Unsolicited Salvation and Sugary Bribes

Sometimes, I have to admire the sheer dedication of ward members trying to save my heathen ass. Truly, A for effort.

But when it comes to my kids? I will slap a bitch. Metaphorically, but still.

We’ve been out for about a year and a half now. I’ve made it abundantly clear that we want off every list. And trust me, I know there are lists—I was a Relief Society president once. I know exactly what’s said in those meetings. I’ve politely (for now) stated that we’re not coming back, which means there’s no need for ministering brothers and sisters who never gave a damn about us when we were active but are now suddenly overflowing with love and concern for our lost-sheep souls. Love bombing, am I right?

The latest attempt? My daughter Brynn’s Primary teacher, who I know. Now, remember, I have explicitly asked not to be contacted about church nonsense. We are not interested. We are not coming back.

First, she left a voicemail about how much she “misses us” and would love to see our son, Bryan, in class.

You caught that, right? My daughter’s teacher is so deeply invested in our well-being that she can’t even remember my daughter’s name AND that she’s female. So genuine.

Next came the obligatory Mormon drop-by—the classic, rage-inducing pop-in. Few things make my introverted blood boil like an unannounced visit, especially from a patronizing Mormon.

Pictured is the note she left, which she manipulated a kid in her class to write, along with a goodie, of course. Would it even be a proper Mormon ambush without a flowery Jesus message and a sugary bribe?

I cannot stand the insincerity and blatant disregard for boundaries. It’s textbook Mormonism—manipulative, persistent, and completely tone-deaf. And the worst part? I used to be part of it. The cringe is real.

Sometimes, I have to admire the sheer dedication of ward members trying to save my heathen ass. Truly, A for effort.

But when it comes to my kids? I will slap a bitch. Metaphorically, but still.

We’ve been out for about a year and a half now. I’ve made it abundantly clear that we want off every list. And trust me, I know there are lists—I was a Relief Society president once. I know exactly what’s said in those meetings. I’ve politely (for now) stated that we’re not coming back, which means there’s no need for ministering brothers and sisters who never gave a damn about us when we were active but are now suddenly overflowing with love and concern for our lost-sheep souls. Love bombing, am I right?

The latest attempt? My daughter Brynn’s Primary teacher, who I know. Now, remember, I have explicitly asked not to be contacted about church nonsense. We are not interested. We are not coming back.

First, she left a voicemail about how much she “misses us” and would love to see our son, Bryan, in class.

You caught that, right? My daughter’s teacher is so deeply invested in our well-being that she can’t even remember my daughter’s name AND that she’s female. So genuine.

Next came the obligatory Mormon drop-by—the classic, rage-inducing pop-in. Few things make my introverted blood boil like an unannounced visit, especially from a patronizing Mormon.

Pictured is the note she left, which she manipulated a kid in her class to write, along with a goodie, of course. Would it even be a proper Mormon ambush without a flowery Jesus message and a sugary bribe?

I cannot stand the insincerity and blatant disregard for boundaries. It’s textbook Mormonism—manipulative, persistent, and completely tone-deaf. And the worst part? I used to be part of it. The cringe is real.