My father and brother still claim it. I can't understand why.
I watched John Dehlin's recent episode about still being both a Mormon and ex-Mormon, and felt something trigger me.
Not anger. Recognition.
He compared Mormon identity to Jewish identity. He talked about heritage, culture, tribe. He said Mormonism doesn't "wash off" for him, despite the harm he's experienced. Despite being excommunicated. Despite running a podcast that's helped thousands leave the church.
And I think I know why we feel differently.
The Pattern I Keep Seeing
I've never wanted to retain any part of Mormon identity, despite being the great-great grandniece of Joseph Smith, the founder. The religion was so damaging to me that claiming "Mormon" feels like claiming "abused." It's a wound, not a heritage. A thing I survived, not a thing I am.
My father felt differently. After he left the church, when he came to terms with its fundamental un-truth, he still called himself a 'cultural' Mormon. Mormon by birth, by upbringing, by family heritage. His family and pioneer legacy were important in how he defined himself. And mattered to him.
My brother, who no longer believes the truth claims, echoes this. He talks about spiritual experiences he had as a young man. The youth conferences. The community. The ward basketball games and testimony meetings. There's genuine warmth in his voice when he remembers.
I have sat with these family conversations for years, watching the men in my life hold onto something I desperately wanted to shed.
And then I started noticing: I don't know any women who feel this way.
The Question No One's Asking
Dehlin's words created controversy. The ex-Mormon community exploded. People called him a traitor, brainwashed. They said he'd damaged his reputation as an Ex-Mormon and an exposer of Mormon Church harm. Their anger was real and raw and immediate.
But no one asked the question I kept circling back to: Does gender make a difference in who retains Mormon identity after leaving?
I think it does.
I think it matters enormously.
And I think the reason is uncomfortably simple: The Mormon Church was wildly more damaging to women than to men.
What Men Inherited
My father and brother weren't lying about their positive experiences. They genuinely had them. But here's what they also had:
They were patriarchs. Valued. Held in high esteem.
They held the priesthood from age twelve. They blessed the sacrament, baptized, confirmed, ordained. They had authority that no woman could ever access.
They were told they were future kings and gods. They would inherit kingdoms. They would rule and reign.
In every meeting, in every decision, in every structure of power, they mattered. Their voices counted. Their presence was required.
Of course, they have fond memories.
Of course, Mormonism feels like heritage rather than harm.
They weren't the ones being harmed.
What Women Inherited
I was told from birth that my highest calling was to be a wife and mother. Not a leader. Not a decision-maker. A helper. My role was to serve my husband, family, and the Church.
I sat in women's church classes learning to be pure and worthy of a husband who would take me to the Celestial Kingdom, while the men held priesthood meetings and learned how to become Gods. I watched them bless, ordain, decide, lead, while I knitted hot pads and scarves and planned meals.
I was taught that my body was dangerous. That I was responsible for men's thoughts. That modesty was my burden to bear.
I couldn't bless my own children. Couldn't baptize them. Couldn't hold any authority that wasn't granted to me by a man.
I was second-class. Always.
The math is simple: Men retain Mormon identity because they benefited from the system. Women reject it because we were crushed by it.
The Privilege of Nostalgia
This isn't about individual men being bad people. My father was a good man. My brother is a good man. John Dehlin has done enormous good in the world, shining light on the harm the church causes.
But here's what I want to say gently, carefully, and clearly: When you were the patriarch, you get to have nostalgia. When you were the property, you don't.
Dehlin writes beautifully about the LDS Church doing "significant good in the world" despite causing harm. He can hold both truths because his experience was both/and. He had meaningful spiritual experiences, and he witnessed harm to others.
Women didn't get that luxury. We were the harm.
We were the ones told we couldn't work outside the home, couldn't have ambitions beyond motherhood, couldn't access God directly without a man as intermediary.
We were the ones whose bodies were controlled, whose voices were silenced, whose leadership was forever deferred to men who were destined to preside.
Of course, we don't want to claim Mormon identity. It's the identity of our oppression.
The Reform Judaism Comparison
Dehlin compares his Mormon identity to Jewish identity, specifically Reform Judaism, where you don't have to believe in God or a literal Moses to still be Jewish.
It's a compelling comparison. But here's what it misses:
Jewish identity wasn't built on your gender determining your entire worth and access to the divine.
Jewish women in Reform Judaism can be rabbis. Can lead. Can access their tradition with the same authority as men.
Mormon identity, even cultural Mormon identity, still carries the stench of patriarchy. Because the culture is the patriarchy. The pioneer heritage Dehlin loves? Built on polygamy. The ward community he misses? Built on male authority.
You can't separate cultural Mormonism from patriarchal Mormonism. They're the same thing.
What I Want to Know
I'm genuinely asking this question, not performing outrage: Are there women who retain Mormon identity after leaving? Who still claim "Mormon" as tribe, heritage, culture?
If you're a woman and you do this, I want to hear from you. What was your experience that let you hold onto that identity? What made it feel like something worth keeping rather than something to shed?
Because I've asked around. I've talked to dozens of women who left. And I keep hearing the same thing: relief at letting it go. Freedom in walking away. A sense that they can finally be themselves without the weight of Mormon womanhood crushing them.
Maybe there's a pattern I'm missing. Maybe gender isn't the determining factor.
But right now, looking at my own family, looking at the women I know, looking at the structure of the church itself, I can't unsee it.
The men who had power want to keep the identity.
The women who were powerless want to burn it down.
The Nuance I'm Trying to Hold
I don't think Dehlin is wrong to identify as Mormon. Identity is personal, complicated, layered. And I genuinely respect the work he's done to help people transition out of harmful religion.
But I also think we need to talk about why this particular identity retention is so gendered. Why the men can hold "both/and" while the women are stuck with "only harm."
It's not about individual bad actors. It's about structural advantage.
When you benefited from a system, even while critiquing it, you get to have complicated feelings about it. When you were crushed by that system, your feelings aren't complicated. They're clear.
I'm not Mormon. I'm not ex-Mormon in a cultural sense. I'm not a "recovering Mormon" who fondly remembers the good parts.
I'm a woman who left a patriarchal religion that told me I was less-than from birth.
And I'm asking: Does gender determine who gets to be nostalgic?
Because from where I'm standing, the answer looks like yes.
With Love,
Lyn
