

I don’t have all the answers, but for me, the times I’ve tried, I have felt more connected with those I talk to and feel like I learn more. I’m grateful for all those who do validate me, find where we can agree, and have respect when we can’t. 

I can’t help but wonder if my husband and I had been able to focus more on what we agreed on, if we both wouldn’t have felt so alone, misunderstood, and hurt. Perhaps I wouldn’t have had to yell things like, “You aren’t offering anything better!” and I could have seen that there was good on both sides.