What You've All Been Waiting For...

Ok, ok. I know you've all been asking this question, and I think I'm ready to answer it now.

Why am I home from my mission?

Kudos to those who did the math and figured out I wasn't gone for 18 months. (It was 13 months.)

I previously and vaguely said that I was coming home for "health reasons" but that really means very little.

My illness? Depression. (Yes, illness. I will explain.)

It started back around Halloween. The first 7 months of my mission were fantastic. While it was hard, I still loved what I was doing. It was fulfilling and I knew it was where I was supposed to be. And then inexplicably, something changed.

It started with me not being able to stay awake for more than five minutes at a time during my hour of personal study. How much can you get out of studying the scriptures drowsily for five minutes? Next to nothing. Along with that came these weird, strong feelings that I couldn't explain. I would get super irritated at someone or something, or I would be sitting in the car in front of someone's house and I'd just be like, "I don't want to do this." At first I thought it was just my hormones making me weird...but then it kept consistently happening, like for a month. Oh, and I started crying all the time. How many of you have seen me cry? Exactly, I am not a crier. In the first 6 or 7 months of my mission I cried once. By the end of November I was crying multiple times a week. Progressively this was all getting worse. And this just wasn't me.

Finally after Thanksgiving my wonderful companion who was so patient and supportive told me it was time to call President. I called and cried and told him things weren't good. When nothing had changed by the end of December he transferred me so I could start going to a therapist from LDS Family Services. That transfer almost broke me. I went from being functionally depressed to being pretty darn dysfunctional. I had zero motivation. I felt spiritually dead. I was overwhelmed and didn't know why I was still there. I wasn't doing anyone any good at all, except maybe teaching my companions patience. It was good seeing a therapist, but it wasn't helping my depression at all. Finally after a few visits I told him that I was sure this was more than just a mental thing. I had been in similar situations before, being tired, stressed, etc. but this was different. There was something wrong with my body making me feel so fatigued and so indifferent to everything in the world. I mean it was really like all those commercials for antidepressants where I had lost interest in even the things I loved most. I didn't want to write my best friends. I didn't want to write in my journal. We would hang out with other sisters on p-day and I would just sit there and cry and I didn't know why. I didn't know why I couldn't be happy because it wasn't like I was trying to be miserable.

So I finally went to a doctor. He diagnosed me as being moderately depressed and prescribed me some medication. This was the beginning of February. The first week was rough. The meds made my head feel empty, which is kind of an uncomfortable sensation, and I was always a little nauseous and just as fatigued as ever, if not more. One day I had a huge breakdown and told my companion I couldn't do it anymore. This wasn't something I could deal with as a missionary. Man I had wonderful companions. She let me just cry for like an hour and we talked about it and then we took the afternoon off. We went for a run and got frozen yogurt. She called President and asked if we could come talk to him the next day. We went to the temple in the morning, which left me with such a reassuring peace that everything would work out just fine. I felt that it wasn't time for me to give up yet. So we went and talked to President and I was feeling alright. He told me to exercise for a full hour everyday and if that meant the rest of our morning schedule got shifted, that was fine. Then he said if things aren't better by the end of next transfer (meaning about 2 months from that time) then maybe going home would be the best option for me to get over this.

From there things got better. Exercising for an hour was wonderful. I think the meds started doing their job and things were pretty good. I was so excited. I had kicked this! I had done it without giving up. I wasn't going to have to go home early. Well, the next transfer started and things were still going well. We had another temple day and I kind of got this distinct impression that I wasn't in the clear yet. I could imagine Heavenly Father sitting there looking down at me with a sympathetic smile on His face, shaking his head saying, "I'm sorry, but it wasn't that easy. You've got more hard stuff headed your way." At that point what could I do but shrug and say "come what may"? Yeah, so it got crappy again. Crying all the time. Feeling like a worthless missionary. Seriously, how was I supposed to help others when I couldn't even get a handle on myself? I felt so broken. I can't even describe all the thoughts and feelings I had. I was near hopeless.

But, I never did completely lose hope. If there was one reason for me to struggle with depression on my mission it was so I could grow closer to my Savior and have more of an understanding of His Atonement. I know that He was there with me every step of the way, and most of the time He was carrying me. This is what kept me from hopelessness. I knew that eventually, whether in this life or the next, He would make up for the unfairness of this trial in my life. Meanwhile, I knew He would help me.

So by this point there were only 2 or 3 weeks left in the transfer. I saw President at a baptism one weekend and asked if he would give me a blessing. He asked me if I was thinking about going home or not and I told him that was why I wanted the blessing, because I was trying to decide what I should do.

I think that trying to decide whether I should go home or stay on my  mission was a harder decision than the one I made to go on a mission in the first place. There would be so many implications either way. If I go home will I regret it forever? Will I feel guilty? Are there people I'm still supposed to find or teach? Are there things that I still need to learn? Will people judge me? If I stay will I be able function well enough to be an effective missionary? Will I be more of a burden or a help to my companions? Will I feel bitter about how miserable I was on my mission? Will I miss out on some opportunity that the Lord has in store for me if I do go home? The questions were endless.

Honestly, I was ready to go home. I was exhausted with this battle. I felt like I really couldn't be very effective in the state I was in unless I was able to get a hold of all my problems. I could see the effect that I was having on the work and on my companion and it wasn't fair. But, I knew that if the Lord wanted me to still be there, He would continue to help me and that these things wouldn't be an issue. Now just the tricky part of trying to figure out what it was that He wanted.

There was lots of praying and pondering and fasting, etc. And it was one of those times where I felt the answer I was getting was that it was up to me. Either choice would be fine. Ugh, sometimes I think that's the worst answer to receive. But, based on what I was thinking and feeling, I decided to make the choice to go home and see how I felt from there.

The last two weeks of my mission were great. I generally felt pretty good. I wasn't nearly as tired as I had been. I didn't really mind knocking on doors. But this was because there was a light at the end of the tunnel. The thought of me staying for another 4+ months filled me with apprehension and dread. I felt good with my decision to come home.

And after two weeks of being home, I still feel good about my decision. I was afraid of feeling weird or guilty whenever anyone asked me why I came home early, and I haven't. I don't feel bad at all or like there's something that I'm going to miss out on because I came home 3 transfers early. I'm sure that if I had chosen to stay that things would have worked out fine, but I really believe that coming home was the right thing for me to do.

And again, just like the decision I made in the first place to serve a mission, this was a decision I made completely between me and the Lord. Nobody, except maybe my mission president, had any sway in this decision. The convenient timing of certain things does make it appear a bit suspicious, I know, but if it was planned by anyone, it was only planned by God. And, well, I'm okay with that.

Anyways, my mission, while cut a little short, was still an amazing experience. I don't look back at it with bitterness or regret at all. I'm so glad that I went and so glad that I stuck through the hard stuff for as long as I did. I met amazing people and learned lessons that I probably couldn't have learned anywhere but in the mission field. Most of all, my testimony is even more rock solid than it was before. I know that this is truly the Lord's Church and that the things that I taught as a missionary are true. I know that all the trials that we go through are for our good and that there are things that we must learn from them. And most of all, I know that the Savior is there to wipe away our tears and give us the strength to keep going. He is the reason to hope.