I've Got No Strings On Me
Navigating the shift from compliant mouse to outspoken activist. No one will hand you the scissors and tell you it’s okay to cut your strings.
On my wedding day, I found out my husband would have the power to keep me out of heaven.
I was told to give him my new name, which is a secret password in the temple, so he could call me through the veil and admit me into the celestial kingdom in the next life.
Although I complied in the moment, under the duress of wedding day pressure, I wouldn’t call it consent. I didn’t know until then that I would have to please him to ensure my eternal salvation.
When I talk about feeling haunted by the unequal power dynamic in my marriage, Mormon women argue that it’s not like that in their relationship. They protect the establishment because that’s where their safety is.
They’re told they have the freedom to choose, but there are strings attached if they want to be invited into a marriage in heaven that includes her husband’s (and hers) children. Because the kids are sealed to him for eternity, and she’s replaceable.
Now that I’m divorced and I’m free from that spiritual tyranny, I recognize it’s not the men’s fault. It’s patriarchy. It’s a system built on men having power and women getting and staying married to have access to that power.
