LuAnne told Betty that her hands just looked rough and chapped. Betty has always been fastidious about her appearance. She loved to pamper herself and always used to put lotion on her hands. Now her fingernails were dirty and cracked.
When Betty first went back to her father at the ranch, she had been greeted like returning royalty. When Oprah Winfrey’s producers were doing preparation for the show on the YFZ Ranch, one of them told me she’d seen three young women there who seemed to be regarded almost like queens. Betty was one of them. But seeing how exhausted she looked in Texas, I suspected that she was being treated more harshly than when she first rejoined her father.
When we got to Baskin-Robbins, Betty ordered a starlight mint ice cream cone, her favorite. She had barely eaten half of it by the time the rest of us had finished our cones. Was she making it last to spend more time with us, or because she wanted to savor each lick as long as she could? I wondered.
I listened for any clues that Betty wanted our help. But I heard nothing overt. Could she be signaling something by talking about how little she was sleeping and how hard she was working? But then, how could Betty ever confide in me that she was unhappy in a life that she had fought me so hard to get?
I am often asked why Betty hasn’t been married. At twenty, she is well past the age when most FLDS girls are given to an older man. I honestly don’t know why, but I think it might be because she is my daughter. It’s hard for someone who lives in normal society to understand how wicked the FLDS thinks I am for leaving. While Betty has a certain power as Merril’s daughter, some may think she’s tainted by her relationship to me, and that could make her less marriageable. It’s also possible that by keeping her unmarried, Merril was attempting to undercut me by proving that my fears for my daughters if we stayed in the FLDS were unfounded. One of my main reasons for fleeing was that Betty was about to turn fourteen, and I couldn’t bear the thought of her being forced to marry some older man. In effect, Merril was saying, See, Betty is fine. We don’t abuse our women. You were exaggerating.
A loving and positive relationship with a child can be the source of a parent’s deepest joy, whereas estrangement is a wellspring of pain. The helplessness I feel in not being able to protect Betty from the FLDS creates a terrible grief. It’s hard enough when a parent must navigate the rocky terrain of estrangement from a child. But with Betty, I have to deal with another factor that only compounds the difficulty: the media.
Oprah’s show from inside the YFZ Ranch was timed to coincide with the first anniversary of the raid. In her segment with Betty, Oprah asked her flat out if the FLDS was marrying girls younger than eighteen to much older men. Betty didn’t look directly at Oprah; instead she looked in one direction and then in another, paused, and said, “Not any that I am aware of.” Betty must have been under unbelievable pressure about that question. There was no way she could tell the truth. It hurt me to know she was required to give a misleading answer. Betty isn’t good at deception.
My blood was boiling. I hated seeing her exploited by the FLDS. She was vulnerable, unprotected, and being asked questions she did not dare answer honestly in front of Oprah’s audience of millions. After her show Oprah heard from many viewers who felt that Betty was lying. Viewers also apparently wanted to know where the teenage boys were on the ranch and why Oprah had not interviewed any of them.
Oprah and her producers decided a follow-up show was warranted and invited me to appear as a guest. One of the first things Oprah said to me was “I like Betty, but I don’t believe her.”
I understood exactly what Oprah meant, and I agreed with her. But I hated that my daughter was so manipulated by the FLDS that she was forced to be discredited in front of millions. I told Oprah that watching the interview was very painful, adding, “She’s under a lot of scrutiny with what she says. She has to be very, very, cautious.”
Betty told Oprah that I hadn’t fled the FLDS because I feared that she would be involved in an underage marriage. She claimed I’d made that up later. I knew instantly this was more fodder from the FLDS spin machine.
The truth is that in one of my first interviews after we escaped, I told a Salt Lake City newspaper that the primary reason I’d left the FLDS was because of my concern about my daughters’ vulnerability to underage marriage. Betty was almost fourteen, and LuAnne was nearly twelve.
Betty’s accusation would have had little sting if it could have been made privately to me instead of to Oprah. A baseless accusation between two people usually can’t gain much momentum. But when it’s broadcast to millions of outsiders, it’s more difficult for the accuser to back down because of the public humiliation. The mountain Betty and I both would have to scale in order to repair our relationship got significantly steeper.
When Betty went out with us for ice cream, it became clear that my suspicions were true: she was not being treated as well as she had when she first returned. The honeymoon was over, and now that the FLDS had accomplished its goal in driving us apart, it no longer feared that Betty would return to her family. The more the FLDS broke the bonds between us, the more enslaved Betty became, and the less the FLDS had to do to keep her there.
Betty knows that I am not angry with her, and I don’t think in her heart of hearts she is angry with me. Confused and conflicted, yes. We had on-again, off-again contact after she first left, but in the period right before the raid things had improved greatly between us, and Betty and I actually talked once for forty-five minutes. She never told me much about her life, but she was sincerely interested and concerned about her siblings, particularly Bryson and Harrison. I was heartened by how much stronger our relationship felt. I dream that one day Betty will realize that a religion that requires a child to turn against her mother is not a religion of God, and I look forward to welcoming her home with open arms.
I’m often asked if I think Betty will one day leave the FLDS. I don’t know. What I do know is that Betty does not have a personality that will do well with an abusive relationship. If she somehow ends up in a marriage that is loving, she might stay. But if she ends up in one as abusive as mine, she will eventually find it intolerable and will try to get out. Fortunately, she’s so strong-willed that I know she will succeed. Betty and I are a lot alike, and once she sets her mind to something, she is as determined as I am.
When we first escaped, I was able to get Betty into counseling with a skilled and sensitive therapist. But it didn’t last long. Merril’s attorney got a court order to have all my children see a court-appointed “neutral” counselor who was handpicked by Merril’s lawyer because he was sympathetic to the FLDS. The court-appointed guardian who was monitoring our situation soon realized that the therapist was biased in favor of Merril and said that I wasn’t required to have my children continue their therapy with him. But I was still fighting for full custody of my children, and if I took them out of therapy, I ran the risk of the FLDS putting the therapist on the stand to testify against me.
I was in a classic no-win position. The therapist could damage my children and disrupt our efforts to become a family, but if I lost custody—or won only partial custody—my children would be forever at the mercy of the FLDS.
At one point the therapist encouraged Betty to write a letter to the judge listing every bad feeling she’d ever had toward me. The letter was upsetting. Merril’s attorney, Rod Parker, told my lawyer he thought the letter would turn the tide in Merril’s favor. My lawyer, Lisa Jones, understood family law far better than he and knew the judge would see it for what it was: a father manipulating a child to fight her mother.
When the judge received the letter, he expressed concern about protecting Betty’s relationship with me. He ordered that the letter not be recorded into the public record because this was in Betty’s best interest as a child. (But Merril’s attorney defied that order by attaching the letter with a court pleading.) Ultimately the letter bolstered my case against Merril. When the judge ruled, he allowed Merril regular visitations with his childr
en but prohibited him by a court order from taking them into his home or outside the Salt Lake area. Lisa told me she’d never seen a Utah judge do that before. She also presented evidence of the pressure my children were under during their visits with Merril, such as being required to fast and pray for my death.
Betty was drafted in a war between her father and mother before she was capable of making responsible decisions on her own. The cruelty that tore us apart during the first year after we escaped was brutal for us both. Writing that letter made Betty feel empowered and superior to me. She was hostile and defiant, and parenting became almost impossible. I didn’t fully comprehend how much had been stolen from us until I went to a bat mitzvah in California with Brian on April 4, 2009. Emilie, the thirteen-year-old daughter of one of Brian’s college friends, was marking the Jewish rite of passage with her family and friends.
Unforgettably, at one moment in the celebration Emilie’s mother read a poem about her daughter and how much she meant to her. Then she placed a brightly colored woven fabric over her daughter’s shoulders and invited her to take her place in the world. A wave of grief washed over me: at that moment I realized just how much I’d lost with Betty.
No young woman in the FLDS was ever invited by her mother or anyone in the group to experience the wonders of life. We were taught to fear life, not to embrace it. Growing up, I was continually warned of the dangers of the outside world. Fear kept us confined to the small boxes of our lives.
Emilie, by contrast, was being invited into a world of enchantment and beauty. She was also expected to give back to life with generosity. To me, the rich colors in the fabric that her mother placed on her shoulders represented the tapestry of life with all its joys and sorrows. In the fabric of our own lives, sometimes there are colors we don’t want and threads we didn’t choose, but the pattern that emerges is distinctly our own.
Watching Emilie’s mother inviting her daughter to accept life—all of life, with its pain, sorrow, and joy—was wondrous for me. Her mother assured her of the steadfastness of her love and hoped it would provide ballast for her daughter.
Love as a compass to guide a life was revelatory for me. I had been taught that obedience and submission were all that would protect and guide my life. If I surrendered myself, there would be nothing to fear. Romantic love would have no place in my life. The vibrancy that comes from a life well lived was never an option. My life was to be cut from plain, drab cloth designed to make me invisible.
I left the bat mitzvah in California wishing I could give Betty a life rich in freedom and opportunities. I wanted to cover her in the warmth of my love and invite her into a world waiting to receive her gifts. I dream one day of again being able to nurture and support her mind and heart. But instead I am forced to watch my daughter continue with choices that lead her farther along on a pathway of pain.
I have to work strenuously to accept that regardless of how much I want to protect my daughter, it’s her life. Letting go is wrenching. This is not the way I want life to be, but for now it is the way life is. All I can do is keep my heart open and love and believe in her from afar.
The moment I knew I was pregnant with my first baby, my life stopped being about me. Year after year, like millions of other mothers, I made sacrifices that were in the best interests of my children. After giving so much, it’s hard not to feel entitled to have a say in the choices your child makes. But sometimes we have to step back and let them make choices, even if we feel like they are wrong.
Children need to fail sometimes in order to learn. What is crucial is that our children know we are there to support and encourage them when they get back up again.
The helplessness I feel in being unable to rescue Betty is probably similar to the feelings of parents whose children become addicted to drugs. But there can be no meaningful change until Betty decides it’s what she needs to do. It has to come from within her. A parent can spend a lifetime loving and protecting a child, but once a child is legally old enough to make her own decisions, the power of parental protection skids to a virtual halt.
When a child makes tragic choices, a parent’s every waking moment is consumed with fear and worry. All I can say to a parent trapped in a cycle of anguish like mine with Betty is, do not question the past. Let it go. I have asked myself over and over what I could have done differently to make Betty stay with us. Maybe the answer is nothing. What I do know is how unproductive it is to beat myself up with the what-ifs. As parents, we leave a large footprint on the lives of our children. But we also have to realize we are human and we make mistakes. We all do things we later regret.
I can’t change the past, but if I stay mortgaged to it, I will fail to build the most productive life I can live in the present.
When my son Harrison was diagnosed with an aggressive and potentially fatal cancer at fifteen months, I had to deal with my fear that he might die. But as devastating as the day of his diagnosis was, it wasn’t nearly as painful and frightening as the day Betty returned to the FLDS. It was easier to face my fears with Harrison’s cancer. I could fight back. I could care for him 24/7 in the hospital. I could figure out how to get the help he needed. There was a lot I couldn’t control, but there was also a lot I could do. But I never felt as powerless and as vulnerable with him as I did with Betty. I could protect Harrison; I was helpless to protect Betty.
Until the bat mitzvah in California, I don’t think I could honestly name all I’d lost with her. She had rejected every aspect of the embrace of my love and cut me out of her life. I buried my deepest fear of never being in her life again. Facing that reality was hard, but after I did, I found the strength to stand again and a determination to learn and grow through my pain.
In the years of upheaval with Betty I have asked myself uncomfortable questions: Why go on? Why keep trying? Why love against the odds? The best reason I know is that life matters, and what makes life matter is love.
Even when the outcome is not what we’d hoped it would be, I have learned that love is never wasted. Despite the heartbreak, the love we’ve shared means everything to me. She will always be my daughter. Even if she rejects my love forever, I am a better person for having loved her.
I refuse to give up hope. Although I had to wait two years, a moment came when I could hug my daughter and buy her a starlight mint ice cream cone. She knew in the short time we had together that her family’s love is still there for her, as steadfast as ever. Even if she cuts herself off from our love, I believe it still counts for a lot.
Every night before I go to bed, I make sure to leave the light on above the front door. It’s a moment of hope. As long as my Betty is still absent from our family, I will leave the light on so she can find her way home.
The Unconditional Love of a Good Man
In my life the bridge from survival to triumph has been built with my children and Brian Moroney. Brian is my “true north,” my moral compass and invaluable guide to the world outside the FLDS. He and I are inseparable, and because of him I finally understand what it means to love and be loved unconditionally.
Our first meeting was as unexpected as it was improbable. Brian was a substitute teacher in a GMAT prep class that I was taking on Saturday mornings. We ended up having lunch after class, which segued into dinner. Both of us were recently divorced and had no interest in getting married anytime soon. In addition, Brian, a businessman, was working part time in California. That built brakes into our relationship from the start because it meant he was only back in Utah twice a month.
Brian was my first foray into romance and intimacy, ever. I was thirty-six years old, had eight kids, and was living on welfare. My primary goal was survival. I had no time to invest in a real relationship, whatever that was. But there was an undeniable chemistry between us, and going out to dinner a few times a month when he was in town sounded like fun.
I’d never met a man like Brian. He was handsome, intellectual, and passionate about life. Most gratifying of all, he took me seriousl
y. He wanted to know what I thought about things. It was stimulating to talk to him about everything from politics to football to art. I knew nothing about professional sports, which Brian loves. He took me to Utah Jazz basketball games and taught me about football. We rented classic movies I’d never seen, like Casablanca. I’d barely heard of the Beatles, the Rolling Stones, James Taylor, and Earth, Wind & Fire, but Brian introduced me to all of them. He welcomed me into an interesting, sophisticated world I never expected to experience. But what made him magical to me then, as now, is his huge heart. He adores his two sons and was devastated when his divorce meant he wouldn’t be with them every day.
One of Brian’s closest friends is a psychologist, Mitch Koles. Mitch helped Brian cope with the painful aftershocks of his divorce and helped him put the pieces of his life back together. After Brian had been divorced for a year and a half, Mitch urged him to start dating.
Imagine, then, how overjoyed Mitch was when Brian told him he had met “the most amazing woman I’ve ever known.” Mitch was delighted and confident that Brian had reached a milestone in reengaging with life after his divorce. Now imagine his reaction when Brian told him I’d escaped from the largest, craziest polygamous cult in America and had eight children, one of whom was severely handicapped. Needless to say, Mitch thought Brian had lost his mind. He urged Brian to slow down. Be realistic. Think about the obstacles. For the first and only time, Brian ignored his best friend’s advice.
Happily, when I began meeting Brian’s friends, we hit it off. Mitch and I clicked right away, and he realized how much less anxious Brian was when he was with me. Brian had lived in a fast-paced, high-pressure world of success and achievement. He felt I was at peace with my world, and that provided a balance he didn’t have before.
After about a year Brian became the CFO of a small public Utah company and returned from California. That was when our relationship really took off. At last we could be with each other every day. Except I had eight children and was living in a trailer. My kids didn’t know about Brian, and there was no way I could afford the babysitters I’d need to see him as often as I’d like.
Triumph: Life After the Cult--A Survivor's Lessons Page 25