okay here is the new edit, let's base it off the outline again:
I was born into a Mormon household and spent most of my life in Utah.
My dad’s family traces their Mormon roots all the way back to the church’s founders.
My mom’s family were converts, so she didn’t have as many roots in the religion — or in Utah itself.
Growing up in Utah had its moments. The landscape is beautiful, geologically significant.
But the social environment was rigid and often suffocating.
Being part of the church meant better opportunities, but even among members, silent hierarchies shaped everything — from your last name to your church callings.
It was a patriarchal system, and from early childhood, I was told the highest role a woman could hope to achieve was motherhood.
When my parents divorced, the community changed — not kindly.
My mother, my sisters, and I all carried the quiet social stain of being a “broken family.”
We were never close with the other kids at church.
Most of our friendships came from the outsiders:
non-members, ethnic minorities, other misfits.
We just never fit in with other members.
I could tell when I was entering middle school, that I was a little different from other Mormon students. I would often try my best to be liked and could never really understand why I would often be left out and misunderstood. Even though, I was in spaces in school that would allow for community, like being part of Orchestra or Book Clubs, there was always some sense of distance.
I came to Washington through a friend, after dropping out of college and reaching a breaking point with my family.
I packed what I could into my old 1993 Geo Prism and drove 1,300 kilometers across the mountains and into a new life.
Here in Washington… it’s different.
For one, the government isn’t run by church members.
The people I meet come from different countries, cultures, languages.
There are Asian markets, La Tiendas, Italian bakeries, Kenyan restaurants.
In the spring and summer, neighborhoods host cultural festivals, street fairs, art markets.
It’s not perfect, but the diversity of thought, food, and lived experience makes me feel like I belong to something real.
Building a new life in a place where you don't have any family, with only one friend to support you was a bit scary at first. And it took a while to really find my footing. Had so many first experiences, liking getting my first car note, going to my first Comic Convention, adopting my first cat, learning how to do general maintenance on my car.
I do miss the snow sometimes. But I love the rain.
I love watching it fall outside my windows while I drink tea, read, or crochet.
The rain calms me.
I’ve lived in the same apartment for seven years.
It hasn’t always been easy. I’ve struggled a lot.
But it’s the first place that has ever felt like mine.
It’s where I feel safest.
It’s where I adopted Truck.
It’s where I get to be fully, unapologetically myself. With my mismatched aesthetic, a Squishmellow Pikachu and a few Asian bowls.
What sort of space do I wish I had as a child? One where I would be seen, one where it was unconditional, where I didn't feel like I had to keep hiding to protect myself. A space where I would want to be instead of working over 30 hours a week at my part-time job just so I didn't have to be there.
I am still trying to figure out more about myself and the wounds from so many years of performing. It does help that I have been able to name things like getting diagnosed with ASD and ADHD, understanding my attachment wounds (calling out to the anxious-avoidant types out there) and having a space to explore ways to better heal.
I know it didn't have to be Washington state but it's where I ended up at just due to circumstances. The connections I have made here are important to me, many allow me to be who I am, the quirky sincere person who may info dump topics about geology, talks about her new friends she made on Xiaohongshu, the funny vanity plates she sees out delivering, or having that one really horrible customer she had to put up with. I have found many safe circles but often I still feel reluctant to open myself to new experiences, fearing rejection and dismissal. It takes a lot of courage and practice to open yourself, even if it ends up in pain.
I know it's hard, I expect many of us wish for a safer space, to not have to perform for others, to have our needs respected and accepted. A place where we can experience the security we were we got to experience when we were younger. I hope to be able to give myself that. We all deserve that level of security.
Back in Utah, my needs were invisible.
And if you didn’t meet the church’s standards, you were shamed, manipulated, or quietly excluded.
You learned to perform — but only if you were one of them.
Otherwise, you were discarded.
Washington hasn’t fixed everything.
I still carry wounds I’m only beginning to untangle.
But I don’t think healing would’ve even started if I’d stayed in the place where it all began.
Would I ever move back?
Utah is beautiful, sure. I’d go back to visit, if I could afford to.
But I would never live there again.
Washington didn’t just give me rain. It gave me room. To feel. To grow. To become something honest.
