I finally roll out of bed. It’s 7 a.m. I walk downstairs and see my husband. He got up at 6 a.m. with the kids, because I work late. We sit up for our gourmet breakfast — cereal. After pouring some cereal and milk for my 3-year-old son, I go to pour some for myself. “Mom, I don’t want this kind anymore. I want that kind!” So, I dump the slightly soggy cereal into my own bowl and pour a different kind for him. After he’s picked at that cereal, he’ll jump to another kind, and I’ll finish his second round.
My husband goes to grab our Doctrine & Covenants and the Come, Follow Me manual. He reads in his stage voice so we can hear over our 1-year-old — making her jabbering sounds as she eats banana pieces and toast — and our 3-year-old, who is now playing with cars.
We may not glean much at all, but it’s our best opportunity for family scripture time, and we hope that by doing it daily, something will stick.
After cleaning up, we all migrate upstairs. My husband and I take turns juggling the kids while trying to make beds and get ready for the day. I shower for five minutes because that’s all I have time for. I pull my greasy hair up into a pony tail because hair wash day is going to have to wait until Saturday because “it’s the day we get ready for Sunday.”
It takes me three tries to pick out a shirt before I find one that doesn’t have boogers and food stains on it. I rotate between five different shirts because I don’t fit into any of my pre-baby clothes. But I still hold onto them — you know, just in case.
I settle upon the remaining shirt that’s available and hastily pull on a pair of joggers. There’s no way I’m wearing anything nice when my kids think I’m some kind of walking towel.
The rest of my day consists of changing diapers, trying to side-step demands for candy or another snack, checking to see if my son “has the pee feeling,” making, serving and cleaning up food while sneaking the lingering sips of applesauce from an unfinished pouch — all while trying to accomplish at least one thing during the day. Sometimes, it’s simply brushing my teeth.
My life isn’t glitzy or glamorous. There are no mansions or millions of followers.
When Season 1 of “The Secret Lives of Mormon Wives” debuted, and I heard the tales of these so-called “Mormon wives,” I was shocked. These women claim to be members of the same church I belong to. And yet, their life looks nothing like mine.
In an opinion piece published at the time the first season aired, Sarah Jane Weaver wrote, “The recent portrayals of the women in my faith do not come close to representing me or the millions of active, participating Latter-day Saint women I have met across the globe.”
I couldn’t agree more.
In all reality, I knew I would never watch the show. I have a hard time with most PG-13 movies and will happily choose a Hallmark-styled romance movie over much else because I prefer to watch something that is wholesome over something that is raunchy. My go-to novels can be found on the shelves at Deseret Book where there are no swear words and the most “action” the couples experience is when the suitor brushes the gentlelady’s hand as he exits the ball.
Don’t get me wrong, I know there are good Latter-day Saints out there who aren’t as strict in their practices as I am, but that’s the whole point. If you are going to try and show what the life of a Latter-day Saint wife is, you need to take a look at the entire pool.
But before you discount my opinion entirely, I should tell you that I decided to give the show a shot — I can’t expect them to hear me out if I haven’t heard them.
Before the episode even began, the following advisory flashed on the screen: “TV-MA: The following is intended only for mature audiences. Viewer discretion advised.”
The first thought that popped into my head when I saw that is “there’s no way this is an actual representation of what a faithful Latter-day Saint life looks like.”
These “Mormon wives” explain, at the beginning of the first episode, that as members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints we don’t swear, we don’t have more than one ear piercing, we don’t get tattoos, we don’t drink, and we don’t have pre-marital sex. They talk about these distinguishing factors as restrictions — limitations on life.
The problem with this portrayal is that these women aren’t like me at all. They swear. They have extra piercings or tattoos, they drink, and some are definitely living a promiscuous sexual life.
In my house, we are trying to get better at not saying the “s” word … “stupid.” (If you have young kids then you know that sooner or later your kids will start picking up the words you say.)
In the mere 10 minutes I could stand of the first episode of the first season before turning it off, what I realized is these women are claiming to be “Mormon” because of how they were raised, but the very nature that their lives include such things as drinking, swinging, and the like, draw a stark contrasting line in the sand between them and me.
The scale of Mormonism they reference is, unfortunately, real. And I happen to be at the complete opposite end of the spectrum. But if you’re not willing to account for the full breadth of Latter-day Saint women’s experiences, then stereotypes will follow, no matter which end of the spectrum you fall on. Rather than feeling suffocated by these so-called “restrictions,” they are the very things that add joy and purpose to my life.
And the beautiful reality about the women of my faith is that we come from all walks of life, with many different roles we take on in and out of the home. There isn’t one cookie-cutter life of a woman in the church: Many are married, single, divorced, working full time, working part time, volunteering at school, driving kids to sports, navigating life as a single parent, and more.
I believe that the very nature of this vastly talented and multi-faceted group is what makes being a Latter-day Saint woman so intriguing to the outside world.
I get it. If you only know what the internet has to say about Latter-day Saints and our so-called strict rules, then it makes sense why the sensationalism that “Secret Lives” is trying to capitalize on is working.
But is it?
As I watched and even read up on the stories of these wives and their secret lives, I felt sorry for them. They clearly are missing something. Their secret lives have taken over and have created problems — that are now playing on screen for the whole world to see. They are missing out on the deep, enduring joy that comes from living the Gospel of Jesus Christ, the complete trust and love that fills a marriage when each is devoted to God and is faithful to each other, and the immense fulfillment that comes when life is lived honestly — honest with your spouse, with yourself and with God.
As a missionary serving in Italy, I met my fair share of Catholics who were only Catholic because their parents were Catholic whose parents’ were Catholic before them, and on it goes. But many would only attend mass on Easter or Christmas and didn’t have a strong grasp of the basic teachings of the Catholic Church.
The fact is, the “actual life” of this “Mormon wife” is that every day I make an active decision to follow my Savior, Jesus Christ. That decision drives what words I say, what choices I make and my interactions with those around me. I’m a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints not because my parents are or because their parents were before them, but because I choose to be — and all the sacrifices and blessings that come with it. When people interact with me, I hope they can tell I’m a Latter-day Saint — and that it’s no secret.