Feature Friday: Elise

Elise and I served in the same mission, but we were able to meet before she left (one transfer ahead of me). I was dating a boy who knew her family and attended her farewell, it was great. She recently shared this story on Facebook and was willing to let me share it here - it's a little different from what is normally posted but has a new perspective that is a good reminder.
Elise has been married to her husband for three years. They have a little girl who just turned two last week. She is a stay at home working mom, a photographer and videographer based out of Southern Utah.

A few months ago, my daughter and I were attacked by a man with a deadly weapon.

I won't go into details for legal and personal purposes.

Needless to say, I legitimately thought I might die that day.


By the grace of God, we were both spared with absolutely no physical wounds, although damage was done in other ways.

I have stopped going for walks around the neighborhood due to anxiety of encountering strangers.

I have anxiety about driving around my neighborhood, and I lock my car doors as soon as I sit down.

The night that it happened, I had a full on anxiety attack, was sick to my stomach, and my husband had to help me with some calming therapy techniques.


I wasn't myself for days... I was extra jumpy and anxious at the grocery store. People walking towards me, or standing behind me totally freaked me out. Several people ended up apologizing to me for scaring me. haha. Even though they had done absolutely nothing wrong!


The case was going to go to trial and I was called to testify.

I was sick to my stomach for about a week due to anxiety over this whole matter.

Random people and strangers would ask me if I was ok because of this look that I had on my face when I would zone out and think about being in the same room as this man, and being interrogated and attacked by his attorney.

Thankfully, (I think) the case was cancelled and my attacker settled so that I did not have to face him in court.


So today I am celebrating.

I am a survivor of aggravated assault with a deadly weapon.

So is my little baby girl.

Justice was served to my attacker, and for that I am grateful.

I didn't have to go to court and testify (yayyy!)

Now we can move on and leave this icky situation behind us. (Hopefully)


I am especially grateful to God and His angels that he sent to protect my baby girl and myself.

I am forever and ever and ever grateful for the police officers that came to our rescue.

My eyes well up in tears whenever I think of our heroes that serve us on a daily basis and risk their lives so selflessly for ours. THANK YOU!

I am grateful to the good citizens of America that step in to be witnesses and help in such terrible situations.

I am grateful to be alive and well today and for every day that is to come.

I am grateful for a different perspective that I have on life, and the appreciation and respect that I have for victims and people that have near death experiences FAR, FAR worse than mine.


Today I invite you to celebrate with me.

Let us today celebrate our loved ones.

Let us celebrate this day of life that we have been blessed with.

Let us celebrate our heroes and police officers.

Let us celebrate our God Almighty, who is present in the darkest of moments.

And let us celebrate new chapters!

Feature Friday: Kate

Kate was in my ward growing up, but I didn't know her very well. Thank goodness for social media where we can follow each other and get to know people better. I found out through her Instagram that she struggles with mental illness and she was kind enough to write this story for the blog. You will not regret reading it! It brought tears to my eyes multiple times and I am so impressed with her and how she has handled this trial. She is a strong, amazing woman!
Kate is a wife to an adventurous, adorable husband Jake, a mother of three beautiful children and a USU graduate. Since having her third baby, a little over a year ago, she has experienced postpartum anxiety, depression and panic disorder. She still works on these illnesses everyday. As difficult as these challenges have been, they've definitely helped her come to know Christ in such a personal way. And it makes her want to share my testimony of Him so much!! In truth His Grace IS the story. It's what saved her before, during and after postpartum depression.

To begin with, a little back story. I have three kids. No depression after our first son, but then a few years later I experienced my first panic attack a few months after our second baby, a daughter, was born. I subsequently dealt with some anxiety that made me apprehensive to ever have another baby. A few years passed. But, my husband and I felt that we would have another baby and when we made the decision on faith to have another baby, we felt the Spirit very strongly affirming that we had made the right decision. It felt like the angels rejoiced! That spiritual experience gave me a lot of courage moving forward. Not long after we made that decision, we were asked to be a Ma and Pa on our ward's youth pioneer trek. Sweet, huh!? Inside I was like, "what if I get pregnant and have to walk across the plains all sick and uncomfortable?" But, I was also excited for the opportunity. And the months rolled by and we weren't expecting yet, so Trek was a go and we headed off. Later, I would learn how this experience would prove how very aware God is of our situations and will teach us in ways we understand to prepare us and uphold us BEFORE, DURING and AFTER our trials. You see, that's the amazing thing about the Infinite Atonement- His Grace is always there and reaches us in all directions to cover us.

So, on Trek, my husband Jake and I were given the assignment to represent a couple who had lived and crossed the plains with the Martin and Willie Handcart companies, Jens and Elsie Nielsen. Near Rocky Ridge, we were to reenact an event that happened to them. So, Jens and Elsie had come from Denmark and had a young son, Nels and were also bringing a little girl with them for another family named Bodil. After both the children had already died, Jens and Elsie continued on the trail and as they neared Rocky Ridge, Jens' feet were so frozen he sat down on the side of the trail and told Elsie to leave him there. But Elsie couldn't leave him and courageously told her husband to get in the cart and she would pull him. So, while the youth and other leaders moved on ahead of us on our pioneer trek, we were instructed to hang back and then when they were at the top of a hill, listening to the story while Jake sat down and acted like his feet were hurt and then I would help him into the cart and try and pull him. I think at the time, I thought for sure I could pull him a little. It wasn't in deep snow, and I was in good physical shape. But when I put my hands on the wood handle and tried to pull,  my feet slid and I struggled and couldn't move the cart even one inch. Now i was in tears thinking of the miracle of little Elsie pulling her husband over Rocky Ridge and how the angels HAD to have been there to help her. At that moment, the youth watching us up ahead started running down the hill and surrounded the cart and we took off. We not only walked up the hill, WE RAN. It was a testament to me that God is there to help us in our trials. We are not required to face them alone. I laughed in exhilaration and gratitude as I thought this running up that hill.

A few months following our trek experience, we were absolutely thrilled to find out we were expecting a baby the following May. Pregnancy went well and our darling Holland James was born! A week or so after he was born, I felt the very familiar anxiety that I had experienced before and let my family know as well as the Relief Society President that I would be needing some help. What followed were several months of miracles and severe difficulties I could not have anticipated.  I would feel very very discouraged and overwhelmed about the simplest of tasks. The exhaustion became overpowering and tears were plentiful and common. I had previously enjoyed baking, gardening and caring for my family, but couldn't convince myself to do much and lost interest in doing so. My appetite fluctuated a lot and had a lot of difficulty sleeping even when the baby would sleep. I started blacking out, having dizzy spells and feeling nauseous often. Cognitive function slowed to a snail pace.

Through the months I received calls, text messages, meals and offers to help often several times a day, just to check and see how I was doing. I call these angels "cart pullers." I was doing my very best to care for my family and usually made it thru the day okay, but functioning was quite painful and difficult. I visited the doctor and got counseling. I still taught YW lessons and attended church, prayed very often day and night, studied scriptures and listened to sacred music. And even with all this, the illness didn't go away.

Come October, I began having multiple panic attacks per day, brought on by a parade, driving in a car and upbeat music. After a visit to a psychiatrist where his diagnosis was panic disorder, major depressive disorder and anxiety disorder, he prescribed a medication and I felt very hopeful about things that night after I had started the first dose. I went to bed and a few hours later was awakened with a burst of heat and pop in my heart and it started to race and my body began to shake. I awoke my husband and he alerted a neighbor who is an EMT to come help with a reaction to medicine. He monitored my heart rate and although it was racing he kept reassuring me that my color looked good, that it wasn't an actual heart attack. I shook in terror and was barraged with intrusive suicidal thoughts for about 45 minutes to an hour and then was able to get up and then had to go outside and run and walk for nearly 5 hours to just tolerate the pain and panic. I listened to songs about Christ as I walked the streets in our neighborhood. I noticed a broken sprinkler in our neighbors yard. We texted her to let her know we would try and turn off the water so her basement wouldn't flood. She came outside in her pajamas all bleary eyed and told me, "you're so good to walk with anxiety. I just lay in bed and shake." It totally caught me off guard and made me laugh. We got her water turned off and chatted for a few minutes in her front room in the middle of the night. I saw it as a tender mercy. She had experienced panic before and gave me the reassurance I needed right then in my darkest hour. When I could finally go inside my house and pace, I walked and read the Book of Mormon and then when I could sit down, I would sit and focus all my energy on allowing myself to feel the pain. I plead with the Lord for His comfort, strength and protection to become infused into my body. I placed a large painting of Christ at the end of the couch so that I could look at Him. You see, those suicidal thoughts were overpowering. Not that I planned or had any desire to hurt or kill myself, it was just an overwhelming fear that I would lose control and do something to hurt myself. My uncle had taken his life years earlier and I was terrified that it would happen to me.

This experience caused me to lose my appetite. I started dropping pounds and couldn't sleep most nights because as soon as I would drift off, a panic attack would wake me up.

I think it was so so difficult because I was doing everything I knew to help myself get better and my family was rallying around me and friends were helping us, and it wasn't getting better. It was getting worse. I was pleading with God to teach me and heal me and felt abandoned. I had only ever wanted to be a mom and raise my family, which I felt were good desires. But I would listen to, "I'll Go Where You Want Me to Go" and felt strengthened. I would pour out my heart to God and the only answer I got was to keep going, that He was there and that I needed to pass thru this experience for His purposes. I remember questioning why I had this illness. Was it because of something I was doing wrong or a punishment of some sort? But the Spirit would remind me of the blind man who was born that way. The people asked the Lord who had sinned, the man or his parents? But the Lord taught that his blindness was to show forth the power of God in healing Him. So, that helped me be patient.

Also, as I would prepare Young Women Lessons (I'm serving as a Laurel Advisor), there were always lessons I desperately needed at the time. Like the Gratitude lesson... I studied about how we are to thank God in ALL circumstances and was prompted to thank God not only for everything surrounding the illness, like making my son a sandwich or fixing my daughters hair and getting thru the day, but to thank Him for the illness itself. It was humbling and hard, but when I did, I felt my heart open a little bit and the Lord showed me how my testimony of Christ and my relationship with Him was becoming stronger, even unbreakable as I passed thru this trial and exercised faith and patience in His plan.

One day, I was at church and a gal was giving a lesson about our homes being a holy place. She asked us to close our eyes and imagine our homes. She asked us if Christ would feel at home there. At that moment, I had a very strong impression as I pictured my living room and kitchen with lunch still on the table and some messes around from getting ready for church that day and I pictured the Savior there with me, smiling as He said, "I've been here before. Remember that night? I was right here with you." And I knew in retrospect that He had carried me thru that night of the bad reaction.

Things started to get a little better, but the memory of that night and the dark thoughts created more material for the illness to work with. Sometimes I felt absolutely abandoned and as the illness worsened, it became very difficult to feel warmth or the Holy Ghost anymore. It was like I was pounding on the doors of Heaven and no one was answering. But even though the illness made me unable to feel it, He sent others who could to reassure me and remind me He was still there. An example of this was one night I went to a young women activity and was having one of those dark dark days. My friend Kristina was standing behind me and when I turned to face her, she had tears in her eyes and said, "Why do I feel like I need to hug you?" She was unaware of my struggles, but was in tune with the Spirit and it was a tangible witness that God was aware and even though I couldn't feel Him, He loved me and was still there. I knew I could keep enduring. Her hug kept me going.

For a time, foot zoning, exercise and sunshine got me through, but by Christmas time, I was sicker than ever. I went 3 days and 3 nights without really eating or sleeping at all. In desperation, I had made 3 more doctor's appointments that week to try and find help. By the 3rd, my sister was driving me there and I tried to eat an orange and found I could no longer swallow. My body shook and I was terrified. I asked my sister to take me to the Emergency Room. There was a social worker there and when she walked into the little room, I looked at her and honestly, my first thought was that she looked like a fairy godmother. Pretty, brown eyes, silver hair, a long dress and little glasses on the end of her nose. Her name was Kelly. She listened to me tell her how I could no longer eat, sleep or even really sit up straight. I felt on the verge of psychosis and was attacked by intrusive thoughts about hurting myself or my baby. She looked at me so kindly and boldly told me, "I know I don't know you very well, but from what I can tell, you're not going to do those things." She told me I needed to start meditating using Headspace, start baking again, recommended some therapists and that the doctor needed me to take some medication (Ativan) to try and reset my nervous system. Having so much fear of medication from last experience, I was afraid what it might do to me. She said, "I want you to take a deep breath and say to yourself, 'this is going to help." I took it and it did help. For the next week, I took a little before bed and ever so slowly and steadily, things improved. I weaned my baby from nursing him, which was hard, but he did great in formula. Things have taken a turn for the better and the warmth and light have come back since the first part of January. I found a good therapist, a supplement Q96 that is helping, I meditate and am learning great coping techniques that ARE working. I am happy, cooking dinner, running, sleeping, living again and I feel Heavenly Father's love everyday now.
There are still setbacks and difficulties at times, but I continue to look for ways to help. I have since started another medication and this time it's helping!!

I think one of the most important things I needed to know when the darkness was so thick, it was that the Savior was there with me, He understood and would help me endure, that struggles can be changed into rejoicing someday thru His Grace and that I could and WOULD get better. It was hard to see that I would ever improve at the time. I want to help other people to know these things so much!!!!!! And, lastly, my baby is absolutely wonderful. I adore my family and we are doing well. Life is still stressful and busy, but I am enjoying it so much again... I would say even more than I ever have before.

Oh, and the whole pioneer trek experience was something I come back to often in my struggles that reminds me there are people pulling with me on both sides of the veil. I feel that experience was a tender mercy that took place to help me thru what was coming. And it did!! It still does. Those pioneers did what they did for us! God's plan is so detailed and perfect and expansive!

Feature Friday: Madi

Madi and I lived in the same ward for a little while and after we became friends on Facebook she shared a blog post about her experience of coming home from her mission. I instantly felt a connection with her and she was kind enough to write this for this blog. 

My favorite scripture found in D&C reads,

"Verily, Verily, I say unto thee, blessed art thou for what thou hast done; for thou has inquired of me, and behold as often as thou hast inquired of me, and behold, as often as thou hast inquired thou hast received instruction of my Spirit. If it had not been so, thou wouldst not have come to the place where thou art at this time"

I know that everything happens for a reason. And because of the choice I made back then, I am where I am today. When I decided to serve a mission I never thought it would turn into a “trial”. Yet it was the best trial I have ever faced. So many emotions come with my experience. Happiness, love, anxiety, tears, but most importantly growth.

Almost 3 years ago I entered the MTC, I’m sure we can all remember how emotional that day is. The excitement soon left as I was overcome with severe anxiety. I was so confused as I could not pinpoint as to where it was coming from.  I spent countless hours on my knees, praying to my heavenly father to make it all go away. It was starting to wear on me and people began to notice. After being referred to different counselors I was put on some medication. I had never felt more defeated. Never did I think that I would have to rely on medication for something I should have been able to control. Fast forward a few weeks... I was sent home on a medical release. They had decided I needed to go home and get better before flying off to Argentina.

As hard as it was for me to come home, it would have been even harder for me to stay. Since returning home I have grown so much. I have gained such an amazing relationship with my Heavenly Father. I can truly say that going to the MTC was exactly what I needed. I needed to learn how to hit my knees when things got tough, I needed to learn to appreciate the love he has for me.

Everyone says that you gain an amazing testimony being a full time missionary. I don’t doubt it, but the testimony I have gained from this trial is nothing short of amazing!! I am so grateful for the opportunity I had to serve. Whether it was for 18 months or for 1 month. I changed. That change is everything to me. The MTC opened my eyes to things that staying home wouldn’t have. My testimony of this gospel has grown so much over the past few years and continues to grow every day. Before decided to serve, I was lost. Life was hard and I found myself confused at what direction to turn, but when I turned to him, when I looked up, I found answers. I felt the love from my savior, a love I still feel today. I began to have the light of Christ shine within me. I was happier. I am forever grateful for the chance I had to serve as a missionary. I may not have converted the people in the mission field, but I converted myself.

Why Mental Illnesses Are Tough On Everyone

I had an eye opening conversation with my sister-in-law, who I look up to in so many ways, and I wanted to share some of the things we discussed. I learned new things about mental illness, even though I've had it for almost 6 years now, and I hope the things I learned will benefit others. That is always my goal!

The overall kind of "topic" that I took away from our conversation was that mental illnesses are tough for everybody; whether you are the person diagnosed with the illness, the person living with someone who has the illness, or even the person who knows someone who struggles with the illness, it is tough for anyone who may be involved.

The person diagnosed with the illness. Personally, I think this is the toughest to deal with. I know I am biased, but it's one thing to see someone going through something hard vs. experiencing it for yourself. Just like with any illness or disease. There are so many new experiences a person goes through when first experiencing this illness, and continues to go through during the duration of their time suffering. And that time suffering may end after getting medical attention or seeing a counselor, but it also may be something they deal with for their entire life. Either way, it is tough. Each new phase of life can bring with it a new type of disorder (bipolar, depression, anxiety, postpartum, obsession/compulsion, etc.). I feel like I will get a handle on my illness and then life will present itself with something I haven't experienced before, such as: an intense college program, a pregnancy, a baby, a new job, etc. And those are just things I've experienced myself. It could be other things like a mortgage, an unfaithful spouse, infertility or a miscarriage, a mission, being denied a job or grad application. There are any number of things that can trigger a mental illness, and each time can be different. I feel like I have figured out, for the most part, how to help myself and what I can do to feel better or move on when I'm having a hard time, but it's something I have to keep adapting to. It changes. I have often said that having this illness hasn't gotten any easier, I've just learned how to deal with it. It's tough, but it evolves into a different kind of tough.

Looking back on my life I can see little bits of anxiety, but I didn't know that's what it was until I was diagnosed and decided to learn more about mental illness. I think that's where mental illness gets the short end of the stick, we aren't really taught much about it. Growing up I was taught that I shouldn't smoke so that I won't develop lung cancer, to put sunscreen on to hopefully prevent skin cancer, to eat well and exercise to prevent cardiovascular disease or type 2 diabetes, to use a condom or abstain from sex to prevent STDs or an unwanted pregnancy. Of course sometimes the things we do to prevent illness isn't enough (a flu vaccine and still getting the flu), I realize that. Sometimes we can only do so much, and that can be when getting sick is the most frustrating, when we have done all we were supposed and yet here we are... in a Doctor's office talking about treatment options. My point is, I feel like I learned a fair amount about disease but it wasn't until college, and I had to seek it out, that I learned about mental illnesses. And maybe the things they teach in primary education have changed, I honestly hope it has, because I think this could be crucial in helping people who suffer. Oftentimes it's about education. If you have the chance to learn more about mental illness please don't hesitate. It seems that there are more and more resources becoming available. (This blog is supposed to be one of those resources, so please let me know if there is anything I can talk about or help with.) And if you are the one who suffers you are kind of forced to learn more (at least that was my experience), but if you aren't please choose to learn more so you can help those who do. Which leads me into the next person who this is tough on.

But before I talk about that person I do want to ask the person diagnosed with the illness to be willing to accept help from others. I know how tough that can be, trust me, but when we deny others the chance to help and serve we deny them blessings. I had a dear friend in my old ward text me one day and ask what she could do for me or if I needed anything. I usually say no and that I'm doing alright in those situations, but this time I had the feeling I needed to let go of my pride and just let her do something for me. She asked me what my favorite treats/drinks were and she brought me some Gatorade and SoBe. It was something very simple, but she was persistent, and it made me feel better. She blessed my life and I know Heavenly Father blessed her for helping out one of His children.

The person living with someone who has the illness. Anyone who has lived with me since 2012 has had a hard time in one way or another, and that is not my fault (although it has taken me some time to realize that). I want to make that very clear. IT'S NO ONE'S FAULT. It's life. And life happens. It's a disability, and anyone who has lived with or served someone with a disability knows that it's no one's fault but that it's just part of their life and your life and it is what it is. Sometimes this person chooses to live with someone who has the illness and other times they don't have that choice. People in my life have experienced both. I had companions on my mission who didn't have a choice but to live with me and I have a wonderful husband who knew that I had this illness (but maybe he didn't really know what he was getting himself into ha, sorry honey). And then there's also my parents, who kind of had to take care of me but chose to as well, a little bit of both.

When I look back on my mission I often feel bad for most of my companions (I say most because I wasn't diagnosed until 5 months into my mission when I really started struggling, so the first few companions got the more sane version of me). I was going through my own person Hell and I feel like I dragged them through the coals with me. I know that I wasn't easy to live with, serve with, talk with, or be with a majority of the time. Even though I knew that I still couldn't help what I was experiencing. Sometimes I would try and push it aside and get over it and other times it would consume me and there wasn't much I could do or even wanted to do, and my poor companions just had to roll with it. Bless their hearts. I enjoy being liked, and I was worried that these people who saw me at my worst would hate me for what I put them through, but Heavenly Father is oh so good and He blessed me with companions who I will cherish and love forever. I have some amazing friendships now because of my mission, and I will be forever grateful. Heavenly Father blessed me with companions who were understanding and did their best to help me. I know our time serving together as companions was as tough for me as it was for them. So quick little shout out to my AMAZING companions, I love you Hermanas, more than you'll ever know!

I've mentioned this a little in previous blog posts but my husband and I don't go in to much detail about my illness. We did more so when we were engaged and in the beginning of our marriage because I think Dan was trying to understand and adjust to something he hadn't dealt with before. But now I just tell him when I'm having a hard day so he has a heads up. He asks me what he can do and I used to talk to him about what I was experiencing, but sometimes it's just hard to explain and that can make it hard to understand so now I just ask him to bring me chocolate or hold me. I think it's easier to keep it simple, for both of us. Example: a few weeks ago I had a total breakdown and he came home to me sitting on the couch, bawling, and all I wanted was to snuggle with him. Neither of us said anything, we just sat there, and in that moment nothing could've helped me more. Words aren't always the answer, which works out well when you don't know what to say. I've learned over the years that it can be hard for people to know how to help me, especially when I don't always know.

The person who knows someone who struggles with the illness. I think we are to a point in our lives where we all know someone who has a mental illness, even if it's just an acquaintance. With that being said I wouldn't be surprised if you've wanted to help someone but didn't really know how, and that can be tough for several different reasons. How do you ask someone with an illness about it without crossing the line? Because there is a line. And that line changes depending on how this person is doing. But how are you supposed to know that? As my sister-in-law and I were discussing these things it hit me how truly tough this can be for people who have the desire to help. I have been in several situations where someone has had good intentions but those good intentions didn't help. And it's not their fault, again no one is at fault, because their heart was in the right place. I hate to say this but sometimes having your heart in the right place isn't enough, and that's why this is SO TOUGH! When people tell me not to worry and that everything will be ok and that I should just focus on others instead of myself, I know they mean well, but they aren't helping. That is not what I need or want to hear, but again, how are they supposed to know that? Especially when everyone who has a mental illness has a unique situation and what works for one may not work for another. Hopefully I can provide a little bit more help and insight for this problem.

I think persistence is key. If you really want to help someone with a mental illness then don't give up on them. It can be hard to open up about what they're experiencing and going through, but if they see you genuinely care and are interested then I know you will be able to provide that help eventually. Sometimes we're not in the right mood or mindset to talk about our illness, and other times we are. It can be all about timing, so don't give up! After you ask, "How are you?" and you get the vague answer, if you feel like you can ask again then DO IT, but maybe ask, "How are you really?" so they know you really care and want to know.

Another thing that my sister-in-law told me she had talked with someone was to take the focus off of the person with the illness and make it about you, which I thought was a pretty good idea. Example: "Hey, I need to get out of my house. Want to go to lunch/go on a walk?" or "Want to come watch a movie with me?" Make them feel like they're helping you, it takes off some of the pressure they may feel.

One thing that has always stuck with me from Preach My Gospel and my missionary days is how important it is to listen. In missionary context we were told that people would always talk about something that could be related to the Gospel, and it was true. Somehow anything anyone would say could be tied back to the Gospel and we could take it and run with it. The same kind of thing applies here, if you are listening to what this person has to say and genuinely care about helping them then I promise you will be able to do so. And the thing that they say may not even have anything to do with their illness but if you're listening you will be able to help. Always have a prayer in your heart and I promise Heavenly Father and the Spirit will guide you. I know that He wants to help His children and that He needs us to help others.

I hope this provided some insight and help for everyone. Please comment with any thoughts you may have or things that have helped you, and please share this blog with anyone that could benefit.

With love and hope, Ally
XOXO

Q & A

First of all I just want to thank those of you who gave me questions to answer! Obviously this would not have been possible if it wasn't for those questions, so I am really appreciative and grateful that you took the time to think of one and ask. If any of my answers inspire further questions please feel free to comment and ask, I am more than happy to answer more!

Second these are the opinions and experiences that I have/had, but I am going to do my best to answer how I feel would best help others too, that is the overall goal of this post after all.

Q: Is there a specific thing you have changed or done differently to help with anxiety or depression?

A: One thing that helps me with my anxiety and depression is trying to let myself feel what I'm feeling and not feel guilty about it. If I feel sad and need to cry then I try and let it out. If I feel anxious then I try and figure out why and if there is a reason then I try and solve it, if not then I try to focus on my breathing or distract myself from thinking about it anymore. Also, learning to recognize my symptoms and use cognitive therapy, which I learned by seeing a counselor, really helped me as well.

Q: Does the lack of strict routine after coming home increase symptom triggers?

A: For the most part, yes. Yes because, depending on when you come home, school may not start right away and you may not have a job lined up, etc. and so you go from being busy all day long to coming home and having not much to do. So it's hard to fill your time with valuable things and feel useful, needed, successful, etc. - things you felt as a missionary. And I would also say no because you are finally able to do what you want, when you want, and that can be somewhat of a relief and time for you to breathe and get the help you need. You can finally focus on you.

Q: After coming home, were your Ward and Stake members compassionate and loving towards your situation? 

A: My Stake President had known about my situation for months, I had to get his permission to start taking medication when I did, and so he was very compassionate and understanding about it all. In my interview with him the night I got released he told me to be proud of myself and that my mission was acceptable to the Lord. My Bishop was the same way. When I reported to the High Council about my mission I don't think they knew I was honorably released so it wasn't any different than the other missionaries who reported with me.

Q: Did anyone seem to be judgmental, and if so, how did you handle it?

A: There were definitely people who were surprised that I was home early, I had wanted to serve a mission since primary and lots of people knew that, so I think they didn't know what to say or do when they found out. Thankfully, the first weekend I came home was General Conference so I didn't have to go to church, I wasn't ready for that. And then my family and I went on a cruise so the first time I was back in my ward was the day I spoke about my mission in Sacrament Meeting. I didn't say why I came home, it took me a while to openly say the why, and I could tell there were questions/speculations. For the most part I felt loved and welcome back, but there were a few who I expected that from that didn't give it to me. That was hard, having people who I thought would be very open and understanding about it to not be there when I needed them most. At first it made me very upset and I was hurt, but in time I kind of realized that it wasn't necessarily their fault, they just didn't know what to say or do. 

Q: What is helpful? What is not helpful? Are you in favor of balloons and banners for early returned missionaries, just like for "full term" ones? What about speaking in sacrament meeting? A big welcome home with friends and family? Or a quiet private ride home from the airport?

A: I think this totally depends on the missionary and their circumstances. My mom had a banner and an inflatable air dancer for me and it made me happy because I felt like she wasn't ashamed for me and was still proud of my service. Over the next few days I saw people who I wanted to see that knew I was coming home, and some neighbors who expressed their love and concern for me, but I was grateful there wasn't a big party. I don't think I could have handled that and I'm not sure how others would have either, i.e. if they would have known what to say or do. My situation was maybe a little different because my family had known for 2 weeks I was coming home, and some families find out the day before. My family also knew about my situation the whole time I was going through it, and I know some missionaries don't share that they are struggling with their families so it in that situation it may be best to wait to celebrate until things can be sorted out and the families know what is really going on. I would suggest talking to your missionary about it, if possible. 

Q: Does it help or hurt when people ask you about why you came home early? Would you prefer that people just didn't mention it at all or did it help you to be able to talk about it? 

A: In the beginning it definitely stung a little when MOST people would ask about it or when it would come up, there were some that I felt surprisingly comfortable with. And I honestly don't remember that many people bluntly asking me why I came home early. If it came up from other questions being asked about my mission (i.e. When did you leave and when did you come home? November 2011 & October 2012, easy to deduce that I didn't serve for 18 months) then depending on the person I was talking to I'd either give a brief or more detailed explanation. It was definitely hard and a little embarrassing for me to talk about it in the beginning (several months), but as the years have gone by it helps me to talk about it and I have gotten to the point where I think I can turn it into something that helps others as well. In the beginning I was very closed off about it and avoided it, so my advice would be to pay attention to the way someone is discussing their mission and do your best to respect that.

Q: What are the right questions a good friend could/should ask an early returned missionary?

A: I wish more people would have asked me how they could make coming home early easier. I might or might not have always had an answer for them, but just to know that they were thinking of me and wanted to help would have been a huge step in getting me back on my feet. Just having the "what can I do to help?" attitude will go a long way.

Q: What are some things parents can do to support their missionaries who serve less time than expected?

A: For this question I thought it might be a good idea to ask my parents what they thought. My Dad gave the short and sweet answer, "Love them and support them in their decisions." My Mom said that they did their best to try and make things normal for me and made sure to get me the medical attention that I needed (visiting my doctor and getting in to see a counselor).

Both my parents served a mission so I never felt like I had anything to hide. I know some missionaries don't share that they were held at gun point or constantly threw up for two years from the food to spare their Mother's hearts, but I never felt like I needed to do that. Even though I didn't experience anything life threatening I did tell my parents everything that was going on with my health. My family was able to pray for me and it helped me to know that someone knew what I was going through because I was doing my best to hide it in the field: from members, from other missionaries, from investigators. So my two cents would be to suggest letting your missionaries know that they have nothing to hide from you because you can't do anything to change their circumstances anyway. If anything you can then pray for them and appreciate what they are sacrificing even more. And that applies if they then come home early too. It's a balancing act of giving enough space but then being there for them in this dire moment of need. The elephant in the room needs to be acknowledged but how much acknowledgement is going to differ from missionary to missionary. Continue to pray for inspiration and guidance in how to help your child and stay close to them, they need to know that they can always turn to you for help and love.

Q: What about when you don't know the returned missionary very well? If they're more of an acquaintance is it best to give them space? Or reach out?

A: This is kind of a tough question because I think it would depend on the missionary, BUT in my opinion it is always better to reach out than to give space. You never know what kind of influence you can have on someone and they may be exactly what you need. Even if they don't respond to you or say much to you reaching out it doesn't mean that you failed or they didn't need you. I know for me every little text or visit from someone made a difference and helped me feel cared about.

Q: What is the best response to someone coming home early from a mission? What is an appropriate way to show your love and support without making it a negative conversation or bringing out any sense of shame?

A: LOVE. Love is the best response. And an appropriate way to show that will be different for everyone and could depend on how well you know the person, but if you really want to help them and show them that love PRAY to know how and then TRUST THE SPIRIT. Do your best to put yourself in their situation and think about what might help you. Ask them to do things with you, even if it's just going for a walk or on an errand; keep them busy if you can and if they will let you. Send them a text, write a card, drop off balloons or flowers, or set up a time to go visit. Most importantly, let them tell you about their mission when they feel ready, don't push or pry or force anything that doesn't come naturally.

Q: What was one of the hardest things about coming home?

A: Knowing that I would always have to live with being an early return missionary. My mission president told me I'd always have this with me and I knew that, but I didn't think about how often it would come up and that I'd be reminded about it constantly. It was hard being "different", not the typical RM with fire and drive you usually see. Also, I kind of thought I would be magically healed when I came home and I was so wrong. I felt better the first few days and then went right back into the hole I thought I'd climbed out of. It was hard realizing that this was something that could be with me for the rest of my life. 

Q: What does depression and anxiety look like to you physically/mentally/emotionally on a daily basis?

A: Physically I will occasionally struggle to breathe and/or have panic attacks. I sometimes have little motivation to do anything so nothing gets done and I sit or lay around all day. Mentally I have to constantly consciously think about my thoughts and if they are valid or not. I have to talk myself into doing things or out of thinking the worst.. Emotionally there can be a lot of crying. All of it can be very draining and make it hard for me to function. I have bad days and good days but it's always there and I just try to take it as it comes.

Q: What's the difference between who you were before and who you are now?

A: The person I was before knew little fear, and now I can't seem to do half of the stuff I did before because I am so afraid of what could happen to me. I have fears that I didn't even think about before. Things that didn't phase me before can now give me loads of stress and cause panic attacks. I am also more insecure. I was very happy with, content with, and confident in the person I was. I was happy with where I was in life and the things I had done and accomplished. The things I do/accomplish now are never good enough and I am rarely satisfied/happy with my life. Now I compare myself and worry about what others think more than I should.  Little things that I never would have thought about twice now consume my mind.

Q: How do you feel medication has helped?

A: I felt more like my "old self" when I got on the RIGHT medication, the wrong medication is wrong for a reason but that's another story. I started to see more of the Ally I once knew. I still struggled but the struggle didn't seem as bad. A little of the weight and difficulty of everything I was going through seemed to be lifted off somewhat. People who have cancer get treatment for their illness, and medication helps you get the treatment you need to feel better with this illness. Elder Holland said it well when he said, "If you had appendicitis, God would expect you to seek a priesthood blessing and get the best medical care available. So too with emotional disorders. Our Father in Heaven expects us to use all of the marvelous gifts He has provided in this glorious dispensation."

Even though I came home early and have anxiety and depression I don't have all the answers, but I hope this was helpful! I would love any feedback.

XOXO

Feature Friday: Kim

Kim sent me a message on Instagram a few weeks ago saying that someone sent her the link to this blog and shared her story with me. I am so grateful she reached out to me (and that someone shared this with her!) and she was willing to let me share her story here.
For twenty years Kim grew up in the Air Force, but Arizona is and will always be her home. From October 2012-April 2014 she served a Spanish speaking LDS Mission in the Utah Salt Lake City West Mission. In July 2016 she graduated from BYU-Idaho with a BA in English and after graduating volunteered as an English teacher in Mexico. She loves traveling, reading, writing, colorful knee high socks, and combat boots.

Sadness is the emotion I remember most from my childhood. I just remember being sad a lot for really no reason. That sadness and loneliness have remained with me throughout the vast majority of my life. It wasn’t until after doing some research in my early twenties that I realized I’ve battled depression since I was a little girl. For three years when I was a teenager my depression took a turn for the worse and became pretty severe. Looking back, I’m really surprised that I survived that time without any counseling or medication. During those three years I felt like I was living in the darkest, deepest pit with no sunlight and no way out.

Things got better around the age of sixteen and I was relatively happy. Flare-ups from my depression came only a few times a year. I began questioning if I really had depression when I was younger or if I’d been overreacting to the situations around me.

When I was set apart as a missionary at 21 I foolishly thought that nothing would be able to touch me and that I would be completely fine the entire time I was in the field. I thought being set apart as a missionary meant I’d get “superhuman powers” to deal with anything thrown my way.

How very wrong I was.

Missions are hard, stressful, and taxing on a person – mentally, emotionally, and spiritually. The day I left the MTC and entered the mission field, the sadness and loneliness crept back into my life with a strong force. But I didn’t want to acknowledge it. I didn’t want to appear weak.

It also didn’t help that when I tried to express or explain how I felt, some of my leaders told me I wasn’t working hard enough, or didn’t have enough faith, or wasn’t trying hard enough to be happy. I’m not sure why depression is sometimes viewed as a “punishment” for being a “bad person.” By no means was I a perfect missionary, but I tried my hardest. There were days I’d wake up and not want to get out of bed because I was so drained. But I forced myself to roll out of bed to pray, study, and plan. There were times when I just wanted to go back to the apartment and not face the world, but I kept putting one foot in front of the other. I knew that I was a missionary and I needed to do the Lord’s work. How is continuing on in the midst of mental anguish not an act of faith?

Hiding my depression and not acknowledging it was the worst thing I could have possibly done. I felt so alone and felt like I couldn’t talk to anyone without getting berated.

After 15 months in the field, I suffered a severe mental breakdown. Mission life took its toll on me. I’d trained four missionaries back-to-back and had been struggling in my area for five months. The work wasn’t progressing and my stomach was in constant knots from anxiety. The pressure kept mounting every day until I finally broke under the weight. I’d never had a breakdown before. I cried and sobbed for two and a half days. I felt like a zombie. Life wasn’t worth living anymore. That was the lowest point I’ve ever been at in my life. I didn’t just want to die – I wanted my very spirit to stop existing because I couldn’t face God knowing that I was a failure of a person.

My leaders didn’t really know how to handle my situation, so they brushed it under the rug. Part of me honestly can’t blame them because I don’t think a lot of them understood how to handle situations like mine. On the other hand, it was difficult trying to pick up the pieces all by myself. I became angry towards my leaders and even lashed out at my mission president. My last transfer in the field I was sent to a counselor in downtown Salt Lake, who helped me a lot with understanding how our individual worth is eternal. Our struggles and weaknesses can’t diminish our worth.

After coming home I was still very bitter and angry. Then my depression came back for a few months. At first I was upset because I thought I had beaten this and come off conqueror! But I slowly realized that depression will always be a part of me and the cycles will come and go. Sometimes they’ll hit out of nowhere and other times I can notice the triggers. In the fall of 2015 I went to group therapy to learn how to communicate better with others. Those therapy sessions were the beginning of my determination to not stay silent on this topic. I learned the hard way what keeping everything in can do to a person. I don’t want to experience that ever again and I never want anyone else to feel that way.

Depression doesn’t define who I am. I may not be overjoyed that I have to fight this every day, but I’ve learned a great deal about myself. One of the most important things I’ve learned is that your well-being isn’t just a physical aspect. Mental and emotional health are just as important as physical health. They should never be put on the back-burner just because those problems aren’t readily visible. Admitting that you’re struggling with something doesn’t mean you’re weak. It’s a fact of life that will eventually get better and pass. Anyone who belittles you or your struggles isn’t worth your time. Surround yourself with people who will love, encourage, and comfort you.

The greatest lesson I’ve taken away from this is how important it is to be compassionate to those who do have mental illnesses. Nothing hurts more than not receiving help when you need it most. I never thought that having this kind of darkness in my life could teach me so much about the light and love of Christ.

“Be the love you never received.” – Rune Cazuli

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.