This speech, inspired us to invited Latter-day Saint women to reflect on their their experiences living and worshiping within a patriarchal system. This month we published six essays that explore the breadth of women’s lived experiences with patriarchy, written by women who feel at home within the current structure, women who wrestle while choosing to stay, and women whose faith has been shaped in complex and deeply personal ways. These essays consider what it means to live, worship, and seek spiritual growth within a patriarchal institution, and how that reality touches faith, identity, relationships, and hope.

This series is not an effort to arrive at a single conclusion. It is an opportunity to speak truthfully, to listen deeply, and to honor the faithful complexity of women’s lives.

Read the essays here. 

The post LDS Women & Patriarchy appeared first on LDS Women Project.

Growing up I do not remember having any feelings of concern about male privilege in our church. I had spiritual experiences as a result of my activity in the church and never questioned whether or not the church was true. I was excited to get married in the temple and then have children very soon after that (the decision to not put off having children was based on our reading what church leaders said about it, and a quote from Elder Oaks was what made us decide to try to get pregnant right away.) I never questioned that it was the right thing for me to stay home with our baby after finishing college; I never even considered trying to maintain a career. I was very smug about the fact that I finished my bachelor’s degree even though I birthed my baby after my sophomore year, and even more smug that I was choosing to be a stay-at-home mom (“look at all those ‘poor’ girls that have to work and can’t dedicate their lives to mom-ing”). My husband and I graduated from college on the same day and were both offered jobs in our respective fields, but of course, I turned my offer down. There was no question in my mind that I would stay at home with our children. While I was grateful to be able to be the main caretaker for our daughter, I felt a deep jealousy watching him get all dressed up to leave for work in the mornings. I kept this to myself.

My first awakening to the inequality of women and men in the church had come shortly after I received my temple endowment. My husband and I lived within half of a mile of the temple and made it a point to attend weekly (for the first 9 months of marriage before our baby was born). I started to have feelings of sadness after we did endowment sessions as I reflected about me having to veil my face for prayer, and the wording of Eve covenanting with her husband and not directly with God. By the time these aspects of the temple experience were changed, we had multiple daughters. And I breathed a sigh of relief that they wouldn’t have to see and hear those things in the temple like I had.

Life went on and I dulled the voice in my head noticing all the little ways that men dominated my church life: determining which callings I’d serve in, those I wanted to call when I was president of the primary or relief society (why ask me to pray for revelation about my counselors and then tell me “no” about those I was prompted to call?), temple worthiness, etc.

Then when COVID caused us to have church at home, the chinks in my testimony started to come hard and fast. My husband and I enjoyed leading our little family church services together, but it was mainly directed by me and his role was to be the one blessing and passing the sacrament. I had taken it upon myself to help prepare the sacrament so it would all be ready for him. Privately and reverently, I had spiritual experiences as I got out my nicest platters and a linen cloth and little cups, bread and water. I felt connected to Jesus in a way I’d never had the chance to feel. I knew I wasn’t supposed to pour the water into the cups or break the bread, because I’m not a man who holds the priesthood, but I loved the preparation part. It helped me feel close to God. One day I was talking to my dad about this and he (kindly) said that according to the scriptures I shouldn’t be involved with the preparation of the sacrament at all. I was suddenly so sad. How could doing something that resulted in real spiritual experiences for me, be breaking the rules? I continued to help facilitate the sacrament in our home, but in a less involved way, and I felt sad every time.

Not long after this, our youngest daughter was around six years old and she got a stomach bug that caused her to be quite sick without much rest for a whole night. I asked my husband to give her a blessing. She got better. A few days later I took my girls on a trip during their school break, and my husband couldn’t come with us due to a busy time at work. On our trip, my daughter started to feel sick to her stomach and was scared of being as sick as she’d been a few days prior. She innocently looked at me and asked me to give her a blessing. My heart broke a little, knowing I could not put my hands on her head and pronounce a priesthood blessing, just because I’m her mom and not her dad. I didn’t turn her down, and took her in my arms and said a prayer while holding her close.

Now we are a few years farther down the road and my oldest daughter has left the church, my second daughter has serious concerns, and my third daughter recently cried to me recounting a lesson they had been taught in young women about how only men can hold the priesthood. My soul crumbled as she asked with tears in her eyes, “why can’t we?”

A few days ago my youngest, now ten years old, asked me if only men can be bishops. I told her, “Currently, yes. But I think that women would make great bishops!” I said this with a smile, and died a little inside as I watched her sweet and simple acceptance of my explanation.

How can I, a feminist mother who has taught her daughters to stand up for themselves and held up examples of brave, rebellious women for them to admire, continue to sugarcoat the hard and glaringly unequal parts of the church to my daughters? Why can’t I rip off the Band-Aid and boldly tell them — this is wrong! You should not sit quietly by and let the church tell you that boys and men are more fit to lead and make decisions than you! I can see the huge canyon of pain and disillusionment that I’ve come to, but I (like a coward) can’t bring myself to shout a warning to my girls, my world, my everything.

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On the cusp of Cronehood, I step on rich chocolate earth. I am this earth. My cousin’s slow steps check my pace. Cow parsnip, sweet birch, clean oxygen and a waft I can’t place: rose-like, pine-like, longing-like. We open the metal box of past climbers: an Rx bottle, ashes in a jar, Betty Boop, a reunion button, saltines. Wind stirs leaves like money, as it did in my childhood. These trees hum profit with or without me. When I return, the Land is my other parent. This mother cares nothing for profit, only mysticism. She is feminine reflection, hippy-momma, never-ending sunlight, glorious, always says yes to playing in midnight sun, dances under Aurora Borealis, hikes mountain without gun and has no cares. All children are hers; if they fall, dust to dust, ashes to ashes. My real mother feared the streets. My father, gun in hand, knew bears were real, tied my fishing lures, taught me to drive, swim, dance. She dimmed my light for humility’s sake. But here, climbing Kenai, I feel a new dissonance. I recall my father on Southern Idaho Albion’s peaks by Lake Cleveland, where we laid my grandfather to rest. Now, mountains bring discordant peace, salvation and turmoil mixed. I considered predators: cougars, occasional black bears, but they seemed imaginary. Was it naivete blanketing me in comfort? There is a story he told of a metal box in which he had money, he climbed to the peak of the mountain, dug a hole and buried his box. He did this before his missionary service. In retrospect he was not sure why. Was it a tangible ritual in the similitude of Joseph Smith who unearthed Book of Mormon treasure in the mountains? My father laughs boomingly, “I guess just because I could.” He could; he had strong legs, strong back from sugar beet hoeing, wrangling sheep, riding horses and fixing fences on his Wrigley grandparent property. He tanned deer he hunted, hides still hanging in that old shed next to the white house. I wonder how many more things I would do if I could.

My father is a man of compass, a deep sense of knowing where and why he exists, and one of extreme caution, care and respect for all natural laws. He will however, when pulled over for a routine traffic stop, not submit to police authority. He will get out of his car and wait for the police to approach and inevitably tell him he must remain in the vehicle. He has something brewing in him, calm as lupine, gentle as fireweed, but is a thistle in the right conditions. Is it the horror of his protective cousin who died falling off a horse when she was nine and he four? Did he realize natural laws betray, death is eternal? There is justice and no mercy. Did something in him settle, that one day he would use his keys, his power, his dominion to protect a future daughter? He did not act in fear. He taught traditional skill development; in being capable as a means of protection. No need to distress or believe women were second to the kingdom! My father taught me I could drive a stick shift. I could clean a fish. But still, in looking back, it is the watchfulness that was put upon me that unnecessarily barred me from wild living where rules are broken and autonomy dug from earth.

The patriarchy as a mountain, though, is known and unknown. It has a sunlit side and a shadowed side. In its warmth my father teaches me to isolate one note by blowing and drawing the harmonica reeds. But the shadow side is never learning a chord. I submit and do not advance independently. I allow my father, my husband to call upon who to pray over dinner. I say no when my non-believing husband has no father’s blessing to give his son when he goes on a mission but nudges me to bless my son— submitting to dogma, I decline. It would be wild, unruly, unknown, a threatening mother bear. I regret this choice. I do not use my wonderful words to nourish my boy. Instead, he is left in the lone and dreary world to puppet the words of The Handbook and the Come Follow Me manual.

This mountain should be mine. I should know it, as my father knows Albion Mountain. But I do not know this mountain. I trace through my inception as a daughter of God. I realize I am introduced to possibility, eternities, but, to immerse and attain celestial glory— I need a patriarch to cover the terrain. I am provided a glimpse but to know the life-saving graces of mountain survival I need a dose of risk that was not given to me. Young men got camping trips and glacier adventures while young women blotted acrylic paint into welcome doormats. We were told of the view but the doorway is where we remained. Scuffing the heavy mud of expectation, women say, oh, it will all work out in the afterlife. On my wedding day I am at a similar portal, where I learn my husband knew my true name but I ought never know his. A veil where again, I needed a man to transcend me. Is it any wonder that when the going gets tough, I have faltered? While the youth of Zion may never falter, the young women becoming middle aged tend to. I am good at New Beginnings but do not have the wisdom of an Eagle Scout. I’m told I’m capable, yet given little guidance to master skills. I untangle my own cat’s cradle, no knife to carve resilience, respect, or reputation. And no pockets for that matter. But the tools distributed are equal, I am told. Yet yarn can knot, bind, strangle. Better to hear tales of mountain grandeur than risk the switchbacks myself. If I want access to the mountain I go with Young Single Adults, a boyfriend, my father, but never alone or with another woman! But today, foolishly, we women bring useless mace and the desire to commune with mountains that should have been ours. Each step, great with child or dancelike, twirls us to the spiraling covenant path on the mountain of our Lord. We find spires of glory in Sitka Spruce. We bestow our own blessings; power always ours, permission never granted. Is that enough for spirits built for communion? Women encircle Zion’s fire with loud laughter. But atop the mountain, it’s lonely. The manna here tastes of regret. I could have high’d to Kolob. In a twinkling, I think of all the hiking boots I might have worn thin, the way I wore out pointe shoes. Instead, hammer toes remind me what a good young woman’s feet are for.

What heirlooms will grow if I teach my daughter to respect, cherish, and wildly experience the mountain? I am handmaiden of Israel, bridegroom of Christ, mother of all living—what my father calls his beautiful daughter of Zion. The name is irrelevant if she cannot access Sacrament solo. No one cares when we need Priesthood to keep you safe and they’re elderly men too feeble to keep the bad guys out. It is smoke and mirrors when you realize you do not need a portal.

You need only free oxygen from mother mountain. Yes, sometimes thin air requires endurance conditioning. It will pose real and emergent dangers— but it’s possible to bear testimony with something deeper than a simple faith. You may not need the armor of God. The little shining light of yours burns so bright you are found. But you will not know—unless you go to the mountain. Go tell it on the mountain. Over the hills and everywhere. Once you learn how to bend and flatten the notes, you are music here, there, everywhere. You are discerning light and further knowledge. You may go to the temple to seek intelligence. And you may learn that you are the mountain. You, with your curves, winding bosoms, giving milk, birthing babies, bestowing wisdom later. But why should we wait to make the mountain our own? Mountain starts with matriarchy.

Shannon Milliman, poet laureate of Florence, Alabama, courageous risk-taker. Theatrical, lyrical, dancer of words, body, spirit. One-woman show creator, Not So Supernova. Performer, marathon runner, storyteller, laugher, hoper, carpe-diem-er. Sparker of conversations behind closed doors. Alaskan roots. Mormon genetics. Living in the humid hug South, seeking, saying, singing, incanting. Seeker of revelation. Prophetess of natural water swimming. Improv believer.

The post My Mountain appeared first on LDS Women Project.

The old man finally hobbled into the room, a wooden cane leading the way. Kirk and I stood up and shook his hand. Kirk first. Patriarch Clark’s knuckles were gnarled as his cane topper, but they were large and firm and dry. His rheumy eyes met mine, and he smiled; his dentures were straight and white. He looked just as I’d expected a patriarch to look. He looked like every old man I’d ever met in my ward.

You have a sweet smile, a pleasing personality, and a winning way.

When he put his large, gnarled hands on my head, the weight was comfortably heavy. My blessing seemed to go on for hours, and everything he said I believed came straight from God – the lineage, the last days, and the missionary service, motherhood, and the promised prosperity were an affirmation of my own specialness. It affirmed all the things I’d believed about myself, and that had been told to me about my generation – the last and greatest generation, the one that would usher in the Savior.

My mother recalled the same words being said to her about her generation, but they don’t say those things in my daughter’s young-woman class; that kind of cognitive dissonance has dissolved in the age of the internet. Less Kolob and last days; more missionary service and Jesus. But that is too heretical for fifteen-year-old me; those kinds of thoughts didn’t come for another decade. I left the overly warm house, bursting with pleasure at my blessing. It was special, and I was special.

You will be present on the morning of the last resurrection, clothed in the robes of the Priesthood with your eternal companion.

And yet, when I received a copy in the mail, it was one and a quarter pages, typed single-spaced, and it looked short. As I read it, I recalled how similar Kirk’s blessing sounded – the words shuffled, but the cadence, rhythm, and promises were the same; the language and roles were appropriately gendered. It was my first moment of doubt – a niggling disappointment quelled with a large swallow.

The patriarch – that old man; my patriarchal blessing – the one-and-a-quarter-page typed blessing. That was the only context I had at fifteen for the word. If I had been asked to describe patriarchy then, I would have led with a description that would have sounded like fortune-telling. Patriarchy was the structure of my religion, my home, and my life, and I had no idea what it meant, only that it was. It was the beginning and the end of everything – the alpha and the omega of Mormonism – the very structure upon which the church builds its great and spacious buildings.

You will enjoy learning and receive a good education that will prepare you for your role as a wife and mother.

Patriarchy was why my father’s approval meant more to me than my mother’s. It was why I silently congratulated myself when a brother, not a sister, was assigned to teach my Sunday school class. It was why I told my government teacher that I would not vote for Hilary Clinton. It was why I never questioned a woman not praying at General Conference. It was why, as a college freshman, I dated a priesthood holder eight years older than me. It was why, once married, I not only didn’t ask him to wait while I attended graduate school, but I gave up the desire entirely. It was why I preferred male professors. It was why I had a child at 21.

It is why, even now, after I have unpacked my baggage and checked my ego, I still seek male approval. It is why I try to stand out from the other women in the room. It is why I must consciously work not to see other women as competition. The cultural conditioning of patriarchy is not easily shed. Patriarchy was why my parents sent me to Brother Clark, whom I did not know, to sit in his overly warm home and let him speak words over me in the name of God – words I was taught to receive as revelation.

The mantle of responsibility will lie on your husband.

Patriarchy is why I believed this man, called by another man to be my patriarch, had insight into my life. It was why I later believed in the unfailing virtue and rightness of marrying at the age of eighteen to a man assigned to be my new patriarch. The father of my home and my children, and in the context of our ascribed religion, me. And what should I not have believed? Adults told me this was the natural rite of passage for a girl as precocious and pretty as me.

I was a girl, sweating in a grey sweater, waiting for the patriarch, who had an entire life ahead of her. A life that would go on to be shaped by the patriarchy and by the blessing. Her life was outlined in one and a quarter pages. I waited unknowingly with my brother to receive my patriarchal blessing-in-disguise. It turned out to be in the disguise of something far more prescriptive than I understood at the time.

It didn’t tell me what I might do, but what I was expected to become.

Erica Louder lives and works in rural Idaho, supporting U.S. companies exporting dairy products around the world. She has three children and dreams of becoming a globe-trotter and a novelist.

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This confusion, fear, and uncertainty about what to expect from men in any given situation has shaken a foundational piece of our society and left both women and men reeling from its effects. On the one hand, men are supposed to “provide and protect”—that is their overarching purpose in their families, in their neighborhoods, in the world. But on the other hand, men have, in recent decades, been sharing or losing their roles as financial or economic providers as more and more women have entered the workforce. On top of that, their responsibility to protect has also become embattled as men have been called out as predators and perpetrators in most instances of violence.

While women are often the ones calling out the danger of manhood, men can become just as confused (and fearful) as anyone else as to what their role is in the world—a confusion that has dire consequences. We often see men as in charge, powerful, at the heads of states, companies, and organizations—playing the tunes we all must dance to. But writer Christine Emba notes that with the changing gender dynamics and financial responsibilities, “[M]illions of men lack access to that kind of power and success — and, downstream, cut loose from a stable identity as patriarchs deserving of respect, they feel demoralized and adrift.”[1]

In Emba’s evaluation lies both the disease and the cure. Men need a stable identity, which has traditionally been “patriarch.” But “patriarchy” in general, as a cultural system, is . . . problematic. And men’s connection to it has been to their detriment, despite the fact that they are swimming in the same dangerous, even toxic, waters as the rest of us. Patriarchy as a cultural power structure is competitive and isolating. It is small, and often cut off from care and connection and compassion. The men who inhabit the places with the most power are often equally cut off from connection and compassion, preferring to preserve their power than to serve a people they can hardly see. But viewing men as a whole as both patriarchy’s cause and its ills abandons them to the beast when they need a better system as much as anyone.

Often, the danger of cultural patriarchy to men doesn’t present in a violent way. It is quieter and subtler, but it permeates all aspects of life. It shows up in education levels, where, as the feminist movement has made large inroads, men have become minorities on college campuses. We see it in the “caring professions”—like teaching and nursing—where men are almost invisible. It is prominent in the rates of “deaths of despair”— like suicide and drug and alcohol use, where the numbers skew overwhelmingly male, as well as deaths of loneliness. But, of course, some of the danger to men comes out very violently, as we see in the random acts of gun violence and terrorism, almost all of which have been perpetrated by young men.

Perhaps paradoxically, being a “patriarch,” in Emba’s words, is meant to be one of the stabilizing features of masculinity, of manhood. By divorcing the two terms—the corruption of “The Patriarchy” from the inherent need for men to find a place as a patriarch, a leader and protector, within their own lives, we can begin to find a path through the woods. It is, I believe, a path that people of faith have been walking, imperfectly, for a long time. It may not be something that we ever fully achieve, but we have examples and systems that can be cleaned up and polished and put into better service to enhance all of society. The foundation of the solution is, at its heart, abandoning competition in favor of connection.

Before we get there, however, it is important to understand how The Patriarchy, in its corrupted state, creates a world that is as impossible for men and boys as it is for women. Starting from the very beginning, the world of boys is more restrictive than for girls—from the colors baby boys are allowed to wear, to the names they are given, to the toys they are supposed to play with. It is acceptable in our society for girls to transgress gender norms by being tomboys, having male-coded names, or going into traditionally male-dominated fields, but society does not generally allow the same grace or flexibility to men.

Additionally, while boys experience just as wide a range of emotions as girls, we give them fewer words to describe them. Even in infanthood, caregivers respond to boys’ emotions differently. They speak about emotions less to boys than to girls, and they allow them less, encouraging boys to stop crying when they would not expect such things from girls. The smaller range of feelings attributed to boys follows them throughout their lives. Our impatience (and even disgust) with the tears of boys leaves them locked into a claustrophobic emotional space.

It is a difficult space to navigate, and something I have seen close up as the mother of five boys, sister to seven brothers, and wife to a “creative type.” I have felt my muscles tighten and my heart race when my 6-year-old son insisted on going to school with his hair in the “whale spouts” traditionally associated with baby girls. Or when my then-teenaged brother—reserved and sensitive and gentle—teared up at the prospect of speaking in public. Or when my husband was described by a friend of his as “creative and artsy without being gay.” When playfulness and tears and creativity and self-expression are seen as deviating behaviors, that is a very hard place to live.

As they grow, boys can see that much of the world is not for them—or not for them as they are. Classroom organization usually favors those who can sit quietly and remain still. When young boys fail to meet those expectations, they are often singled out or sent away so that the rest of the class can continue without them as a disruption. Responses like this are where connections are lost or opportunities to form them are sacrificed—and as connections are missed or cut off, boys, already at an emotional disadvantage, are squeezed even more tightly.

And here we can definitely see that the boys are not alright. They struggle in school and in relationships, fall behind academically, lack connections with those who could guide them into their future—they are becoming lost in the woods. Often boys who don’t behave are isolated or humiliated. Even the adults in their lives may withdraw, having lost sight of them as youngsters in need of support and guidance and instead seeing them more as the rival of the bear in the forest: aggressive, hungry, uncaring.

On top of that, there is often a sense of competition as women put their (legitimate) suffering in front of men’s suffering, drawing attention away from, and even belittling men’s (also legitimate) suffering. Pitting the suffering of each sex against each other has kept our society from being able to seek for real connection and collaboration to ease that suffering and find the way through the woods together. And, as women have become the more highly educated sex and have entered the workforce in larger numbers, men have become disconnected from what has been their role as financial providers—leaving many men wondering, what am I here for? What does it mean to be a man if not to pay the way? And if it isn’t incredibly demoralizing to find that your purpose is as shallow as the pocket of your girlfriend’s jeans, I don’t know what is.

With traditional roles up for grabs, a lot of men and boys have little idea of what it means to be a man—what is expected of them, and what they can contribute. Many markers of manhood have fallen to the wayside, and rituals to celebrate milestones into adulthood have also disappeared. This has left many young men casting about, looking for examples, guidance, and encouragement on how to be a man.

Unfortunately, too many of them are looking in all the wrong places, finding sources that encourage the worst traits of our cultural patriarchy—like physical domination, intolerance of vulnerability or weakness, and an unwillingness to listen, compromise, or seek help. They have been told that the world is theirs, that they are in charge, and yet they feel closed in, not only by the extremely narrow social and emotional expectations, but by the lack of access to a world that is ostensibly theirs for the taking. Somehow, within this world of high walls and narrow hallways, men are supposed to provide places of safety and security.

But, as I said, all is not lost. There are places and spaces where the world does open up for boys and men. I have seen, over the past several years, young men and young fathers join our church congregation and find a home there. In church, they have opened a door to a place where they can care and they can cry, they can be vulnerable and make mistakes, they can be more open than they can be in the wider world. Even public figures and thinkers like Trevor Noah and Jonathan Haidt identify being part of a church community as a way to create a place where boys can flourish—or at the very least build connections that can help them expand beyond the narrow confines that are causing too many to feel dangerously claustrophobic.[2 & 3]

Church is, or can be, a place where a different, divine, true patriarchy—patterned after our understanding of our Heavenly Father’s love and leadership, in contrast to the corrupt cultural patriarchy of temporal society—can come closer to earthly existence. It is a patriarchy based on intense connections, on sharing our thoughts and feelings with the hopes of reaching a greater understanding. We trust our Heavenly Father to rule in wisdom and compassion, to work with us as we journey through life because He knows us as we communicate frequently and recognize His hand in our lives. As a patriarchal church, we can use this model to promote a healthy structure by maintaining strong connections with each other. Compassion must replace competition between the sexes as we work together to create a space where the masculinity is non-toxic. Our pledge to sustain our leaders (and each other) must include a willingness to accept weaknesses, communicate clearly, and maintain connection with God—the foremost patriarchal authority—so that we have the wisdom we need to constructively connect and commune with each other.

That churches are places for connections to be made, carefully tended, and grown into interlocking and interdependent relationships is especially important for all those who have been cut off from parts of the world—and themselves. Connections made with other humans, of all ages, races, genders—each of whom have something to offer, and whom we can help—but also to God and the divine, unseen, unknown parts of our lives can be the most nurturing parts of our development. Opening that door to boys of all ages also opens up a flood of light and nutrients to their overly pruned and constricted lives. It gives them the opportunity to grow towards whatever lights them up and the space to wander to places where they can find their own power, beyond what the world sees as powerful.

At church men are given caring roles, and the opportunity to serve each other. They have quorums and classes that can provide a brotherhood that many men are missing in a world that is suspicious of male friendships. They even have the opportunity to shrug off the toxic taboo of physical distancing as they circle around each other to give blessings to those in need. They are encouraged to follow Christ’s counsel when he said, “Whosoever of you will be the chiefest, shall be the servant of all.”[4]

In church, our boys are led along by rituals throughout their teenage lives as they progress in Priesthood responsibility. This culminates with the call to serve a mission, from which they return as men, having been given responsibilities and real work to do in helping those who are lost and suffering find peace and shelter, as well as the opportunity to build a strong relationship, even mentorship, with their Heavenly Father. It is, or can be, an intense experience of developing close friendships, being part of a community, finding purpose and meaning in difficult circumstances, and being humble enough to ask for help and direction—all things that have become rare in the wider world.

At church men are not treated like predators waiting to happen—they are taught right from wrong, moral standards, respect for others and reverence for things they cannot see or know or understand. They are cared for and they are given the opportunity to care as well. At church they have seen grown men cry and express the love they have felt from God and from their neighbors. At church they are taught that their mistakes are forgiven and learned from, not signs of inherent flaws or unlovability. They learn that in this community, there is room for them to be sensitive, there is a place for their sadness, fear, vulnerability, and hope—and they will be supported through all of those things. With a wider world and more space to grow, boys can grow deeper, broader, stronger and less brittle than men who perceive that their needs have been brushed off, and their expectations unfulfilled.

My own boys are pretty self-contained. They are each other’s best friends. They don’t have large social circles—despite my best efforts at encouraging them towards social competence. But at church they do have a community of people who are watching out for them, engaging with them, supporting them. My oldest son is learning to accompany the music at church. He has a role to play and people outside of our family to work with. My second son has taken it upon himself to be a big brother not only to his own little brothers, but to a gaggle of other toddling boys in our congregation. My younger sons—still in the “little boy” stage of life—are celebrated for each development and encircled at every milestone. They receive gentle corrections when they misbehave and guidance on how to make better choices.

The community we have at church provides essential nourishment to sustain boys’ deep emotional and spiritual needs. It can help us build a structure to support men’s sensitivity so that they can, in turn, provide emotional security for any community they are part of. Then, their physical touch can lend strength to others, their care and leadership can work in collaboration with others to create places where it is safe for others—for anyone—to be lost or broken or vulnerable. If we can open the doors of spirituality and community and care to boys, we can raise them to be more like the trees of the forest than like the bears—strong and stable places of refuge, support, and shelter that are reaching their own heights and depths and breadths as they are nurtured by the light.

Lizzie Heiselt is a writer, runner, baker, mother. She lives with her husband and six kids in Brooklyn.

[1] Emba, Christine. “Men are Lost. Here’s a Map Out of the Wilderness.”
[2] Noah, Trevor. What Now podcast, episode “The Case for Compassion,” April 25, 2024.
[3] Haidt, Jonathan. The Anxious Generation: How the Rewiring of Childhood is Causing an Epidemic of Mental Illness.
[4] Mark 10:44

References

Gruber, June, Borelli, Jessica L. “The Importance of Fostering Emotional Diversity in Boys” Scientific American. December 12, 2017.

Hijjawi, Gina. “Normalizing men as caregivers.” Robert Wood Johnson Foundation. April 8, 2021.

Johnson, N. L., Lipp, N. S., Corbett-Hone, M., & Langman, P. (2024). “Not so random acts of violence: Shared social–ecological features of violence against women and school shootings.” Psychology of Men & Masculinities, 25(2), 113–123.

Mahboubeh Shirzad, Gayane Yenokyan, Arik V. Marcell, Michelle R. Kaufman,

“Deaths of despair-associated mortality rates globally: a 2000–2019 sex-specific disparities analysis.” Public Health, Volume 236,2024, Pages 35-42,

Putnam, Robert D. and Richard Reeves.  “Boy Crisis of 2025, Meet ‘Boy Problem’ of the 1900s.” The New York Times, Aug. 15, 2025. 

Taylor, Ian. ‘How Loneliness is Killing Men.” BBC Science Focus. Nov. 11, 2022

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If something had to be done, my indomitable mother just did it. Even as a younger woman, this can-do attitude was a hallmark of her personality. In 1948, when she was twenty years old, the Church temporarily lowered the age at which women could serve missions from twenty-three to twenty-one. My mother decided she wanted to go on a mission—and that she would leave as soon after her birthday as possible. Her parents were dubious. It was rare for women to serve missions at this time. But my mother persisted and entered the mission home on October 10, 1949, paving the way not only for her younger sister to serve a mission a few years later, but also all three of her future daughters, the majority of her nieces, and many of her granddaughters.

My mother had a fervent testimony of the restored gospel, but it rankled her that men made all the decisions in the Church. I’d never seen her so upset as when the new meetinghouse our little rural ward community had worked so hard to raise the money to build didn’t include basic, commonsense features—especially in the kitchen and women’s bathrooms. “If ever they’d think to ask a woman, maybe they could get it right!”

It’s a frustration many of us still share. Still, there is cause for hope for those of us who look forward to the day when women in the Church will be fully heard, valued, and empowered. Forward movement is evident. It’s a beautiful thing to be part of a church that believes in progress, growth, and ongoing revelation.

In 2024, Sister J. Anette Dennis of the Relief Society General Presidency unwittingly created a firestorm when she said: “There is no other religious organization in the world, that I know of, that has so broadly given power and authority to women.” This statement elicited over 17,000 online comments, most from LDS women pushing back against this claim.

Granted, the Church teaches that “when men and women go to the temple, they are both endowed with the same power, which is priesthood power.”[1] But what does this mean, in a practical sense? How does this translate into lived experience? Because the reality is that many women in the Church don’t feel at all empowered, as evidenced by the majority of those 17,000 comments.

In examining these questions and others related to the empowerment (or disempowerment) of Latter-day Saint women, it’s important to distinguish between individual experience, institutional practice/policy, and doctrine. Finally, no discussion of this topic would be complete without an exploration of possible ways forward.

Individual Experience

Individual experience can vary widely and is always dependent on a number of variables, including the agency of all those involved. While it is true that many women in the Church feel as empowered as they want to be (see, for example, this op-ed in the Deseret News), it is also true that many do not.[2] It is critical that we not discount anyone’s personal experience.

My own experience with practical service in the Church has been largely positive. The male leaders with whom I have served have been genuinely respectful of my opinions, perspectives, and leadership. I know other women, though, who have had very painful and demeaning experiences with local leaders in the Church and who have felt routinely overlooked and undervalued.

Regardless of anyone’s personal experience, the broader, systemic issues cannot be overlooked.

Institutional Practice and Policy

LDS Church Leadership 2026

One can love the restored gospel and be firmly committed to it and still recognize that the institutional church is decidedly patriarchal. A quick glance at the Church’s leadership chart bears this out. Only 9 of the 145 top leaders of the Church are women, and all their decisions must be approved by the men who oversee them.

In the Church, only men can be bishops, stake presidents, mission presidents, temple presidents, area authorities, and general authorities; only men hold priesthood keys (or “the right to preside over and direct the Church within a jurisdiction”); and, with the exception of certain temple ordinances (an exception it behooves us all to consider more carefully), only men can officiate in priesthood ordinances.[3]

What this means, in effect, is that not only do men have the final decision-making power over every aspect of Church policy and governance, but they also hold all sacerdotal power. This, in concert with the massive gender imbalance in leadership, also means that male perspectives are often the only ones considered—a genuine problem for a church whose membership is at least half female.

When decisions affecting individuals, groups, and entire institutions are made only by a select group, and when that select group excludes women, everyone suffers. Both women and men are diminished under such a system.

Doctrine

What about doctrine? The Church clearly teaches that men and women are equal in value and “stand in a position of absolute equality before the Lord.”[4] And yet many women in the Church continue to feel like (and be treated like) second-class citizens.

The Church also teaches that both men and women are endowed with priesthood power in the temple. And yet women are not ordained to priesthood offices. It is not clear whether this exclusion is doctrinal or merely based on tradition. As articulated in the Gospel Topics Essays (under the heading: Early Latter-day Saint Understandings of Priesthood): “Early Latter-day Saints likewise thought of priesthood primarily in terms of ordination to ecclesiastical office and authority to preach and perform religious rites. As in most other Christian denominations during this era, Latter-day Saint men alone held priesthood offices, served formal proselytizing missions, and performed ordinances like baptism and blessing the sacrament of the Lord’s Supper.”

The question of why women are not ordained to offices in the priesthood appears to be one that will require additional revelation. Is it because men and women have different roles in God’s plan (the explanation most commonly given)? Is it because women innately possess a different power (the priestesshood, if you will) that does not require ordination, as some have suggested? If so, what does this mean in practical terms? Or is it an exclusion based on historical precedent and nothing else? Only additional light and knowledge can provide the answer. But whatever the case, as long as those who occupy the key administrative roles and hold the ultimate decision-making power in the Church are always and only men, true gender equality will remain elusive.

The disconnect between doctrine and practice with regard to women is both puzzling and painful to many in the Church. If women “stand in a position of absolute equality before the Lord,” why are our voices so often not sought or heard? Why do we not have equal representation in the spaces where decisions that affect us all are made?

A Way Forward

Though currently excluded from the positions that serve as the formal repositories of traditional power and authority in the institutional organization, it is critical that women in the Church not feel powerless. We have access to divine power through our faith in Jesus Christ, through the gift of the Holy Ghost, and through our temple covenants and endowment. We need not wait for permission to use that power for good. God urges us all to be “anxiously engaged” and to do “many things of [our] own free will” because “the power is in [us]” (Doctrine and Covenants 58: 26-28). We can be active agents for righteous change.

There are numerous examples throughout the history of the Church of women who have claimed this power and used their moral authority to make their voices heard and their influence felt. Typically, they have done this in one of two ways: 1) by working within the structure of the institution, or 2) by doing independent work outside the institution.

Examples of the first are abundant: Eliza R. Snow helped solidify the doctrine of a Heavenly Mother when she penned the words to the poem/hymn “O My Father” (originally entitled “Invocation”). Sarah Granger Kimball’s idea for the formation of a sewing society to aid those working on the Nauvoo temple led to the organization of the Relief Society. In 1878, Aurelia Spencer Roberts was concerned about the lack of moral training for the little boys in Farmington, Utah. She later recorded: “A fire seemed to burn within me . . . The query then arose in my mind could there not be an organization for little boys wherein they could be taught everything good and how to behave.”[5] She took this idea to Eliza R. Snow, General President of the Relief Society, who took it to President John Taylor. Soon the Primary Association of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was formed and placed under the supervision of President Eliza R. Snow.

Granted, examples like this of women influencing Church doctrine, organization, and policy were more common at a time when the Church was smaller and more localized. Still, more recent innovations such as greater equity in the budgets for YW and YM programs and the 2019 change to the YW theme were undoubtedly influenced by women.

A second but often unrecognized way that women have affected positive change is by doing independent work outside the institution while remaining supportive of the doctrines and leaders of the Church. Examples include women-led organizations such as the Mormon Women’s History Initiative, Mormon Women for Ethical Government (MWEG), the LDS Women Project, Meetinghouse Mosaic, and others. The influence of these groups is often less easily discerned, but is nevertheless very real. When these organizations bring to light compelling new research, make public statements on ethical issues, share the stories of a wide variety of LDS women from around the world, or otherwise shine a light on Church practices and members, the official institution can be moved to acknowledge new research and scholarship, make inspired statements of its own, recognize and celebrate the diversity of experiences and perspectives within its membership, and seek additional light.

My mother and grandmothers would be thrilled with many of the recent changes regarding women and the Church. But there is still work to be done. Thankfully, we belong to a church that believes in ongoing revelation and is fully committed to progress and growth.

Sharlee Mullins Glenn is an author, advocate, and community organizer. She founded Mormon Women for Ethical Government (MWEG) in 2017 and served as its first executive director. She currently serves as Relief Society president in her ward, volunteers with a number of humanitarian organizations, and sits on the boards of several nonprofit organizations.

[1] M. Russell Ballard. “Men and Women and Priesthood Power.” BYU Devotional Address. August, 2013.
[2] Caralynn Clark. “As a Latter-day Saint woman, I’ve been heard, valued, and empowered for decades.” Deseret News. March 21, 2024.
[3] “Priesthood Keys.” Ensign. May 2012.
[4] “Equality of Men and Women.” Eternal Marriage Student Manual.
[5] Aurelia Spencer Rogers. “Life Sketches of Orson Spencer and others: and history of Primary Work.”

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I didn’t always recognize The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints for what it is: a patriarchy. Because I also see the Church as so many good things: a haven, a home, and the delivery system for the restored gospel of Jesus Christ. How can that exist within an exclusionary structure?

As my feminist consciousness has gradually awakened since young adulthood, I have seen micro- and macro-patriarchy everywhere in my Church experience. Perhaps ironically, the more leadership experience I gained in the Church, the more I bumped up against the Patriarchy. And it has rubbed me the wrong way.

– I remember the chatter the first time a woman prayed in General Conference—I was 10. Should that be memorable?

– As a youth, I remember seeing people treat the female speakers at General Conference as a stretch break rather than a serious sermon.

– As a full-time missionary, for the first time in my life, my priesthood leaders were younger than me. They were put in leadership positions over me because of their (or actually my) sex, not a longer mission tenure, leadership aptitude, or better language skills.

– As Primary President, I began to attend ward council meetings, where women were outnumbered by men at least 3:1 most Sundays and had a slim slice of the speaking time.

– As Primary President, I was asked to prayerfully seek revelation regarding counselors and teachers to call, but my revelation would be dismissed if my male leaders felt differently. Every time.
I was made to feel weird about wearing pants to Sunday meetings, when there was nothing weird about wearing pants anywhere else I went!

– As a Relief Society presidency member, I brought up an important issue of a sensitive nature that the other five male leaders involved hadn’t considered. Two of the male leaders discussed it with each other and made an adjustment that I thought was appropriate—then took credit for the whole idea.

Last year, Elder Dieter F. Uchtdorf courageously voiced, “In this mortal life, we rarely get to experience the ideal. And ‘until the perfect day,’ there will always be a gap between the ideal and the real.”

The Church’s patriarchal scaffolding is far from ideal, but it is only scaffolding—it can come down. And just as I have been disillusioned and hurt by it, I have also seen glimmers of hope.

Just before I left for my mission, the Church introduced Sister Training Leaders along with male District Leaders, Zone Leaders, and Assistants to the President. Not parity, but progress. Priesthood quorums have been consolidated, resulting in one less man attending Ward Council meetings. At least one Primary calling recommendation came to me through pure revelation and proved to be an incredible blessing for all involved. I wear pants to church about half the time and no one cares. As counselor to an incredibly inspired Relief Society President, I get to watch her bravely and intentionally speak up for women and for herself time and again, in the face of multiple male leaders who outrank her by virtue of their sex. I see that the power of God is working through her, and she presides with wisdom and grace.

Patriarchy is real, and it stings, because it is not the ideal. The only ideal life was our Savior’s, whose words and works demonstrated that all are precious, all are needed, and all are invited to become more like Him.

Allie Bradford Brown sees the world’s beauty, its problems, and its solutions through the dual lenses of the Gospel of Jesus Christ and the Sociological Imagination (how personal experiences and choices are shaped by broader systems, norms, and historical context). Fittingly, she holds a Bachelor of Science in Sociology from Brigham Young University. Her two years as an AmeriCorps member at a GED program in Durham, North Carolina led her to pursue a Master of Public Administration degree from the University of North Carolina with an emphasis in nonprofit management. She currently works as a grant writer and is deeply interested in how personal generosity and philanthropy power the solutions generated by the nonprofit sector. Allie served a full-time mission in the vibrant island nation of Cape Verde. She and her husband Zach live in Durham, North Carolina with their three delightful boys ages 7, 4, and 1.

The post Working Toward the Ideal appeared first on LDS Women Project.

Join us for an engaging evening designed to bring LDS women together in a spirit of dialogue, faith, and sisterhood.

October 28th

8:00 PM EST

Zoom

In a world often marked by division, how can we remain in community when we disagree? What do Latter-day Saints uniquely contribute to the political landscape? Together, we’ll explore best practices for community engagement, the art of bridge building, and how we can live into President Nelson’s invitation to be true peacemakers.

Julie Savage and Elizabeth Ostler will guide us in a thoughtful, faith-centered conversation where all voices are welcome and respected.

Discussion Topics:

• Staying in community amid disagreement
• Unique LDS contributions to politics and public life
• Best practices for meaningful community engagement
• Principles of bridge building
• Answering the call to be peacemakers

RSVP HERE

The post Fireside Series! The Peacemaker’s Path: LDS Women & Political Bridge Building appeared first on LDS Women Project.

In the October 2018 conference, Elder Neil L. Andersen said, “We search for happiness. We long for peace. We hope for love. And the Lord showers us with an amazing abundance of blessings. But intermingled with the joy and happiness, one thing is certain: there will be moments, hours, days, sometimes years when your soul will be wounded.”[1] The language of wounding the soul arrests me – it aptly describes how I’ve experienced the greatest challenges of my life. I’m not alone in this; we all know the sorrow of a wounded soul. What causes us sorrow and how we cope and respond to it is unique for each of us, but experiencing it is an unavoidable part of mortality.

I’ve been contemplating what we learn about sorrow from the events in the Garden of Gethsemane. In Matthew, we read about a time when Christ, “ began to be sorrowful and very heavy.”[2] He expresses this to a few of his apostles, “My soul is exceeding sorrowful, even unto death.”[3] In his sorrow, he turns to his disciples, his friends, and asks them to stay with him, to witness as he experiences this deep sorrow. Christ then prays to the Father, and the sorrow comes – it multiplies, it breaks open his soul as he takes on and experiences all of the sorrows – yours, mine, everyone’s. He takes it all, and it’s so intense that he pleads to the Father, “My Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me. Nevertheless, not as I will, but as thou wilt.”[4] But the Father doesn’t take it away; He knows Christ’s capabilities. Instead, God sends a strengthening angel.[5]

Angel of Strength by Paige Payne

The knowledge of strengthening angels has been a touchstone for me as I have gone through the soul wounding sorrows of my life. It reminds me that I am never alone, even in the darkest moments. It also teaches me about the nature of God. I don’t believe in a God who doles out suffering, thinking – “You know, it’d be good for Liz if she experiences this really awful thing. That’d be really great for her.” Instead, I believe in a God who created an earth school that is subject to natural laws and values agency. Sorrow is a consequence of natural laws and human agency. The Godhead stays with us and bears witness to our sorrow. They provide comfort and guidance. They send strengthening angels.

When teaching about the atonement, Alma says, “And thus he shall bring salvation to all those who shall believe on his name; this being the intent of this last sacrifice, to bring about the bowels of mercy, which overpowereth justice… thus mercy can satisfy the demands of justice, and encircles them in the arms of safety.”[6] It was through the soul-wounding sorrow Jesus experienced in the garden of Gethsemane and on the cross at Calvary that he became the Christ.

I’ve come to realize that sorrow is not only a mortal experience – it is part of immortal/eternal existence. We learn in the Doctrine & Covenants that the heavens weep for Lucifer.[7] In Moses, God shares the history of the world with Enoch. And in response to the consequences of nature and human agency, the heavens and God weep. Enoch asks, “How is it that the heavens weep, and shed forth their tears as the rain upon the mountains? How is it that thou canst weep, seeing thou art holy, and from all eternity to all eternity?”[8]

Even God, even exalted and immortal beings, experience sorrow. As I take that in and accept that sorrow is part of existence, I’m less compelled to ask why this is happening and instead ask, What am I supposed to learn from this? How does this develop my divinity, my godly attributes?

This forces me to reckon with how I respond to sorrow. There are many ways that I/we respond, but, generally, it’s one of two ways – avoiding or facing. It is natural and understandable to want to avoid pain, to numb it. The world offers so many ways to do it – busyness, perfectionism, binge watching (my favorite), sex, substances, etc. We are much better at causing pain than we are at dealing with our own. Sometimes, when we are in pain, we’ll lash out at people, blame them; or we may distance ourselves, push people away, become bitter, angry, or resentful.

The numbing and avoiding are only sustainable for so long. Until the wounded soul is faced, the sorrow will remain. The only way out is through. If we choose to go through it, we gain the gifts of the gods.

In 2016, my soul was rent by the unexpected death of my sister, Lisa. I was forever altered by the grief that consumed me. Turning towards the pain and permitting the waves of grief to wash through me was at times harrowing. Tending to my grief through art, therapy, and love has gifted me with a deeper capacity and a sacred type of knowing. I am now more equipped to show up for wounded souls with greater compassion and empathy. Showing up from this place knits souls together and fosters further healing. I experienced this when, years later, I called on these sacred, godly gifts as I loved, mourned with, and bore witness as my best friend’s thirteen-year-old daughter died from a brain tumor. Being with her in this tragedy strengthened our friendship and mended parts of my brokenness.

Healing our wounds is painful. It is scary. It can be the hardest thing to do. It is radical and sacred work. If we are brave enough to walk through the valley of shadows, we gain what is wholly divine.

References
[1] Anderson, Neil L, “Wounded”, General Conference October 218
[2] Matthew 26:37
[3] Matthew 26:38
[4] Matthew 26:39
[5] Luke 22:43
[6] Alma 34:15-16
[7] D&C 76:26
[8] Moses 7:28-29

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Call for Essays: LDS Women & Patriarchy: Reflections and Experiences

We invite LDS women to participate in an open, honest, and courageous conversation about patriarchy in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Inspired by Neylan McBaine’s speech at Restore and recent interview with us, we want to explore the reality she articulates so clearly: that patriarchy is part of our ecclesiastical structure—and that acknowledging it is the first step toward understanding our individual and collective experiences within it.

We invite personal essays or proposals of essays from LDS women representing a wide range of beliefs and experiences—whether you feel at home within the current structure or wrestle with aspects of it while choosing to stay. What does it mean to you to live, worship, and seek spiritual growth in an institution that functions as a patriarchy? How has that shaped your faith, your identity, your choices, your relationships, your hopes?

This is not a call to arrive at a single conclusion. It’s a call to speak truthfully and listen deeply.

Writers will work with our editors to produce thoughtful and well-written essays.

Submission Guidelines:

• Proposals of 200 – 250 words
• Completed essays of 500–1500 words
  • Personal, reflective, and grounded in lived experience
  • We welcome a range of tones—from critical to hopeful, analytical to poetic
• Please include a brief bio (2–3 sentences)

Let’s engage this conversation—not by looking away, but by looking together

Submission Deadline: October 1, 2025
Submit by filling out this form.

Please direct any questions to our editor at mwpeditor@gmail.com.

The post Call for Essays: LDS Women & Patriarchy: Reflections and Experiences appeared first on LDS Women Project.