I am writing
this post mainly for myself. I am hoping it will be cathartic and ultimately I
just want to tell my story as an early return missionary. I also hope that it
will help others gain an understanding of my decision to stay home, and how to
deal with missionaries like me. My experience has been difficult and I haven’t
been honest with many people about my real feelings because they are too raw
and still too confused to always figure out. I have had so many different
emotions and perspectives about the whole thing I want to share them all. The
good and the bad. The things people say and the things people are afraid to
mention. This is my story.
MTC First
Day.
I was so
excited and so nervous. All of my planning, my studying, my money and any work
I had done in the last 8 months had led up to this day. I was a missionary for
the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I got to wear a name badge
representing the Savior every day for the next 18 months. I had been set apart
and promised many blessings and I felt confident in my ability to teach and
bring others closer to Christ. I knew it was going to be hard but everyone
always said it was worth it, I just had to try my hardest. When I came home I
would be more spiritually mature, it would be a good day. I would be more grown
up and have experienced a different world and culture. My parents and family
would be proud and see me as the adult I truly became. I would know who I was
and where I was going.
Fast forward
a little further into the day.
Here is a picture of my companions and our district.
Left to Right:
Back Row: Elder Pennington, Elder Hodges, Elder Hargrove, Elder Hodgeson, Elder Moss, Me
Front Row: Elder Ballard, Sister Maugn and Sister Boworth- Arzani
Next Six
Weeks
The next six weeks were on an insane schedule
that always kept us busy. We woke up around 6 and did not go to bed until
around 10:30 or 11 pm. Our days were filled with studying, teaching, eating and
sleeping. We studied the scriptures, Preach My Gospel, Portuguese, and anything
else they thought we needed to be successful and stable. We had amazing
devotionals and Sundays where every day was a good day. Not always easy but
still a good day. I got used to sending letters and emailing my family as the only form of communication I could have with them. I spent Christmas and New Years in the MTC. I also missed the
day my sister got married in the Salt Lake temple which was hard but I knew I
was where I needed to be. I learned things about myself, about teaching and
loving people, and living with people I barely knew and was forced to get used
to. I cried from feeling the Spirit and hearing servants of the Lord. Over and
over again I felt like I was supposed to be there. I had days where I was a little
concerned maybe I didn't know enough or maybe I was not good enough but then
Heavenly Father always reassured me or someone else would do so. I loved our
district and we were so close. The Elders always gave us blessing when we needed
them and helped us as best they could, we did the same in return excluding the
blessings part. We laughed together and shared our thoughts and feelings. We
were a family. Our teachers were amazing and helped us the best they could. We
spoke Portuguese and English together. We played pranks on other districts in
our zone. We were so happy for each other when we got our Visas. I was so shocked
I got mine I started crying. The Elders laughed that it was the best reaction
out of everyone. I was so happy and yet so terrified but I knew Heavenly Father
would somehow get me through it. Since I knew I was leaving I got a haircut! The Elders didn't recognize me at first afterwards!
After
Brazil
I left with
another Elder from my district that was going to the same mission as I was
early in the morning January 13th. It was sad to say goodbye to
everyone whom we had grown so close to but we had known it was inevitable.
Almost everyone in our district was going to different missions and so we knew
we wouldn't see each other anymore unless we sent the occasional email. I felt
just like I had the first day I arrived at the MTC. I was only a little more nervous because of
the language. I arrived in Brazil safely and stayed with a temporary companion
the first half a day we were there. We rested and then the next day we were
assigned our real companions who would be our trainers for the next twelve
weeks. My companion was named Sister Souza. I loved Sister Souza she was a
dork, easy to get along with as well as encouraging and willing to help. We
also stayed with Sister Moraes and Sister Patino. All of whom knew Portuguese
almost perfectly. Sister Souza and Sister Moreas were native Brazilians and
Sister Patino was from Colombia. We worked hard and did our best. I was
enjoying the work even though we had a couple of difficulties with my foot
swelling up because of mosquito bite and Sister Souza getting a little bit sick.
Even with these things I loved Brazil. The people were so kind and generous as
well as committed to the Gospel. We had people to teach, love and serve. We had
new investigators within the first few days and I was still so excited
to be there. The language was hard and I didn't always understand it. It was
hard to not always be able to explain my feelings clearly or to teach or be the
missionary I thought I was going to be but I kept trying. I kept pushing on
praying, crying and hoping it would get better. In some ways it did but I had
no idea the Lord had other plans for me.
My wonderfully swollen mosquito bite.
It felt like
I was in Brazil for a month maybe more. In reality I was only there for two weeks.
After arriving to Brazil I cannot tell you honestly what changed. I was still trying
hard and every time I got discouraged I threw myself more into being a missionary
and doing my best. Doing all the things I was supposed to when I was feeling
discouraged or homesick. I was always trying to have positive thoughts, write
uplifting emails, and look at all the positives. I was praying like no
tomorrow, reading my scriptures and I knew without a doubt I was worthy to be
on my mission. Somewhere along the way it just wasn't cutting it but I didn't want to admit that to myself. Admitting that meant something might be wrong
with me. I felt alone and lost. I felt hopeless and like a failure. I was so
extremely sad I didn't know how to face every day. I hardly slept at all and only ate when I had to. I would start crying for no reason at all. Even if it
was a beautiful day and everything was going well. I was so sad I couldn't teach or bear my testimony. I started to feel nothing at all and it scared me
more than anything. This kept going on but I couldn't tell Sister Souza what
was going on. I didn't know how to explain it in another language. She knew
something was up but she thought it was her fault.
I didn't want to not go out
because I didn't want to be a fubeca, a lazy rule breaking missionary. I was
worried if I was not out working I was being a fubeca missionary but the truth
was I couldn't even be a missionary because of how I was feeling. Some part of
me knew something might be so wrong I might need to go home and that was the
last thing I wanted. A few days before I came home Sister Souza made me go back
to our apartment. She could tell that day I was worse than all the others. We
went back home and I showered, studied my scriptures, my patriarchal blessing,
prayed, cried, and slept. Sister Souza left me to my own devices worrying that
I was mad at her which I didn’t know at the time. I didn’t admit I needed help
until later in the day I realized I had been thinking about committing suicide
all day. I had been coming up with ideas throughout the day about how I could
kill myself, zoning out, trying to escape. Trying to think of ways maybe my
companion wouldn't notice. I had actually maybe been thinking of doing it for a
couple of days but at that point I was not sure. I had come up with two definite
ways of doing so but I don’t want to scare you with the horrors of my mind.
Both actually may have worked but I was so lucky to have a companion who stayed
with me at all times. That night when the Elders called to see how our day went
and checkup I asked Sister Souza to ask them for a blessing. She told them how
our day had gone and had me talk to the Elder. I explained what was going on
and that started the ball rolling for me possibly going home. Part of me wanted
to go home and part of me didn't.
The next day I talked with some professionals who were
American as well as my Mission President. Sister Souza, Sister
Moraes and Sister Patino took turns watching me and going out as well as trying
to get some last laughs because even if I had been depressed on the outside I
could still laugh and seem somewhat “normal”. Sister Moraes was having similar
problems and needed to go home but not quite so urgently. After many talks and
terrifying phone calls they decided it was best for me to go home. The mental
health counselors made me promise to not harm myself, and they got me a flight
for the next day back to see my family. It all seemed so surreal. That night I
packed as well as Sister Moraes. The next day we went to the airport and I was
on my way back home. Thinking, my mission was over. 18 months just gone.
Fearing my parents, my family and my home ward’s reaction. Fearing so many
things and terrified even more so of what was to come.
End of Part 1. To be Continued.
