On The Other Side

On March 8, 2026, I tried to log into lds.org and couldn't.

That was it. No ceremony. No letter. Just an error screen where my account used to be. Forty years of membership, formally over.

This is the story of my final stretch within the Mormon church.

Not Impulsive

I want to be clear that this was not an action I made impulsively. It was something that I turned over in my head for almost six years. I ventured firmly away from faith during the COVID pandemic in 2020 — though the specifics of that deconstruction are the subject for other posts. I'm only mentioning 2020 because that's when I marked the distinction of no longer considering myself an inactive member of the church and began moving toward my ultimate departure.

Fast forward 5.5 years or so and I found myself thinking that it would be good for me to get back into therapy again. I found myself in a dark place and I needed some help sorting through things. After my first few sessions, I asked my therapist — who was rather familiar with faith transitions — about the best way to go about having my records removed from the church.

The Ordeal of Leaving

That's one of the things about the LDS church. They make it something of an ordeal to leave. I've heard stories of bishops who get wind of people thinking about leaving and have them come in for "interviews." Stake Presidents may also get involved. If you have family, they might be told. It can quickly turn into an incredible amount of social pressure to remain within the faith. Spiritual threats are made — forfeiting your membership and covenants is forfeiting your eternal salvation. If you've been sealed in the temple to your parents, spouse, and/or children, you are also giving up the chance to be with them through eternity. Relationships change. Friends may be lost. Family members don't treat you quite the same. But sometimes the cost of remaining becomes greater than the cost of leaving.

My therapist told me to look at using a site called quitmormon.org. Almost immediately after our session, I went onto the site and got an overview of the process. I needed to download a form and fill it out with the necessary identifying information to find my records, then have the document notarized. This is required by the church's legal firm, Kirton McConkie. Supposedly it's to prevent others from resigning on your behalf — but really it just seems like one more hurdle put in the way of leaving.

The Notary

I went to the UPS Store to get my notarization. And of all the people that could have been my notary, it was a member of a bishopric from when I was in a Young Single Adult Ward. He didn't remember my name right away, but he recognized my face. It certainly led to a bit of awkwardness on my part when I realized a man who had once been in authority over me was handling one of the steps of my leaving. I wondered what he might have felt about facilitating my exit in this small way. I doubt I'm the first person he's notorized this form for, but having that bit of personal connection shifted the dynamic of the transaciton.

He didn't say anything about it, though. He just did what he needed to and I appreciated his professionalism.

On my way home I was in a bit of awe at the strangeness of the universe that that small connection occurred decades later in this particular circumstance.

Crossing the Line

I arrived home, uploaded the documents to the website, and had a moment of pause before I clicked submit. My heart beat a little faster like it had so many times sitting in a pew, particular on fast Sundays. I was crossing a line that I wouldn't be able to walk back across easily. But it felt very similar to those moments where I felt like I should bear my testimony and was getting up the courage to stand up and walk onto the stand. Only this time, I was declaring with my withdrawal that I no longer felt things the same way I did when I believed.

That isn't to say that I didn't feel things when I was a believer. There were moments I was convinced I felt the spirit. There were ties where I thought I felt Heavenly Father's love. What shifted was how I think about them now. They were my desires to connect with something or someone outside myself. They were a manfiestation of my desire to belong, to decalre my commitment to the tribe.

I reminded myself that this was the best course of action for me. The church no longer offered things I wanted. In fact, it represents many things now that I find repugnanat. It works much like many of the businesses in the world that prioritizes the organization over the people within it. The leaders do what they feel is necessary to promote their own agenda's. It hordes a vast amount of wealth when it claims to be a charitiable organization. Yes, it does give a lot of humanitarian aid, but it's expenditures are eclipsed by the amount of the church's total assests. I had divorced myself from old thought patterns and it was time to divorce myself from the institution that had contributed so much to my upbringing and even a good chunk of my adult years.

The Morning It All Landed

But that wasn't the last little coincidence. Another recommendation my therapist made during our first session was to check out the Unitarian Universalists. I decided to give it a whirl — and I'm glad I did. My first visit went well. I met someone after the meeting and had a great conversation with him. I've gotten to know several people at this point who share many of the same things I've gone through. It's been such a relief to physically be with people that share many of my views again.

But on my way there that same morning, I got a call. I didn't recognize the number, so I didn't answer. I didn't listen to the voicemail until I was on my way back home. It turned out to be a member of the bishopric of the ward I was in. He said he wanted to set up an appointment with the bishop to renew my temple recommend.

This was incredibly shocking to me, as I had never actually attended that ward. It wasn't even me that had transferred my records there from my last home.

The Church Has Ways

That's another thing about Mormonism. They have a special way of keeping track of you. I suspect my parents helped make sure my records stayed where they were supposed to be even though I moved a couple of times since 2015. Both times my records transferred without a word from me. It's not a huge deal that it happened. It was mainly just one of those things that I thought was fascinating. I never told the church I was moving, but somehow, it still knew.

So I hadn't been to the current ward at all — and then, out of nowhere, I get that call. I couldn't help wondering if the former bishopric member had been able to determine a way to contact my current bishop and let him know I was leaving. But that would be a breach of conduct for notaries. They're supposed to keep their transactions private. The timing astounded me, though.

I never did return that call — though there was a part of me that wondered what the bishop's face might have looked like when he expected a temple recommend interview and it turned into my telling him that I had submitted my resignation from the church.

What the Coworker Said

I shared these experiences with a coworker and they told me this was God telling me not to leave, that I was making a mistake. They were only echoing thoughts I'd already had. The old religious programming was leading me to think that this was a subtle form of divine intervention. I had to mentally push back and simply marvel at the way the events unfolded.

The Waiting

The hardest part of the process was the waiting. There was a period where I could have withdrawn my resignation. I'd check the status a couple of times a week.

I submitted my resignation on November 5, 2025. I got a notification that they'd reviewed it and would be forwarding it along on November 30. It wasn't until a month later, on December 27, that I got notification my resignation had been sent to Kirton McConkie. Then on January 7, 2026, I got notification that they'd acknowledged receipt.

The last piece of the puzzle was waiting for the church's system to reflect my resignation. According to my research, most people lose access to lds.org when their resignation is complete. So about once a week, I would log in and see if I still had access. It wasn't until March 8, 2026, that I was no longer able to log in.

All told, it took about four months for the process to go from beginning to end — though the journey of deconversion started years ago.

Forty Years

I sat with that error screen for a moment. There was no relief exactly, and no grief exactly. Something quieter than either. Forty years of something being true about your life, and then it simply isn't anymore. The institution doesn't get smaller when you leave it. You just stop being counted.

It's a strange thing to consider that something I was a part of actively for forty years is now in the past. It shaped so much of who I am in positive and negative ways.

What It Gave

It's largely because of my time in the church that I became confident enough to speak in front of people. It gave me much of the moral framework that I still carry with me. I don't think I could have asked for a better group of friends growing up — who were pretty much all also active members of the church. I don't know that I would ever have gone to Hawaii if I hadn't gone there on my mission. While it was a challenge, there are elements of those islands that will always be a part of me.

What It Took

On the other side, it is because of my time in the church that the lessons of how insufficient I am were constantly drummed home. It is because of my time in the church that I grew up with a bad perception of things that are perfectly acceptable outside a religious framework. My time in the church erased my self-confidence, my self-esteem, my self-worth.

Leaving it is a chance for me to reclaim the things that were taken or never given to me in the first place. I am forging my path forward with confidence, even if there are times that I feel uncertain.

I haven't lost anything, I've gained everything.