When I was 17 years old, I went to my bishop to repent for having sex with my boyfriend. My bishop asked for explicit details about what I had actually done, and whether or not I had done those things before. I told him. I didn’t know I had a choice. I didn’t realize how inappropriate it was. I didn’t know that he did not need to know that information.
My bishop then held forgiveness over my head, by telling me that he would know I had truly repented when I came to him with a specific question. I had no idea what question I was supposed to ask that would signal my true godly sorrow. I obediently went months without the sacrament, wondering in my head what I was missing. I finally told my bishop in tears that I didn’t know what question I was supposed to ask. He told me that I should have asked when I could take the sacrament again. A question I never would have asked, as I was deferring to his priesthood authority.