Somewhere in LDS culture, it has been ingrained into the minds of young single adult women that our lives never truly start until we get married. Until then, it appears that we are to live in a perpetual state of limbo, jealously seething from the sidelines as friends, foes and floozies run off to the temple at the speed of light.
Some would like to believe that representation doesn’t matter. They try to reduce the sense of belonging so many crave to be a carnal, selfish or even naive request. Why should we want to see people who look like us when we already know that we are a worldwide church?
As my anxiety grew worse, I began to self-destruct like a bomb with an overeager timer set for detonation. Each day was spent with the same routine of tears before breakfast followed by tears with sprinkles of anger for lunch and an emotional meltdown (panic attack) with a side dish of tears for dinner.
Culture / feminism / Intersectionality / women
by Ramona Morris · Published August 14, 2022 · Last modified August 12, 2022
Maybe, I was searching for something. A part of me believes that I was seeking to find connectivity in a church that despite their best efforts doesn’t quite reflect my blackness back to me. Still, I remained optimistic that somewhere…somehow, I would find community.
When I was a wee little thing, I asked Heavenly Father to bless me with big boobs. Greatly influenced by watching soap operas during the entire summer vacation, I discovered that the women on television who seemed to get the most attention seemed to be blessed with large chests and tiny waists.
At first, I tried to tell myself that this was what I wanted. I tried to justify that I had kissed this man. I tried to tell myself that I had led him on and caused him to feel as though I wanted this too. Then he whispered the words I thought I would only hear from my husband telling me that he deserved to get what he wanted.
I thought of what would happen if the shoe had been placed on the other foot. WHAT WOULD WE BE THEN? Would a person of color be granted the same luxury to hide behind their skin? Would they receive sympathy for their misguided actions?
I remember the first time I was shushed. I was in Utah, laughing too hard at some silly joke. It was the first time I had belly-laughed since my grandmother’s passing that March. In...
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