Feature Friday: Brittany S

Brittany and I went to high school together, but didn't know each other very well. We have connected through our common trial and I think she is AMAZING! I wish I would have known her better, but Heavenly Father places people in our lives at certain times for a reason. 

Brittany loves her family, good food, a solid workout, refashioning, a good book, a challenging math problem, writing, and God (not necessarily in that order). She has depression, but that only defines a small part of her. A few months ago, she learned that for her, right now, there isn't a way out of her depression. There is only a way through. She has an amazing blog (that you should go check out!) where she writes about her way through.

It took me a long time to decide to seek help for my depression.

First of all, I didn’t know I had it. I honestly felt crazy. I thought that by definition a person with depression was always sad. And I just wasn’t. Sure, I had days and weeks and months at a time where I was incapacitated by the darkness that engulfed my life with the all-encompassing thickness of a severe Midwest storm. But morning always came.

It was a confusing process to try to reconcile those two drastically different realities—deep, painful darkness and bright, hopeful mornings—especially without any direction. I was honestly afraid to talk about the darkness I experienced. I didn’t want anyone to know. I worried admitting my struggle was akin to admitting I was faithless, weak, unlovable and inadequate.

I hoped that if I just pushed hard enough and far enough through the experience, the terrifying darkness would just dissipate. But it didn’t. It festered, and smarted, and intensified, like an unresolved sliver in my hand. The lapses of darkness grew longer, the wounds in my heart grew deeper, and the burden to carry grew heavier.

I felt like I must be doing something wrong. Each time after surfacing from drowning darkness, I convinced myself that if I could just increase my faith, my firmness of mind, and my resolve, I could keep the clouds at bay. I recommitted my life to seeking light and living right—every single time. But I couldn’t control the storms. After everything I could do, the darkness always returned.

After my daughter was born, the depression barged into my life like a sadistic thief. It seemed to rob me of all the joy and purpose in what was “supposed to be” one of the happiest times of my life. I remember those dark days with the image of me crumpled at the foot of my daughter’s crib, despondently pleading with God to give me the strength and skills to be able to function as a mother to the child (I then felt)  He had so unwisely sent.

But despite the urgency and the faith and the fervency with which I prayed, Heaven seemed silent. Nothing seemed to change inside of me—where all was breaking. The darkness grew until like a volcano it burst, and my whole world went black from the ash. I remember the moment. I stood in the shower, the hot water raining down, and realized, this was postpartum depression. I think it was the first time while in the midst of an episode of darkness that I really identified with that word, depression. I think it was the very first time I allowed for the possibility of something more than my shortcomings or my sins to be the reason for my struggle.

So I sat Ron down on our faded, hand-me-down green couch. Through tears, I told him I thought I had postpartum depression. And then, I watched, as He became an answer to the prayer I had pleaded for so many times at the foot of the crib. The prayer I was sure had been unanswered.

He enlisted my mom and together we came up with a plan to meet our baby’s needs, but also to save me. There were still so many tears, so many hard, hard days, and so many miserable, sleepless nights. It wasn’t that my struggle was over, it was that I was no longer going it alone.

I didn’t seek medical help at that point. Perhaps that’s part of the reason my struggle with postpartum depression lasted eighteen months. I don’t know. But I do know, that I was helped, even miraculously sustained, through one of the hardest, most soul-crushing trials of my life.

I’ll be honest; I only told a few people—Ron, my family, and a few other close friends—about my struggle. I felt like admitting I had depression somehow left a dark black smear on my soul. I worried I would be judged as weak and rejected. And I didn’t then have the courage to face those fears.

In January of 2016, I finally felt the clouds lift. I felt vibrant and my life was full of purpose, joy and vitality. It was a beautiful period of living for me. I felt like I was soaking in what mothering could be. I felt fulfilled and happy. It wasn’t that there weren’t hard days, but I was just different in the way I could handle the load.

We moved to Michigan after Ron graduated in April. I was emotional at leaving my beloved mother, family, and faithful support network of dear friends, but I also viewed it as a fresh exciting start for our little family. It was honestly a move I supported whole-heartedly.

About a month and a half after settling into our new surroundings, my world came crashing down. I fell harder and quicker and deeper than I ever thought possible. Wounds I thought were healed were torn mercilessly open, strength I thought I had gained instantly vanished, and faith I knew was mine was desperately tested. My ability to function in normal day-to-day duties entirely disappeared. I felt like nothing more than a hopeless puddle on the floor.

The darkness had grown until I felt like I was fighting for my life. In a moment of divine clarity I realized simultaneously the gravity of the situation, and what role I needed to play in changing its course. And so, I decided to go see a counselor. Truly facing my reality took all of the faith, courage and strength I had.

And it was worth it.

It was a lot easier to hide my secret in fear than it was to courageously face my darkness. But, living courageously is easier on my heart, than silently suffering in fear.

Depression has this awful side effect of making it extremely difficult to feel God’s love in the bottom of the experience. I’ve struggled with anger over the fact that I’ve been left to face this again and again. But I’m learning, that just because I can’t always feel Him or because He doesn’t help me the way I wish He would, it doesn’t mean He isn’t reaching for me. He is, most definitely. Most often He reaches for me through those closest to me. And when I shut them out, I’m shutting out the love, the answers, and the help He is trying to send.

I truly believe that “hope and healing are not found in the dark abyss of secrecy but in the light and love of our Savior, Jesus Christ.” (The Master Healer, Oct 2016, Carole M. Stephens)

It takes strength to reach out. It takes faith to trust someone with your secret. It takes courage to face the darkness of this trial.

But we don’t walk alone. I sincerely believe that. I believe that when we pray, He does hear, He does help. I believe He is closer than we think. I’ll be honest, I still have dark moments where I cannot feel Him. But I’m noticing that often He sends someone close to me in His place. And I’ve decided that is really no less a miracle than Him coming Himself.

It is still hard for me that I feel so alone inside when I have to face the darkness. But recognizing His help on the outside makes it a little more possible to find the courage, faith and strength necessary to face this depression.

Feature Friday: Hailey

I apologize for not posting a feature in a while. Life has been a little crazy lately and I haven't really had stories to share. So if you know someone who is struggling who would be willing to share their story here then please let me know! I would greatly appreciate it and I know others would benefit as well.
Hailey is a student at Brigham Young University-Idaho studying Marriage and Family Advocacy and Policy. She loves God, her husband, and her cute little instax camera. Her philosophy in life is donuts and even though it doesn’t make sense, it’s worked well for me! I actually met her when my friend asked me if I would be a second photographer at her wedding. So I took her pictures but I don't really know her personally. The same friend asked if I could share her story and she said yes, so here it is!

COPING WITH MENTAL CHALLENGES

Life has a tendency to throw up on you. Everything is so good and then all of a sudden these icky trials are poured all over you and it’s impossible to make sense of it all. Has anyone else felt this way before? I sure have! Especially the past year. Let me tell you a little bit about it.

Ever since I got engaged, I have become very emotional. And not just the monthly womanly mood swings. I’ve experienced a constant battle to be happy and positive which has been so frightening because growing up I was always happy and positive. I used to have no problem facing the day. But starting about a year ago I would wake up and the only things that would cross my mind were all the things on my to-do list, all the things that might possibly irritate me that day, and how I am incapable of handling it all. UGH. Definitely not how I wanted to start my day. At first I thought, “Oh, I’m just stressed with planning a wedding and a tough school load.” But then, school ended and it was still there. Then I thought, “Oh, it’s simply the birth control.” But a year has passed and it hasn’t simmered down.

This semester has been extra trying on both Sam and I. I am not myself when I come home and am not distracted by a busy day of classes and work. I’ve had many mental break downs and have dumped tears on hundreds of Sam’s shirts. I’ve felt stressed and overwhelmed; I have been easily irritated and confused; I have felt broken and weak. And I have not enjoyed it, not one bit. To make everything worse, Sam has really had a hard time too. Don’t get me wrong, he has done an excellent job at supporting me and he is one of the major things that has gotten me through the long months. But, of course, it has become taxing, especially when he doesn’t know why I am acting like this. Thankfully, we have great family members who are in the medical field and he was able to talk to them about what was going on. One of the suggestions offered was that I might have depression.
Depression.

A few days ago, on a particularly hard day, he told me what he had learned. Holy cow. I had no idea how to respond. I felt weak, confused, surprised, sad… but most of all I felt so relieved and hopeful. I kept thinking in my head, “I MIGHT NOT BE CRAZY!”

One of the hardest parts of the past year was my inability to explain all of this. Imagine you’ve hurt yourself pretty bad internally and someone finds you and asks you what’s wrong but you can’t speak. You can’t tell them why you are in pain. And it turns into a big guessing game. That would be so frustrating right?!? That is how I have felt when Sam tries to understand how I’m feeling. Usually all I can say is “I don’t know.” I resent that answer but that’s all I can come up with because nothing makes sense.

But now things make sense! Huzzah!

Of course, I can’t know for sure if this is what it is. I’m going to see a counselor next week to get a professional opinion. But it gives me hope to know that all will be well.

Now, you might be wondering, “Hailey, why did you write this random post about your struggles?” Good question. In class, we talked about “coping”. Families face hundreds of trials and a few of them tend to be extreme. So what do we do when we face these trials? Some people say they just cope with it. But what does coping really mean?

To a lot, including myself, coping has a negative connotation to it. It means just pushing through whatever is happening and hoping for the best. But I learned in my class that coping is much more than just pushing through something. It includes our outlook of the situation and using the resources available to you.

For a year I simply tried to push through everything. But now I’m trying to use the resources I have, like family, priesthood blessings form my husband, scriptures, and the counseling center on campus, and oh, the difference that that has made! It has brought my husband and I closer together because we are working as a team to cope with this trial. I also feel more in control. Rather than outside forces pushing against me, I have tools to help me push back.

In Chinese, “crisis” is the combination of the characters “danger” and “opportunity”. Coincidence? I think not! In this crisis Sam and I have faced, we have seen the danger of a struggling marriage, but we have also seen the opportunity of growth and increased love. The same goes for any crisis you and your loved ones might face. Instead of simply pushing through, try coping. Sit down and write down all the resources you have around you. You’ll be surprised by how many you have!
Then, after writing them down, take action.

If you can’t think of any resources, I know of one that every single person has. His name is God.
God loves you no matter if you are black, white, purple, polk-a-dot, or invisible. He loves you even if you have messed up. He doesn’t keep a “favorite children” list. We are all His favorite. If you are struggling, simply petition to Him for help. Pray. If you don’t know much about God or prayer, I invite you to go to www.mormon.org  where you can learn more about God, prayer, and the Book of Mormon, three marvelous tools that will help you in the midst of happy times and sad times. Promise.
Alright guys. Thanks for letting me talk about some personal things. I hope that someone out there might gain some personal revelation from what they read. We live in a big bad world filled with wonderful people who have probably gone through a lot of the things that we are currently going through. Let’s help one another, shall we?

Feature Friday: Megan

I found Megan on instagram through her photography account. She posted on World Mental Health Day about her struggle and was willing to let me share her story.
Megan is an amazing photographer and is married with two beautiful children. I am so grateful for her example and bravery in what she's gone through. Continue reading for her story....

I am Megan. Wife. Mother. Photographer. Enrichment Committee Member. Daughter. Sister. Disney Lover. Scheduling Queen. Artistic. Traveler. Friendly. Introvert. And most importantly... I am Me. 

Those are only some of the words I would say describe who I am. Two very specific things that I didn't mention are two mental illnesses that I suffer from. While I don't think they define me, they have become a major part of who I am and who I am trying to become. I have been diagnosed with Postpartum Depression as well as Anxiety Disorder. My story begins last November when my baby boy was born. Everything was perfect. He was a good baby, I was healing and enjoying the holidays. After the new year began, I started realizing that I didn't want to get out of the house as often as I use to. Then February came around and I didn't want to get out of bed. I started feeling less and less enthusiastic about things. Then that lack of excitement became irritation with EVERYTHING. I began stressing about things that weren't in my control, like terrible scenarios where my husband would be tragically killed. I began realizing that this wasn't typical for me. This wasn't me. 

My lowest point came one afternoon when I was laying on my couch, watching my favorite show on the tv, while my kids were playing on the floor with their toys. I wasn't giving the time of day to them as I was much too busy playing a game on my phone. My two year-old daughter came over to me asking if I could read her a book. The flip switched. I went crazy! I yelled at her. Screamed at her for interrupting me. Grabbed her arm and sat her down next to the wall and told her she was in time out. For wanting me to read to her. The moment I sat her down, I knew something was incredibly wrong.  I immediately called my OBGYN and told her I believed I had Postpartum Depression and she immediately set me an appointment and prescribed me some medication that would help me. I didn't know what came over me. I was embarrassed, angry with myself, sad for my daughter, guilty for being this way, and completely ashamed of who I was. I then realized that was not me. That is not me. 

I am Megan. Wife. Mother. And so much more! 

While I am still on the road to healing and becoming myself again, I am learning how to cope with my Postpartum Depression and Anxiety. I have learned that these illnesses do not define me, but are a part of my life and I need to accept that this is just one trial that I agreed to take on. I know without a doubt that my Savior and Heavenly Father have been with me the entire time. They have never left my side and are constantly and perfectly loving me. I wouldn't be getting better and feeling more like myself without their love and arms pulling me out of my lowest pits of despair. I am so grateful for the knowledge I have gained in knowing where to find help, especially in my Heavenly Father. 

I am Megan. Wife. Mother. And I suffer from Depression & Anxiety, but I AM getting better. 

Feature Friday: Brittany M

Brittany, Hermana Platt to me, and I served in the wonderful Texas McAllen Mission together. She mentioned a little bit of her trial when we were on exchanges one day but I had no idea the extent of what she went through. She recently wrote a blog post about her experiences and was willing to let me share. She is an amazing missionary, I really look up to her. She married her husband in 2014 and they are living in Nevada.

Living at an 8

Every time you go in to the hospital or doctors when something is wrong they ask you on a scale of 1-10 please rate your pain. Most people on any given day say 2-3. For a good portion of my life the last 7 years I have lived at an 8.

Each of us goes through different things in our lives that cause us pain. Depending on what happens our pain scale increases or decreases and sometimes stays there. Each of our pain tolerances is different, each 8 is different for each person. I went through a traumatic experience about 7 years ago, and it is something that has caused my pain scale to be at an 8 for years.

I am a survivor of abuse.

I grew up in a family that loved and was simply the best you could hope for. I had parents that did everything to support each other and to show that they loved and cared for each other. They were always first in each other's lives, followed closely by the seven lucky children they brought into this world. As a child in this family I learned how to have a healthy marriage; one that puts the other person first. One where parents do everything in their ability to help their children be safe and become the best person they could be. I learned how to handle tough situations and to calmly talk things through. I was taught to treat people the way you want to be treated, and that everyone is important and matters. I learned that each person is a child of God and that He loves each of us no matter what we do or who we are. I say this because I want you to know and understand that I grew up in an amazing environment and that in a way I was sheltered to the pain people could cause.

I didn't understand what abuse was. But my junior year of college I ended up rooming with a girl that had a horrible background and the way she handled it was to take it out on her roommates. She was scary. I found myself at first telling people jokingly things like yeah my roommate is crazy...she threw glass vases at me the other day. Or she just won't stop yelling. I think I was just hoping they would say something like hey B that's not normal or you should do _____ to try and help. But most people laughed awkwardly because what do you say to someone who is abused and has no idea how to handle the situation? I was scared of somewhere that was suppose to be a safe place. A place where I could relax and feel comfortable, but that was taken from me.

After a while I finally got up the courage and I told my bishop, he is the one person I knew I could trust and that would have my best interest at heart.  After a visit from the bishop and his counselors I was told that they talked to her and things should be better. You see one problem with abuse is the abuser is really good at hiding their abusive tendencies and is able to make people think everything is okay. So any time the person receiving abuse is told it's better because of this, the fact is that things will only get worse. I learned after this experience that by me asking them to come it only made things worse. That's another problem with abusers, once you start telling people and they find out things get worse. And the next time someone came to help things got even worse. This is what they call the battered woman cycle, the person abused begins to fear for their life and tells someone only to find out that telling people only makes it worse. So when it comes down to things getting really bad they don't call or tell anyone. When things were getting really bad I went to my landlord to see if I could move somewhere else. Just switch apartments or something and that's when things became even worse. I was told by my landlord that I needed to call the police when things happened next and that I needed to start documenting things. But you see I could only imagine what would happen if I did that. What would be the retaliation if I actually brought police in?

This is how it works, you reach out and things get worse and suddenly you have no fight left in you. You start believing all the horrible things you are told. You believe no one cares about you and that you are worthless. You believe you are crazy and just making things worse and that you deserve whatever is happening to you. This is a lie!! It is not true but in that situation you become so helpless that you don't know what to believe. I eventually became so afraid for my life that I had to move out and just pay two rents. I was lucky to be taken in by an amazing adoptive aunt who could tell that I needed a safe place. Even though I was out of physical danger I had no idea the lasting effects I would face. I sank into a deep dark hole after leaving. I hadn't realized how much I had changed and that I wasn't the same person I was before. I struggled with depression so deep and dark that I thought the only way out was to die. I felt abandoned by my friends, family, and the God I grew up trusting. I remember someone telling me that I just needed to pray more and read my scriptures, and that only made me feel like I was the one who caused this. That by my actions I was creating this dark hole. When in fact it had been caused by someone else's actions, and I was in a place that would take more than prayer to pull me out.

It was in this deep dark hole that I realized what a true friend was. I realized what it was like to have someone drive 10 minutes because I needed a hug and was so on the edge of a tipping point. I learned that when people struggle they don't need someone to fix it, but instead someone to be there with you. I had a friend say hey B if you ever get to the point of jumping off a bridge call me and I'll go jump with you. To know that someone cared enough and was willing to be there for the darkest moments of my life taught me that we have to make people important. PEOPLE ARE WHAT MATTER!!!! It was these people that helped me realize I was not alone and that I mattered. After being told that I was worthless and that no one could ever love me having someone do these things meant the world to me. To this day these people are considered saviors to me. They saved me from doing things that I knew wouldn't solve any problems.

I knew I needed help, that I needed something more than just praying. I realized that in order to let prayer heal me I needed outside help from a therapist or Doctor. I needed to work through my problems before God could heal and help me over come it. That's the secret, we can't just expect God to heal us when he has given us the tools to help us become whole again. That's not how He works, He has given us people on the earth to help us overcome our troubles and that is nothing to be afraid or feel bad about. Life is meant to be enjoyed not just endured.

So seven years later, I still struggle with anxiety, and sometimes depression. It's tough to explain what it's like to struggle with anxiety everyday. It's tough to explain what it's like, the only way to explain it is that it's like living with stress everyday. Some days it's at a normal level and some days it's like the whole world is depending on you. It's crushing and it leads to panic attacks and scary dark holes. I am afraid of that dark hole and do my best to keep things at a reasonable level. My depression isn't what it use to be because I don't let myself go there. But I manage. I am a survivor. I am not a victim and yes I have triggers, but I am a survivor. Now when I get woken up by someone I don't wake up with fears of dying. Do I still have triggers that set me back? Yes! I'm sure for a while I will still need to work through things. I manage and I probably need to see a therapist to help with managing, but I am no longer a victim.

It was a scary part of my life, one that for the past 7 years only certain people would learn small things about it. There are still only a handful of people that know exactly what things were like and how deep and dark things got. But I felt like I needed to get it out, to help someone (if even only myself) to be free and to know I'm in control and you can be too. For a while I was embarrassed about what happened and that I could let something like that happen to me, but I realize it was not my choice and I AM STRONG! I saw being a victim of abuse as a weakness and something that made me less than who I was before this happened, but that is not true. It was tough and a part of my life that made me wonder if I would ever be whole again. I was afraid that when I told husband of my baggage that it would be too much for him to handle. I was afraid that I couldn't be loved because of what happened to me. But I was wrong! Yes I have way more baggage than I thought I would, and yes my anxiety and panic attacks are tough and something my husband had to see before we got married so he could know what he was getting himself into. But we both knew that baggage and what has happened to a person isn't the most important thing. It's who they are and who they have become that really matters. And yes I may have been living at an 8 but because I am strong that 8 has now become my 2-3. I am stronger because of my struggles and because of this horrible experience and I wouldn't change it now looking back.

So finally years later I am opening up. I felt like it was time to be open. After all hope and healing are not found in the dark abyss of secrecy, but in the light and love of Christ.  If you have gone through something like this and would like to talk or are in need of feeling like you are strong I am here. Know that you are strong. Know that you are not alone and that I am here. I survived and I am stronger than before. I am here if you would ever like to talk.

Feature Friday: Alec

Alec and I went to Davis High together and when I came home from my mission he reached out to me and shared some of his experiences, for which I will be forever grateful. He is part of the reason why I believe this whole sharing thing helps others. Here is a blog post he wrote in March 2014.

Are traditional full-time missions for everyone?

Let me first state that I hope that what I say doesn't come across as a slam against the Church or anything. I want everyone to know that I have a firm testimony in the Gospel of Jesus Christ and that nothing would ever change that. Not too long ago, I had a really great conversation with one of my old friends from high school. We were discussing our missions and the effect they had on each of our lives. We also discussed how it felt coming home early from our missions. It was a wonderful conversation, and since then I've reflected on it often and I've been impressed to share some of my experiences. This blog will hopefully help me reach my goal of impacting someone's life, especially if that someone is going through a difficult situation concerning their mission. So here we go....

Some people, not many, are aware of the fact that I returned home early from my 2 year mission to the Santiago West, Chile Mission. Fewer people are aware of the fact that I didn't even make it out of the MTC (Missionary Training Center) in Provo. Before I left for the MTC, I remember feeling absolutely confident that no matter what life threw at me I was going to be ready for these next 2 years serving a full-time mission. Boy, was I wrong.

Look at that. Look at how confident I am! I was pumped! Nothin' was gonna pull me down. Those two fine Elders right there basically yanked me out of my parents car and scurried me away from my entire family with hardly a goodbye, but it didn't matter. I was ready. Or so I thought. Not even 2 hours after this picture was taken, I was feeling absolutely miserable. I'll never forget the feeling of dread I felt while I sat through my first class with my brand new district. My teacher walked in and immediately started speaking Spanish. Only Spanish. For an hour and a half. I had no experience with this! No one did! Didn't this teacher get that?! Of course he did. I slowly came to realize that teaching this way was quite effective. But that realization only came to me right before I left. 

Everyone always says that the first few days in the MTC are the hardest you'll face. Everyone always says that if you make it past Sunday, you're good to go. Once you've made it past Sunday, you've made it past the "initiation" process and are now an official missionary in the MTC. I held on to that for dear life as I struggled through the next few days. I remember thinking, "Why the heck do I feel so miserable every second of each day?!" or "Everyone lied to me, this doesn't get easier. This can't get easier." This quote comes directly from my journal, "I don't understand. It's probably me doing something wrong. I've always heard that you can feel the Spirit so strongly here, that you can almost cut it with scissors because it's so thick. I don't feel it." I wrote that on my fifth day. It took me 5 days to realize that I wasn't feeling the Spirit, and I had no idea why. I was worthy to serve a mission, so why couldn't I feel the Spirit? Why did I feel so sick? Why did I feel such a massive amount of dread every single time I tried to do anything? And I mean ANYTHING. I couldn't walk to class without freaking out. I couldn't eat, I couldn't sleep. I was miserable every single second of every single day. The scariest thing that I kept thinking about was that this wasn't getting easier. I watched everyone around me blossom with their newly found missionary mantle. Why couldn't I be like that? Why was I having SUCH a hard time? These questions just kept coming into my head. I tried distracting myself with my studies and to force myself to completely lose myself in my missionary work. Those kind of distractions didn't work. The only thing that made me feel better was writing out my feelings, or talking to my best friend who blessedly was in the MTC with me at the same time. 

So what was it? Why did I feel that way? Before my mission I had NEVER felt anything like what I was feeling. I tried convincing myself over and over again that there was nothing wrong, that I was freaking out for no reason. I tried telling myself that everyone was facing what I was facing, but they just weren't making a huge deal out of it like I was. But as time progressed in the MTC, I slowly realized that that wasn't true.... Something was wrong, and I had no idea how to fix it. Because I had never experienced anything like that before, I didn't know what I could do about it. I didn't tell anyone, not even my family. Sure, people knew I was struggling, but what brand new missionary doesn't struggle? No, this was different. I knew it was different, but I had no idea how to go about fixing it. 

Well, weeks went by. I hardly ate, and I hardly slept. My only solace was going to the Provo Temple once a week and doing temple work. I remember thinking all the time how Wednesday (temple day) was only 5 days away! and that I had only 5 days to go before I could feel 3 hours of comfort! Thoughts like that were all that kept me going. I remember discussing this with my companion and my other 2 roommates often. I was sick and I didn't know what to do about it. Those 3 guys helped me out more than they will ever know. I still think of them often and surprisingly enough, I miss those nights where I would struggle so much and just talk with them. They distracted me from my "doom and gloom" feelings and honestly, they saved me. This picture is one I'll treasure forever: 

Alright, now I'm going to jump ahead a few weeks. I was sitting in class trying as hard as I could to not puke (a never ending battle for me throughout my entire experience in the MTC) when I had the strongest urge to go speak to my Branch President and tell him EVERYTHING that I was feeling. So, immediately after I got outta the class, I met with him. The couple of hours that I sat in there with him were the first moments of comfort that I had felt as a missionary outside of the temple. I knew then that I was feeling the Spirit and that I was doing what Heavenly Father wanted me to do. Finally. My Branch President (who happened to be a doctor. Coincidence?) was absolutely stunned after what I had told him. We cried together and he confirmed my suspicions that I was absolutely correct. I was NOT supposed to be feeling this way. He immediately contacted a therapist in the MTC and I started meeting with him for a couple of hours on a daily basis. My poor companion must have gone through some crazy trials dealing with patience. He dutifully tagged along and offered support where he could. I hope he knows how thankful I am for that, I don't think I ever told him. Well, the therapist helped a little bit, but not much. He referred me to someone else that had more experience. Still, no one knew what was wrong with me. Not my Branch President, not my companions, not me, and not my therapist. It was just weird. (I should also add right here that no one at home was aware of my issues. I still hadn't told anyone. Just that I was having a hard time. No one knew the severity.) 

Just over 5 weeks into the MTC, I met with my new therapist. He, finally, knew what was wrong. I had/have what's called an "anxiety disorder". In that, my brain freaks itself out over just about anything it decides and then it pumps crazy amounts of adrenaline through me. That's just a very brief explanation. He also had the inspired thought to put me on a scale and weigh me. I weighed roughly 150 lbs going into the MTC, and 5 weeks in I weighed at 132 lbs. That's when we knew that something had to change. He told me that this was so severe that he recommended me going home. But, of course, it was my choice and that if I decided to stay he could prescribe me some medicine that he THOUGHT might help. I told him I'd think about it and then I left. That night, I of course got zero sleep. Instead of lying there feeling miserable, I got down on my knees and asked the Lord if going home was the right option. To my complete and utter surprise, it was. That morning, while doing laundry I sent my mom and email explaining what had been going on. I told her the truth about everything that I had been hiding from her. I also told her she'd be receiving a phone call that day and to probably expect me to come home within a day or two. Well, I'll spare you all the details. I called home with one of my leaders in the MTC. I talked with my Bishop, Stake President, and my parents. It was absolutely the hardest thing I've ever done to tell them that I was coming home. I wept, they cried etc etc. My greatest fear was that everyone would be disappointed in me. I KNEW I had to come home. I didn't know why. I didn't know how to explain to anyone what I had gone through, what I was going through, and what I felt I needed to do. I've never felt so confused or vulnerable in my life. But I knew that the Lord was on my side. To make this part of my long story short, I said my goodbye's to my dear friends and then my parents came and got me and I went home.

Confusion. Doubt. Pain. Regret. Those were the feelings that I felt over the next few weeks. I had failed. No one understood me. No one COULD understand me. I didn't even understand. Why had this happened to me? Why had the Lord wanted me to come home? All I wanted was to be a dutiful son and serve my Father. When I was driving home with my parents from the MTC, I realized that even after this life changing ordeal that I had just gone through, I still wanted to serve Him. I felt like a complete, absolute failure. But I still wanted to serve. The thing that surprised me more than anything was that my testimony of the Gospel had VASTLY increased. Why was that? I met with my Bishop and my Stake President that night and they released me. We talked about my plans and I told them that I still wanted to be a missionary. I think that might have surprised them. I immediately thought of the temple and the comfort it had given me. Before I knew what was happening, I asked them if they could help me get a missionary position at the temple. Right when I asked that, I was overcome with the Spirit. I knew what I had to do.

Not too long after, I was a service missionary working in the Bountiful Temple and I was so, so happy. It took a long time for me to adjust, to realize that I hadn't failed. One thing that helped me and my mom more than anything was an experience that I will never forget. One that has stayed with me over the years and that I will always reflect back on: 

I was standing in a huge checkout line at Costco with my mom feeling absolutely terrible about myself. I was still battling thoughts of having "failed" my Father. I was embarrassed, I was upset, and I hated myself for being "weak". Thoughts of "not being good enough" or "I've let everyone down" kept popping up in my head. Well, as I was standing there, I felt a soft tapping on my shoulder. I turned around and was surprised to be facing an elderly gentleman. I will never forget his eyes. He had the kindest, most sincere eyes that I have ever seen in my entire life. He then asked me, "Are you okay?" At that moment I knew that this man was an answer to my prayers. I didn't know what it was, but I felt so GOOD about this man. I completely opened up and told him everything. Then I cried. He grabbed me by the arm, looked right in my eyes and said, "Don't EVER think that you failed Father. Don't EVER think that coming home from your mission was a mistake. It's not. Heavenly Father knew you would come home. It was His plan for you. He has something in mind for you, and you couldn't accomplish it on your previous mission. You have already completed the mission that you were called to serve. Now it's time for your next mission." (I copied that almost word for word from my journal) He said a few things more, but after we checked out and were walking away, I turned around and asked him his name. "Elder Fisher" he replied. He's a member of the Seventy. I know that he was placed in my path for a reason. Ever since that moment, I have never had any doubt or regret about coming home from my first mission. 

Now, about my temple mission. It wasn't long after I came home from the MTC that I started serving in the temple. It was the most BEAUTIFUL experience I have ever had. I was there Monday through Friday, and most Saturdays. I will never ever forget the experiences I had there. They were divine experiences that I will never trade away for anything. As time progressed, I realized that serving in the Bountiful Temple was right for me. Nothing else made sense during that short period in my life. It meant everything to me. I felt myself growing in ways that I had desperately prayed for while serving in the MTC. I felt myself developing a testimony that I knew would never go away. I KNEW that this is what Heavenly Father wanted me to do. Now, here's the interesting thing. Certain things are stated in my Patriarchal Blessing about my mission and the experiences I would have. That was one of my major doubts upon coming home from my mission. I knew that those experiences would never be accomplished. But in retrospect, I realized that the experiences spoken of in my Blessing didn't happen on my first mission. But every single one happened during my mission at the Bountiful Temple. Once I made that connection, I knew without a doubt that Heavenly Father wanted me to end up there. I realized that had I not gone through the "traditional LDS mission" path and served as a missionary in the MTC, I NEVER would have ended up at the Bountiful Temple. The place where I was supposed to complete my mission. There's a WONDERFUL Mormon Message about taking certain paths in order to get to where we should be. It's called Wrong Roads and it's based on a talk by Jeffrey R. Holland. Watch it here. Now, I'm not saying that my first mission was a "wrong road", but I am saying that "there are times when the only way to get from A to C is by way of B." Watch that video. It will change your life. 

Now, I know this was a super long post, but I just want to wrap it up here by summarizing it a little bit. My Father in Heaven sent me on a mission. I felt like I had "failed" that mission, when in fact I actually succeeded. Father gave me a mission, and I answered the call. I accomplished everything I needed to, and then He sent me home. He sent me home using a method that caught me completely off-guard because He knew that an "anxiety disorder" would be the one thing to get me to come home. He then gave me another mission. A mission at the LDS Bountiful Temple as an Ordinance worker. A mission that I completed and that changed me forever. My testimony is infinitely greater than it was upon first entering the MTC. HEAVENLY FATHER HAS A PLAN. My greatest fear that I had was that I had failed. Well, I promise those who read this that if you follow God's word, and you do the things that you're SUPPOSED to, don't ever feel like you can fail. Even if things don't go according to plan. It's because it's your plan when that happens, not Heavenly Father's. He knows what He is doing. He has a path designed for each and every one of us. Sure, bad things happen. But with Heavenly Father involved, why do we even worry? 

Here's a support website for missionaries who come home early (https://earlyreturnmissionary.wordpress.com/). If you or someone close to you has come home early and you're struggling, I highly recommend this. 

Also, here's an article that the Salt Lake Tribune did on a missionary who came home early. It's pretty dang good. (http://archive.sltrib.com/story.php?ref=/sltrib/lifestyle/57219005-80/mission-missionaries-early-says.html.csp)

Feature Friday: Ashley

My friend Ashley and I have known each other for 7 years now. We became friends by bonding over having sent boys on missions (neither of us married them ha) and then when we both developed illnesses around the same time, without really knowing what the other had been through, we eventually bonded over that too. She has been a rock in my life and I am so grateful for her.
She graduated from BYU with a Bachelor's in Psychology. She is currently living in West Virginia because her husband is in his third year at West Virginia Med School. She has two beautiful children, a girl and a boy. She amazes me with her kindness and abilities to be a great wife and mother. Continue reading for her story....

I’ve been a worrier as long as I can remember. I’ve always been cautious and one to calculate risk in almost every situation. Still, I was outgoing and adventurous. I had a real belief that I could impact the world for the better. The summer after my freshman year of college, I spent 6 weeks in Belize on a humanitarian trip. I organized and carried out projects, cliff jumped, and explored miles of Mayan caves and ruins. A few months after returning home, I got engaged to the man of my dreams. This was everything I had ever hoped for becoming reality, and this is when my anxiety began to set in.

I became acutely aware of how much I now had to lose. I had found the man I wanted to spend eternity with. But what if I lost him? What if I died, and he fell in love with someone else? I started to notice every ache and pain in my body and my mind jumped to deadly conclusions. My headache was brain cancer. My abdominal pain was appendicitis. I received blessings, which brought reassurance, but the anxious thoughts remained invasive. As the wedding approached, my symptoms worsened. I began experiencing GI symptoms and was certain I had a rare case of colon cancer. I went to doctors, but didn’t take much comfort in their diagnoses of IBS. I was certain they just didn’t understand the severity of my symptoms. At the same time, I didn’t want further testing, because I didn’t trust my ability to cope with a terminal diagnosis. I received additional blessings and was able to find a measure of peace and hope. We were married and enjoyed a perfect day and a dream-come-true honeymoon. When we returned home, my anxiety continued to progress. That fall was when the shooting in the Aurora movie theater occurred. It paralyzed me. I experienced what can only be compared to PTSD, though I hadn’t actually been there. The scene played in my mind over and over. Suddenly, nowhere was safe. This was my lowest point. I only went to school and home. I couldn’t go anywhere alone – not the grocery store, the mall, a restaurant. I could barely even go with my husband. I was on constant high-alert, poised to run or hide at any moment. My physical symptoms also worsened. I felt sure that I had little time left to live. I remember collapsing on the floor one day, sobbing to the Lord, finally telling him that if it was his will to take me, then I would accept it.

With the support of my dear husband and my family, I started to improve. I took small steps, which felt like huge victories. The next spring, however, I had a miscarriage. I was devastated. I felt that finally when I had trusted that everything would be okay, the opposite had happened. That year was particularly rough. I experienced an unexpected marital trial that crushed me. This time, instead of wanting to hold onto life, I started feeling apathetic to it. I didn’t care anymore.

I attended therapy and spoke with my local church leaders. I began to understand myself better. I learned tools for how to adjust my thinking patterns. I learned to look at all the options instead of discounting all but the worst. Things improved.

I got pregnant unexpectedly and the pregnancy was very difficult. From a suspected miscarriage to bed rest to preeclampsia, the pregnancy was full of complications and fear. But then my baby came. She was perfect and she gave me a motivation I hadn’t experienced before. This baby needed me to heal. I didn’t want her to live in a world she feared. I wanted her to see the joy and the beauty that surrounded her. I wanted her to see the blessings that were so abundant in our lives. I wanted her to be happy.

We moved from Utah to West Virginia that year, which was very difficult and anxiety provoking; but also a tremendous blessing. It pushed me to do things I don’t think I would have had the strength to do otherwise. It forced me into independence again. It forced me into the world. I told new friends of my struggles with this mental illness and they accepted me with kindness and support. My marriage improved dramatically. We became an inseparable team.

I have still experienced some pretty severe lows. Toward the birth of my son, I experienced nightly panic attacks that I would die in labor and that my sweet 2 year old daughter wouldn’t understand where her mom went and why she wasn’t here to care for her. She wouldn’t remember me. I fear for the safety of my husband and children. I hate that I can’t be in complete control of their safety and health. One of the most frustrating aspects of my anxiety is that often it is the happiest moments that are the most triggering. When I have a sweet conversation with my husband, I envision him feeling that way for another woman. When I play with my children, I can see them growing up calling someone else, “Mom” or I imagine the immense grief I would experience if I lost one of them. I realize that none of these fears make sense in the context of my beliefs. I have a firm testimony in the gospel of Jesus Christ and the Plan of Salvation. I believe that I am sealed to my family for eternity. But it doesn’t take it away.

I hate what anxiety has done to me. I miss the person I used to be. I want to be that adventurous, fun-loving, outgoing, kind, faithful, optimistic person I once was. I want to be out in the world, helping others; not trapped inside my house. Though I miss who I once was, I retain hope for who I can become. I know that I am becoming stronger, more faithful, more confident, and more prepared to serve the Lord. I believe that eventually I’ll be able to impact the world in a greater way than had I never experienced this trial.

My new mantra has become, “Live in the Moment.” My life is full of so many beautiful, blissful moments. I strive to be present. I have this illness, but I am so, so happy. I feel like the most blessed woman alive. I love my family. I love my life. I love my Savior and am so grateful for this trial. This trial requires that I put my full trust in Him EVERY SINGLE DAY. I pray constantly. I make a conscious effort to see the good all around me, and there is SO much good to see. There are kind cashiers and receptionists. There are crisp fall leaves and beautiful sunsets. There are laughing babies, story times, and tender hugs. Sometimes I feel that because I know the dark side of things, I know the light even greater. I feel such a depth of love and joy and gratitude. It is truly glorious. I don’t expect this anxiety to go away, maybe ever. But I don’t plan on allowing it to stop me from doing the work the Lord needs me to do or from experiencing the joy that can be mine.

Be still, my soul: The Lord is on thy side;

With patience bear thy cross of grief or pain.

Leave to thy God to order and provide;

In every change he faithful will remain.

Be still my soul: Thy best, thy heavenly Friend

Thru thorny ways leads to a joyful end.

Be still, my soul: Thy God doth undertake

To guide the future as he has the past.

Thy hope, thy confidence let nothing shake;

All now mysterious shall be bright at last.

Be still, my soul: The waves and winds still know

His voice who ruled them while he dwelt below.

Be still, my soul: The hour is hastening on

When we shall be forever with the Lord,

When disappointment, grief, and fear are gone,

Sorrow forgot, love’s purest joys restored.

Be still, my soul: When change and tears are past,

All safe and blessed we shall meet at last.

Feature Friday: Cori

This is my friend Cori. We have gone to the same school since Elementary, and she has always impressed me with her ability to not care what others think and just own her personality. 

Cori is always good for a laugh and very hard working. She graduated from UVU in Public Relations and has worked for FOX and ABC. She also works part-time for Delta and has been able to travel frequently. I recently learned of her illness and am so amazed at her strength and the way she is open about it. Thank you for your words Cori! Continue reading for her story....

Hello! My name is Cori, I suffer from Anxiety, Depression, and OCD. These are all terms that we hear all the time, and on a light note, but for those who truly deal with this on a daily basis understand the severity that it actually brings to their lives. And for me, it's to the point that physical pain to myself is better than what is going on in my mind, being the only way to make that pain stop is to hurt myself.

I have self-harmed myself multiple times throughout my life due to frustration, anger, and confusion during panic attacks that I can't control. Yes, It is extreme and it scares me, just as much as it is scares you reading this. 

There are many things I do to work on this illness but what helps me most is the Gospel, my favorite scripture I turn to is John 14:18, which reads, "I will not leave you comfortless, I will come to you." 

I know that my Heavenly Father is always there for me, and that my Savior died for me, and He has felt the exact same pain I have felt, and He knows EXACTLY what I am going through... and that is what brings me comfort and I'm grateful I can communicate through prayer my struggles and know that things will work out!

A mental illness isn't always something that you can see with the physical eye, but it's there and we don't always need a black eye to prove it.

BUT.... I'm not insane, and my mental Illness doesn't represent who I am, and at 25-years-old, I'm close to overcoming it, and I WILL overcome it, and in posting this if you or someone you know deals has a mental illness, let's beat it together!

Feature Friday: Aumberly

This is my friend, Aumberly. We have known each other since high school, but we became especially close after both having served missions and those missions not going as we had imagined. She has helped me in ways that others couldn't and I am so grateful for her strength and example.
Aumberly is an amazing wife and mother to a sweet little boy. She graduated from Weber in Business Administration with a certificate in Medical Coding. She is amazing! Continue reading for her story.

This sharing my story thing is pretty recent. It has taken me 4 years and 7 months to feel comfortable enough to be vulnerable with the world, but I finally decided that I could do it. Hopefully there is someone out there who needs to hear what I have to say. Maybe there is someone struggling with depression, anxiety, or PTSD. Whatever it is, I just want everyone to know that there is hope. That there is a way out, and it is through the Savior.

I had wanted to serve a mission since I was a little girl. That was my life goal, and I was overjoyed when I got my call and my dreams became a reality. The first year was pretty great, I had a blast teaching and loved my companions. Things changed however when I got transferred to be with a companion who was struggling with some personal and mental issues. There were 4 of us in that apartment and what I didn’t know at the time that the next 6 months would affect me for years to come. Its hard to talk about specific things that went on, but overall that period of time was just one of high stress, high emotion, and feeling all alone while trying to be missionaries at the same time. We weren’t really serving a mission like you would typically think, but were trying to be mental caretakers, dealing with things that we never had experienced in our young lives before. We didn’t have the tools or capacities to be dealing with what we were, and yet were expected to figure it out. We had to do whatever we could to survive each day, and stay mentally strong.  But sometimes being strong isn’t enough, different experiences can affect you in ways that you never expected.  I and the other 2 seemingly “normal” sisters would be broken and changed forever. I came home a completely different person. That happy, bubbly, girl I left as was gone. I didn’t want to do anything, didn’t want to talk about what happened and I felt like a complete failure. I slipped deeper and deeper into depression, and my anxiety levels were off the charts. I tried to handle it myself for about a year, which in the meantime I met and married an amazing man. Lucky for me, he was a trooper and dealt with all my outbursts, and crying fits, and depressive moods.  I would cry for hours at a time, not knowing where emotions were coming from. The littlest things would stress me out, or set me off. I found myself not being able to walk in a church because it brought back horrible memories of being a missionary and I would have panic attacks during Sacrament Meeting and have to walk out. For the longest time I was angry at God. I had given up 18 months of my life to serve, and spread His gospel, and here I now was broken, and ruined. I was angry that the one thing that should be helping me, God, church, and anything church related, was making me hurt even more because it brought back so many horrible things from my mission.

My husband finally suggested that I get some help, and I knew I had to for both of our sakes. I had to let go of my pride, and admit that I really needed help, and for a stubborn girl like me, that was really hard. I met with the Bishop, and he helped me find an amazing counselor. I know God was watching out for me because she just got me. I was diagnosed with PTSD and anxiety disorder and I spent the next year working through many of my issues. Although it didn’t go away, I got to a place where I could attend church again and I fought so hard to be able to get through daily life. I didn’t want my challenges to define me. I was so mad at Satan because I knew that he was fighting so hard to keep me down and make me feel that this was “me”. That I was a loser, that I wouldn’t be able to handle my life ever again, and that I had failed as a missionary. My anger at him fueled the fire to help me to get back up on my feet and start moving again. 2 years into this journey, I found myself once again dealing with some mental issues, but this time it was different. I started worrying constantly about dying and having an illness. I became a true blue hypochondriac and was obsessed with dying all the time to the point where it was physically debilitating. I had every form of cancer, disease, whatever, you name it I had it. I was scared to wake up every morning because I didn’t want to die. This all sounds nuts, but to someone who knows how it is its awful! Its not just something you can “pray away” or “change your attitude” about. Mental illness is a very real thing, and can really affect people’s lives. I went back to my counselor and began working with her again to try and work through some of my issues with anxiety and obsessive compulsive thoughts. Eventually I was able to get on some medication for anxiety and OCD and planned with my doctor to use it for a year or so until I could rebalance my chemicals. It made a world of a difference for me and most issues I had faced in the past have lessened. I have been able to come to a place now where I can live life happily and breathe a little easier.

I still struggle with anxiety, but I can walk into church now like a boss, and own the fact that I have struggles sometimes, but it’s the church that brings me peace.  If there are any of you who are struggling with anxiety or depression, I get it. I know how it feels! If you are considering medication but think you are “weak” if you do, just know I felt the same way, but just like any other illness, sometimes it is necessary for healing and that is okay! I chose not to let this define my life, and learned that it is just a part of it. Its been 6 years now since I left to serve my Father in Heaven. There are still days I have panic attacks, or think I am dying, or fear the future. But Satan wants me to life in that state of fear and I will not let him rule my life! Priesthood blessings became such a source of peace and comfort for me.  Going to the temple once a week helped me feel the love my Heavenly Father has for me, and helps me to get outside myself and serve those who are wanting their ordinances done. Family History has also been an amazing comfort to me to help my mind focus on something other than my issues. Something about having to be organized and concentrating on finding records has been really good for my mind. I also made it a goal to read conference talks starting the year I was born, and that has brought me so much comfort and peace. Reading words of the Prophets and heeding their counsel has brought so much healing. I had to learn to just take a day at a time and like Elder Holland said, Don’t assume you can fix everything, but fix what you can. If those are only small victories, be grateful for them and be patient. Patiently enduring some things is part of our mortal education.” This is just a small part of who I am. I am so many more things than my illness, and I know each day that I fight it gets better and better! I have so many happy days, and good days, that when a bad day comes I just have to let it roll off my back and keep going. Ultimately I am a Daughter of God, and look forward to the day when “I can stand glorified and grand, breathtakingly perfect in body and mind.” But until then, I will keep pushing, keep moving, and keep being kind to myself.