When Compassion Was Replaced By Control

Recently I remembered that many years ago when blogging was in its infancy - and I was still a believing Mormon - I had started a blog to share with extended family what was happening in my family as well as use it as a tool to “preach” the Mormon message, as I was programmed to always be a “Mormon missionary”. 

Looking back at those posts today feels like reading the words of another woman. They remind me not only of what I believed, but of the lens through which I interpreted the world. I suppose I'm still a missionary today—only now I'm devoted to a very different message.

I wanted to share with you part of a post I wrote in July of 2015 and fill in a few details I discovered years after this post was written.  At the time of the original entry, my oldest son was finishing up his two-year Mormon mission and my second son was preparing to leave for his.

Here is a portion of what I wrote in July 2015:

I have been doing more reading in the Book of Mormon.  This week I have been reading about the sons of Mosiah and of their desire to serve a mission among the Lamanites, who were not friendly towards the Nephites at this time.  One of the things that stood out to me as I read this story this time is that it appears to have been a difficult decision for Mosiah to let his sons go.  I think that perhaps one of the main reasons for this feeling was that Mosiah knew that his sons could be entering territory that ultimately could cause physical harm to his sons.  I love that in Mosiah 28:6, Mosiah "inquire[s] of the Lord" to see if he should let his sons serve this mission.  The answer that he is given is beautiful.  In verse 7 the Lord tells Mosiah to "Let [thy sons] go up, for many shall believe on their words, and they shall have eternal life; and I will deliver thy sons out of the hands of the Lamanites."  The phrase that stood out to me was the promise that these sons would be delivered out of the hands of the Lamanites.   How comforting that must have been to Mosiah!  

I learned a great lesson regarding this principle shortly after [my oldest] had left to serve his mission in Brazil.  It wasn't a matter of being delivered from people holding him in bondage but of being in physical harm.  Each Monday I have anxiously anticipated hearing from [my son] through email.  One particular email I received from him caused a great deal of alarm and anxiety.  He wrote telling us that he had had an allergic reaction to an unknown substance.  He had sought medical attention and a shot had been given.  The shot seemed to make his condition worse.  He sent a picture of his face and I was shocked to see that his eyes were almost completely shut and his face was extremely swollen. I was in a panic over this situation. I suffered that whole day over worrying for him.  How could I possibly wait an entire week to hear from him again to know how he was doing?* Fear took over and I could not function.  The next morning when I woke, the feeling of worry was pressing down hard on me.  It also happened to be his birthday and I desperately needed to know that he was alright and not suffering.  Mission rules are very strict and parents are not to contact the Mission Office unless there is an emergency.  To this anxious mother, this was an emergency!** I tried calling the office but no one answered the call.  I fell on my knees, crying to the Lord for help.  I needed to know that my son was doing alright.  During those moments on my knees, I had an impression come to my mind and I was directed to get on Facebook.  I thought that this was a crazy thought but thankfully I followed the prompting.  When I opened my account I saw that I had a friend request… It was from a person I did not know and we had no mutual friends on Facebook.  Typically I ignore these types of requests but I felt prodded to open this person's profile to see who they were.  When I looked, I was stunned to see that this person was from Brazil.  I thought to myself, "Could they possibly know my [son]?"  I immediately accepted the request and then sent a message asking them if they by chance knew of [my son].  Through this technological medium, I was able to learn that the person who had sent me this friend request was the Bishop's wife in the ward where my son was serving.  She had been taking care of my son, helping him to seek the medical attention that he needed, and felt that she should find a way to reach out to me.  She also sent me pictures to allow me to see that he was improving.  You can imagine the feelings of gratitude I felt in being able to see that he was starting to get better.  Never before in my life have I ever received such an immediate answer to prayer!  This woman of God, was able to help a worried mother gain peace that her son was doing alright.  She had been inspired to reach out to me and to be an answer to my prayer.

When I look back at the email that my son sent with his swollen face and read through this account that I wrote, the fear I felt then left traces of that memory that can still be felt in my body today. It was definitely a time I will not forget.

One week after receiving the email from my eldest son about his severe reaction..

Years later, after my son had returned home and I had begun questioning much of what I once believed, he finally felt safe enough to tell me the rest of the story.

At this specific time in my son’s mission he was struggling greatly with his assigned companion.  No word of this was ever communicated while he was serving. Looking back, I realize how deeply Mormon culture teaches followers to present the appearance that everything is fine—even when it isn't. The companion was severely immature and during teaching moments with investigators he would often do things like go behind curtains to fart and laugh. Being at a complete loss as to how to handle the situation, my son decided to communicate what was happening with his Mission President, who was the head senior leader overseeing missionaries in the area. Instead of intervening, the Mission President did nothing.

My son shared that due to the issue not being taken seriously, he inwardly complained about the leadership style of his Mission President. A few days prior to my son having the severe allergic reaction, he was feeling heavy guilt over the feeling that his thoughts were indicative of him not sustaining his Mission President, which is a critical component within Mormonism. My son decided that in order to be right before God he must confess to the Mission President what he viewed within himself as being “sinful”.  

My eldest son was serving in Brazil when this was taken. A picture-perfect family.

The shocking revelation disclosed by my son is that when he had the severe allergic reaction, instead of providing care, the Mission President’s reaction to him was, “This is God’s punishment on you for complaining against me.” 

I remember sitting there unable to speak.

Not because my son’s life was potentially at risk. I already knew that part.

What broke me was realizing that during a serious, life-threatening moment, the man my son had been taught to trust as God's appointed servant had chosen shame instead of compassion.

Having lived most of my life drowning under the weight of shame, this was a burden I had never wanted any of my children to carry.

In that moment, I recognized the same voice that had spoken to my son had quietly shaped my own life for decades.

Taken at the time my eldest son was already serving his mission in Brazil.

One question has followed me throughout my recovery:

What happens when we mistake shame for the voice of God?

Throughout the process of my healing journey, I came to understand what shame had quietly done to me. It had convinced me that I was the lowest scum of the earth. That I wasn't worth a piece of shit. That I somehow deserved the abuse I endured. I apologized for my existence and spent much of my life trying to earn what should never have needed to be earned—acceptance, belonging, and love.

Shame taught me to distrust myself, and fear became the organizing principle of my life. Understanding this became one of the turning points in my healing. As shame gradually lost its grip on me, it created space for transformation. Like a bird released from the weight it was never meant to carry, I slowly learned how to fly.

Celebrating how far I have come. Taken 2026.

When a person who has lived under shame and fear finally discovers they have always been worthy and deserving of love, the landscape of their entire life changes. Decisions become different. Relationships become different. Their body changes. Their voice changes. Their future changes. A beautiful transformation takes place as they move beyond performing and surviving, returning to the wholeness that shame convinced them they had lost. From that place, they are finally free to thrive. 

Liberation always begins with remembering what was never actually lost.

For any who may find themselves recovering from the effects of shame and fear, the journey it takes to reclaim the parts of you that have been lost is worth it. I hope you are coming into a space that brings your inner compass peace. 

Do not give up. 

The trajectory of your future can change.

Love over shame.

With so much love and encouragement,

The Modern Day Pioneer

*Mormon missionaries at this time were only allowed to email their families once a week.

** When my son left on his mission we were not given any contact information for where he was other than his church assigned email. No phone numbers were provided for his Mission President. I googled the mission he was in and located a number online.