I spent my entire youth trying sincerely to adhere to all of the strictures and standards the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints expected of young people, while growing up in the Church and eventually attending Brigham Young University. The pressures and expectations eventually overwhelmed me, and half way through BYU I let loose and allowed myself to break the rules, which involved drinking alcohol and engaging in premarital sexual activity. It didn’t happen all at once. I would break the rules and feel guilty and repent, then transgress again and repent again. Over many years, I eventually came to see the Church’s prohibitions on drinking and its purity standards with some nuance, and I allowed the guilt for my transgressions to fade. A few times, in my attempts at 20-year-old-college-student authenticity, I nonchalantly drank coffee. When I did, I was haunted with a heartbeat of thoughts. I knew with every fiber of my being that every sip was pushing me farther away from my eternal salvation. I am not kidding. I don’t understand it either. My fear of coffee’s wrath was deep and far reaching. Somehow, among all of my rebellious transgressions, coffee drinking stood alone. Maybe because the coffee prohibition is unique to Mormons, its violation is most especially policed by the community, an outright rebellious act, and therefore it prompted a feeling in me of the most foul betrayal.
Instead of coffee, I sourced my caffeine by drinking copious amounts of Diet Coke. I drank so much Diet Coke that I’ve developed an aspartame sensitivity and can no longer drink Diet Coke without getting a migraine. During this era, the LDS church also disallowed drinking caffeinated soda, but the taboo against Coke was never as strong as the one against coffee, and most people, even at BYU, turned a blind eye to a Diet Coke addiction. I needed a Diet Coke replacement at the same time I was drifting away from Mormonism. That is when I shifted to green tea.
I was not able to simply drink green tea, however. Though I no longer attended church, my moral compass remained synchronized with LDS doctrines. I worked out a rationale that because green and white tea are the non-oxidized (non-fermented) type of the tea leaf, (black tea being the oxidized type), that drinking green tea was not violating the Mormon Word of Wisdom, in the same way that Mormons can drink grape or apple juice, but not wine or cider. Even after I was completely inactive in the LDS Faith, I continued my green tea superstition, which conveys to me now that I wasn’t just freaked out about coffee. I was paranoid about the eternal consequences of drinking coffee or black tea.
Green tea felt safe and kept me one step into my faith, which out of a similar superstition, I was fearful about fully leaving. Deep down, I was daunted by the idea that if I completely abandoned my upbringing, something super bad would happen to me like a piano might fall out of a window just as I walked by – killing me – because I deserved it. Nevertheless, my tea habit was a bit of a nuisance. Because green tea is light on caffeine, I drank it throughout the day. Ask Dave or my kids. They were always good sports. When we traveled the world, a world with super easily accessible coffee shops, free coffee at car rental dealerships and hotel rooms with more free coffee and coffee pots, I would find a way to procure green tea or white tea. They would never complain and instead helped me locate my favorite teas like the now retired Clipper White Tea Vanilla. Sure, many hotels have tea in the room. It was typically decaf or black. I preferred my tea with almond milk and little packets of stevia. It is my experience that the odds are high that even if there is green tea in the room, most hotels won’t have what I need. I started packing tea and stevia in my carryon. Everyone knew I drank copious amounts. My favorite tea order: Starbucks Venti Green Tea Unsweetened Light Ice.
Then two years ago I found myself on the brink of death. (I am not exaggerating.) I had been terribly ill for several months, including an continuous, choking cough that prevented me from speaking and that sometimes left me on all fours unable to take in a breath, severe chills, night sweats that soaked me head to toe several times during the night, sudden weight loss, fingernails peeling off, pallor, chronic tachycardia (my Apple Watch noticed my tachycardia and saved me twice by warning me to go to the hospital immediately). I spent months in home isolation, filling my days checking in with my doctors, seeing specialists, having endless blood tests and while I was surviving alone on my couch, watching the reality tv show “Alone,” about people surviving alone in the woods.
On a cold, late autumn afternoon I found myself at my allergy appointment when my internal medicine doctor called:
“It’s serious. Your bloodwork is bad. I’m not sure you’ll be ok. Your blood isn’t oxygenating well. You’ve gone off a cliff so to speak. I want to have you admitted to the hospital immediately. Can you go there now?”
Dave and I made our way over to the University of Utah Hospital where they were waiting, and spent several days having every imaginable test done, while being carefully monitored. A big part of what they were doing was systematically eliminating every type of cancer and acute illness, starting with the deadliest ones. One by one, we ruled out the various instant death sentences and horrible terminal diseases and eventually I was diagnosed with Anemia of Chronic Disease. Essentially, my bone marrow wasn’t functioning and all my intense symptoms were a result of my system’s inability to oxygenate my blood. My body couldn’t process iron in my diet or with oral supplements. I learned I would need iron infusions for the rest of my life. I received my first infusion in the hospital and for the next year, I had my blood tested every four weeks, and received fifteen additional iron infusions.
During that time I became aware that, besides having a few autoimmune issues, another thing that could be blunting my iron absorption was caffeine. See, I sipped my cups of green tea all day long, including at meals when I was receiving nutrients. As I became more run down, I craved a caffeine boost even more, and that created a vicious cycle. In my vulnerable state, my body wasn’t able to do what it was supposed to. I wasn’t getting iron. I was tired of being tired, and tired of feeling and thinking like I was going to die. I did constant research trying to figure out what I could do to get my body to work. Then in the Summer of 2024, I read that it’s easier for people with chronic anemia to absorb iron if they get their caffeine in one big dose at least an hour before or after meals, (as to not inhibit absorption). Honestly, I was probably drinking so much caffeine (like all my life) because I had undiagnosed celiac disease and as a result was already not properly absorbing nutrients.
That is when a miracle happened. I thought to myself, “What if I drink coffee?” I started low stakes and bought a can of Starbucks Medium Roast instant coffee. I heated up a cup of hot water, used a ½ teaspoon to measure my servings. I already had become accustomed to frothing almond milk for my tea. I made the switch. I began spending an hour or two in the late morning each day sitting at the northeast corner of our kitchen island, drinking two cups of coffee. Coffee became my church. I frothed. I read. I wrote. I sipped.
Because I fear their Mormon judgement, I intentionally withheld my new “church service” from my family, especially my mom. My coffee time became sacred. It was my new religion. I shared how much the switch to coffee helped. Dave quickly picked up on this new space. I didn’t excuse it. I owned it. Occasionally he would forget, walk into the kitchen, see my sipping or frothing and say,
“Oh wait. Is it coffee time? I can wait.”
I loved him for respecting my boundary.
Soon, I started feeling well. I don’t want to make a spurious correlation and suggest that coffee is what moved me to better health. Then again, maybe it was the space I gave myself to have coffee and to feel good about myself. On Christmas 2024 Dave gave me a Moccamaster, a fancy pour-over coffee brewer from The Netherlands that looks like a chemistry set. He had purchased it at an auction—it had been returned because it had some chopped paint. (I think he paid $23.00.)
“Don’t worry. If you don’t like it. It’s no big deal. We can give it away.” He said.
Thanks in part to the lack of fanfare and pressure, I purchased a coffee grinder and embraced the ritual of grinding the beans and working the Moccamaster, and it became a keystone of Coffee Time.
Shortly after that Christmas, I was on Facetime with my LDS sister when Dave eagerly announced,
“Beth is using her new coffee machine.”
My shoulders tightened. I couldn’t force my sister to unsee our coffee machine. I felt the shame of someone who had committed a major sin. I felt an urge to confess – to her. I started rationalizing and explaining why I needed to drink coffee. I hung up the phone, my face red with shame. That is when I decided I didn’t need anyone’s moral approval or permission to drink coffee. I never looked back.
We found the right cone-shaped coffee filters at Costco and I fully transitioned from instant coffee and learned to brew an excellent pot of coffee. A local roaster, La Barba Coffee, is my favorite. I love their House and Anchor varieties. I’ve gone through several frothers and am glad we purchased the extended warranty on the Kuerig Brand frother. (I’m currently on my third Kuerig frother.) I’ve taken our backup frothers all over the world, including to Chile where we hiked the W Trek in Torres Del Paine.
Last week I opened my 2025 Christmas present: a Breville Bambino Plus Espresso Machine. It’s cute and shiny! Kyle, my oldest, gave me a coffee subscription and two coffee mugs, one is a double walled glass mug and the other a personalized Prospect Lefferts mug & Brooklyn Botanical Garden coaster from the NYC nieghborhood he lives in. The learning curve wasn’t as steep as I thought it would be. I learned why we tamp, how to tamp, and even bought myself a tamping station. By the end of the week I was making the perfect-for-me Americano. We spent the entire holiday talking, connecting and making coffee drinks.
The other day, Kyle had been visiting for Christmas and participated in the espresso festivities, said he already missed my espresso maker. I sent him a picture, which he promptly “hearted.” As I reflect, I don’t understand why I let coffee or the idea of drinking coffee terrify me and allow it to be some sort of measure of my worthiness. I wish it wouldn’t have taken me almost dying to internalize that drinking coffee wouldn’t cause my eternal damnation. I respect that people have their own relationship with coffee, tea, or “strong drinks.” I grieve the years I didn’t drink coffee and am relieved that I finally feel safe drinking coffee on a regular basis. Maybe some day I’ll be brave enough not to hide my habit from my Mormon family. Ultimately, my body loves coffee. I feel healed. I love my new church. I love my coffee and I still drink tea — all the flavors.
