Episode 82: Día de los muertos, a celebration of life with Livier Mendoza Haynes Part 1

Meagan:
Hey everybody! Welcome to the Beyond the Shadow of Doubt podcast. I’m so grateful you’re here with me today and with my guest, Liv. I’ll give her a chance in a minute to introduce herself.

I was first introduced to you, Liv, when you were featured at BYU Women’s Conference a few years ago with Sister Julie Beck. I was so impressed with your honesty, your realness, your genuineness—just showing up totally authentically.

You’ve been and continue to be a trailblazer and pioneer in your own right among the queer community, normalizing that we all have our own identities and experience the world in unique ways. I’m seriously honored that you made time to come on my podcast today.

With that, please take a minute and share with our listeners all about you—your upbringing, background, family, and faith journey.

Liv:
I’m really excited to be here, Meagan. I’m glad we were able to make this work despite how busy life is.

This is funny—because I always say, “Oh, I’m Mexican, and I grew up in Tijuana.” But recently one of my friends said, “You’re a fake Mexican!” She found out I was born in California. I’ve never hidden that—I was born in California but raised in Tijuana. All my family is Mexican, with some Spanish mixed in there.

I actually didn’t know I had been born in the U.S. until I was about 14. For me, there was never a difference. I grew up in Mexico, very Catholic, and I’m the youngest of three kids with a big age gap between us.

I love traveling, eating, cooking, and enjoying my family. I became a member of the LDS Church when I was 21, back in 2010, though I’d had encounters with different religions before that. I grew up Catholic, but around 17 I started asking questions the old answers couldn’t satisfy.

I never doubted that there was a God or Christ—but moving from Catholicism to the LDS faith came with cultural challenges. In Mexico, the Virgin Mary is central. Banks close for the feast of Our Lady of Guadalupe! My parents even have a statue of her that’s almost my height—and I’m 5’2″. When I converted, I noticed Mary wasn’t talked about as much.

It took years for some things to make sense—and others still don’t. But I’ve always loved learning about history, my ancestors’ traditions, and reconciling that with my faith.

Now I live in Utah with my husband and son. I identify as queer, which some people find confusing since I’m married to a man. They ask questions like, “How does that work? Do you have intimacy or not?” And I always tell them, respectfully, “I don’t know if you go around asking straight people that—but if you do, you should stop.”

It’s a big part of who I am, though not the only part. And I’m grateful for a loving, supportive husband who can sit and watch a movie with me and enjoy eye candy from whoever we find attractive.

Meagan:
That’s great. You wear a lot of hats, Liv. Let’s dive a little deeper. Do you remember when you first became aware of your “rainbow sheepness,” as you put it—when you realized you experienced attraction or relationships differently?

Liv:
I do. I don’t think I’ve ever shared this specifically before.

When I was six or seven, I was showering with my sister—there’s an eleven-year age gap between us—and I remember looking at her and thinking, “Oh my gosh, that’s a beautiful body.” Obviously, I was a child—there was no sexual component—but that was my first memory of seeing a body and thinking it was beautiful.

A few years later, I stumbled on pornography—the XXX version of Alice in Wonderland, of all things. I couldn’t stop looking at the Queen of Hearts. I was captivated by her beauty. I didn’t have the education or words to understand what I was feeling. My parents had limited education, and we never had “the talk.”

My mom gave me an encyclopedia and videos about childbirth—that was the best birth control ever! She wanted me to learn but didn’t know how to talk about it.

My mom also had friends who did drag. I grew up around men dressing as women, with feathers and sequins. She never said it was wrong—it was just normal. But I also heard the more traditional “machismo” comments—like, “If your brother is gay, fine, but if you girls ever were, you couldn’t live here.”

That was hard. Especially since I wasn’t feminine in the traditional sense—my sister was into makeup and dresses, and I wasn’t. They’d use derogatory terms. Even before I understood my feelings, I knew that whatever it was, it was considered shameful.

At 18, I met the first woman I fell in love with. She was openly gay, confident, and free in a way I admired. I fell in love with her—not because of her body, but her spirit and confidence. We never had a relationship because I wasn’t ready to be out, but that experience was powerful. It showed me that what I felt wasn’t disgusting—it was human.

All through my teens and early adulthood, I hid behind what was acceptable. I pretended to crush on boy-band members, memorized who was considered “hot,” and played along to fit in.

I dated women in high school and college, but secretly. I’d even tell guys, “Yeah, I’m into girls,” knowing they’d think it was sexy, using that to deflect from my truth. It took years to come out to myself.

People tell me now, “You’re so brave and open,” but they don’t see the years of crying, shame, fear of losing family and friends. I was always religious—Catholic, then Christian, then LDS—and I wrestled with, “Can I get baptized if I still feel this way?” I thought, “If I do everything right, maybe God will make me fall in love with a guy.”

Well—He did—but not in the way I expected. My husband loves me for all of me, and I love him. But that doesn’t erase the years of pain. Some wounds are still healing.

Meagan:
Thank you so much for sharing that so openly, Liv. I loved what you said about your first love—it wasn’t about sex, but about admiration and connection. You’re right; society often reduces LGBTQ+ people to sexuality while treating straight people as whole beings.

You’re incredibly wise. You mentioned still working through some of those long-held beliefs that were taught as “truth.” How do you process those—when what you were taught conflicts with what you feel or know to be right?

Liv:
That’s a great question. First, I want to recognize that my experience as a convert to the LDS Church is different from those born in it.

Two things changed everything for me:

1. Learning about personal revelation—that I could have a direct relationship with God and receive guidance for me.

2. Recognizing my divine nature as a daughter of God.

Those ideas were new to me. And when I first felt God’s presence, it was like a hug. That moment made me feel seen and loved. I realized if God can love me like that, it doesn’t matter if others don’t understand or accept me.

That doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt—it does. But I’ve learned to set boundaries that protect my peace. For example, I don’t watch General Conference live. I know myself. I read the talks later, when I’m ready. That weekend, I make sure I’m available online because I know people who might need support.

That’s my way of being Christlike—being there for those who might be struggling.

Meagan:
That’s beautiful. For those unfamiliar, General Conference is a worldwide meeting of the LDS Church held twice a year. You mentioned some messages can be hurtful. Can you explain what you mean?

Liv:
Sure. It’s two days of talks from church leaders. Many messages are uplifting, but some can be painful—especially when they emphasize “the traditional family model.”

That can make LGBTQ+ individuals, single parents, divorced people, or interfaith families feel excluded.

For example, last conference, someone said we should only seek advice from “faithful members.” That hurt because my dad—who’s Catholic—has always given me incredible advice. He’d take me to church, wait outside, then go to his own Mass. He never pressured me—just wanted me to have faith.

So when someone suggests his voice doesn’t count, it feels wrong.

And here’s the thing: the Church teaches personal revelation. When I was investigating the faith, the missionaries told me, “Pray and get your own answers from Heavenly Father.” So why would I stop doing that now?

If God can speak to me directly, I trust Him over anyone else.

Meagan:
That’s such an important point. Your story illustrates personal revelation perfectly—having the courage to ask, listen, and trust your own answers.