What I Miss About Mormonism

Woman smiling in front of the San Diego Latter-day Saints temple — There was a time I felt deeply rooted in my Mormon community.

Not long ago, I began sharing my experience of leaving Mormonism — a journey that’s been painful, difficult, and surprisingly beautiful. But even now, what I miss about Mormonism remains a meaningful part of my story. In that post, I shared what you can expect from this series, along with a brief explanation of how the Mormon church may fit the definition of a high-demand religion. The response was, overall, encouraging and kind – but I also recognize that fear and unease may be stirring in the hearts of those who remain in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

I don’t want my experiences, or the fact that I’m opening up about them, to push loved ones away. I’ll continue to be as thoughtful and respectful as I can in how I tell this story. My story isn’t one of bitterness, but one of complexity. Before I share why I left, I want to honor what I miss about Mormonism — the people, the patterns, the parts that still tug at my heart.

There are so many wonderful people in the Mormon church, and there are parts of the faith I genuinely loved. I don’t want anyone to think I carry only resentment about my time there, because the truth is, a lot of good came from it too. This post is about what I miss about Mormonism — and why those good memories still matter, even though I left.

There Was Always Someone to Bring a Casserole

The church is more than just a Sunday meeting — for active members, it’s a built-in system of community and support during difficult times.
Thanks to the church’s structure, every household is assigned people who look out for them. The time and dedication given to serving one another can be truly remarkable. When I was still a member, I experienced that support many times. Whether you’d just had a baby, were recovering from illness, or it was moving day — someone always showed up.

During my last big move, I wasn’t sure many members would be able to come on such short notice. But the number of people from church who showed up was mind-blowing — trucks, trailers, and extra hands. A four-bedroom, two-story house was loaded and unloaded in just over an hour.

I haven’t seen this level of built-in community outside of the church, and I still grieve it sometimes.

I Always Knew What “Good” Looked Like

Another thing I miss about Mormonism is the clear definition of what it meant to live a “good” life. There’s comfort in knowing what comes next in life — and how to spend your time.

LDS family — mother, father, and adult son — standing in front of BYU-Idaho campus, wearing modest clothing aligned with Mormon standards — At BYU-Idaho, we looked the part — clean-cut, modest, and following the dress code.

I never had to question what to wear because the guidelines were clear. I knew how many piercings were allowed, what I could drink (or not), how to speak and pray, and what my life was supposed to look like at every stage.

Leaving meant giving all that up — and gaining freedom — but not without some real fear and disorientation at first.

I Was Needed — and That Mattered

From a young age, I was taught that I had a divine purpose on Earth — a role given to me by God.

I knew I was expected to grow up, marry in the temple, have children, and develop my talents through church service along the way. This wasn’t just encouraged — it was essential to fulfilling God’s plan.

LDS church gym decorated for a Christmas party with tables, lights, and festive decor, reflecting the service and community efforts of church members — Our church gym, transformed for a Christmas party — countless hours of planning, decorating, and service behind moments like these.

Whether I was serving in a calling (like planning ward parties for 150+ people), acting as a wife, or mothering my children, I felt needed and important. My identity was wrapped up in God’s plan — and in my own eternal salvation. Letting go of that purpose meant facing a terrifying question: Who am I now, if not that?

The Way We Did Holidays, Sundays, Family Night — It All Meant Something

There’s an emotional rhythm to Mormon life — family home evenings, prayers, holidays, blessings, weddings, fast Sundays, mission farewells.
So much of daily life, family gatherings, and special events were wrapped up in the faith. I learned — both at church and at home — what to expect, and there was comfort in that familiarity. It could be as simple as starting and ending occasions with a prayer, or knowing exactly how a wedding would go and what words would be said.

There was deep reassurance in knowing that my entire family — and most of my friends — shared the same values and beliefs. My mom once told me that if any of her children left the church, she’d try hard to stay connected and close, but she couldn’t deny it would change things — we’d lose commonality.

Family dressed as Nativity characters during Christmas Eve Mormon tradition — One of our Christmas Eve traditions: reenacting the Nativity, costumes and all.

One of our long-held family traditions rooted in Mormonism was re-enacting the Nativity on Christmas Eve. If there weren’t little kids around, we’d just read the story straight from the scriptures. That tradition feels a bit funny to me now that I no longer believe.

Still, even as my beliefs shifted, my heart continues to respond to those familiar patterns. Letting go of the religion didn’t erase the nostalgia.

Missing the good didn’t outweigh what I couldn’t reconcile.

Closed scriptures on a table symbolizing spiritual departure — My questions grew louder than my justifications.

Why I Still Left

Falling away from Mormonism was a gradual drift I hadn’t noticed until the end. Over the years leading up to my departure, I found myself brushing aside things that didn’t sit right with me. Because of my religious training, I had become skilled at justifying discomfort — at making things make sense, even when they didn’t feel right.

But once I began studying the history of the church — its origins, its doctrines, and the way it was founded — I couldn’t unsee what I saw. The inconsistencies were too many. The facts didn’t align. And suddenly, everything I had previously excused or ignored became crystal clear in my mind as not okay. .

I Loved the Community — But Not the Judgment

I loved the sense of belonging and support, but I struggled with the culture of constant judgment.
I’ve always seen myself as a loving, open-hearted person. I don’t discriminate based on race, gender, sexual orientation, or anything else. I also don’t think it’s anyone’s business how someone dresses or what they drink or say — as long as they aren’t harming others.

But the church has rules for everything — and those rules invite people to judge one another. Even if you try not to, it’s hard to avoid it when someone’s choices so visibly signal their “worthiness.”

I Trusted the Church More Than My Own Mind

I liked that I always knew what “good” looked like. But over time, I started to worry that I no longer trusted myself to make decisions — that I might not even know how to.

In the church, I was taught to rely on the Holy Ghost for guidance. Good feelings came from God. Bad feelings — or fear or doubt — were from Satan. I didn’t feel confident in my own ability to think critically or make the best decisions for myself or my family. My power was given away — to God, to church leaders, to a system outside myself.

I Was Needed — But Constantly Depleted

I had purpose, and I was needed. But I was also stretched thin — with callings, expectations, meetings, and pressure. My own mental health and family time were often sacrificed in the name of service.

I’ve learned the hard way that you can’t pour from an empty cup. If I want to show up for the people I love, I need to care for myself first. In Mormonism, service to others is emphasized so strongly that self-care often gets overlooked. And because of that, relationships can suffer.

Common Ground Felt Peaceful — Until It Didn’t

There’s comfort in having shared values with your family and friends. That peace feels good — until you don’t fit in the carefully crafted box. .

Mormonism is all about eternal families… as long as every member is considered ‘worthy’ and fully subscribes to the church’s beliefs.

I won’t be able to attend my children’s weddings if they choose to marry in the temple. I’m not considered “worthy” anymore, so I won’t be allowed in. That’s just one example of how the church’s strict rules create painful divides — even in the closest families.

I used to justify painful family divides, thinking, “It’s not happening to me.” But not everyone is so lucky, and now I too know that pain. And if it wouldn’t be okay for my family, why would it be okay for anyone else?

Belonging Felt Conditional

In the end, I found that my place in the church came with conditions. I believe in unconditional love and unconditional belonging. I know there are members who practice this beautifully — but in my experience, they are the exception, not the rule.

The Emotional Whiplash of Leaving Something I Loved

Just because something is right doesn’t mean it’s easy.

Empty lava path symbolizing personal journey and emotional transition after leaving Mormonism — The path forward was mine alone — beautiful, painful, and unfamiliar.

Guilt and shame run deep in my veins because of my religious upbringing, so it makes sense that I’d feel those emotions even as I break away from the thing that held me captive for so much of my life.

I stayed in the religion longer than felt true to me because I was afraid of hurting the people I love. I knew my decision would be heartbreaking for them — and that they might fear for my soul. But I also knew I couldn’t stay in the church just to make others comfortable.

There have been moments of clarity and a strong sense of self in leaving Mormonism. But there have also been twinges of pain and heartache.

I’m the youngest of six kids, all married with large families of their own. Before me, two of my nieces had left the church, and I saw how rocky the road was for them — even though they have loving parents who tried hard to show unconditional love. I admire their bravery. Being the first to leave in a big, tightly knit family takes immense courage, and I’m deeply grateful for the trail they blazed.

My oldest child has also been questioning his faith for several years. I’m thankful for the meaningful, deep conversations we’ve shared. I can’t imagine ever loving my kids less for believing differently than I do — but I’ve seen it happen to others, and that breaks my heart.

There have been a lot of firsts for me as a non-believer — and so much joy. But the other side of that joy is knowing that it can sometimes cause sadness for the people I love. I wish that weren’t true, but I’ve had to make peace with it.

Missing the Good Doesn’t Mean I Made the Wrong Choice

What I miss about Mormonism is real — the belonging, the structure, the shared beliefs. Leaving the Mormon church has been gut-wrenchingly beautiful.

I’ve experienced some incredible highs and some deeply painful lows since making the decision to part ways with my faith. But in the process, I’ve started to feel everything more fully. I’m learning, I’m growing — and that, in itself, is beautiful.

I’ve built meaningful new friendships, and for the first time, I’m truly living life on my own terms.

Woman with friends at Dreamstate EDM music festival wearing rave attire, representing personal freedom and joy after leaving Mormonism” — From church pews to festival lights — this joy is mine, and it’s real.

Thank you for holding space for me as I try to tell my story with both truth and tenderness.

As I continue this series, I’ll be sharing some of the most emotional parts of my faith journey — the moments where it all began to unravel. Come back next week to learn about the moment my faith began to crack.

If you’ve left a belief system or community, what do you still miss about it? What was hardest to let go of? I know what I miss about Mormonism, even as I continue forward.