Letting Them Be Wrong About You

The Impossible Skill for Ex-Mormon ADHD Brains

Three days ago, my mother called me anti-Mormon.

Not with venom. With love. With genuine concern wrapped in careful words, the kind that come from someone who’s been trying desperately to understand. She’s read articles about faith transitions. She’s bitten back judgments. She’s worked harder than almost anyone in my family to meet me where I am.

But when I tried to explain how the church uses “anti-Mormon” as a thought-stopping term—how talking about the ways you were harmed shouldn’t make you anti-Mormon any more than criticizing the president makes you anti-American—she held firm.

The term stuck. I was categorized. Filed away in a framework I couldn’t escape.

And here’s the devastating irony: I teach my coaching clients this exact skill all the time. Letting people be wrong about you is essential for mental health.

But right now? I’m failing spectacularly at my own advice.

Most of my family thinks I’m deceived. That I’ve been led astray by worldly philosophies. That I’m prioritizing my “authentic self” over following Christ. Some pray for me to return like the prodigal son. Others have worked incredibly hard to be loving, understanding, and supportive. And I see that effort, I genuinely do.

But even the ones who try hardest to accept me still see me through a lens I can’t escape. Even when they’re being kind, even when they bite their tongues about disagreements, even when they show up for me in beautiful ways. They still see me as someone who’s been influenced by ideas that are leading me away from truth. The lens isn’t always harsh. Sometimes it’s wrapped in love and concern. But it’s still a lens that can’t quite see me clearly.

And even though I know better, even though I understand intellectually why they have to see me this way, it still hurts like hell.

Because what I didn’t account for when I learned this skill was the intersection of ADHD, religious trauma, and Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria. A perfect storm that makes letting people be wrong about you nearly impossible.

Why This Is Uniquely Hard

I spent forty years being misunderstood in the Mormon church. My ADHD symptoms weren’t seen as neurological differences but as spiritual deficiencies:

• My talking meant I was irreverent

• My forgetfulness proved I was unfaithful

• My struggles with discipline demonstrated weak faith

• My emotional dysregulation was evidence of pride and rebellion

I was always “too much.” Too loud, too talkative, too intense. I got sent to the hall during Primary for talking. I disrupted the sacred atmosphere of sacrament meeting just by existing in my body.

Then I left the church. And I discovered the devastating truth: the system was broken, not me.

My ADHD wasn’t a character flaw. Time blindness is a real neurological condition. Executive dysfunction isn’t laziness. Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria means my brain experiences perceived rejection as physical pain.

For the first time in my life, I understood myself. I finally had language for why I’d always struggled with things that seemed easy for everyone else. The relief was indescribable.

But my family? They can only understand my departure through the lens they’ve been given by the church. And that lens doesn’t have a category for “she finally became herself.”

Last weekend at Conference

October 2025 general conference happened just this last weekend. My family sat in their living rooms or at the conference center, notebooks open, ready to receive guidance. And what they heard—what they’re still processing, what they’ll reference for the next six months—continued to shape the lens they see me through.

This wasn’t decades-old fire and brimstone about apostates. This was subtle, “loving”, contemporary teaching that makes my healing journey look like spiritual danger.

“Put Off Worldly Culture”

Apostle Gerrit W. Gong taught that Christ’s followers must “put off the natural man and worldly culture.”

This language creates a framework where anything that doesn’t align with church teaching becomes “worldly”. A spiritual danger to be resisted. The work I’m doing to heal from religious trauma? Worldly. The authenticity I’m finally embracing? Worldly. The boundaries I’m setting? Worldly culture.

“Identity from Covenants, Not the World”

Elder B. Corey Cuvelier taught: “Our identity isn’t defined by the world, but our discipleship is defined by the ordinances we receive, the covenants we keep, and the love we show to God and neighbor.”

To a believing member, this sounds beautiful. But here’s what it means for understanding someone who’s left: Any identity you’ve discovered outside of church covenants is “worldly.” Your hard-won understanding of yourself? That’s letting the world define you instead of letting God define you.

The implication is clear: discovering who you are apart from church roles and expectations is spiritually dangerous.

“Worldly Influences That Weaken Your Foundation”

Elder Ulisses Soares warned: “Cultivating temperance is a meaningful way to protect our souls against the subtle yet constant spiritual erosion caused by worldly influences that can weaken our foundation in Jesus Christ.”

Notice the language: “subtle yet constant spiritual erosion.” This creates hypervigilance about anything outside strict church teaching. It frames exploration, questioning, and growth as erosion rather than development.

“Christlike” Over “Authentic”

And then there’s the quote from a few years ago that always haunts my subconscious. Apostle Quentin L. Cook taught: “Being sincerely Christlike is an even more important goal than being authentic.”

Read that again.

Your authentic self—if it conflicts with church-defined “Christlike” behavior—should be suppressed. Being true to yourself takes a back seat to conforming to the institutional definition of discipleship.

This is the lens through which even loving family members must see your journey: You’ve chosen authenticity over Christ. You’ve prioritized being yourself over being righteous. You’ve let worldly ideas about self-discovery replace eternal truth.

What This Lens Cannot See

This framework makes certain realities invisible to believing members, no matter how much they love you.

The Trauma Recovery Work

After leaving, many of us spend years in therapy learning to:

• Feel our feelings without shame

• Recognize our own needs as valid

• Set boundaries without guilt

• Discover preferences we suppressed for decades

• Build an identity beyond assigned church roles

To members, this looks like dangerous self-focus. “The world exalts behaviors born of aggressiveness, arrogance, impatience and excessiveness,” Elder Soares warned, describing what the “world” promotes.

But what we’re actually doing is healing from:

• Being taught our authentic selves were never good enough

• Suppressing emotions because they weren’t “spirit-like”

• Believing our worth came from how well we served others

• Having no language for our own desires, only what we “should” want

This recovery work—learning to know ourselves, name our feelings, claim our needs—gets filtered through the “worldly self-focus” lens. To them, we’re succumbing to individualism and selfishness. To us, we’re finally learning to be human.

The Identity Reconstruction

For forty years, my identity was defined by:

• Wife (eternal companion, helpmeet to priesthood holder)

• Mother (primary purpose, sacred calling)

• Relief Society sister (visiting teacher, compassionate server)

• Temple-worthy member (garment-wearer, covenant-keeper)

These weren’t just roles—they were my entire sense of self.

After leaving, I had to discover: Who am I when I’m not performing these roles? What do I actually enjoy? What are MY values, separate from prescribed ones? What does MY spirituality look like? Who is the authentic me beneath all those assigned identities?

But through the current church teaching lens, this looks like abandoning my “true identity” as a child of God for temporary, worldly labels. Elder Cuvelier specifically taught that “our truest and most enduring identity comes from taking upon ourselves the name of Christ... rather than relying on temporary titles or worldly labels.”

There’s no category in this framework for “discovering the self that was suppressed by assigned roles” or “building an identity beyond institutional expectations.” There’s only “covenant identity” (good) vs. “worldly identity” (dangerous).

The Boundary Setting

Learning to say no. Learning that I don’t have to justify my choices. Learning that disappointing others is sometimes necessary for my wellbeing. Learning that my needs matter too.

These skills—essential for healthy adult functioning—look like selfishness through the church lens. After all, aren’t we taught to “lose ourselves in service”? Isn’t self-sacrifice the highest virtue?

President Oaks taught that “following Christ and giving ourselves in service to one another is the best remedy for the selfishness and individualism that now seems so common.”

So when I set boundaries, when I prioritize my wellbeing, when I say no to demands that deplete me, my family can only interpret this through the “selfishness and individualism” framework. There’s no category for “healthy boundaries” or “self-care” that doesn’t sound like spiritual danger.

And “worldly” now includes evidence-based psychological concepts. Attachment theory. Trauma-informed care. Cognitive behavioral therapy. Dialectical behavior therapy. These aren’t seen as tools for healing—they’re “philosophies of men” that compete with priesthood authority and spiritual guidance.

The Knife Twist of Loving Misunderstanding

The family members who work hardest to be supportive are sometimes the most painful, because you can see them trying to love you through a lens that won’t let them see you clearly. You watch them choose kindness while still believing you’re deceived.

My mother is trying harder than most parents would. My ex-Mormon friends are jealous of how much effort my parents put into understanding me, into maintaining relationship, into trying to love unconditionally even when my choices terrify them. And they’re right to be jealous. Many people lose their families entirely. Mine is still here, still trying.

But even maximum effort can’t overcome the lens.

After she called me anti-Mormon and I expressed how painful it was to be categorized that way, her response was to remind me that my leaving has affected the whole family. That everyone is grieving in their own way. That my trauma has impacted all of them. That grace should be extended all the way around. That she’s sad I can’t see the efforts she’s been making. That she hopes I’ll continue to have hope for her.

In the moment I was expressing hurt about being mislabeled, the response became: but what about how your pain affects us?

She genuinely believes she’s made great strides in understanding me. And she has. This IS progress compared to where we were. She’s doing work many parents never attempt.

But the lens won’t let her see that when I say “this label hurts me,” and the response is “but your leaving hurt us,” she’s centering their pain over mine in the exact moment I’m asking to be seen.

This is what the lens does, even in the most loving hands. It makes my individual trauma about collective family grief. It makes my boundaries about their suffering. It makes my healing about their pain.

Why They Must See It This Way

Here’s what I’ve come to understand: believing members don’t choose to see apostates through this lens. The lens is built into the current teaching. It’s not malicious. It’s theological.

If the church’s covenant path is the only true way to lasting happiness and eternal life, then any path away from it must be deception, erosion, or worldly influence. There literally isn’t another category available.

Consider what members are hearing:

• Your identity should come from covenants, not from self-discovery

• Worldly culture must be “put off,” not embraced

• Being Christlike matters more than being authentic

• Worldly influences cause “spiritual erosion”

• Individualism and selfishness are the problems plaguing society

Now look at what ex-Mormons are doing:

• Discovering identity through therapy and self-exploration

• Embracing aspects of mainstream culture previously forbidden

• Prioritizing authenticity and personal truth

• Engaging with ideas from psychology, philosophy, secular ethics

• Setting boundaries and claiming individual needs

Through the lens they’ve been given, we ARE the problem the prophets warned about. We’re exhibits of exactly what happens when you prioritize self over sacrifice, authenticity over obedience, worldly wisdom over covenant promises.

The loving family member who truly believes these teachings must interpret our flourishing as deception. Our peace as temporary. Our growth as erosion. Our authenticity as worldliness.

Any other interpretation would require questioning whether the lens itself is accurate. And that threatens their own faith foundation.

The Impossible Bind

What makes this particular hell so perfect is that there is no behavior that doesn’t confirm their lens.

If I try to explain my growth and healing, I’m being “anti-Mormon”. Attacking the church that raised me instead of quietly working through my struggles. If I stay silent about my journey, they assume I’m struggling, lost, maybe even addicted (again). If I’m genuinely happy and flourishing, it threatens their worldview. How can apostasy lead to peace? If I admit to hard days or therapy breakthroughs, it confirms I’m lost and suffering the consequences of leaving the covenant path.

Even my boundaries become evidence. I’ve had to create distance from family members I’ve been close to my entire life. Not because I don’t love them, but because I’m so raw and vulnerable right now that I lose myself around them. As I wrote in “Smile That Frown Away,” I’m learning to feel my feelings for the first time at 45. My emotional skills are so new, my sense of self so nascent, that I can’t yet maintain my center around people I’ve spent decades prioritizing over myself.

I’ve always been the one to set myself aside, to focus on loving them, understanding them, meeting them where they are. My husband used to get frustrated that in my mind, my family could do no wrong and we always had to work around them. I assumed they were right and I was the problem. Because that’s just how I felt growing up.

So now, when I need space to develop these fragile new skills, when I can’t yet hold my sense of self around people who’ve known every version of me, it looks like exactly what apostasy does: fractures relationships, breaks apart families, isolates you from the people who love you most.

To them, this distance confirms the danger of leaving.

To me, this distance is survival. It’s the space I need to discover who I am when I’m not performing, pleasing, and suppressing myself to meet everyone else’s needs.

Same behavior. Incompatible interpretations. No bridge between them.

The specific pain of being seen as “anti” when you’re just “post”—no longer opposed to the church, just past it, moved on from it and dealing with the fallout—this distinction is invisible through their lens.

What This Lens Costs Them Too

Here’s what kills me: this lens doesn’t just hurt me. It’s robbing them of authentic connection with someone they love.

My mother has known every version of me. She was there for my first day of nursery, singing together at church meetings, my temple sealing, the births of my children. She’s seen me at my lowest when I didn’t want to live, and at my highest. We’ve been through unspeakable tragedies together, supported each other through hardships that would break may people.

She knows me. And yet she can’t fully see me now, because the framework won’t allow it.

So instead of celebrating that her daughter is finally sober (from substances AND spiritual bypassing), finally learning to feel without numbing, finally building a self that isn’t constantly at war with itself; she has to worry. Is she enabling apostasy by accepting me? Is her support tacitly approving choices that endanger my eternal soul? Should she be more firm, more clear about truth, more willing to let me feel the consequences of my path?

The lens doesn’t just separate us. It torments her. She can’t win either.

She loses authentic connection with her daughter. She loses the ability to simply be happy that I’m healing. She loses the freedom to love me without the constant weight of eternal consequences hanging over every interaction.

And I become a danger to her. A danger to my siblings’ children’s testimonies, to the grandchildren’s spiritual safety, to the eternal family she’s built her entire life around.

We’ve created some of each other’s deepest scars and most profound joys. We’ve grown together over decades. And now the very beliefs that gave her life meaning require her to see my healing as harm.

The Freedom in Surrender

I’m discovering there’s strange freedom in finally accepting I cannot control how they see me.

I cannot make them understand that what looks like worldly erosion is actually healing.

I cannot convince them that authenticity isn’t the enemy of spirituality.

I cannot prove that therapy isn’t worldly self-focus but necessary recovery from being taught my authentic self was never good enough.

Their framework doesn’t allow for my reality. And trying to force my reality into their framework is killing me.

So I’m learning to let them be wrong. Not because it doesn’t hurt (God, it hurts), but because trying to manage their perceptions while building my life is unsustainable.

And sometimes letting them be wrong means accepting that the relationship will never be what either of us wants it to be. Not because of lack of love. There’s so much love. But because we now operate from incompatible frameworks for understanding reality itself.

The people who truly see me don’t need me to fit into covenant-or-worldly categories. They don’t interpret my growth through erosion frameworks or question what it costs them. They don’t worry that my authenticity is spiritual danger.

And slowly, painfully, I’m learning that when someone’s lens is too small to contain my reality that’s information about their lens, not about my worth.

For You

If you’re here too—if your family thinks your healing is erosion, your authenticity is worldliness, your growth is deception—please know:

You’re not alone in finding this impossibly hard.

The lens they’re using has been shaped since their first Family Home Evening lesson. They’ll hear it reinforced every conference, every church meeting, and every day in their personal studies.. It’s subtle, loving-sounding, and completely incompatible with understanding your journey.

Your trauma recovery isn’t worldly self-focus. It’s necessary healing.

Your identity work isn’t abandoning covenant identity. It’s discovering who you are beneath assigned roles.

Your boundary setting isn’t selfish individualism. It’s healthy adult functioning.

Their inability to see this doesn’t mean you’re doing something wrong. It means their framework is too narrow to contain your reality.

Let them be wrong. Not because it’s easy (it’s devastating), but because your wholeness doesn’t require their comprehension.

The misunderstanding says more about the limits of their lens than the validity of your path.

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Have you struggled with family members who can only see your growth through the “worldly influences” lens? How does ADHD/RSD make this harder? Share in the comments—none of us should navigate this alone.