This is my truth. Your mileage may vary.

I was one of the many people rushing to a Church Distribution Center in Utah on the Tuesday when the newest styles of garments were released. I’d been watching the calendar since they were announced—not because I wanted more clothing options or to feel relief in sweltering heat, but because I needed to find out if I’d ever wear garments regularly again.

Like many things about Church, my relationship with garments is complicated.

When I received my endowment in the 1980s, the temple matron was crystal clear. Gs were to be worn ALL the time and failure to do so would result in me being booted out of the Celestial  Kingdom, my family broken and lost, and God so disappointed.

Nothing was to come between me and my garments, not my bra, nylons, or anything. She said one-piece styles had crotches that could be pulled aside to allow access to a pad stuck to regular underwear worn over garment bottoms. G tops always had to be tucked into G bottoms, fully and tightly.

While I could take my Gs off to bathe and have sex, they had to be put back on immediately after, and—by the way—one-piece styles make it possible to only remove them for quick showers. A double blessing since I was getting married in a couple of days.

When I blinked, the matron told me that suffering was the lot of women—see Eve—and that murmuring was of the devil. Suffering was holy and purified you, so suck it up, Buttercup, and get with the program. God will bless you in the end if only you are faithful enough. Oh, and Gs must be spotlessly white at all times. Stains on your garments were like sins on your soul.

The first rule about temple? We don’t talk about temple. Zip it.

Really. All true. But with less sarcasm, Buttercup, and more fear.

It’s worth mentioning that this was in the era before temple prep classes and that I was alone with the Temple Matron when she told me all this. I had no close female relatives or friends who wore garments. I had no one to ask even if I thought I could, so like anyone wanting to follow Christ and looking for the path, I went in the direction I was pointed. Over the years I escorted many women receiving their endowments who didn’t get the same instruction manual I did, but my original factory settings stuck.

It’s funny/not funny when I think of all the things career women did in the ‘80s and ‘90s to make garments work for us. This was the era of power suits, and the professional world insisted on pantyhose in the office, at least when wearing dresses and skirts. We battled keeping pantyhose worn over Gs around our waists and not our knees. When thigh-high stockings came along, we wondered how much it mattered that the top edges of the stockings were technically under our G legs. It ended up being a distinction without a difference because thigh-highs weren’t any better than pantyhose for getting through a workday without a wardrobe malfunction. We all carried safety pins.

Pants worn with knee-high nylons were an easier option, but the bottom edges of our Gs showed through our work slacks and bunched along our thighs, looking worse than the dreaded panty lines on TV ads. The mid-calf length Gs were better for work but had their own challenges. Fabrics sometimes didn’t play well together which made walking up and down stairs sketchy as pants tended to fall off hips as long G bottoms pulled at the knees and slithered against the silky tucked tops. Belts only helped a little.

Itchy lace edges always found ways to peek out along the modest necklines of my shirts. Bras worn over DriSilque had to be cinched very tight and made with underwire cups or they’d slip and strangle if I raised my arms too quickly or too high.

I was constantly twitchy, never at ease, always checking to make sure things were where they were supposed to be and usually discovering to my horror they weren’t. I had to weigh what I was going to do and say in business meetings because of fear of my garments showing or pants falling down.

Mostly, I remember the looks from the LDS men I worked with as I yet again adjusted my garments as discretely as possible. It was especially tough as the boss lady who led team discussions and diagramed constantly on white boards. I’d catch men rolling their eyes. Their wives didn’t have these issues. But their wives weren’t in the boardrooms either.

It wasn’t a matter of buying the right size or type. I really did try them all.

Garments never, ever fit me like they were supposed to. I have extra-long arms and legs attached to a petite torso with big boobs, bread dough belly, and no booty. Tucked G tops often came to mid-thigh. Gs slipped off my shoulders and knotted around me when I turned in my sleep—my knickers were constantly in a twist. Sometimes I woke up with a torniquet tingle in an arm or leg.

Whenever I tried to sleep naked I had horrific nightmares, my subconscious certain I was damning myself and my family with my faithlessness. After intimacy, I redressed as quickly as possible. You can imagine how that unexplained behavior was interpreted by my husband, who didn’t live under the directions I felt I had to. On vacation when it really was too hot for all those layers, he simply did what made sense without any angst.

Unfathomable.

And also unspeakable.

As terrible and burdensome as these experiences were, it wasn’t until a couple of years ago when my personal suffering hit an all-time high that I began to question my assumed obligations. Ironically, the straw that broke the camel’s back was the announcement of the new styles along with comments from apostles that exposed biases and beliefs that did not resonate with my lived experiences. In the April 2024 General Conference, President Oaks said, “Because covenants do not take a day off, to remove one’s garments can be understood as a disclaimer of the covenant responsibilities and blessings to which they relate.”

What? Understood by whom? You? Because God knows exactly why I’m not wearing my Gs at any moment, and it’s not for any of the reasons you cite.

Bubble officially and permanently popped.

Prior to this talk, I had health challenges that made wearing garments painful and unhealthful. I should’ve stopped then, but women suffer was still loud in my head. I persisted and things got worse. Eventually, it became too difficult to manage all the layers as quickly as I sometimes needed to. I was in constant pain that made everyday life way too hard, with or without Gs.  

The good news is that surgery and sleeping with my neither regions in the buff brought things near normal. The best news is that my relationship with garments is no longer one of coercion, but of choice.

Honestly, it should’ve been that way from the start.

When I first told my husband I was going to experiment with garment wearing and that it had nothing to do with how I felt about the commitments we made to each other, he simply nodded and held his breath. Over the last year I discovered I’m the same person without garments, just far less twitchy and no longer worried about my pants falling down when I approach stairs. There’s an ease in my body that’d been missing for far too long. I still wear all the same clothes and styles I used to—there’s no new outward reflection of an inner lack of commitment that anyone can see. There’s also no way I’m going back to wearing Gs 24/7.

But.

Back in the ‘80s, I covenanted to wear them throughout my life, something very different from what the Church says now. Despite my personal revelation that much of the to do about Gs is man-inspired, not God-required, I still feel there is something significant to giving my word.

So that’s why on a Tuesday afternoon I was at the main distribution center in Salt Lake City purchasing a couple of the very last full slips in my size. It had nothing to do with fashion and everything to do with figuring out how to go forward.

And for me, full slips make pretty good nightgowns. They’re also the best option under Sunday dresses when worn over regular underwear. I take that for the tiny win that it is.

As I said, this is my truth. Your milage may vary.