Ten years ago my mother left this mortal existence after a long battle with cancer. My mother was a quiet, unassuming and unpretentious woman who rarely spoke more than eight words strung together “just you wait ’till your father gets home” and occasionally at the end “young lady”. She chose not to make waves with her children, her husband, her community or her religion.
She was by our communal standards the ideal woman; silent, unopinionated and submissive. She spent her life in quite servitude to her family, her husband and her religion, never allowing herself to express any emotion. She pushed all of her feelings deep into her core until they manifested into a malignant tumor.
My mother was only sixty-two years old when she died. Cancer ravaged her gut and chemotherapy consumed her body. Her inability to express herself eventually took her life.
Any religion that forces women to bottle themselves up and not express their own truths is based in fear and intimidation, not unconditional love and acceptance.
The Polygamist's Daughter 