Why I’m Joining the July 5th Worldwide Fast for Religious Liberty—And Why It’s Personal

After experiencing both coercion and healing in religious settings, religious liberty is deeply meaningful to me.

This July 4th, our nation will mark 250 years since the signing of the Declaration of Independence. In commemoration, the First Presidency of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints invited all to participate in a unified fast on July 5th:

“All are invited to participate in a unified fast to express gratitude for religious liberty and to pray that it be strengthened throughout the world.”

Conversations about religious liberty, and whether it is secure or at risk, vary widely. Some express concern that protections for religious freedom are eroding. Others worry about the overreach of religious institutions infringing on other rights.

To many, those concerns feel like competing claims.

Because of my life experience, they do not feel like competing claims to me.

They feel like parts of the same story—parts that belong together, even when they seem to be at odds.

That tension takes me back to something my dad once told me.

Dad's Advice

Growing up, my sister and I fought. When it was particularly bad, Dad would sit us down and explain how our tension affected him.

“It’s like being forced to choose between my right arm and my left,” he’d say. “Which would you have me lose?”

The first time he asked that question, I smugly responded that most people would choose their right arm. Right arms were more useful, and therefore, more important. The left could go.

That’s when Dad reminded me he was ambidextrous.

He valued both equally. For him, it wasn’t an easy choice.

Debates surrounding religious liberty and other civil protections leave me with similar feelings. When it comes to freedom of thought, conscience, and religion—and protections against discrimination and harm—it feels as though parts of our shared human story, and my personal story, are fighting each other.

And I cannot choose which one to lose.

At the 2022 Notre Dame Religious Liberty Summit in Vatican City, President Dallin H. Oaks expressed a similar idea. While advocating for strong religious freedoms, he said:

“In a nation with citizens of many different religious beliefs or disbeliefs, government must sometimes limit the rights of some to act upon their beliefs when doing so is necessary to protect the health, safety and welfare of all.”

He later described what he called a “middle way”—not doctrinal compromise, but cooperation in protecting freedom of conscience for everyone.

Here is why I do not see these ideas as being at odds—and why they matter so deeply to me.

What Diminished Religious Freedom Feels Like

When I was fifteen, I found a faith community that felt like home.

It was a happy time for me, but painful for my parents. In navigating a lot of complicated feelings, we worked out a compromise: I could attend my new church as long as I continued attending theirs. Eventually, I could make a final decision when I was older. The situation was difficult, but workable.

At school, I experienced something else.

I was called into disciplinary meetings without warning. Then one day I walked into class to see the tenets of my new faith written on the board. After briefly describing them, my teacher referred to the mainstream Christian denomination I'd been attending as a cult as she gestured toward me. Nearly every head in the room turned.

Similar interactions followed in a few of my classes, and the private meetings continued. I was told my decisions reflected irrational thinking and that I was emotionally unstable. As an honor roll student with no behavioral problems, I found it deeply confusing. Senior year, I was warned my transcripts could “disappear” if I didn’t reconsider my path.

Thirty years later, it is still difficult to describe what sustained retaliation for your religious convictions feels like. The impact followed me into adulthood in ways I didn’t initially understand.

As a teen, I withdrew from peers, suffered intense anxiety, and became physically sick with a stress-related illness. As an adult, I was conflict averse at church, and I experienced confusing triggers and overwhelming emotions after imperfect interactions there.

There were reasons for this nuanced response, but for many years, I didn’t know why.

Why I Understand Concern About Religious Overreach

What I experienced as a youth later carried weight in my spiritual life because the difficulties described took place in a religious institution. In high school, it was members of clergy and adults in other faith-based settings who threatened, shamed, and coerced me.

When I share my story, reactions tend to fall into two categories.

Some, especially those who have had mostly positive experiences in their faith communities, feel uncomfortable. They assure me the adults involved were “only trying to help” and that what happened wasn’t really abuse.

Others take my story as evidence that religion itself is harmful or dangerous.

Both responses miss something.

What gets missed is that I've experienced harm in religious settings, but I've experienced profound healing there too.

A few years ago, I came across a definition in a handbook for leaders in my faith community that described abuse as mistreatment that “may deeply affect the mind and spirit, destroying faith and causing confusion, doubt, mistrust, guilt, and fear.”

That language helped me make sense of what had happened.

Coercion, shame, and threats affected my developing sense of self. Mercy did too.

While some individuals misused their religious authority, others used it to minister to me when I needed it most. And the foundation of faith laid in that same community in my childhood contributed to the knowledge that I could turn to God for help.

When situations at school became too stressful, I would excuse myself from class. In the privacy of a bathroom stall, I poured my heart out to God. In those moments, I felt my Savior near. That freedom, to pray privately and honestly, wasn’t just a nice idea. It was how I survived my high school years.

Later, through my faith community’s social services, I found an excellent therapist trained in an evidence-based therapy that helped me process the trauma of those years. As I continued gathering with others in my faith community, I again experienced genuine efforts to minister (in the midst of imperfect relationships), which helped heal inaccurate patterns of thinking developed during my high school years.

f you’re walking with someone through painful faith experiences,  How to Respond to Church Hurt: What to Say (and Not Say) may be helpful.

One thing my experiences have taught me is that religious institutions, like other institutions, are not immune to imperfect behavior, misuse of authority, or even real harm. But like other institutions, they have also contributed to society by building schools, hospitals, and relief organizations that serve millions.

Research reflects that complexity. Organizations such as the Pew Research Center have found that those who participate in religious communities are often more likely to volunteer, give charitably, and engage in civic life. ThirtyOne:Eight (formerly CCPAS), a Christian nonprofit, has helped faith communities implement healthy culture and safeguarding practices across the UK.

For more on healthy faith cultures, see Understanding Lisa Oakley's Spectrum of Behavior in Faith-Based Relationships or High Demand Church vs. Jesus' Easy Yoke.

A Middle Way

History suggests that tension between civil law and religious doctrine has been navigated before—imperfectly, but not impossibly. Policies, laws, and religious practices surrounding issues like divorce have evolved over time in ways that attempted to balance doctrine, mercy, and human reality.

It can be a messy, complicated process. But it’s not unprecedented.

I have seen it work in smaller, more personal ways.

For example, the way my relationship with my sister has shifted. As we matured, we became able to sit in the discomfort of not always seeing eye-to-eye. Seeing through each other’s eyes, differences that once felt threatening have widened our understanding as we navigated various challenges.

That change did not require setting aside our personalities or beliefs. It required us to value each other more than winning an argument or being “right.”

Why I’ll Be Fasting on July 5th

When I think about religious liberty, I don't think about legal arguments.

I think about a teenage girl in a bathroom stall, whispering prayers because it was the only place she felt safe.

I think about the stress of being shamed for my beliefs, and the relief of being able to choose them anyway.

I think about the damage that coercion can do.

And the healing faith can offer when it is chosen freely.

Protecting religious liberty does not require denying harm or other freedoms.

Protecting individuals from discrimination doesn’t require abandoning religious rights or doctrine. Together, these protections preserve freedom of conscience and ensure that no one’s dignity is expendable.

My right arm and my left arm are both necessary.

Which would you have me lose?

On July 5th, I will fast in gratitude for the ability to believe, to question, to heal, and to choose in accordance with my conscience. I will also pray that we learn to protect one another’s dignity, even when we do not fully agree.