That sounds weird to me, but it’s true. Since February I’ve been a non-member and didn’t even know it. I’ve even got proof:
How does it feel to resign? I don’t feel any different. Maybe a little more relaxed knowing that the next knock on the door could just as likely be Jehovah’s Witnesses as Mormon missionaries, but that home teachers will never visit me again. I don’t have a community I belong to, but I never really had one to start with, so that’s nothing new.
I feel content knowing that I am no longer implicated when the Church makes some dumb-ass announcement on gay marriage or sues Wikileaks for posting the Church Handbook of Instructions. I am no longer a member of an organization that prescribes “Church discipline” for single women who are artificially inseminated.
In short, I feel at peace with myself and the world. I guess it’s too bad I lost the Holy Ghost.
I prefer to think of myself as a non-Mormon, if only because “ex-Mormon” has been freighted with so much baggage. But I am that too. Ned the ex-Mormon. That has a nice ring to it.
I haven’t told my parents or family, nor do I plan to. We don’t talk about religion or politics and that’s the way we like it. If at their next tithing settlement, my record shows up all blanked out, so be it. I’m not ashamed of my decision or scared to tell them. I just know that they’d prefer to think of me as inactive, so I’m not going to deliberately stir up trouble. But really, I’m over thirty, I think they should be able to handle it fine.
I feel at peace knowing that my temple work can’t be performed vicariously after my death without permission of the First Presidency. I can’t erase the mark Mormonism left on me, but I am not defined by it. It may give me something to talk about or bond over with friends on the internet, but it’s no more a part of my life than the boy scouts. I always thought their uniforms were lame too.