Veiled Faces and Enclosed Places

What was I so afraid of in this wilderness? I traded veiled faces and enclosed places for wide open spaces.

I felt Wide Open Spaces deep within my soul staring cinematically out of the car window onto the Alberta prairies and pondering life as most six-year-olds must do. The one thing I missed more than the Rolo ice-cream, petting the horses in the yard, and collecting bugs all day long is how myself I was at this age. Most of my best childhood memories are here. Here I felt creative, connected, and content. The distance from my mind to my heart to my fingertips was shorter. We lived on acres of land that to me were endless opportunities of treasure digging and grasshopper hunting. I wore giant baggy t-shirts to sleep and short shorts to play all day in the yard. 

I moved to Utah just before I turned twelve. Just before training bras and putting away the giant rainbow headband I wore almost every day as a little girl. Becoming a Young Woman encouraged me that modest was hottest and the shade shirts from DownEast were the solution to every fashion dilemma. I adjusted to a new home with very limited opportunities for chasing insects right outside my front door with new hobbies. Weekdays were layered with harp lessons, gymnastics, and church activities. Weekends were for babysitting, baking, and binging chick flicks. I wore perfectionism comfortably in my narrow idea of womanhood, righteous goals, and spirituality.

Getting endowed in the temple required new garments worn as close to my skin as possible. Draped over the garments, my long-sleeved white dress, socks and laced slippers, a pleated sash, a satin apron, a sheer bow, and finally a veil in the form of a headband. As I was asked to veil my face, it was the most enclosed space I’ve ever known. I couldn’t see who people were around me nor could I see an inch of my own skin.

Years of putting on these layers changed how I saw myself. My idea of who I was “supposed to be” intertwined with the religion that both held and contained me for 24 years concealed parts of myself, like buried treasure, that I both forgot about and didn’t know existed. It wasn’t until that day in the temple dressing room, as I clawed off my white dress, that I began to shed my layers. Off came the garments with an entirely new understanding of Adam and Eve’s desperate search for fig leaves to cover their nakedness. My hobbies, passions, style, feelings, morals, dreams, education, sexuality, and worth – all woven with the material of Mormonism. Without the uniform they’d curated, where would I go?

It wasn’t long until I felt the tingling of the wind on the back of my thighs and the sun hugging my shoulders. I memorized the feeling of my skin being able to breathe again. What was I so afraid of in this wilderness? I traded veiled faces and enclosed places for wide open spaces. I’m proud of the growth I did within the container of the church, yet it’s my expansion outside of this box that’s made space for finding my way back to myself.

I lost what it felt like when my intuition was fully alive and men held no power over me. Now I remember I’ve always been wise, I’ve simply spent years learning to trust God and men more than myself. Now there’s space for me to define what aspects of femininity and masculinity I connect with, embrace my sexuality, and cut the strings to my dreams that are tied to a singular story-line. 

I concealed the wild parts of myself and abandoned my collections of rocks, insects, and feathers for things I was taught were more worthy of my time. More time reading scriptures meant less time for learning outside of church and school, putting faith on a pedestal and burying doubt and secular interests. This new space is a vacuum for knowledge. I’ll consume every bit there is to know about health, spirituality, history, culture, humor, art, and music. My enthusiasm, my passions, my anger – all rose from the grave of “negative emotions”. I can feel the full spectrum now, every part of me opened up for more. 

Modesty covered most of the style I dreamed of as a girl. She’d jump up and down at the sight of my short hair tied back in baby clips, tortoise-shell sunglasses, and sporty feminine tanks. I’m proud to know that there’s infinite room for uniqueness, expression, creativity, and comfort in my style. It’s no coincidence that I’ve become obsessed with hats, baggy clothes, and odd accessories once again. I feel more connected to every part of these curated items than anything I’ve worn since I was a child. 

Rather than strive for perfection, I see that I’ve always been worthy. I’m creative, connected, and content again. I’m ever evolving. We fill the spaces we are held in. I thought I was small, yet haven’t stopped expanding into this wide open space.