Natasha Helfer just schooled Mormon Stories on its stigmatization of non-monogamy

The unending reach of purity culture and oh thank God, a qualified woman has entered the chat

Mummy

There is no ex-Mormonism without Mormon Stories. The podcast and its mother nonprofit, The Open Stories Foundation, have been singular in their impact on Mormonism of all kinds, with that impact often extending far beyond its primary focus. Their work has helped people around the world build happier, healthier lives regardless of whether they’ve been involved in a high-control religion.

But Mormon Stories, like all of us who leave Mormonism, has not been immune from continuing to peddle aspects of purity culture, and as a fellow ex-Mormon communicator and someone whose community leans fairly polyamorous, today’s panel discussion on The Secret Lives of Mormon Wives felt pretty groundbreaking.

John Dehlin is uniquely suited to his role as podcast host and has been killing it for almost two decades now. He’s smart, empathetic, and deeply passionate about his work, even going as far as getting a PhD in psychology to help him better serve the enormous community he’s built. He’s also, generally speaking, universally likable, appealing to both progressives and conservatives for his willingness to promote open dialogue and listen to a wide variety of perspectives with curiosity and earnestness—all while keeping human wellbeing at the forefront of his priorities.

John is also a straight, white, financially comfortable, Gen X dad who, despite his alignment with mainstream feminism, isn’t a revolutionary in the realm of sexual or social liberation. (Though he has contributed enormously to revolutionizing perspectives in many areas, don’t get me wrong.) When non-monogamy comes up on Mormon Stories, which it often does because ex-Mormons seem uniquely drawn to it, his beliefs are consistently apparent: Monogamy is superior and should be upheld however possible. Non-monogamy is a minefield that’s too risky to be worth considering.

From where John sits, this perspective is understandable. Many ex-Mormons do, admittedly, throw themselves into non-monogamy with little understanding of what an ethical approach might look like, often landing themselves in various degrees of hot water as a result.

I wrote about the forces at play there in this post, and discussed why “So just remain monogamous until you’ve somehow figured it all out!” is often not a useful response to the problem, though I do believe people should educate themselves on the basic ethics of non-monogamy before launching into it. (Which really aren’t that different from ethics generally: honor people’s boundaries and tell the truth.)

To summarize my perspective, I think humans often deliberately embrace chaos to shake up what they don’t know how to fix, because they (correctly) sense that things need to be shaken up. Choices that destabilize the current order of things are not inherently bad and can often provide value that far exceeds what we’re capable of imagining when still locked in purity-based mindsets, terrified to leave our circle of familiarity. (This principle extends way beyond sexuality, which I wrote about here.)

Shame creates liars; knowing ourselves is a journey

People leaving purity culture, which shamed their natural impulses and desires for a lifetime, usually struggle to be fully honest with themselves and others. This inevitably presents problems for those exploring non-monogamy for the first time. Radical honesty requires radical unshaming work, and it’s a skill that can take years to cultivate, potentially without the kind of linear progress we might hope for.

Our humanity can rarely be contained in neat boxes and we can’t always reliably predict the ROI of new kinds of decisions in advance. (Again, I explored this more deeply here.) People may need to start addressing the fact that their sexual life force is blocked before they can make the strides necessary to become radically honest with themselves, because sexual exploration is a necessary part of them getting to know themselves properly. Or perhaps the two endeavors must be undertaken in tandem, or it’s not a “must” situation, they just will be, regardless of our aspirations to the contrary.

I find that the kind of discourse typically provided in spaces like Mormon Stories doesn’t account for this—it tends to rely on wishful thinking that seems to have a monstrously high failure rate. And when our ideals have a high failure rate, they easily lend themselves to shame. (Monogamy, anyone?)

Opening up a relationship while still grappling with this problem of honesty and self-awareness (potentially unknowingly) is certainly going to be an intense crash course, quickly revealing the most well-intentioned people’s limitations when it comes to identifying and sharing what’s true for them. Is that always such a bad thing?

I’ve talked to so many ex-Mormons who educated themselves extensively on non-monogamy before trying it, only to find that once they were actually in the arena, they didn’t know themselves as well as they thought they did. Perhaps they didn’t retain an interest in upholding their marriage after experiencing themselves in new, truer contexts. Perhaps they weren’t able to share difficult truths with their partners the way they believed they would, because those truths were more difficult than they expected. Perhaps they simply weren’t the person they believed they were or hoped they could become and non-monogamy shed painful light on that fact.

This is part of what non-monogamy is all about: valuing connection and truth more than the rigid roles and personas we’ve constructed for ourselves. It’s very human to falsely assign permanence to the impermanent. Some ex-Mormons who enter the waters of non-monogamy aren’t prepared for how muddy they’ll get, but I don’t necessarily see that as a problem. Intense situations can provide some of the greatest opportunities for learning and growth, and non-monogamy can instill new humility in people with fixed ideas about themselves, their partners, and life itself.

If someone tries non-monogamy and realizes they hate it but can’t put the genie back in the bottle, what’s that really saying? What’s the genie? What’s the bottle? Because that seems to be at the heart of John’s concerns.

Mormon Stories vs. non-monogamy

“What is it that takes people from feeling messed up sexually to ‘I know, let’s open up our marriage?'” John asks Chelsea Homer in today’s episode, without concealing his disdain for that line of thinking.

Chelsea doesn’t take the judgment bait. “I can see why people want to open up, because they resent that they didn’t have options before marriage, or they feel like someone can bring fresh eyes to a situation that’s traumatic and very hard to navigate.”

Alyssa Witbeck provides similarly non-judgmental input, speaking to Mormonism’s incredibly dysfunctional culture around sex and how after leaving it, “people have to find a way to heal themselves.”

“Or destroy themselves,” quips John.

Then, thank God, sex therapist and educator Natasha Helfer enters the conversation.

“Ethical non-monogamy is on the rise nationwide,” she explains. “Many couples are being very intentional about it. I have very strong opinions about this: ENM does not destroy marriages.”

“It can,” retorts John, looking at the camera sheepishly.

Natasha holds firm. “It does not.”

“It can,” John repeats, again looking straight into the camera.

“What destroys marriages is lack of communication, lack of understanding of sexual health principles, lack of consent—I am not OK blaming a particular lifestyle,” says Natasha. “I mean, monogamy ruins marriages, then.”

She explains that she isn’t actually blaming monogamy for the 50% divorce rate, but is just illustrating a point, which John concedes before returning to his own.

“I mean, you can say alcohol doesn’t wreck lives,” he says. “But alcoholism is a thing, and there’s a certain number of people where if you introduce alcohol, it doesn’t matter how educated they are, they may just have a genetic disposition to never really coming back from it. What I’ve seen is that even with people who go to a therapist, learn all the rules, and learn to communicate—I’ve still seen it potentially explode catastrophically in their family. I think it can be like gasoline to a flame.”

Because the breakdown of a man-made social contract that isn’t working for the people who signed up for it under false pretenses is exactly the same as a human body suffering from alcohol use disorder, right?

There’s a flattening of humanity that I see in these types of arguments. Sure, transitioning a relationship from monogamy to polyamory might be “catastrophic” in its impact, but it might be catastrophe that helps people evolve. Many couples aren’t prepared for the amount of grace such a transition will demand from them, for example—so initially, it’s a nightmare. Or for how much more deeply it will require them to honor their partner’s selfhood, independent of what they do or don’t offer them personally—a hallmark of mature love.

The initial catastrophe and recognition of what it’s going to take to progress (or of the codependent laurels relationships often rest on, to the detriment of true intimacy) can facilitate the development of qualities that deepen love. This isn’t fantasy—it happens all the time. (To say nothing of the fact that many so-called monogamous relationships involve cheating that only starts looking catastrophic if its discovered.)

“I’m totally gonna pushback,” laughs Natasha, lighting up every cell in my body.

“I think this is a very Mormon conversation we’re having right now. Comparing anything sexual to alcohol is a very Mormon argument—I’ve been hearing that since discussions about homosexuality in the 1980s, so I’m not comfortable with that. Alcohol is a very different thing, it’s a chemical substance; sex is different.”

She continues. “Yet we don’t shame people for drinking alcohol anywhere near the way we do when it comes to exploring ENM or any type of sexual [exploration] outside of monogamous structures. We really police this, and I would say even these kinds of discussions, where you’re being influential to hundreds of thousands of people—you’re leaving this taste of, ‘Oh this is dangerous territory.’ And I think that, in and of itself, is a shame response.”

This is how people must feel when their sports teams do something incredible in a game.

“I love you,” she says to John, “But you’re not a sex therapist. I’m not sure why you’re giving advice to people around sexual issues when it’s not your scope of practice.”

(Natasha is also referencing Britt Hartley of No-Nonsense Spirituality here, who advises people not to explore non-monogamy right after leaving the church.)

“Is it giving advice or just my impression?” asks John.

“I think that you’re having a lot of impact,” says Natasha. “I do think we ignore the depth of problematic relationships we already have before people are even bringing ENM to the discussion. It’s kind of being presented like ENM just came in and somehow destroyed this amazingly wonderful relationship that had zero issues and would have lasted for eternity if they hadn’t brought in this one dangerous substance—and I’m going to have a very strong reaction to that, as somebody who has done a lot of work deconstructing sexual negativity, which is so rampant.”

Waves of euphoria ripple through me at hearing a professional offer such a satisfying takedown of ideas I’ve spent years deconstructing. And she’s still going.

“When we talk about ENM in this way that’s just like, ‘Oh well I’ve talked to many people where it blows up.’ First of all it ignores the many, many people who do a beautiful job navigating ENM. It also ignores the many people who practice it for a while as a chapter of exploration and then return to monogamy. And it also ignores the fact that many of those people, I believe, would have divorced regardless.”

Ding ding ding. I could share case studies that prove her point for hours, but these aren’t sentiments you hear a lot in society at large, let alone on Mormon Stories Podcast.

“I love that we’re having this thoughtful conversation and I appreciate the pushback and your professionality,” says John, who to his credit, knows to acknowledge his own ignorance on the subject.

“I feel nervous and anxious,” explains Natasha, after reassuring John that she doesn’t feel disrespected, “because I’m like, oh here we go again, spouting biases around a certain lifestyle. The shame response is culturally standard—everyone around [The Mormon Wives who were involved in swinging] is going to slut-shame them and say this is bad for your marriage, ignoring the astronomical issues that are happening in these marriages to begin with. Even this whole idea that people sometimes open up their marriage to try and fix it. Why wouldn’t you try everything to try and fix your marriage?"

She details how many couples come into her office at a complete loss, plagued by sexual incompatibility, sexual trauma between them, or sexual dissatisfaction generally—something Chelsea spoke to at the start of the discussion.

“If it doesn’t work, it sounds like they were already down the road of divorce anyway. Why not get creative? Why do we have to have these binaries of being passionately sexually together forever or toxically divorced and unable to even co-parent? We’ve got to get more creative, and ethical non-monogamy is an option in an already problematic relational structure. Because if everybody wants to tell me monogamy is just so safe and risk-free—it’s not. All relationship structures have challenges; the only positive monogamy has is that it’s very backed up by our legal systems, our political systems, our religious systems, and our family systems, so you don’t face any challenge when you’re trying to live a monogamous lifestyle.”

Natasha has clearly been in the trenches trying to advocate for this stuff for a while, and it’s thrilling seeing her take John’s thinking to task in such a knowledge- and experience-backed way. I’m running late for an appointment but I can’t tear myself away.

“I’m hearing the same arguments against ENM that I heard used against homosexuals in the 1970s and 1980s,” she goes on. “There’s great stigma, and when there’s great stigma, sexuality usually doesn’t do well. It’s not that type of sexuality’s fault.”

John thanks Natasha earnestly for her contributions to the discussion. “I think swinging might be the most stigmatized of all the stigmas after Mormonism,” he says, which I agree with.

“A Mormon marriage often feels like a cage,” says Chelsea. “There’s a humility that comes with deconstructing Mormonism—of being so wrong about so many things—and as someone who’s been very impacted by purity culture, I’m constantly trying to stay open-minded to ways that I’m wrong, and that my ways of approaching relationships have been very juvenile and infantilized. I’ve seen ethical non-monogamy be very rewarding for a lot of really close friends of mine. It’s been years since I left the church and all my therapy sessions are still about sex.”

This is just a snapshot of a two-hour conversation, but I was surprised by how much the exchange healed something in me. Hearing Natasha advocate for a more expansive view of sexuality in the way she did was a breath of fresh air I didn’t know I needed. I think the pervasiveness of lingering purity culture in spaces like Mormon Stories has continued to affect me, shame-wise. (Especially because it’s close to me—I co-host for them sometimes.) What a gift to have that burden lightened in one podcast episode about a trashy reality show!

Shoutout to Mormon Stories for facilitating such a great discussion.