You watch as your wife gets baptized for the third time after “repenting” of adultery — again — but no one asked you if she was still cheating (she was). You get called into the Bishopess’ office to tell you that your wife wouldn’t beat up the kids during Family Home Evening as often if you weren’t so obsessed with your “career” of folding jeans at the local department store to feed your family when your wife got fired from her 19th job in ten years. You get told by the Stake Presidentess that you must stay with the wife who just bloodied your child in a rage because you are her “best chance at eternal salvation.” You get to experience the humiliation of that wife being asked to give permission for you to accept a calling to teach Sunday School. You watch as your wife leaves your marriage for a year to live with another man — where they “have to” sleep in the same bed because his massage table takes up too much room in the spare bedroom — and her eventual consequence is to be told to not take the Sacrament for 6 months (which gets lowered to 3 so that she isn’t too demoralized) and to read “The Miracle of Forgiveness.” You finally CAN. NOT. take it anymore and go to your ex-communication star chamber of a “court” — which is comprised exclusively of women — only to tell them how miserable their husbands are (and you know because they seek you out EVERYWHERE to tell you their tragic stories of neglect, abuse, and disenfranchisement) and they better shape up.

But, finally, you take a walk the next day and realize for the very first time in your entire life, you are at peace. That the agonizing turmoil of trying to split your soul right down the middle in order to contain your rage over the duality of your life is over. You cry because you are so relieved and happy. And you don’t know it yet, but even a decade later you will still look back at the decision to get the hell out as the single most vitally important thing you have ever done. No regrets.