Life as a Christian with Multiple Disabilities

My identity as a Christian has always been central to my life. Lately, I've been getting more active on Mastodon, the social network I post to most often. As I've started commenting on other people's posts, I've found myself in situations where I need to defend my faith and beliefs, which is challenging for me. I often struggle to find the right words and explain myself clearly. When conversations become even slightly confrontational or controversial, my anxiety kicks in, and I tend to withdraw. This happens both online and in person, making faith-building discussions difficult. While I can sometimes push through the anxiety, find the right response, and keep the conversation going, other times it overwhelms me.

This morning, I encountered a post about something Kamala Harris said, which prompted me to respond. However, the person I was speaking with expressed surprise that a Christian like me could support Donald Trump. When I attempted to explain my perspective, their reaction was one of shock. At this point, I felt my anxiety rising and decided to stop replying, unsure of how to proceed. A few days prior, I had a similar experience when I posted about looking for a Christian Mastodon instance and fellow Christians to follow. An atheist replied, trying to convince me that God most likely doesn't exist. Thankfully, that conversation went better; he eventually recognized that I wasn't going to back down and stopped pushing his point.

After this morning's conversation, I felt anxious and frustrated for not being able to articulate my views more clearly. That experience has motivated me to write about what life is like for me as a Christian with multiple disabilities. I want to start by sharing a little about my background and where I am in my faith journey.

Growing Up

I was raised in a nondenominational Christian family. While we didn't read the Bible regularly at home, I had a Braille version of the King James Bible. When my sisters and I were young, my mom took us to a local church for Sunday school every week. I was always very spiritual and loved learning about Christ, trying to follow Him to the best of my ability. I even avoided cursing, despite it being common in my family. However, after a few years, we stopped attending church because we didn't like the new Sunday school teacher. Though I didn't go to church regularly growing up, my spiritual journey continued. I prayed regularly and sometimes tried to read the Bible, even though I found it difficult to understand. In high school, I started listening to Christian music. As an adult, my mom and I attended a local church called New Hope a few times, where we enjoyed many aspects, but eventually stopped going due to personal reasons.

While I maintained my faith, I would face significant challenges that tested my spiritual resolve as I grew older.

A Faith-Affirming Experience with God

When I was sixteen, I started experiencing severe pain in my right eye, the only eye I had some vision in, since I lost my left eye to retinal detachment when I was two. I was attending the Texas School for the Blind and Visually Impaired at the time. I went to the Health Center, their version of the nurse's office, and explained my symptoms: intense pain and light sensitivity. Their response was, "Well, you don't have glaucoma, so there's nothing we can do." As the pain worsened, I couldn't leave a darkened room until someone suggested I wear an eye patch. Eventually, I had to wear two pairs of sunglasses with tape over the lenses to block out light. After they finally took me to a doctor, I was diagnosed with glaucoma. Despite trying various treatments, nothing worked, and my vision continued to decline while the pain intensified. Strangely, many times when they checked the pressure in my eye, it was normal, which should have indicated that glaucoma was the wrong diagnosis.

During this time, I was enrolled in Advanced Placement Anatomy and Physiology and Advanced Placement Calculus, making me the first student at the Texas School for the Blind and Visually Impaired to take those courses. I had to attend a local public high school part-time to fit these classes into my schedule. I remember going to the bathroom between classes to vomit because the pain was so overwhelming. I relied heavily on my friends and amazing teachers to help me study, as the pain made it challenging to retain information. I prayed constantly for God to take the pain away, and eventually, I felt the only solution was to have my eye removed, just like my left one had been when I was two. I believe God led me to this decision. On the way to the hospital for the surgery, my mom turned on my favorite Christian music station, 89.3 KSBJ, and every song that played seemed to reassure me that everything would be okay afterward. When I went in for the surgery, I wasn't scared; I felt ready. The doctors took away my glasses, and as I lay under the bright fluorescent lights, I remember thinking, "Give me my glasses back, turn off the lights, or put me to sleep!" My mom was more scared than I was and reminded me that I could back out at any time.

After the surgery, I was relieved that I had made that choice when I healed. Not long after, I developed fibromyalgia, and I don't think I could have handled both conditions simultaneously. I also believe I was misdiagnosed, as I was later diagnosed with idiopathic intracranial hypertension, which means I have high cerebrospinal fluid pressure in my skull. Evidence from MRI scans suggests I've had this condition since I was little. It can cause the pain and light sensitivity I experienced, along with the headaches I've had for as long as I can remember. Until I was diagnosed with glaucoma in Austin, I had never undergone an MRI or spinal tap. Months after the surgery, I returned to school and learned that I had achieved the highest possible score on the AP Calculus exam. To this day, I don't know how I managed that. I believe my faith helped me endure this challenging experience, which was one of the hardest times in my life. I prayed constantly, and I know God answered my prayers.

Despite this powerful experience that strengthened my faith, I later entered a challenging period where I felt both spiritually and physically vulnerable. This was when the Mormons came into my life, testing a faith I believed to be strong.

Eight Years in a Cult

In 2014, I found myself in a particularly vulnerable situation. I was struggling with untreated chronic pain from fibromyalgia, and my Medicaid had been cut off. Due to my disabilities, I felt isolated and unsafe. Even if I had been able to go out, I couldn't travel independently. While at the Texas School for the Blind, I had learned that traveling independently isn't possible for me due to a combination of difficulty with mental mapping, remembering directions, poor spatial skills, sensory issues, and social anxiety. During this challenging time, I began reading my Bible more and exploring different churches, hoping to find answers. One day, while in extreme pain, Mormon missionaries knocked on my door. They seemed to have the answers to my questions, such as why God had prophets in Biblical times but none now, which Bible version to read, and which denomination to join. They introduced me to their Gospel Library app, which was accessible with a screen reader and allowed me to read church materials, and soon arranged for someone to pick me up for church every Sunday.

I consider Mormonism a cult due to several factors I observed during my time with them. They employ manipulative tactics to recruit and retain members, often targeting vulnerable individuals. The church exerts significant control over members' lives, including financial demands through tithing and strict behavioral expectations. They also have secretive temple practices and rituals that are not disclosed to potential converts or the public. Additionally, the church's history of changing doctrines and hiding controversial aspects of its past raised red flags for me. These elements, combined with the difficulty of leaving and the social isolation that often follows, align with many definitions of a cult.

I formed a bond with an older woman in the congregation, whom I'll refer to as V, and she became a mentor to me. In April of that year, I was baptized during the Saturday sessions of General Conference, a semiannual event where church leaders speak to members and provide spiritual guidance, which occurs in April and October.

While I tried to be as active in the church as I could, participating in events for young adults and making friends, I soon felt pressured by the expectations placed on me. The temple was a couple of hours away, and the drive was hard on my body, so I couldn't go often. I was also pushed to tithe, even though I struggled to make it through the month financially. As time went on, my relationship with V began to show signs of being unhealthy. Although she had been supportive initially, she started to exert more control over my life, encouraging me to exercise beyond my limits and often making me feel guilty for not doing enough. Despite her apologies, the pattern continued, and I found myself crying frequently due to the pressure. I became increasingly frustrated with my inability to meet the expectations set by both V and the church, which only added to my sense of isolation and confusion about my faith.

In 2022, my mom began researching the church and uncovered many troubling aspects that confirmed my growing concerns about my membership. By that time, I was already feeling unhappy with my involvement, and her findings provided the final push I needed to leave. Initially, I stopped attending services, hoping to distance myself from the unhealthy environment. However, when I eventually decided to tell my friends from church about my decision, the response was not what I had hoped for. V turned hostile, attempting to guilt me into returning and making hurtful comments that left me feeling even more isolated. I lost the friendships I had built, and after several attempts by V to contact me, I had to block her on every communication platform. The negativity surrounding my departure was overwhelming, leading me to delete my Facebook account, which was filled with references to Mormonism, and start anew. I eventually found quitmormon.org, a resource that allowed me to officially resign from the church without further confrontation.

Leaving the Mormon church was an incredibly difficult decision, but it prompted me to reevaluate what my faith truly meant and what I believed. In the years following my departure, I sought a new community to help rebuild my relationship with God. I came close to losing my faith after my experiences, but my mom did everything she could to support me, and I couldn't ignore the many signs that affirmed my belief in God's existence—such as the experience with my eye surgery, the answered prayers I had received, and the intricate design of the universe and our world. All of these elements led me to conclude that there must be a higher power at work, and that my faith was worth pursuing.

Experiences since leaving Mormonism

Not long after leaving the Mormon church, my mom and I decided to visit a Baptist church that my stepdad's family attended. Initially, things went well, but when we asked the pastor for help getting funding for some assistive technology I needed, the situation quickly deteriorated. He said he would assist or at least try, but we never heard back from him. When we followed up, he denied having ever made that promise. He also failed to be there when I needed guidance to regain my faith and made comments that made me uncomfortable, including a sermon on anxiety being a sin—particularly challenging for me as someone with diagnosed social anxiety. These experiences left me grappling with new challenges, questioning my faith, and feeling increasingly distant from the supportive community I so desperately sought.

Despite these setbacks, I hold onto my belief in God's existence and His love for me. My experiences, both positive and negative, have shaped my faith journey, and I know I am, above all else, a Christian. My mom and I haven't attended church since our experience with the Baptist congregation, as we've both been hesitant to seek another community after feeling let down. However, we do have a couple of good Christian friends from the area who encourage us to read the Bible, answer our questions, and send us devotionals daily, helping us maintain our faith. In the past year, I've also started to recognize my identity as aroace, which means I do not experience romantic or sexual attraction. I came to this realization after reflecting on my life and recognizing that I never had any interest in romantic relationships and never felt sexually attracted to anyone, which brought me both relief and new questions about how this fits into my faith. I find myself grappling with questions such as whether it's okay to identify as a Christian and aroace, and how God feels about this aspect of my identity. Understanding that my lack of romantic and sexual attraction is a fundamental part of who I am adds another layer of complexity to my search for a supportive Christian community that embraces diversity in all its forms.

I Still Have Questions, but I know I'm a Christian

Despite my journey, I still grapple with many of the same questions I had before joining the Mormon church and after leaving it. I wonder which denomination aligns best with my beliefs, and I often find reading the Bible challenging due to its complex language and numerous translations. Understanding parables and allegories remains difficult for me, and I sometimes feel overwhelmed by the sheer volume of biblical stories and teachings. Yet, amid these struggles, I hold firmly to my identity as a Christian and my belief in God's love for me. I seek a community that can support my faith journey, especially as I navigate my identity as aroace and consider how this aspect of myself fits within my Christian beliefs.

To Pastors and Other Christians

I remain hopeful that I will find a Christian community that embraces me and others like me. I believe there is a place where I can deepen my faith, ask questions, and connect with people who understand and accept me for who I am. To pastors and fellow Christians, I encourage you to be mindful of those who might need extra support on their faith journeys. Living as an ex-Mormon Christian with multiple disabilities can be isolating, especially when navigating conversations about faith. Here are some suggestions to help create an inclusive environment:

1. Facilitate gatherings for disabled members to support each other in their faith journeys.

2. Provide accessible resources such as Braille, large print, or electronic versions of materials.

3. Be compassionate toward those with mental health challenges and avoid labeling anxiety as a sin.

4. Embrace and respect those who identify as aromantic or asexual, treating them with kindness and understanding.

5. Help individuals see how biblical teachings are relevant to their lives, recognizing that some may find it challenging to relate to scripture.

6. Communicate honestly with those seeking assistance, ensuring transparency about what help can be offered.

I hope for a community that nurtures our diverse experiences and fosters genuine understanding and acceptance, recognizing that each of us brings unique challenges and perspectives.

Although I still face many questions and challenges, I remain hopeful that there is a place where I can grow in my faith, find answers, and connect with people who understand and accept me for who I am as a Christian, a disabled person, and an aroace individual. I believe that creating inclusive communities is essential, where all believers—regardless of their backgrounds or identities—can come together to support one another in their spiritual journeys. I am committed to seeking out that space and nurturing my faith in a way that resonates with my unique experiences