Mormon Polygamy: No More Marathon to Heaven

Mormon Polygamy: No More Marathon to Heaven

        I recently participated in a 5K Break Free Run in my hometown to help combat human trafficking. This year’s theme was: “STRONG.” There were posters along the paved More »

“Freedom is just another word for nothing left to lose”

“Freedom is just another word for nothing left to lose”

I wrote this on Mother’s Day  2017 after reading a blogpost about some women and children from the FLDS  polygamous group being evicted for not paying their taxes.  (I don’t know the More »

Why I went MIA from my writing post

Why I went MIA from my writing post

In 2016, I went missing in action when I deserted my Monday school blogposts. This was not only due to PTSD (post-polygamy traumatic stress disorder), I was trying to find employment, and transition More »

Monday School Blog: GPS to Heaven, please

Monday School Blog: GPS to Heaven, please

Welcome to Monday School!  This is where you don’t have to dress up or get out of bed. Besides being a self-ordained female teacher and believing that females can also lead, there More »

The Art of Communication: A Messy Work in Progress

The Art of Communication: A Messy Work in Progress

Say what you mean and mean what you say, or maybe just keep your mouth and keyboard shut. That is what I have learned this week. The meaning of words can often More »


Warning: Keeping My Portals Shut

I remember as a child singing a beloved Christmas song, the lyrics went something like this: “Open ye portals, I pray for the love of heaven, open ye doors for a poor woman waits outside…”

The song was about the birth of Christ. As a child, I loved hearing this song.  Afterwards we would take turns with relatives reenacting the first Christmas hoping to play the part of Mary and Joseph.  Then, we’d listen to early Mormon stories about pioneer ancestors.  I never imagined that some day I would be pioneering a new way for my children to view mortality.

Although I don’t know the title of this song, it still comes to mind because of the story behind it.  Motherhood, mother’s helpmeet, the portal of life; a symbol of love and salvation (“preservation or deliverance from harm, ruin, or loss”).  Life is meaningful.






Today the miracle and innocence of a naked baby contrasted with a trail of religions and temples

I do not know if there is a portal to heaven, or if there is a god who hears my prayers. Even if there was, I imagine that my prayers are unnecessary because God knows everything about me including what is best for me before I pray.  As a mother whose children often pleaded for something they wanted, I doubt God wants to hear another pestering prayer.  It just doesn’t make sense to me. Worse is the thought of deserving children whose prayers are not answered. My prayer would be that God answers their prayers first.

I am more than happy to let go of a real or made-up portal to heaven.

Life should be esteemed as sacred as a portal to heaven

This year, I am going to take more control over the time and energy I exert, and the time and energy used by those objects or individuals trying to side-track me, and make their way into my life.

This blogpost is about controlling what or who I allow to enter my portal.  I define portal as a doorway into my personal space, which space should be considered my heaven on earth. My peace and happiness.  I may not be able to control certain aspects of my life, but I can take more control over intruders, and potential intruders.

Recent intruders have been trying to finagle their way into my personal space through open portals.

I Do Not Know Why I am being Routed Through Utah

I recently noticed my computer was acting odd.  I accessed a program that showed each DNS address coming from SLC, Utah, to my IP address. The number of queries coming from Utah were 972, 1032, 836, 1013 782, 925.

This means that someone from Utah may be trying to gain access into my information. I have security set up, yet it will never be enough for a good hacker.

If a computer is not protected an unscrupulous person from anywhere can turn on a camera or microphone without the victim’s knowledge, besides gathering all their personal files, including passwords (e.g. Putin’s cyber-army).

There is no reason that I know of that my DNS is being routed to Salt Lake City, instead of Fresno (where it should be coming from).

I have double checked my computer portals for security.

Fake Anonymous









Fake Anonymous needs me

Last night I decided to shut all portals to anyone contacting me about my ex-spiritual polygamist husband CMN, unless there is (what I believe) a legitimate reason.  Not a legitimate excuse.

I received another e-mail this morning.

Due to my former experiences helping victims of polygamy-abuse, I do want to extend myself to others who may need assistance.  If you need help, please contact me privately.

Here are a few suggestions:

  • If you are suicidal contact a confidential suicide hotline. You can also message me on Facebook. I may be able to connect you to specialized services.
  • If you are being threatened, bullied, intimidated, isolated, or exploited get help from a domestic abuse hotline.
  • If your Messenger tries to play the divide and conquer game “Us” against “You” – get help. This is a common strategy used by an abuser.  Find help “outside” his support group.  Contact a victim’s advocate.
  • If he has publicly or privately humiliated or shamed you, in any way, it is a form of abuse.
  • If he uses fear tactics such as making you feel guilty for going along with something illegal or unethical he has done, or lured you into, do not let him make you feel guilty through association. It is a way to pull you in closer, or test your loyalty. Get out it will only get worse.
  • If he uses anything in your past, anything you have done to intimidate you, or if he spreads rumors or falsehoods about you it means he is angry and losing control. Do not be intimidated.  Get help immediately. Do not be sucked into his vortex.
  • If you have been a witness to illegal activities report it to law enforcement.  Ask for a victim’s advocate.
  • If you have seen your messenger do any of these things to others in the group take note, it is a sign of his true character. You are empowering him and supporting abuse.
  • Prepare for your escape and protection by getting help.

(The above may or may not apply).

I believe in freedom of religion. I do not believe in freedom to abuse others.  Deception and fraud are not protected under “religious freedom”.

I was a victim of CMN – so I am speaking from personal experience.  (I am familiar with many of the tactics above).

I do not believe CMN is a “Messenger” any more than I am, nor do I believe that the Humanity Party is the answer to solve our world’s poverty problems.  I will explain more in later posts about what I believe could be one of the answers to poverty.

I certainly hope no one would take someone like CMN seriously.  A leader? A humanitarian? Feed the hungry and take care of the orphans? CMN still owes back child-support to me.  He has never made amends.

I will open my portal for those individuals who message me on my Facebook, or Vickie’s Grin who need help.  I have already received anonymous messages, and will help whenever possible. Otherwise, I am closing my portal to those who are harassing me.

If you are a believer and happy, this message is not intended for you.

Coach Tricia      

“Tricia, Tricia, Tricia –

Do you really need to keep texting me to join your new fit challenge?  Besides the recent e-mails, I received two texts in one week. I was the woman who joined your fitness challenge last year and then quit before the challenge ended. Besides being a terrible challenger, I would have NEVER thrown money into the pot for your top weight losers had I known you would constantly be promoting Herbalife after joining.

Chanting for a Herbalife chaser is hitting rock bottom.  The only positive was my sister winning a pot of money without buying your Herbalife.  Please be more honest.

I am shutting my fitness portal to Coach Tricia, and all other promoters, by blocking unwanted numbers and email addresses.

Mormon Missionaries

This Christmas season while I was at work, the Mormon missionaries came to our door while I was gone.  Unbeknownst to me, they were invited back and shared a movie with my daughter.  The sisters also invited my daughter to a live nativity with a reminder: “World-wide day of service is December 1st”.

I would not have minded my daughter getting some education about, or from, the LDS Church with my knowledge.

I have shut that portal.

Billboards and False Advertising 

When I drive home from work I pass one of those “Come visit Moab” billboards.  I pass both the Moab billboard and the Scientology billboards.  Several billboards.

The reason why the Moab sign negatively affects me is because of unresolved issues when I was living in Utah, including Moab where I was groomed for polygamy. The geographical beauty doesn’t take those memories away.  It is my former connection with cults, and knowing that innocent people in Utah are being deceived by the appearance of something that looks wholesome and inviting, and yet, is harmful.

The billboard and signs on buses advertising Utah symbolize the machination of something attractive on the outside and rotten in the inside.

Recently one of my nieces was being sneakily recruited by her own boss into Scientology. She had no idea the professional business was also a lure until after being invited to Florida (Scientology headquarters). The communication teaching, and Scientology photographs posted on the wall is easy to miss when you aren’t looking. Luckily my darling niece figured it out.

I wasn’t so lucky before being recruited into Mormon Fundamentalism.

Since it is an impossibility to control pesky signs, and because I want others to have their freedom of speech, I am closing the portal to these uncomfortable messages.  Instead I stick in a CD to the musical “La La Land” and lala those billboards away.

I am now attracted to “cities of light”.


This blogpost was intended to give examples of some recent intruders, something my daughter would say – “first world problems, Mom.”  Partly as a written and visual reminder to myself.

There are many more important problems in the world than learning time management and how to control my day. Unfortunately, without religion, and someone leading me this is my life – learning to take accountability and control of my day.

Fortunately, I got this handled!

Intruders are not only people they are material items, emails, paperwork, phone calls, re-runs on television, too many of the same cute animal videos, and other distractions. THINGS that often do not give back. They are not only intruders they are feeders who suck the life and energy out of me.

I am shutting my portal to these costly interferences and creating a situation where I am naturally drawn towards something of value, instead of something less valuable.

It really does take a plan

Religion and religious leaders have used similar strategies to control people.  The problem is that the religion dictates the plan of action instead of the individual. If a person doesn’t fit into the mold of that religion or dictator, it is harmful to stay.

This reasoning, each person being unique and not always able to fit into a pre-prescribed role, is why I know the Mormon Church is false.  For example, should a woman who suffers from mental health issues be forced to give her husband more wives and told she will be destroyed if she doesn’t live polygamy? Of course not.

My great-grandmother, raised in the Mormon Church, immensely faithful and active to her religion and husband, nearly died with her four children. The pressures were too much.  As I read through old letters, not only did she suffer from anxiety, she was a perfectionist.  I am so glad someone helped her and her children off a railroad track that ominous day.  Although she spent the rest of her life in a mental hospital in Provo, Utah the baby she held in arms that day, my Grandmother, was loved and well-cared for by relatives.

“Hey, Mormon God, how does that scenario fit into you plan of salvation?”

Could my great-grandmother have stood the test of polygamy, if she was Emma Smith?

Closing portal.

Working on my plan

Some people believe this life is destiny; foreordination or predestination or the perfect formula of what was and will be.  I believe this life is about choices, and the more educated we become the better our choices.  Better choices and action can lead a person to a healthier life.

I have been shutting the portals lately in my life, trying to prioritize.  For the next few days I am going to be working on an individual and family mission statement, and the portals I want to open.



Why I went MIA from my writing post

In 2016, I went missing in action when I deserted my Monday school blogposts.

This was not only due to PTSD (post-polygamy traumatic stress disorder), I was trying to find employment, and transition into the workforce.

The past year has been both interesting and insightfully challenging.

As my daughter recently wrote: “It is a wonderful time to reflect on all of our individual and shared accomplishments from 2016 . . .”


After graduating from college, I tried several jobs trying to figure out how to make a sustainable living.  For a while, I was a delivery-person, Uber driver for a short period, tried being a service-provider to elderly, and then decided it would be best to create a band and sing at retirement homes. I recruited family members to help.  I never imagined, for a moment, that elderly folks with hearing aids could detect I was tone-deaf.  I had no clue that I was not on pitch, until my daughter told me. That venture only lasted one night.

By some strange fate or coincidence, at the beginning of last year, I was hired as a behavior interventionist working with autistic children. Something I never imagined doing.

The results: I absolutely love my job. I work with individuals who have difficulty verbally communicating learn to communicate. In many ways, this experience has been a life-changer for me.

To work with autistic children, I had to learn ABA (applied behavior analysis).  Although it was relatively easy to learn, so many changes were occurring during the same period. The first month I got shingles, most likely due from the stress.  It was tough.

I continued to work, and never gave up.

Most days I suffer from anxiety, and I don’t know if I can physically go to work or not, but I do. I never allow the tricks, dark force, temptation, negative energy, or what a behaviorist calls an “aversion” to control me.  Every work day, (yep, every one), I experience dread or a foreboding sensation in my gut, my heart races, and if I know my supervisors are going to be there watching me, I often hyper-ventilate before leaving my home.

Logically, I know if I do not work, I will lose. So, I simply put on my shoes, whether they match or not, and walk out the door.  When I get to work, I love it and wonder why I was ever anxious in the first place.  I wonder why I dislike my bosses watching me when I am happy to see them and receive their support. (It is the strangest phenomenon, and it could be related to knowing how much energy it takes to do my job right).

I don’t know why I brought all this up, except to explain that not only have I been busy making changes in my life—a change has occurred in me.  Not only have I touched the lives of others, and have truly participated in communication miracles, my clients and ABA have given me the gift of communication.

We are all unique

Nearly twenty years ago, after leaving polygamy, I was told by a psychologist for vocational rehab that I was intelligent enough to go to a University.  But, in the back of my mind, after leaving his office, I kept wondering if I was so intelligent then why did he help me put the puzzles together that tested my intelligence level.

After polygamy, I tried several times to go back to school, yet my path was never linear; it was a squiggly ride.  It took many more years than I anticipated before getting a degree in sociology and finding a career path.

There were times when taking cognitive psychology, I wondered why a class of over 200 students would see an image or concept one way, while I saw it the opposite way.  After talking to one professor, the only consolation I received was that my experiences validated the exact point she was trying to make — most often our brain and the way we process information is similar—again, most often.  All brains are unique.  No two are the same.

Our individual path

I am so grateful for the path that has been provided, the one I have helped create, so that I can share some recent experiences, and my wild (and brilliant) mind.  I believe in the gift of being healed because I am continually healing.

I was recently explaining to a loved one that my future writings might make some people uncomfortable, especially Mormons. But, nobody is forced to read them. My purpose is not to change or hurt people; it is to support people who believe differently.

I write for myself (the same way I sing to myself), and I post them because I know it helps validate others.

8-11-1998 Orrin Hatch Polygamy Interview

Mormon Polygamy: No More Marathon to Heaven





I recently participated in a 5K Break Free Run in my hometown to help combat human trafficking. This year’s theme was: “STRONG.” There were posters along the paved pathway with messages such as – “Stand up have a voice stay strong,” “An educated child is a strong child,” and “Children are the world’s most valuable resource and its hope for the future.”

A few years ago, I entered the same Break Free Run and thought then, as I do today, “More education needs to be made available about coercive polygamy – a form of modern-day slavery.”

Participating in the run this year inspired me to be STRONG and share some of my experiences being recruited and coerced into polygamy. Certain criteria and elements that define human trafficking are also found in Mormon polygamy. The main difference is that polygamists use family members and friends to help recruit polygamy prospects, and religion to get away with it.

Beneath my Break Free Run shirt, I wore a “Hope” shirt, representing my love and support for children and women who have suffered at the hands of Mormon Fundamentalist predators. These victims and survivors have been used as sex objects, birthing machines, domestic slaves, child laborers, exploited workers, collected and sometimes traded among polygamists.  If it seems unreal – I assure you, it is a reality.  That is why, last week, it was meaningful being united with a group of people running to end human trafficking (coercive polygamy was not mentioned, so that is why I decided to write this blogpost). 

This year, I stayed behind runners and took my time while memories flooded back as I was reminded of another marathon I ran: a marathon to heaven. I had been taught that in order for me to attain the highest degree of heaven, I would need to “give” my husband another wife. If I didn’t obey all the laws pertaining to polygamy, and make it to the celestial finish line, I would be destroyed, and my children would be given to another mother on the other side. (Only the righteous are blessed to remain as families forever).

As a child who wasn’t sealed in the temple to her parents, an eternal family meant everything to me. A devout member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, I met my future husband at Brigham Young University. At eighteen years of age, I was sealed in the LDS Temple for time and all eternity to my twenty-five year old eternal mate. After we had our second child, our path began to diverge from the mainstream church. My husband begun having doctrinal questions, and he met others who provided hidden (or what some members consider “less revealed”), LDS history. This is when our marriage started to take a drastic change.

I had learned about polygamy in seminary and was told it was an eternal principle revealed to Joseph Smith, and would someday be lived again. I revered my pioneer heritage, and believed following all the laws of God was essential. Although adamant that polygamy could not be lived in today’s society, I also believed that I was supposed to follow my husband. I was married in the Mormon temple in the early eighties when marital roles were more rigid; my husband worked outside the home, and I worked inside the home raising our children. During the LDS temple ceremony, I was told to follow my husband as he followed God (I made my temple covenants to my husband whereas he made them to God). As my husband taught me church doctrines from early Mormonism, I became very confused because of all the contradictions.  I remembered the covenants I made in the LDS temple.

My husband explained to me about the Manifesto and how the Mormon Church abandoned polygamy in 1890 because President Wilford Woodruff feared losing church property and not gaining statehood, or being popular with the world (another contradiction of God). He explained if President Wilford Woodruff had remained faithful, God would have fought his battles. My husband told members in our LDS Ward that he would give a thousand dollars to anyone who could find a revelation from a Mormon prophet after President Wilford Woodruff signed the 1890 Manifesto. (In his mind, the lack of any new “thus saith the Lord” revelations were a sign that the heavens had withdrawn).

Line upon line, precept upon precept, I was recruited to live polygamy by my former husband, his friends, and Doctrine & Covenants 132. I use the word “recruited” because under normal circumstances, I would never have allowed my husband to spiritually marry and have sex with other women. I grew up in mainstream society where monogamy was the norm, not polygamy.

Eventually, I was moved to a desolate area with other Mormon Fundamentalists and lost contact with my family, and much of reality. My husband gave me religious books to read that prepared me for my submissive role as a plural wife – we would argue, I would apologize, and the cycle would repeat itself – something he referred to as “slipping”. (He called opposing his leadership “spiritually fornicating” which I sometimes did commit.)

Clearly, I had no idea what to expect when my husband spoke of living polygamy. It was unsettling; I had so many reservations. But, I also believed that my role was to follow my husband, as he followed the laws of God (which, to me, included Mormon polygamy and celestial marriage). My husband promised that when he took a wife, he would be careful of my feelings.

During my experience of living polygamy, there were many times it felt as if I was running on a never-ending treadmill that was going way too fast. Once I jumped on I realized I was on a fast track, with no way off. Mothers have nearly ten months to prepare for giving birth to a baby, yet I was only given a couple weeks to get ready to deliver a new bride to my husband.

The role of the first wife was to place the bride-to-be’s hand on his during the wedding ceremony – which I did.

Before their engagement, my husband, who was fourteen years older than the bride-to-be, asked me to write letters demonstrating my acceptance of polygamy – which I did.

Men often expect their wives to become their greatest proponent in polygamy. Turning to them for help in recruiting more wives. Victims often turn, and advocate polygamy. They do whatever it takes to secure favor in the heart of their husband.

As the first wife, I was ill-prepared for what I would experience living polygamy. There was no training manual. No road map, no sign posts along the way, and no role model to follow. (That should have been my first clue.) Not even a small Dixie cup of unpolluted water to quench my thirst. I was on my own; it felt as if I was running in the dark, not knowing where I was going – “If only I had more FAITH!”

Quitting a marathon to heaven was not an option for a die-hard, like me.

I tried steadying myself with fasting and prayer; bracing myself with more priesthood blessings and scripture reading. Although the LDS temple had taught no light-mindedness, there were many times when I’d question why I was living polygamy. It just didn’t make sense.

My husband told me stories. We laughed at the first-wife who was so angry at her husband for living polygamy that she froze to death on a rooftop. I assured myself, “I would never be turned into a pillar of salt, or freeze to death.”

I wrote affirmations to be a better wife, and posted them on my kitchen wall. I was constantly trying to be obedient and maneuver away from Satan. Seemingly small things were often the hardest to bear: Losing a helpmeet and father for my children because days and nights were evenly divided between plural-wives; watching ½ my husband’s clothing being moved out of my bedroom; arguing which plural-wife would “give” the next wife; my husband deciding to stay over at my sister-wife’s house when he was sick because it was less noisy (I thought I was his only “helpmeet”); my husband arriving home from travel on my sister-wife’s night; sitting in the backseat of the car with the children as my sister-wife sat in the front with our husband; having sex after or before his other wife; all living together and a lack of spontaneous affection; feeling like a number instead of a wife; the saga of deciding where to have holidays; wondering who my husband thought about when he watched a “happily ever after” love story; his wives allowance secretly divided; skipping an anniversary day because he was with his other wife; so many birthdays and rotating nights and chaos; husband being heavily influenced by my sister-wife or her family; husband not being around when I went into labor because it was my sister-wife’s night; often feeling like both a single-mother and mistress but never a partner . . . the list felt endless.

I did not understand why plural marriage was so difficult when I believed it was a true principle of God, and loved my family; including my sister-wife. I certainly did not want to be weak or insecure in my marriage. So I pushed on, believing that faith and obedience would propel my weary mind and body. I did not want to die of a broken heart, so I convinced myself that not being destroyed would be worth it. And when my sister-wife told me, “The first shall be last and the last shall be first,” I kept running.

After a couple years of nearly running myself to death, while my husband ignored the needs of me and my children, and the treadmill kept getting faster with mention of getting another wife (something he referred to as needing a “quorum” of wives to help our marriage), I came to the conclusion that either: 1) I wasn’t celestial material or 2) My husband wasn’t living polygamy correctly.

I finally decided that if this was heaven, I’d rather be happy in hell – and I took a flying leap!

Jumping off the Mormon polygamy treadmill was worth the ALL the risks.  Today I am grateful that my children and I are safe. I never froze to death or turned into a pillar of salt, and I haven’t grown (anymore) horns. I am much happier. We are much happier.  It has taken me decades to understand the manacle machinations of Mormon polygamy.

Every human deserves happiness, and to be treated with dignity and respect.

Unlike the marathon to a polygamist heaven, the “Break Free Run” was not a straight and narrow path, and it did not matter how fast or slow I ran because we all crossed the same finish line. Even if someone couldn’t finish the 5K, she would not be disqualified. The sidelines were filled with supportive cheers, colorful tape, posters, and small Dixie cups of fresh water. The mini-marathon to help end human trafficking was about creating a safe haven on earth.

Like others who have recently stood up against sexual assault and harassment within religion, I believe LDS doctrine played a part in grooming me to accept polygamy. The religious teachings from my youth taught me that my role as a female was to look to a male leader, and be submissive to my husband’s priesthood authority, which, combined with the early teachings of the church, convinced me that polygamy was required of God.  Presently, the LDS Church is doing more to educate its members about Mormon polygamy history, and leaders excommunicate members who practice polygamy on earth.

Polygamy is one of the most accepted forms of human right violations against women and children in the world. More attention is finally being given to victims of sexual assault in our country. Now it is time Mormon men, who have used their position of power and authority within religion to sexually exploit women and/or children, must be held accountable.

Human Trafficking:
The United Nations Article 3, paragraph (a) of the Protocol to Prevent, Suppress and Punish Trafficking in Persons defines “Trafficking in Persons as the recruitment, transportation, transfer, harboring or receipt of persons, by means of the threat or use of force or other forms of coercion, of abduction, of fraud, of deception, of the abuse of power or of a position of vulnerability or of the giving or receiving of payments or benefits to achieve the consent of a person having control over another person, for the purpose of exploitation.


“Freedom is just another word for nothing left to lose”

I wrote this on Mother’s Day  2017 after reading a blogpost about some women and children from the FLDS  polygamous group being evicted for not paying their taxes.  (I don’t know the details of their story, but I do know what it is like to enjoy the illusions of a security that is not mine, have a home ripped away, and then be homeless.)  I was NOT going to post my story because the last thing I need right now are more problems: Will my new employer see this blogpost and think I am a whistle-blower or problem-maker?  Will my manager decide not to renew my lease this summer because of a curl right in the middle of my forehead that swings to the left?  It doesn’t matter.  I have decided that I cannot let fear rule me.  More important than losing my home, is losing my voice. 

At this time, I will not include the business name. However, I will upload documentation from this time period in hopes of helping others take a stand to end discrimination and abuse.  Use Yelp, social media, a blog, go to small claims, or do whatever you have to in order to equal the playing field.  We don’t have to put up with bullies. 

My teenage daughter called me after work saying she could not stop the chirping fire alarm, and that she and Paige, our partially deaf cocker-spaniel, were going crazy with the constant high-pitched chirp.  It was getting in the way of her homework.

I arrived home after buying a new 9-volt battery.  After slipping the battery in, the insidious chirp continued; syncing the other fire alarms in the apartment did not relieve the noise.  I finagled with the fire alarm for a while deciding to walk away rather than smacking it with a broom handle, or pulling the entire system down, stucco and all.  

It was after office hours, so I decided to call the emergency number provided on ————- website.  I knew it wasn’t the usual emergency; a fire or flood, which seldom, if ever, had occurred in the apartments. A chirp later, I decided that the torture of not getting sleep because of the noise might create an emergency.  I remembered that I had been given a business card, and the maintenance man had put his phone number on the back of it.

“Why else would he live on the property and give people his number, unless it was to help residents,” I thought. “Certainly, he would not want us to have a chirping fire alarm.”     

I received no response from either phone call, which in the corporate world means: “You don’t matter.”

Only a few weeks earlier we had been threatened with an eviction.  Five months before that another eviction notice.  I was walking on a tight rope, and didn’t want to trip myself up, or give my manager a reason to trip me out of a home.  Two more years and my daughter would be an adult, and could find a roommate.  Then I could leave.

It wasn’t the noisy fire alarm that was pushing me over the edge, it was everything leading up to the fire alarm, and my body jumping every thirty seconds, as if a gavel was coming down.  The fire alarm represented being pushed out of our home like vermin, or an unwanted criminal being driven out of his hiding place.  I wasn’t either of those.  

“This time I will not be so nice!” I said to myself.

I looked up ———- Management company to find out if there were any other self-help remedies online.  I read the Yelp comments.  I was tempted to write one, but considered the fall out since I was still a tenant.  

On the other hand.

“A complaint on Yelp is not good enough — this deserves a viral video with the fire alarm beeping in the background while I talk,” I said to myself.  So, I pulled out my phone and began videoing a complaint.  

As I looked over the video, years of aging had carved creases and lines into my forehead, my eyes were now sunken, and my once full-eye brows were sparse and crooked.  “God, I look ugly,” I said to myself.  I had lost the glow of my youth.  “No one wants to hear an aging woman rant about a first world problem, especially when she is still dependent on low-income housing,” I thought, as I imagined others scolding me, “It’s better to have a beeping roof over your head than no roof at all.”

As I looked further online, within minutes, I learned how to disconnect the fire alarm without much effort.  

The day after the chirping incident, as I was driving to work there were two contrasting images that appeared.  I remembered, as a child, my mother telling me the story of a little girl with a curl right in the middle of her forehead, and when she was good she was very-very good, but when she was bad she was horrid.  I looked in the front view mirror at the crease between my brows wondering if that was a curl of indignance, an incorrigible woman.  Or, if my passive-aggressive emotions was me at my wits ends; continuing to place myself in a dependent role where those in authority could try and break me.     

Before the freeway, I turned towards my right, and along the grassy hidden trail next to the lake it appeared to be a wild horse running. As I looked closer, it was a cyclist wearing a brownish-colored shirt, unusual for a cyclist; his back laid flat to the pavement; he was so fast and swift.  I came home that evening and took a bike ride around the lake. This time, I didn’t care about the rusty chain and it’s loud clickety-clack.



Getting On & Off the Bus Together








January 21, 2017 at the  Sacramento Capitol in California (source unknown)

Angel for Sale or Rent

I received a random Skype message on Martin Luther King Day from an old Facebook group (friends of a friend).

The female voice was robotic-sounding, and full of surprises: “. . . God has seen you struggling with some things and God says it’s over. A blessing is coming your way. . ..”  

“I love blessings wherever they come from!” I thought to myself.

But there was a string-attached.  If I wanted the blessing, I had to send the message out to fourteen friends who would not consider it a joke.

That would be tough.

The angel (who described herself as a “strawberry smile angel with a strawberry”) said it was not a joke. Yet, all I could think about was the angel’s description and a half-dozen perfume-smelling little dolls I once owned as a child. I don’t know the connection; none of the little dolls were angels or smelled of strawberry fragrance. But there was a reddish one I liked best, and she could have been an angel.  The thought of strawberry angel, a little invisible genie-in-a-bottle doll, was funny.   

The voice also told me that if I got five replies that meant someone would “quietly surprise me.” 

“I like quiet surprises!” — sometimes, I thought.

The weird message got uncomfortable when it mentioned being “tested” (ultimatums, again)  and the promise that God would soon be “fixing two big things” if I followed the message.

Since I don’t do well on tests, I started for bed.  

But, there was redemption.

The last part of the message said that if I believed in God, and dropped everything to pass it on (no minimum requirement), then I would receive a promise: “TOMORROW WILL BE THE BEST DAY OF MY LIFE.”

I didn’t pass it along.  Instead, I quickly removed myself from the group in order not to hear more pings, and then went to sleep.

My Reality

Today I am sick; a flu bug that I must have caught from my daughter.  No unconditional love from a messenger when I need it the most. That’s okay, gifts generally don’t happen that way.

I believe in the blessing of reaping what I sow.  (The learning-from-our-mistakes blessing).  I could have done more to protect myself from getting sick.

What this little experience has taught me most, in a roundabout way, is NOW is the TIME for action.  Time to grow up.  Time to stop pretending that not planning and easy approaches work. For some people, who don’t have obligations, like I have,  the more cavalier lifestyle works.   

For me, because I have what some might describe as “a lot of baggage” (a past) and the rug is literally being pulled from beneath me, I must be strong(er). 

Time to Take Charge

This new year, I want to keep my priorities straight, let go of the excess, and manage myself better.  I want to be just as faithful to myself and true principles, as I was to my former religion, and following a husband.  Instead of religion or a man leading me, I want to lead and manage my own life. 

(Many women are happy following their husband–I spend time with happy well-taken care of monogamist wives everyday.  This last weekend I went to a beautiful Lutheran wedding last where the man was made the “head of the woman” as “Christ is to his church.”  I don’t doubt that many men are good husband-leaders.  I also don’t doubt that many religions help people). 

Due to who I am, my different and yet valid experiences, I doubt I will ever get married or baptized into a church again. My PTSD would not allow me to go to church or get married, if I wanted. 

Since the days ahead look dark for this nation, especially for the working poor, and anyone who can’t find a hole to live in, I want to control what I can.  (It gives me at least the illusion that there is hope). I want to exemplify “hope” not “defeat”.

 And, if we REALLY are living in “the last days” and I am to care for my family, let’s hope I do not have to take hold of a man with seven wives. I would never pass the reference check.  

I am more powerful than a strawberry angel

I have been constructing a personal action plan that I believe has the power to help me take more control of my life.  This will be more than an experiment, it is a life-style change.  (Actually, at this stage, it is an experiment).

I am quite certain none of this makes sense, it hardly makes sense to me.  However, it goes back to my earlier post about how our brains are wired differently.  For example, for the last week or two, my daughter and I have been trying to work together learning a song from the play “Hamilton”. I have never seen her get so angry; she takes it personally, as if I am being sacrilegious. During her frustration, and scolding me to “practice it the right way,” alone in my bedroom without distractions, I acquiesce.  I try singing in my bedroom, in the car, everywhere I go.  I even bribe her with money to help.  I tell her a story about a bus, and the importance when working together of “getting on and off the bus together.” I keep reminding her “Don’t get off the bus! We are not done. We are can do it!”

Then, after hours of listening to the music, and me trying to sing my part, she tells me I have absolutely no timing (I have already been told I am tone-deaf), and clearly cannot be helped. In a last effort, she tells me to look at the sheet music.  I sit down and it only takes moments to hear what is seen on the paper.  Whereas, she has learned to play the song by ear, I can only read it.  


I am hoping what I see in my head can be transformed into writing.  I believe this personal action plan is necessary for who I am, and will increase faith in myself (give me self-confidence), and make me stronger.

But, first there are a few blog posts, I must write.

The title “Angel for Sale or Rent” is a takeoff from the song “King of the Road” – a reminder that living with less is more.  This hobo faith cannot be learned from church, or a book.  It cannot be taught anywhere, but it can be learned. 


Planting a Strong Healthy Tree


Life is too short not to appreciate it, and take advantage of our precious time here.

It’s been awhile since I last wrote a blogpost.  A few days ago, I mentioned on Facebook that I might be writing a blogpost for “Vickie’s Grin,” but nothing came to mind.  Before going to bed last night, I decided no blogpost.  My motto is: If it is not here (inside me), it is not there.  I cannot manufacture something from nothing.

Right now, the only person I can possibly help is myself, and family.  (And, often I am reminded that I can’t even do that).  That is not entirely true — for the last year I have been working with autistic children,  giving with love.  After work, I am exhausted.

Today the alarm went off at 6:00, and I wanted to sleep more (is there a saying “mind over mattress”?) — just a few more minutes — wrapped up inside my nice warm flannel sheets — please.

I decided to get up anyways.  That’s when I decided to write a blogpost.  Individuals with anxiety do so much better when they live in the moment.  However, that is not how life works when there are bills to pay, appointments to keep, tummies to be fed, and a car that needs an oil change.

Discipline versus Self-discipline

Many years ago when I worked in child-care at a county facility, I read  in a parenting magazine that the purpose of disciplining children (setting boundaries and expecting obedience) is to create self-discipline.  I liked that notion, and always remembered it.

However, as I have learned more, my ideas about changing behavior have changed.

I read a book a few years ago (that I would recommend to any parent of an adolescent daughter) entitled Reviving Ophelia by Mary Pipher.  The author states that “low in control and high in acceptance (indulgent parents) have teenagers with high impulsivity, low responsibility and low-independence.”  

However, in Reviving Ophelia, there was the other extreme of a highly controlled environment.  Lucy, a teenager in the book said, ” All I think is what I am supposed to.”

I am uncomfortable with both of these extremes — permissive or authoritarian.

I spent most of my life disciplined by religion, coaches, teachers, a husband, or some other male authority figure where I became co-dependent and never learned how to to govern myself.  After leaving religion, and raising my children on my own, I realized how undisciplined I really was.  I was left to my own devices/learning to lead my own life.  Generally, I was a good follower but not a good leader.

Nobody followed my rules, or took me seriously — not my children, myself, or even our dog.

Paige believes he is the only one at home. (He’s not even allowed to eat from the table . . . ?)

Somewhere down the line, after meeting my boyfriend, I decided to live and enjoy life instead of going through the motions.  I was tired of working full-time and going to school full-time.  Then, cancer set in (I have been cancer-fee since 2011).  Again,  in many ways, I took a co-dependent role in my relationship.

In many ways, the last few years since leaving Utah have been a wonderful journey of self-discovery. I am learning to feel, laugh, love myself, and not “sweat the small stuff”.  It’s been a learning curve.

I have also picked up (more) bad habits along the way.  My children, who are full of love, have been more than patient.  So, when my adult daughter wanted to get together last week to go over goals, I decided “Oh-kay.”

Me at Barnes & Nobles with a Mimosa writing down goals/#noveltyitem#alcoholisnotmy vice

I am looking forward to more sessions with my daughters; maybe my sons.

Soon, after the holidays, I will be operationalizing my goals, and writing about my journey.  The purpose of writing goals down are to reinforce the intended behavior.  I am excited.

Lately, I have been busy studying for a test that I need to take for my career (another goal), so I have made miniature study cards.  I put my  cards in a water-proof wallet that my sister made for me — so very cute.  Somehow the little sloth on the material is fitting.  (Smiley emoticon).

As far as my blog, I am uncertain.  I always seem to find my way back home to my writing spot.








Moving Forward! Step by Step

Last blog post, which was posted on February 8th,  I excused myself for having a “Monday Meltdown”.  Something occurred that left me unable to write, and I was like a deer caught in headlights.  No longer able to fight and no longer able to run, my words came out in mish-mash sentences.  Other times I was hitting the delete button.


So, here I am, no matter what time it is on Monday, I am breaking a 10 several week non-post fast and writing for my Monday School. (Actually, this blog post was first published into cyberspace on April 19th 12:01 AM Tuesday, yet I never posted it on Vickie’s Grin Facebook because it wasn’t quite finished. It still isn’t.)

Similar to all my blog posts,  I reserve the right to add content and make changes, as I see fit. This is a work in progress — not a work “engraved in stone.” I will add more detail later and post these updates onto my FB page.

Have you noticed that Monday School Blog is starting to resemble something more like a pilot program? I have.

In the world of Mormonism, if I was a Sunday School teacher, I would have been released from my calling for not being prepared and coming to class. In the business world, I would have been fired by my boss for not showing up. In my world of healing from Mormonism and polygamy, I am learning to take it easy and forgive myself.

For several weeks. I thought about simply telling my story in one-line sentences on pieces of paper, like others do in social media who believe they have been wronged.  That way I would be done with it.

After re-thinking, Mormonism and polygamy deserve an entire website of their very own.  Polygamy is not only a Utah problem, the majority of the world practices polygamy.

A very good case can be made against polygamy. And, what better time to write (this will be a learning experience for me, as well) when Kody Brown & plural wives have just announced that they are taking their polygamy case to the Supreme Court.

The only exception: No Monday School blog days will occur whenever my health, or the health of a family member, needs attention. (That could mean physical or mental health).  It could also mean that I am on vacation, and doing preventative care.

Taking a nature walk.

Now what led up to  “Monday Meltdown” and why did I disappear from my calling as Monday School teacher?

(to be continued . . .)







Monday Morning Blogpost: Meltdown Monday! Mental Health Day!

No lesson this week.

It’s been a rough week.  It started out like this—“It’s nearly midnight and I am too angry to sleep.  I even cried today, which I rarely cry, especially in a public place.  I told my boyfriend, ‘I haven’t been so angry since I left Utah,’ and then I cried more.”

Women are often stigmatized for getting emotional.  I am finally learning to embrace everything about myself—yes, swear words, and all.

It’s easy for me to get angry and slip into a depression because I tend to keep my emotions, and what I am really thinking, inside.

Last week my daughter, who does comedy, called me up and said, “A man in a suit came up to me after my performance last night, and asked if he could make a suggestion. I told him ‘of course’ thinking that maybe he was a producer, or the microphone needed readjusting.  His advice was ‘You know you really don’t need to mention ‘Utah’ in your joke.’”

“Utah was the punchline,” she said.  “Without the punchline the joke would have gone nowhere.”

F-you! All the men who have tried to control me, and my daughters.

We live in California, and I have no idea if this man was a Mormon, or not.  Or, if he is from Utah. His comment  clearly came at the wrong time; due to earlier readings and conversations in the week, my emotions were triggered.

In order for me to stay true to myself, and these blogposts, I have decided to start with a social problem that is important to me as a woman– gender inequality.  I believe one tactic men use to control women is religion, and I believe this is occurring more in Utah than any other state in our nation.

I once believed that “anger” was evil, and a “natural enemy” to god —many women from the FLDS polygamous group have been told to “keep sweet” by their religious leaders.  I was told by my husband to never voice my opinion, if it was contrary to his, unless he asked.  Now I realize that anger is an emotion that is often caused by frustration—it helps protect us, kicks us in the butt, and motivates us to make changes in our life (if we don’t do anything about our situation, it can lead to anxiety and depression).

If there was a God would he care more about anger and using profanity, or allowing human rights to be violated?

After a dozen attempts at trying to suppress my emotions, I could not prepare for Monday School lesson. I was too angry.  Later in the morning, I went to my Facebook page to look at my posts, thinking that maybe if I read my personal Facebook page, and revisited some of the inspirational quotes, I would be more likely to follow my own advice.

It took awhile.

Eventually, after reading a quote from Hermann Hesse, and turning it around a bit, I was reminded that my anger is part of me.  In order to find that stillness, that sanctuary that we all deserve, it means accepting ourselves.

I have been able to let go of the recent anger (and I am certain it will come back again, and then I will let it go…).

As soon as I get home, I will try to write again.

hermann hesse

Hopefully, I will be more prepared for next week.