Nancy's Musings

I genuinely like myself - my body, my brain, my personality, my opinions, my interests and skills. But I have been around me for a long, long time, and I don't really have many secrets left for myself to discover. I have lost my novelty. I'm comfortable. I easily change sizes to fit myself. Tonight I cooked dinner for someone who didn't come home. She left me for Marvel. I watched a horror movie by myself. I did not the slightest stitch of housework (although I'm going to, because clutter is starting to bother me), and I didn't feel the slightest bit judged. I don't hate being alone. I'm not afraid of being alone, even after Mercy Black (2019). But sometimes I really want to talk, and right now that desire to talk to someone is flailing around like a fire hose, even though if I did have something specific to say, this post would be a lot more enjoyably concrete. I am not enjoyably concrete. I'm squishy, like this post. (Has sudden image of gel...

As I listened to a short sermon in church today, I was so intrigued by an idea that it sparked that I began writing a blog as soon as the meeting ended. And then my phone deleted it. But it's a really important idea that I think I really need to articulate, so I'm going to try to recreate at least the sense of it. The speaker was comparing common quotations from popular culture (including "All You Need Is Love," which I think is arguably true, at least mitigatedly) to their counterparts in scripture. I was struck by an impression that I've had before. So that I don't misrepresent what the speaker was saying, I must admit that this speaker argued explicitly that real happiness isn't possible outside of Latter-Day Saint orthodoxy. I disagree, and this post is basically going to articulate the differences I observe between those who are inside the church and on the "covenant path" and those who left it, or never enter. A dear friend and...

In recent years, I have looked forward and loved General Conference for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. The leaders gave messages of comfort, hope, counsel, and sometimes reprimand, which I sometimes processed in good mental health with optimism for the future, and sometimes they triggered spirals of self-recrimination. I don't take criticism well at this dose of Sertraline. But it was always a good experience, all-in-all. There was something I could take and run with. I felt supported by the Spirit. The conference that concluded yesterday was not so smooth. And I want to blame Facebook, but really, making conference a shared experience was painful, problematic, and also really important for helping me to understand the variety of needs of the people around me. The social media reactions to the conference generally fell into two extreme piles: those who in blissful cheer image-macro'd oversimplified quotations (or reposted them frequently and without ...

This is going to be a confession, which means that I am giving you permission to judge me -- not because I want absolution or abuse or absolution through abuse (I am only a secondary victim of my own ignorance), but because learning from the mistakes of others can make the world better, and I will sacrifice for that. For those of you triggered or injured by this confession, I am sorry, and I hope you hold me accountable in whatever way you need to. Be safe. Be well. I grew up in Southern Utah around ranchers and other white stereotypes. When I was a teenager I volunteered to help with a boy scout merit badge activity. I was assigned to help at a knot-tying station with an older man (probably in his sixties). I was much more interested in learning a new skill myself than I was in helping anybody. I'm sure I was mostly useless. Between rotation groups, the man teaching the boys how to tie clove hitches and granny squares sensed my eagerness to learn. He got a twinkle in his eye - a...

Because mental illness is alienating, one of my favorite things to do is exchange perspectives and experiences with others who share some part of my struggles. One of my dear friends was willing to write his perspective down, and gave me permission to share it here. I was intrigued by his ideas, and I think you will be, too. " Anybody with anxiety—any mental or physical illness—is often told that their illness doesn't define them. I disagree. Growing up I was always somewhat anxious about things; I was careful about how I handled and used my toys, or who I let play with them; I was not interested in being an Astronaut when everybody else thought it would be exciting; I didn't seek out the thrill rides at amusement parks, instead favoring the down-to-earth attractions like bumper cars; I was not interested in the "dares" of other children… But it wasn't until my late teens that I started to become clinically, chronically anxious. My first majo...

A member of my congregation whom I admire posted a link to this today. It's an amazing site, and one I look forward to utilizing - especially the  At the Pulpit  online resource, which offers excerpts and discourses by women in General Conference. The man who posted it prefaced the link with this quotation:  President Spencer W. Kimball said: "Someday, when the whole story of this and previous dispensations is told, it will be filled with courageous stories of our women, of their wisdom and their devotion, their courage, for one senses that perhaps, just as women were the first at the sepulchre of the Lord Jesus Christ after his resurrection, our righteous women have so often been instinctively sensitive to things of eternal consequence" ("The True Way of Life and Salvation," Apr . 1978 General Conference). I imagine it was something discussed in the BYU-Idaho devotional this morning. I'm not affiliated with the university in any way, officially or unoffic...

I have been very frustrated lately. I have been ill for more than a week, and unable to do the things I usually do. I can't babysit, fulfill my religious duties, or earn my keep in the house. I dreamt last night that I couldn't pay rent, and that I was being kicked out. (There's no real fear of that, I promise). I have been functionally unemployed (read: self-employed) for several years now, living on student loans and the generosity of others. Not only do I feel pressure to earn money to survive, but I have a desperate emotional need to feel and be useful. These feelings usually make me look around myself for a need I can fill, but everyone's needs seem to be met by others much more suitable. I don't have the social connections to people that would make my ministering to them natural and beneficial. All my connections seem so awkward and disjointed that if I tried to be useful, I would only be tolerated, for my own sake. I don't have money: I am in need. ...