Encouragement for the Struggling Ex-Mormon

I have forfeited my exaltation, and now I will be a child of perdition. Am I really sure I made the right choice leaving the LDS Church? I left for a good reason, but why does it feel so wrong?

How am I supposed to tell my family, especially my spouse? Will they see this as a betrayal? Will my marriage end when the truth comes out? How am I supposed to choose a Christian church? How do I measure my worthiness without ordinances? And if I feel miserable or conflicted, is that a sign that leaving was contrary to God’s will?

These were the questions that plagued me after leaving the Mormon Church, an organization I had given my entire life to. I had gone on a mission, married in the temple, defended the faith, paid a full tithe, and magnified my callings. And now it was over. Life felt empty. Even with Jesus, there was a lingering sense of foreboding.

If you have felt that way, or if you are feeling that way now, you are not alone.

Mormonism used us as tools, demanding every ounce of devotion it could extract, all in service of a lie. Some of us come out of that system with regret. Some with fear. Some with anger. All of it is natural. Like a ship caught in a storm after losing its anchor, we can feel helpless as we are tossed about. The judgment, the loss, and our own volatile emotions can feel unbearable. Perhaps you have had that triggering moment where something familiar pulls you back, and for a brief instant it feels like you are standing in the ward again and you cannot breathe.

You may be asking whether everything is ever going to be okay.

As someone who has been out for many years now, I want you to know that there is light at the end of the tunnel. Someday your Mormon past will feel distant, like a fading dream. You will not be defined by it. And God will not waste what you have been through. He will turn that mess into a message of hope.

You may be reading this for the first time or returning to it because it has been a particularly hard day, week, or month. Recurring heartache or confusion does not mean you have failed. Even long after leaving Mormonism, difficult days still come. But even on the worst ones, when the wind feels relentless and the rain will not stop, we are not without hope.

Scripture tells us that because it is impossible for God to lie, those who have taken refuge in Christ have strong encouragement to hold fast to the hope of assurance set before them. That hope is an anchor for the soul, firm and secure.

If you were like me, you grew up believing that faith was something you had to actively maintain. Belief was not enough. Faith had to be monitored, requalified, and constantly proven. Worthiness was measured through obedience, endurance, and emotional certainty. That kind of system never taught us how to rest.

The gospel does.

The true gospel is not about what we do to earn grace. It is about what Jesus has already given us, fully aware of all our future bad days. That truth unsettled me at first. I had been taught that certainty was dangerous, that assurance bordered on arrogance, and that feeling settled risked complacency. So when I heard Christians speak of peace with God as something present and real, not future or conditional, it sounded irresponsible. Almost naive.

But then I began to notice something.

In Scripture, assurance is not treated as a spiritual luxury. It is treated as part of the good news itself. The New Testament speaks as though reconciliation with God is not a process but has already been accomplished. Believers are not described as standing on probation, hoping their faith will hold. They are described as people who have been acted upon, declared righteous, reconciled, adopted, and sealed.

I had assumed righteousness was something I needed to slowly become in order to be accepted. But the gospel says acceptance comes first, not because of progress made, but because of Christ’s finished work. Righteousness is not achieved by becoming good enough over time. It is credited to the one who trusts Christ.

Because of that, my standing with God is no longer measured by my performance. And if my standing is secure, obedience is no longer a means of survival. It becomes a response of gratitude.

For the first time, faith stopped feeling like a risk and started feeling like rest.

This does not mean life suddenly became easy, or that questions disappeared. But failure no longer carried existential weight. When I stumbled, I did not fall back into uncertainty about whether God was still with me. I did not need to requalify for grace. I was already standing in it.

Faith, in the biblical sense, is not courage in the face of uncertainty. It is trust in a finished promise. Faith is not leaping without a net. It is realizing the net is always there.

That doesn't mean it's wrong to grieve. I grieved years spent believing rest was disobedience. I grieved relationships that might never fully understand this change. I grieved the version of myself that believed certainty was pride and peace was dangerous.

Grief is not a lack of faith. Sometimes it is a side-effect of finally seeing clearly.

If you are wondering how to explain this to others, family, friends, people you love, please understand that you do not owe anyone a polished explanation yet. Understanding can take years of reflection and studying God's word. And if you are struggling to explain it to yourself, that makes sense too.

We do not easily unlearn a system that taught us our worth was always provisional. Fortunately, the gospel places you in Christ. It was never a question of where we would go when we left the Church, but to Whom.

Here is the final comfort I want to leave you with. The God who saves is also the God who finishes. Scripture tells us that the One who began a good work in you is faithful to complete it. Your hope is anchored not only in what Christ has already done, but in the faithfulness of God to carry that work to its end.

And there is something else you need to know, especially on the days when grace feels hardest to accept. God’s love for you does not wait for you to feel worthy of it. You do not have to feel deserving in order to be loved. In fact, if love had to be earned or emotionally felt as deserved, it would no longer be grace at all. The gospel does not ask you to qualify for God’s affection. It tells you that His love has already rescued you in Christ, even on the days when shame is loud and you feel empty-handed. You are not loved because you feel worthy. You are loved because God is faithful.

You are not faithless for wanting assurance.
You are not arrogant for believing Christ is enough.
You are not lazy for resting in grace.

The gospel is not an invitation to try harder.
It is an announcement that the work is finished, and that the God who began it will not abandon what He has started.

You are allowed to believe that.
You are allowed to receive that love, even when you feel undeserving of it.

Sustained by His love and peace,
Michael Flournoy

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