Episode 67: When Your Options Don’t Feel Like Heaven with Andrea Giles Part 1

Hey everyone, welcome to Beyond the Shadow of Doubt. Thanks so much for joining me today.

I’m thrilled to introduce you to my guest, Andrea Giles. Andrea and I go back quite a ways—we connected when I was looking into becoming a coach about three years ago. We were just reminiscing about that call—over two hours long—where she graciously shared so much insight with me. It feels like such a full-circle moment to have her here on the podcast.

Andrea, I remember you had just started your own podcast at that time.

“It was exactly three years ago this month,” she recalled.

I remember thinking, She’s so brave! And she still is.

Andrea introduced herself:

“I’m Andrea Giles. I live in Montana, and I have a massive blended family—twelve kids between us. We’ve been married seven years. I work with women—and some men—who are navigating infidelity. My main program is geared toward women, though I do coach men one-on-one as well.

I came into this niche because of personal experience. My first marriage involved a lot of betrayal and deception, and during that time, women began reaching out to me for help. I remember feeling like such a mess myself that I wasn’t sure how helpful I was being—but I saw the need. I knew I wasn’t alone in my heartbreak, and I felt a deep pull to make it through to the other side so I could help others do the same.

After I divorced, I started studying to become a therapist. Seven months later, my first husband was killed in a car accident, and it rocked our world. I had six children, but I still felt committed to the work I had started. I stayed in school for therapy for a few years, but then I discovered coaching—and it completely shifted everything for me.

I’d been in therapy—individual, group, all kinds—but coaching felt so different and more effective. I switched paths, went through coach training in 2018, and launched my practice in 2019.

A couple of years before that, I remarried a widower whose wife had passed away from cancer. He had five children, and together we now have twelve—including one very big surprise: a baby girl who’s now twenty months old. She brings up the rear at number twelve!

I’ve been coaching since 2019, and I absolutely love it.”

I shared how much I resonated with her comments about therapy versus coaching—the parallels and the differences. Both have their place, but coaching can often be more forward-moving once a person has healed enough to be ready for it.

I also thanked Andrea for her courage—for showing up for herself and for the many women she’s helped by sharing her story.

One of the goals of this podcast is to normalize faith journeys—to show that no two look alike. There’s no checklist, no one-size-fits-all path. It’s about the individual and their connection with the Divine—however they define that: God, the Universe, Spirit, or Source.

Questions and doubts are part of faith—and part of life. My own journey took a turn when I learned that my child identified as LGBTQ+. As someone raised in the LDS faith—a conservative Christian tradition—that realization brought enormous cognitive dissonance. It shook everything I thought I knew, and I struggled to know how to hold space for my questions without shame.

Andrea shared that she, too, was raised LDS—from birth.

I invited her to share what her faith journey has looked like, especially the moments that felt like turning points—those “forks in the road.”

Andrea began:

“Yes, I was raised LDS. Both of my parents were converts. My dad joined the Church when he was nineteen, but he died in a plane crash when I was two days old. That’s how my life began—with loss and upheaval. My mom had three little kids. She remarried once, but that relationship was abusive. Later, she married my stepdad, who she’s been with for decades now.

Growing up was hard, but I learned that being ‘good’—getting good grades, excelling—earned me validation and attention. Especially since some of my older siblings were rebellious, obedience became my identity.

I married young, as was encouraged in our faith, and started having kids right away. Sixteen years later, that marriage ended in divorce.

In the LDS Church, temple sealings are a central covenant—it’s not just a marriage for time, but for eternity. When my first husband died, I found myself in a painful dilemma because of Church policy. Men can be sealed to more than one woman, but women cannot be sealed to more than one man.

If I wanted to be sealed to my current husband, I would have to cancel my previous sealing—and to do that, I’d need approval. But even then, I’d forever be considered my husband’s second wife.

When I sought to cancel my previous sealing, I was told that Church leaders would need to talk to my oldest son and my deceased husband’s parents.

That moment was a major fork in the road.

It opened my eyes to how often I had been conditioned to give my authority away—to believe others had more say over my life and my choices than I did. It made me realize how deeply that conditioning had hurt me, diminished my confidence, and taught me to please others—especially men.

I grew up in a home where it was ‘my way or the highway.’ Add to that a faith system where I couldn’t even make a sacred decision about my own spiritual covenants without outside approval—and I just dropped it. I let it go.

I haven’t followed up, because honestly, there are no options in our faith culture that feel truly right or heavenly to me. So I’ve set it aside—for now.”

She paused, then continued:

“But where things really cracked open for me was with my children. I have more than one who identifies within the LGBTQ+ community. They’re still navigating their exact identities and pronouns, and I’m doing my best to guide and educate myself.

It’s been painful to confront the reality that my faith community does not extend the same spiritual blessings to LGBTQ+ individuals that it does to others.

When I realized that, and when it became personal through my child, it shattered me. I remember thinking, Be careful, Andrea. This is her life. Be careful.

It has forced me to question everything. Truly everything.”

I reflected on what she shared.

Her words stirred deep questions for me—questions I’d never had to face because they didn’t directly affect my own circumstances. That’s privilege: when something doesn’t apply to you, you rarely have to think about it.

Listening to Andrea describe the pain of realizing she’d been taught to hand her authority over to others—especially in spiritual matters—was powerful and sobering.

I told her how much I appreciated her vulnerability.

“It doesn’t have to happen to you for it to matter to you,” I said.

What she described—facing a system that required permission for her spiritual autonomy—was heartbreaking. I understood why she had chosen to set it aside for now.

Andrea continued:

“I’ve talked about it with a few people. Once, at a live event with Jennifer Finlayson-Fife, I shared my story. She responded emphatically that she doesn’t believe in eternal polygamy and recommended a book—The Ghost of Eternal Polygamy by Carol Lynn Pearson.

I read it, reached out to Carol Lynn, and she wrote back with the most compassionate message. She told me how much this doctrine had caused her pain, too. Her advice was simple: love. Love my husband, love our marriage, love our life now.

Even my stake president at the time encouraged me to pursue the cancellation—and he was shocked when he learned the response from higher leadership, that they wanted to talk to my son and my deceased husband’s parents. He was upset on my behalf.”

Andrea sighed softly as she added,

“Even though the letter didn’t say they needed permission, that’s how it felt. Like my word, my lived experience, wasn’t enough. That my pain wasn’t valid. That I didn’t have the authority to decide for myself.

And that’s not new. My mom had to go through the same thing decades ago.

When my stepdad wanted to be sealed to her, she had to cancel her previous sealing—to my biological father, who died when I was two days old. She got permission, and they were sealed when I was in college.

It made logical sense to me at the time, but my brother—who was older—was devastated. It felt to him like our dad was being erased.

That experience stayed with me. I filed it away, not realizing it would someday become my battle too.

Now, facing it firsthand, I see it differently. The inequality in it all is glaring.

I can’t change the policies today, but I can speak up. I can advocate for change.”