Gender Dysphoria in the Church : Going Through the Temple

I've been meaning to write a series of narrative posts that might help explain what the experience of gender dysphoria feels like in a Mormon context. Hopefully at some point these will come together into a book of some form. But I thought a good first one might be about the experience of going into the temple and what that feels like for me.

I had been preparing for weeks, perhaps even months, but I kept putting it off. It was so easy to say "I don't feel like it," or "I'm far to busy with more important things." It was easy to say that it was simply too hard to do alone. But if I really took the time to be honest with myself I was afraid: afraid of the pain, afraid of the emotional consequences, and afraid of being reminded that I don't have any answers.

Of course, there's this funny thing called life that happens even if—no, especially if—you are afraid. The temple came up in a casual conversation with some dear friends and I mentioned how extraordinarily hard the experience was for me. Suddenly a resolution had been made that we were doing this together. My excuses vanished like students leaving school on a Friday afternoon. 

It was easy for my excuses to vanish. For a while now I had been feeling so ashamed for not attending the temple. The ordinances that occur in the temple are supposed to be the highest, most sublime form of worship in Mormonism. The endowment was supposed to give me 'endless support and strength' along with 'unlimited inspiration' and 'motivation.()' Not only that, but we believe that it is necessary for us to do our part in helping achieve the salvation and work of redemption for the entire human race. By not going, I wasn't pulling my weight, so to speak. There were individuals, my ancestors even, who were waiting on the other side and I had been ignoring them. How could I not feel ashamed that I was delaying their salvation? How could I not feel a touch guilty that the temple ordinances--which are very gendered--render me a mewling pile of anxiety rather than a sacred instrument of God's work? 

So in some ways I was relieved that I was finally going to do this: once again taking my place in actively participating to build the kingdom of God. The other far larger portion of me was in shock. Remembered pain played through my mind over and over again, a constantly looped track of misery. But I was resolved. Real participation in the Church revolves around temple attendance and maybe this time it would be a little better. Maybe...

I did my best to ignore the looming temple trip, filing it in the back of mind somewhere between deep cleaning the grout and filing paperwork. You know the deep dark forgotten crevices of the mind where such essential tasks reside. Ignoring something never makes it any better, but it sure did help reduce the anxiety in the days preceding the temple trip. So ignore your problems. There's my piece of unhelpful therapeutic advice for the day. 

Of course, before I knew it the day of the temple trip arrived. I couldn't run away or ignore it any longer. I felt like, at the very least, I needed to give this a fair shot, and do my best. So I tried my hardest to place myself in a positive healthy frame of mind before going to the temple. I stopped and took some time to just breath, letting my breath fall in and out over and over again, until gender stopped mattering. I was just me, and all that mattered was my breathing. I spent some time reminding myself why I was doing this. I really wanted to feel like I was participating in a part of God's work. I wanted to once again feel like I really was a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints for which temple attendance is the highest most noble part of true membership. I wanted to do this for Amy. In some ways I think that to her my temple attendance represents a symbolic showing of my willingness to sacrifice for our relationship, and it makes her so happy to go. In the end, I was just tired of being afraid of the temple. It was time to just face the experience again. I was ready.

Well, I was ready until I put a suit and tie on in preparation to actually go to the temple. Amy and I have worked so hard to build a bubble, a world, where my gender isn't so important. We have dedicated so much time to learning how to avoid popping the fragile sides. We live in constant fear of the emotional flood and the incessant bailing necessary to restore order to our precious and beautiful little world. But, as soon as the tie was around my neck that whole world wavered unsteady under the ponderous weight of masculinity. For a moment I staggered under the load. I might have just given up, but Amy was going with me and we were going to meet some friends at the temple. I even had a male friend who was going to sit next to me and try and make the experience easier. I couldn't give up when I had so much support.

We drove to the new temple on Center Street in Provo which is a beautiful building. Amy and I had been through the open house of the temple but hadn't yet attended a session there. As I walked into the temple the tie around my neck seemed as heavy as many of my students backpacks as they hauled home work that needed to be done after a parent teacher conference. It was a touch hard to breathe and the anxiety was already pressing in a bit, but nothing I couldn't handle. I hardened my resolve and put on my teaching face. You know, that look that always says that you are happy to be there and always willing to work with and help students even if they need a copy of an assignment for the dozenth time. Plus, I was still with Amy, she grounded my every moment creating a safe welcoming place.

Of course immediately after entering Amy and I were separated. I went from the safe comfort of Amy's side into a male changing room. Off flew the suit and tie and only to be replaced with white slacks, a white shirt, a different white tie... I fled the confines of the changing room in record time; racing an imaginary clock counting down the time until the maleness of the space buried me. It was a relief seeing Amy again, and we headed to the chapel to await the beginning of the endowment session.

I spent every moment of time while in the chapel trying to rid myself of the anxiety that had been slowly building up on the trip to the temple and from my foray into the male changing room. I clasped my hands tightly together, took comfort in Amy's presence, and just tried to keep on breathing, repeating over and over with every breath "I could do this, I can do this, I will do this." 

For those of you unfamiliar with an endowment session, the endowment ritually follows the story of the creation of the world, the story of Adam and Eve, the Fall, and the path towards redemption for Adam and Eve and symbolically for all of us as their children. Each individual who participates in the endowment ritually represents either Adam if male or Eve if female. Throughout the endowment, all the participants are reminded of and make covenants to follow the laws of God. These "laws include the law of obedience and sacrifice, the law of the gospel, the law of chastity, and the law of consecration" (https://speeches.byu.edu/talks/ezra-taft-benson_vision-hope-youth-zion/). If we follow these laws, God, through the atonement of Christ, promises all mankind the ability to return to back to his presence and leave this fallen world. 

As soon as it is time, we filed out of the chapel and into the actual endowment room. I spent as long as possible standing next to Amy before we were forced apart as women filed to one side of the room and men went to the other. This clearly gendered divide was even symbolically painted into the room itself with the women's side painted with a swan, doves, and flowers while the men's side is represented with a more outdoorsy less markedly feminine scene of a lake and ducks. The very walls of the room constantly reminded me how out of place I felt.

The man who is seated at my left exudes such an aura of masculine confidence that I unconsciously shrink away down into my seat trying to be invisible and not trying not to let my obvious discomfort show. Luckily, my friend is seated on my right, so I can shrink away towards my friend and take comfort in the fact that someone close to me at least kind of understands how hard this experience is.

The endowment begins. The world is created, the days of creation are numbered and recounted. Next Adam and Eve enter the picture. Shortly after their arrival, the brethren are asked to stand. Everyone around me stands, but for a moment I don't, my friend has to nudge me, and embarrassedly, and quickly, I stand. 

I'm sure many people think that I must have drifted off, but in reality I heard the words but didn't make the connection that the word 'brethren' was supposed to apply to me. I don't identify with that word, and in that moment I didn't even recognize that it was supposed to signify me. That moment starts a downward spiral. I can feel the anxiety closing in, but there is still a long ways to go. I dig my thumbnail into the center of my palm hoping that the pain will help ground me for just a while longer.

While the law of personal sacrifice is discussed, I wonder how much more could I sacrifice than being here in this moment, so out of place, so vulnerable, and frankly so scared. I hope fervently that God accepts this sacrifice and this is enough because I honestly don't know how much more I could give. I'm focusing on my breathing now as well, my thumb nail still being driven into the center of my palm. I'm still trying to listen to the words, but it's getting harder.

The presentation turns towards the importance of the commandments and virtuous living, or the law of the gospel.  My hands are shaking, I'm sweating, and I'm trying to look like I still have everything together. I'm beginning to wonder if this ordinance even counts. I'm going through the endowment on behalf a deceased individual who is male, but am I eternally male? We clearly care that males do the work of males and females do the work of females. Am I actually accomplishing anything by being in the temple? Would this just have to done over again anyways? 

The absolutely essential nature of the law of chastity is once again explained. More questions flood into my mind. Once again, if I feel female what is my eternal gender? If my eternal gender is female is my relationship with my wife even appropriate? The question what am I even doing here pounds into my mind like a mathematical repetend over and over again in an unceasing litany of confusion.

Finally, we consecrate all of our time and energy to helping build the kingdom of God. I can't even listen to the words anymore. I can feel myself falling apart, pieces of me drifting away like ash from a burnt piece of paper. I'm focused on tracing the wood grain on the seat in front of me. In my mind I'm not even in the room anymore. Nothing exists except the patterns on the wood grains and my breath. It doesn't hurt so much here.

The ceremony comes to an end, I stumble over the final exchange in my haste to exit into the celestial room. I need to leave, I can't survive a moment longer. I need Amy...

And finally, I enter the celestial room. I see Amy and relief floods through me. Finally, the one person who really understands me, who understands how hard this entire experience was, and who knows that a large reason I endured this experience was because I love her. She looks radiantly happy. The temple always has that effect on her. Divine serenity clings to her like dew on fresh daffodils. I see her smile at me and I know that even if I'm not sure how my Heavenly Father accepts my sacrifice, she at least understands and is so grateful for the gift I have given her today.

We embrace and instantly I'm not so alone anymore. I feel loved for who I am, validated and understood in my pain, and each part of how much I sacrificed to go through this session is seen and accepted. I feel the pieces of myself being pulled back together through her love and concern for me. I know that even though it might take a while everything is going to be ok. Because of her, I find myself again.

As I ponder that, a thought comes strongly to mind. Maybe this is a small taste of what heaven really does feel like. This life is so hard, and we all at times ask ourselves why we suffer, why there is so much pain. We all feel alone. But on the other side we have a Heavenly Father who really understands us, understands how hard every moment is for us, and who knows that we are enduring this life because we loved and trusted Him enough to follow his plan. How great will that comfort and relief be, when we finally get to the other side and receive a loving hug of welcome from our Heavenly Father? I pray that the feeling is analogous to how wonderful I felt being held, understood and loved by Amy in that moment.