long forgotten blog.
There are 365 days in a year.
There are roughly 547.5 days in a Sister Missionaries Mission.
There were 23 in mine.
I haven't gone a single day without thinking about those days.
When you are leaving on a mission you always hear how you will think about your mission
every day of your life. It doesn't seem hard to believe when you spend 18-24 months doing something.
Imagine my surprise when this also applied to my short time of serving.
Coming home was hard, but it was also a relief. At the time I felt crazy guilt admitting that,
but it's true. I was so relieved when I found out I was coming home. I would be able to get things
figured out and maybe go back to how things were before.
Note to self: stop trying to make plans.
As an RM no matter how long you served I don't think you can ever go back to how things
were before.
The first couple of weeks following my return weren't horrible. I met with my counselor once a week, and I spent a lot of time with my family.
After those first couple weeks though, things kind of turned. I spent a lot of time on the couch with my good friend netflix. I had depression days where my depression was worse than my anxiety and I would play funny TV shows and not even smile. My anxiety wasn't getting any better either. I didn't always get ready, or do anything really. I didn't have a job, I didn't have a purpose, I just sat.
My family was pretty good about trying their hardest to keep me busy but sometimes I just didn't want to respond to their efforts.
When the school year started I started a job at a school for disabilities working with kids with autism.
It wasn't at all what I was expecting. While the kids can be so so sweet and loving, they can also be agressive. The teacher I was working with at the time was totally burnt out and didn't want to be there. I felt my conditions worsening.
Come october I was a wreck. I felt abandoned and alone by anyone and everyone and I lashed out at people who definitely didn't deserve it.
A week later I was seeing a new counselor and was prescribed medications.
Two weeks later I sustained an injury at work and was moved to the other autism classroom.
I consider these two events to be two of my greatest blessings. The medication has helped me totally find myself again. I feel relatively happy most of the time and I can think more logically about things. It's like a fog blocking all light, logical thought, and happiness had lifted. The classroom i was moved to was run by some of the greatest human beings I have ever met. I grew so close to the ladies I worked with this year and I owe a lot to them, a lot that they know about, and a lot that they dont.
On hard days we lifted each other, and on good days we rejoiced together. They witnessed some of my hardest moments and meltdowns, and celebrated some of my good moments.
I am also lucky enough to live with my grandma. If you've ever heard me talk about her, you know she's the coolest lady in the world. Besides that, We have a lot of space. When I need to take a minute, I have the place to do it.
Now It's summer. Some of my forever friends are home from their missions, some are graduated, but they've all been such a support. Some were on missions when I came home and wrote to me whenever I seemed to need it. Now that they're home, they always show up when I need them.
I'm pretty blessed.
My family is always there to chat when I'm bored or just needing to. My sisters like to hang out with me sometimes.
My Brother is turning into a Husband and Father this year which is possibly the most exciting thing to be happening this year.
I don't regret my mission. I don't talk about it a lot, mostly because having to explain that I only served in one area, was home so fast, and everything is often either met with "well a mission isn't for everyone.." or "missions are hard.." or "well at least you went.." and it just gets a little awkward and complicated. Not that anyone has ever been rude. on the contrary, I have only been met with kindness regarding my early return, but explaining my mission story isn't one of the first things I like to tell people.
I heard that song "fight song" by Rachel Platten and like so many other people It kind of pumped me up, but lately when I hear it, I think of it a little differently. I feel like in all of this, I didn't choose a moment to start fighting or to be brave. I didn't say "okay starting now I'm going to...."
I feel so much better than I was in October. Leaps and bounds. Occasionally I still have days that break through where I feel anxious or depressed, but I just take it a day at a time. I think that's what I've been doing since I got home. Just taking it one day at a time. bit by bit, things have gotten better.
I am so grateful for the humble people I met in Plummer. Even though the natives hated Christians and white people and we were both. There are people and faces I'll never forget. The old man who tried to bear hug us my first day our tracting, Thea and her "dear lord baby Jesus" prayers, Joe with his endless scripture studies, the amazing branch members who kept us fed and kept us going. There are even people on the street that I think about now and then.
It is my hope to keep my prayers as sincere as they were on my mission. I have never felt as close to my Father in Heaven as I did kneeling down at my creaky stiff mattress, and even though I mostly cried unto him. Literal tears. I know that he heard me. He gave me what I needed, and he gave me trials that I've learned so much patience and love from.
No comments:
Post a Comment