I recently began sharing my journey of leaving Mormonism after being a devoted member for 40 years. You can read my first post here. One of the first major events that shook my beliefs was my temple sealing cancellation—a painful and deeply personal experience that marked the beginning of a slow unraveling.
When Divorce Didn’t Bring Relief
I was a fully believing member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints when I divorced my husband of 11 years—an abusive man and the father of my four amazing children. That experience, and the way church leadership handled it, is a big part of why I carry certain resentments today. In Mormonism, members are taught to view temple sealings as sacred and eternal, so leaving a marriage—even after years of abuse—came with deep spiritual weight. Leaving could have marked the beginning of healing, but instead, it became the start of a slow unraveling. My understanding of forgiveness, priesthood authority, faith in a living prophet, and even my sense of personal worthiness all began to shift.
What I Was Taught About Sealing and the Atonement
“Families Can Be Together Forever” Isn’t Just a Song
From a very young age, Mormon children learn that families are forever. They sing a Primary song called “Families Can Be Together Forever,” and the idea of eternal families is arguably the most important gospel principle we grow up believing.
I have a family here on earth.
They are so good to me.
I want to share my life with them through all eternity.
Families can be together forever
Through Heav’nly Father’s plan.
I always want to be with my own family,
And the Lord has shown me how I can.
If you’ve ever been a member, you probably can’t read those lyrics without hearing the tune in your head.
Temple Marriage: The Gateway to Heaven
We were taught that an eternal family was the ultimate goal. You marry in the temple, have babies, raise them in the church so they can one day go to the temple, marry, and repeat the cycle. According to church doctrine, you can’t reach the highest degree of glory in the afterlife without being sealed to a heterosexual spouse in the temple.
Because temple marriage is framed as essential for salvation and eternal progression, it’s no surprise that priesthood leaders strongly encourage couples to do everything possible to “make it work.” A temple sealing (also referred to as a temple marriage) isn’t just “until death do us part”—it’s for time and all eternity. And while sealing cancellations aren’t forbidden, they are definitely discouraged and treated as serious business.
Repentance, Worthiness, and the Atonement
To help those unfamiliar with Christian doctrine: the atonement refers to the sacrifice Jesus Christ made to pay the price for humanity’s sins. Through this, believers can repent, be forgiven, and be reconciled with God.
In Mormonism, repentance and forgiveness are closely tied to personal worthiness—especially when it comes to entering the temple. To be sealed, members must hold a current temple recommend, which they receive after passing worthiness interviews with their bishop and a member of the stake presidency. During these interviews, you answer questions about your beliefs, behavior, and whether you’ve confessed any serious sins that require priesthood involvement.
We were taught that some sins could be handled privately through prayer, but others—what the Church calls “serious transgressions”—had to be confessed to a priesthood leader. The repentance process could be long, emotionally grueling, and often left you waiting for someone else to decide when you were finally “worthy” again.
One of the core teachings I internalized from a young age was that once you’ve truly repented, your sin is gone. Erased. Covered by Christ’s atonement. I was taught not to dwell on past mistakes, and never to bring up sins that had been taken care of. This belief stayed with me—until I requested my temple sealing cancellation.
Choosing to Cancel My Sealing
When I married my first husband, I was a week away from turning 19—and I was in love. We’d met just a few weeks before the end of my freshman year of college, so most of our courtship happened long-distance: I was in California for the summer, he was back in Idaho. By the time fall semester started again, we were both back at school. We got married the weekend before Thanksgiving. I share this to show just how quickly everything happened—and how little I really knew Aaron before we were sealed for eternity.
In Mormonism, premarital sex is taught as a serious sin, and that pressure often leads couples to rush into marriage. That wasn’t the only reason I married so quickly, but it certainly played a part. Looking back, marrying Aaron so fast was a mistake—I just hadn’t seen his demons yet.
When the Honeymoon Was Over, It Was Over
Just one week after our wedding, I knew something was wrong. I came home from class to find Aaron curled up on the bathroom floor, rocking back and forth, crying, and yelling that he wanted to die. I was scared, overwhelmed, and unsure of what to do. I’d known he battled some depression before our wedding—but not like this.
In public, Aaron held it together. But behind closed doors, he unloaded all his pain onto me. He couldn’t cope with the pressures of life, and I quickly became his emotional punching bag—and his supposed sexual savior, expected to “fix” the sins of his premarital porn use and masturbation, which the Church taught were serious transgressions.
A Stranger I Should Fear
He never hit me, but he would scream inches from my face, manhandle me, and erupt in rage. I can still picture his face, red with fury, and almost feel the droplets of spit that landed on my skin. His arms were outstretched and rigid, trembling slightly with tension—like every muscle was locked in place. His fingers splayed wide, curled just enough to look like claws, as if he were ready to grab something—or someone. The way he held his body, so coiled and explosive, made him look less like the man I married and more like a stranger I should fear.
I’ve written more about what led to the divorce—and some of the fears I faced afterward—in this post, if you want to go deeper into that part of my story.
The Temple Sealing Cancellation That Fractured My Faith
I didn’t come to the decision to cancel my sealing lightly. I stayed in that marriage for 11 years—through verbal abuse, manipulation, and isolation—because priesthood leaders had counseled me that this was part of our eternal story. At just 19 years old, six months pregnant, and in tears, I sat in the office of a stake president as he prayed with me and told me God wanted me to marry this man. He said I was strong, and if I couldn’t help him, no one could. At the time, I believed him. I believed God had spoken to me through him. It would take over a decade—and four children—for me to begin questioning whether God had actually said any of that at all.
Before I could even request a temple sealing cancellation, I had to finalize a civil divorce and be engaged to another man I intended to marry. The Church strongly discourages women from breaking sealings, since doctrine teaches that a woman cannot enter the celestial kingdom—the highest degree of glory—without being sealed to a worthy husband. So unless you have a new man lined up, they’d rather you stay sealed to your ex.
The Process I Didn’t Expect
I’d heard stories about a temple sealing cancellation taking up to a year, or on rare occasion even longer. After I met Keith and fell in love – less than a year after kicking Aaron out, we wanted to marry. We had the option to request the cancellation and wait for that process, or to get married civilly and then request. With four kids already—and not wanting to delay physical intimacy—we decided to marry civilly and request the cancellation afterward.
Requesting My Temple Sealing Cancellation
Within a month of marrying Keith, I began the process of canceling my sealing to Aaron. At the time, Keith and I both held current temple recommends. We could attend the temple and participate in ordinances at any time, so it seemed reasonable to expect the cancellation wouldn’t take long.
Boy, were we wrong.
I met with my bishop and expressed my desire to end my eternal marriage to Aaron. He directed me to an online form where I provided my information and answered several questions. I don’t remember most of them—but one still haunts me:
“Write down all sins and transgressions between now and the time you married Aaron.”
How could this be? I had already repented of so many things. Weren’t they supposed to be erased? Forgotten? I couldn’t even recall every small “transgression”—things as minor as skipping visiting teaching. The demand to dredge up every wrong from the past 12 years felt humiliating—and completely disconnected from everything I’d been taught about repentance and the Atonement.
Wrestling with Shock and Unfairness
I felt gut-punched reading that question. Keith was just as confused, but he encouraged me to comply—we couldn’t be sealed if I didn’t complete the process. But something felt so deeply wrong. How could the living prophet ask for something that went against everything I’d been taught?
I wrestled with it for months. My bishop followed up, asking for the list. After submitting it, he would write a note, then pass it to the stake president for his own statement, and eventually it would go to the First Presidency. Not only would the prophet and his counselors see my personal history, but so would my local priesthood leaders—men I’d been taught should never be told about sins I had already repented of.
I felt sick. Degraded. And to make things worse, Aaron didn’t have to do any of this—because he wasn’t the one requesting the cancellation. All he had to do was submit a letter giving his approval, as if my eternal salvation and sealing to Keith hinged on my abuser’s permission. I don’t know how much weight Aaron’s letter carried, but the optics were awful.
What Did I Do?
A couple of months later, I made a weak attempt at a list. It felt wrong in every part of me, but I submitted it under pressure—from Keith, family, and my own belief system. My bishop rejected it, saying it wasn’t what church leaders were asking for.
I don’t even remember what I wrote—just that it still didn’t meet their expectations. Although I expressed my concerns and the betrayal I felt, it was denied again. Eventually, I had to step away. Every time I thought about it, I felt nauseated, confused, and emotionally exhausted. Eventually, I had to step away. Every time I thought about it, I felt nauseated, confused, and emotionally exhausted.
About eight months into our marriage, I found my workaround. I used the Church’s own temple recommend language in my response. In a letter to the First Presidency, I finally wrote:
“None that haven’t been taken care of by the proper priesthood authority.”
I handed it to my bishop and told him I wouldn’t be writing anything else. He could submit it or not—but I was done. He sent it on, and we waited.
The Fallout
Ten months into our marriage, a letter from the First Presidency arrived. We opened it together. They had granted the sealing cancellation—but then I read the next line:
“You may be sealed one year from the date of this letter.”
My heart sank. We were already married. We were temple worthy. Why were we being made to wait almost two years from our wedding date to be sealed?
Sealing was supposedly so important. I’d been taught it was dangerous for a woman not to be sealed to someone. This felt like punishment—for refusing to turn over a list of sins. For questioning the process. For pushing back.
I had never questioned the Church before—not its leaders, not its teachings. But this? This didn’t sit right.
Did they not trust my repentance? Was my worthiness still in question—even after surviving abuse and remarrying in faith?
In a dark moment, I even wondered if the list had been about something else. Was I being asked to write my sins down just so some old men could read them and get off on them?
The Beginning of the End
I’ve called this the first crack in my faith—but it was more like an invisible break. One that never fully healed.
The sealing cancellation process felt like a betrayal. Spiritually, emotionally, and doctrinally. And while I managed to push it aside for a time, the wound never really closed. It resurfaced in my mind often, especially when I witnessed or experienced other things in the Church that didn’t sit right with me.
This moment didn’t collapse my faith—but it began a slow unraveling I couldn’t ignore.
Maybe your faith story didn’t involve a temple sealing cancellation. Maybe it was something else—some policy, some teaching, some moment that cracked open the certainty. If you’ve been there, you’re not alone. I was so deeply rooted in the gospel that questioning it didn’t even feel like an option. I thought I had to push through things that felt wrong, trusting that it would all make sense in the end.
But sometimes, what feels wrong is wrong. And questioning isn’t rebellion—it’s courage.
This wasn’t when I left the Church—but it was the moment I started to question.
Looking Ahead
Looking back, my temple sealing cancellation was the beginning of a long, painful unraveling. Next week, I’ll share how priesthood counsel I trusted ended up causing deep harm—and why obedience, for me, became too heavy to carry.
Next up: The Weight of Obedience: When Priesthood Counsel Caused Harm.
Have you ever had a moment when something you believed no longer held up under pressure?
I’d love to hear your story in the comments.
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