sk8boards & sunflowers: 2017

This post has been a long time coming. I haven't written it for many reasons, mostly because this whole topic has caused my heart to break several times. This morning I knew that it was time and the thought of putting it all into words, reliving the experiences forced me into uncontrollable crying. It still hurts, it probably always will.

My hope is that, through writing this, I'll experience self-healing and maybe enlighten someone else. I'm not, however, writing this because I think I need to explain myself. I don't have the intention to "deconvert" anyone or say negative things. I'm writing how I feel and the things that have happened to me. I’m not looking for attention or your sympathy. I appreciate your interest and caring, so thank you.

This is the post about why I came home from my mission early and what happened to me after that made me choose to step away from my religion.

Quick Background

I grew up in Utah County, the infamous bubble. I am the youngest of six kids. 2 girls, 2 boys, 2 girls. We were a cute little family in Happy Valley. We went to church, we paid tithing, we didn't play with friends on Sunday, and we didn't watch SpongeBob. We did our chores, we played outside, and we went on family road trips. My brother passed away when he was in elementary school. It was tragic and terrible, but we were surrounded by good people.

I didn't date until I was sixteen, I didn't wear tank tops (but I loved my short shorts), and I went to the temple with friends before school. In high school, I faked sick a lot to avoid going to church and went to Cafe Rio during Sunday School with friends (interestingly enough, all three of us are now inactive). I went to girls camp and dreaded that time around the fire at the end of the week...testimony meeting. I dreaded it because I didn't have a testimony.

I know what you're thinking, "You surely had a testimony of something."

Sure, I definitely knew that God exists and the Savior loves us and family is forever and faith is important etcetera etcetera. But I never really knew the church was true or that we have a living prophet or that Joseph restored the true church. I grew up believing it, but knowing and believing are two different things.

I graduated high school and went to college. It was there I had a tiny peek of what the "real world" looked like. It was there I saw bottles of alcohol and bags of weed for the first time. It was there people talked openly about sex and pornography. It was there where I first thought, even though these people aren't Mormon and behave differently than me that "I want to be friends with them because they are good people."

My first year of college was wonderful. I made a lot of friends, I learned a little bit about the world and a lot about myself. I prepared to serve an eighteen-month mission. I wrote my high-school-boyfriend-turned-missionary weekly. Everything was dandy and I loved my life. Then, well, the end of my first year of college was excruciating.

*Here comes the first heartbreak*

The week before finals my mom had a sudden heart attack and passed away. That's a story for another time; but, the important part of this story is that my so-called “rebellious” non-Mormon friend dropped everything and drove me from Logan to Orem because he could tell I wasn't in the right mind to drive myself. I'm really grateful for him and his friends.

That was a really difficult summer. I spent a lot of days in bed. I cried so much my head and my heart hurt. The church was really supportive and helped out with everything. That summer I learned who my real friends were by the way they acted and treated me after my mom passed. My dad started dating really soon and that was hard but we wanted him to be happy. I did a lot by myself or with my boyfriend's mom. I saw The Fault in Our Stars three or four times. I listened to the soundtrack and sobbed. It was a summer of sadness and loneliness and not much healing.

The Call

I got my mission call the end of June. It came a week after I submitted my papers and it terrified me. My friends and family came and we skyped in my brother. Oklahoma Tulsa Mission, August 13, English speaking. I would report to the Missionary Training Center 7 weeks later. I went mission shopping with my sisters or by myself. I didn't feel ready or that motivated, simply excited to escape from the sadness. I even tried to back out; however, comforting family members assured me it was "just the adversary working because they know I'd be an amazing missionary."

My family loved me and supported me. Plus, we needed something good to happen for our family. I longed to have that rock solid testimony every returned missionary gains. I wanted to really know.

So I went.

Rocky Start

The first day in the MTC was great. My companion was cool and adorable. The Elders in my district were really sweet and funny. My teachers were quirky and nice. I saw friends from high school and college around every corner, which was comforting but also nerve racking.

Pretty much every day after that was tough. I hated the MTC. I had a bad attitude. I was scared and I felt inadequate. I was negative all the time. I wasn't in the right headspace. I felt like I was missing important changes and transitions with my family. I was worried I wouldn't heal right. I was so tired and didn't feel well and my back hurt.

Side note: I did gymnastics and cheerleading from junior high to high school. I got dropped hard a few times. I was used to my back always hurting and I was normally getting massages and doing physical therapy.

I had a break down several times a day, it felt like. It was affecting my companion and my district and my teachers. I got daily letters from my family telling me to stay strong. I called my Branch President and said I wanted to go home. He told me to call my dad. I sat in the MTC office bawling and then realizing how humiliating it would be to come home after two weeks. So I stayed and boarded the plane the Tulsa the following Monday. Oh yeah, my dad got remarried my last week in the MTC and my family wasn't invited.

The Field

I made it to Tulsa and my mission president was amazing. We talked about my mom and family. He assured me everything was going to work out and I was going to be a leader in the mission. He was so happy I chose to come. He told all of us new missionaries that it didn't matter why we came on our missions because now we were here and we'd find our reason in time.

My first area was actually in Missouri. My companion had never trained before and was super nervous about it. I struggled the first month of my mission. Learning to live the missionary lifestyle is difficult, especially when you aren’t motivated. I dreaded waking up. I fell asleep studying. I had panic attacks at the library computer writing my weekly email because I couldn't think of anything positive to write. I felt so much pressure to be automatically spiritual and amazing. On our morning runs, I legitimately thought about jumping out in front of a car so I could go home or die. (So dramatic, I know but I was absolutely freaking out).

We didn’t have a lot of people to teach. I didn't know how to be a missionary and I wasn’t adjusting well. I was so stressed out all the time. I called my mission president and said I wanted to go home. He said I couldn't. I told him about how I wasn't worthy and how I had lied to my Stake President. He drove 4 hours from Oklahoma to talk to me. I thought for sure I was going home.

(I want to make this absolutely clear: I love my mission president and he did so much for me. I don't in any way think he did anything wrong)

To spare the details, I wasn't going home, I didn't have a temple recommend, and I was getting a new companion.

Stress Eating

My new companion arrived and at first, I thought she was going to save the day and turn everything around. I tried to explain our few investigators. Luckily, I had gotten more comfortable with the ward and area. I really wanted to learn how to be a good missionary.

But then it was really bad. To be as vague as possible, I was bullied by my companion. I was overwhelmed and not myself and got even more depressed. I felt completely alone. I had anxiety and all I could do was stress eat. I gained weight fast. I chopped off my long hair. I would turn off our alarm clock so I could sleep longer. I cried and wasted precious time. I wasn't in a good place mentally, physically, or spiritually. I felt like I was bringing down my companion and being a horrible missionary.

Then, transfers came.

This is the part where every missionary can probably relate. Some companions are hard but you learn so much and la de da. A popular phrase is "you can do anything for 6 weeks" (6 weeks is the length of a transfer in my mission). However, I was not okay and there wasn't anything I felt like I could do about it.

Looking Up

I was transferred to the cutest little college town in Oklahoma. This was my place. It was there I met my people. I loved them and they loved me right back. My companion was my best friend and we instantly clicked. She saved my mission and me. We taught and we baptized. We had breakfast, lunch, and dinner with members basically every day because they wanted to help and support us. I loved this part of my mission.

My companion and I had a lot in common. We had both lost someone extremely close to us in the recent months. We bonded through the pain and empathized. We helped each other heal. There were times we stayed home in bed and talked. We got special permission to do a lot of things. For instance, one day we got permission to drive to Arkansas on a preparation day to see our missionary friends. Most days we worked and we taught and we had a lot of fun. There were a few super robotic sister missionaries who said we were disobedient. We didn't care what they said.

I was happy and finally feeling like myself. I liked being Sister Bailey. My email time became more enjoyable as I got more comfortable with missionary life. But, I could always tell something weird was going on with my family. No one would tell me what was really going on and that concerned me. On Christmas, I called my dad's house and talked to most of my family. Then I had to call my oldest sister and her family because they refused to go to my dad's house. That's when I knew things were not good at home. It was hard for me to not be home during all the "firsts" without my mom. I knew that if I was home it would still be sad but at least I'd be with my family. My heart was still broken, but I wasn't as wounded.

Gaining and Spiraling

Next, the dreaded Thursday night phone call came. After two transfers together my companion was leaving and going up North. And I was getting the missionary who replaced me in my old area. I was so scared. Here I was finally doing well and gaining confidence and they send me her?

Ultimately, she had gone through similar things with being bullied and we understood each other. We were good friends and worked really hard. We got our system down and were teaching almost 30 lessons a week. Again, the ward enjoyed us and helped us out when they could. We gained several sets of "adopted parents." We gained experience in tornados and flash floods. We gained experience talking on the phone with strangers. We gained confidence in ourselves as missionaries. Considering we were both around 6-months-old in the mission world, we were doing great.

We gained so much confidence were began doing unconventional things. To clarify, just because they were unconventional does not mean they were disobedient. I had this theme of my mission "go against the grain." And that is how I acted and behaved. I was friendly with the Elders; I played basketball with them and comforted them when their girlfriends didn't write. I kept score when we played volleyball as a district (which is not preferred, according to the missionary handbook). I talked a lot and thought I had it all figured out. I didn't care that the sister training leaders referred to me as "the most disobedient sister missionary."

But I did care that they thought I was the most disobedient sister missionary. It hurt my feelings that they were using my name as a bad example. They judged me without trying to understand my situation and background. I was dealing with a lot of crap and wasn't sure how to handle my emotions. So maybe I was disobedient and terrible. Maybe they were jealous because I got attention from the Elders. I thought they weren't being genuine and I thought being genuine was important. I was who I was and I didn't apologize for it. I was a rebel with a cause. I’m sorry if I hurt you.

Little did I know my little acts of rebellion would send me spiraling.

All the Hype

This is the part where I flat out acknowledge that I was spiraling out of control. I got transferred to a Young Single Adult Ward in Arkansas. I was stoked about being with people my age. This town was known as the "Provo of Arkansas." There were a ton of members and lots of wards. I was thriving. I instantly connected with a lot of people. I called a million former investigators and found new people to teach. We had two ward councils, two missionary coordination meetings, two block meetings, one break the fast. This place was living up to the hype.

I loved my companion dearly. We started doing really well. We taught some interesting and sincere people. We even had a baptism. We slept in all the time. We ate out for basically every meal. We went to all the Singles Ward activities. We talked to people at the town square. We went to big events in town. We hung out with all the Elders on Mondays. We had a ton of fun.

It was also getting close to the year mark of my mom passing away. Internally I was a mess. It was like I had ADHD and I couldn't control myself. My back pain had gotten increasingly worse. I had been to physical therapy and a chiropractor in my previous area. I got clearance to see a chiropractor, who was a church member, weekly. It made my back significantly worse. This is a common problem with missionaries. A lot of times their medical problems are not treated correctly.

I was throwing up in the mornings from the pain. But I was in maniac mode and my motto was "can't stop won't stop" and "give me mountains to climb and I'll run up them." I was crazy. It's not like I did anything bad. I didn't break commandments or do anything stupid, but I was a lot to handle. I danced in a circle at a converts wedding and almost got emergency transferred. But I was pumped; I was doing whatever I wanted and yelling at my companion when she wasn't doing what I thought she should. I was rude to her. And I apologize for that. She knows how much I love her.

Anyway, I thought I was on top of the world.

Breaking Down

Then my heart broke when I found out I was going back to Oklahoma to be with a sister I did not like at all. Again to be vague, it was a rough town with a dysfunctional ward. My companion and I went into the transfer knowing we didn't like each other. It caused problems. We were very passive aggressive. We worked but it wasn't significant. Members noticed we weren't getting along. We got calls from our mission president who was concerned about us. We were constantly tearing each other down and then pretending to be friends. I felt trapped again.

We really hurt each other mentally and spiritually. It was not a healthy companionship. I wasn't in a good place. I couldn't sleep at night so I'd stay up watching Mormon messages and crying. We argued all the time. I started getting anxious again. I think it was equally both of our faults. Then she was transferred away.

My next companion made me so excited. I had met her months earlier and thought she was adorable. We had a lot of fun and bonded over how hard our missions had been. We both had some tough companions, but so does everyone. Then she told me that she was excited to be my companion and nervous because she knew I was "disobedient Sister Bailey."

That broke my heart again.

I had tried so hard. I had worked hard. I taught. I baptized. I rose above. I got knocked down. I didn't know what to do or how to act. I was broken and apparently a terrible missionary. I hated myself because I had let down my family. I was supposed to be the good thing to happen, but really I was an embarrassment. That's how I felt, at least.

Off the Cliff

If you have made it this far, I'm so impressed. This is the beginning of the end.

My mission president finished his mission and we got a new president from Idaho. He and his family seemed nice; it was a big change for everyone. My next area was my last area, but it wasn't supposed to be. I got sent back to misery (Missouri) with a newly trained missionary. She was cute and nice but we had nothing in common. I was feeling a bit broken down but excited to start over, after all, I only had 6 months left.

To be frank, when I arrived the area was in shambles. We had next to no one to teach, the ward had been burned by missionaries in the past, and I wasn't in a place to be a good leader. I talked in sacrament meeting my first Sunday there and the ward was actually amazing. They were welcoming and they liked me. They wanted to trust and help us. Again, I wasn't in the right mind to teach or feel the spirit. I had lost my confidence.

It was so hard. Our area was large and we sat in the car a lot. Every day we had to climb up a huge set of stairs to our apartment. Both of these things were not good for my back. I was in a constant pain physically as well as emotionally.

I did not feel like doing anything. I was nearing the edge of the cliff. Then I accidentally saw it.

My companion had written a letter to her trainer and left it on her desk. As I walked by to my bathroom I saw my name. I read the part about me. She talked about how I wasn't motivated. I was bringing her down spiritually. I was disobedient and a bad example.

This time, my heart broke for her. All I could think was "she shouldn't have to put up with me." And I was done. I was off the cliff. I couldn't do it anymore. I called my mission president and said I was going home. He was new and didn't really question me but next thing I knew I was on the phone with my dad. He was comforting and bore his testimony about his mission. I complained about my back and explained how often I was throwing up. He wished that I would stay but would love me if I chose to come home.

This happened on a Tuesday, I was on a plane home on Friday.

The Grass is Always Greener

At the time I was relieved to be going home. I felt like I was getting away with murder. I was getting away from all my problems. I was going to get fixed. I was going to heal. I was going to take care of my back. I was going to bring my family together. I was going to save the world.

They were right when they said, "the grass is always greener on the other side."

My family looked both happy and sad to see me coming down the escalator at the airport. Some were crying some were smiling. I got an awkward side hug from my dad and his new wife.

It was all really strange. Several weird things happened. I was immediately released and not by the stake president. My family wasn't really talking to each other. My dad had moved to Salt Lake County. I didn't know how to act or talk to normal people.

I'll spare you the details, but things were not good.

*narrator* things truly were not good.

Falling Deep

It didn't take long for me to fall back into depression. I lived in a new place so I was isolated from my friends. I didn't come home to the home I grew up in or family I left a year previous. I had a freak out and canceled my homecoming talk two days before. I didn't even show my face in my home ward. I felt ashamed. I felt like a failure. I felt like I quit and let a lot of people down. I didn't know what to tell people. I didn't know why I was home but I clung to the back problems answer.

I knew my back was bad but I didn't realize how bad until we got the MRI results back. I had serious problems with my discs and received treatment and therapy.

The whole month of September was spent either at work or in my bed in the dark eating ice cream. I was sad for myself. I didn't feel like hanging out with friends, I dodged their phone calls and made up excuses for why I couldn’t' come. I seriously contemplated suicide and researched how I could do it. I felt like a burden. I was useless and broken. I hated being around people. I experienced tremendous anxiety. I stopped going to church and saying prayers. I was so deep in the dark.

Back on My Feet and Out of Control

It wasn't until the beginning months of 2016 that I began to feel like myself again. I was back at school and in a less tense environment. My best friend was back from her mission and we did everything together.

I still was having a lot of social anxiety and self-doubt. I certainly didn't like myself. It was hard to even go to parties because I was nervous to talk to people. I couldn't figure out how to act.

Things were not good with my dad. We fought on the phone every time he called. I had panic attacks every time his name popped up on my phone. I yelled at him and said things I can't believe I ever said. I openly despised his wife and his choices. I was so rude and inconsiderate. The same was true with my roommates. I did not get along with one of them and it got pretty heated. I also said things to her that I regret. I failed some of my classes and got terrible grades. I stayed out late every night and always slept through class. I was loud and obnoxious. I was out of control.

It was the two-year mark of my mom passing away and it hit me hard. My life was so different now and all I wanted was to talk to my mom. I missed her cute laugh and warm hugs. I still do.

*sobbing uncontrollably again*

I did not go to church at school, maybe a few times but I didn't feel accepted. It was hard when people found out I only served my mission for a year. I didn't feel worthy. I stopped wearing my garments. I fed all my doubts about the church. I visited a family member and we talked about religion. They suggested I explore other things and read the CES letter.

That was my next heart break, the CES letter.

If you don't know what that is I'm shocked and for your own sake don't look it up. I read a little bit at first and it shattered key principles for me. I put it away and didn't read it again for months. And then I did read it all, in its entirety. I watched videos and read articles about people who had gone through similar things on their missions.

I wasn't alone, but I had no idea what to believe. I felt like I had been lied to and deceived my whole life.

My family knew I wasn't active and it was hard for them but no one really said anything. I didn't go to church and I was never really invited to go. It was easy to not be a part of it. No one said anything to me, except my favorite companion. She reached out in a loving way and wanted to know how I was doing. I appreciated that a lot.

Things were improving and I was finding myself. I was experiencing life and making new friends and, to some people, I was out of control.

One of those people was an "adopted parent" I talked about from my mission. Completely out of the blue she messaged me about what I was doing. She said I was out of control and going down a dark path. I didn't feel like it came from a place of love like it had with my companion. I felt attacked and it really hurt me. I wish she had tried to understand where I was coming from. It didn’t go that way.

Resolution

Let's fast forward to now, a year and a half later. I was broken for a long time and didn't know what I believed or where I wanted to be. I also made an unsuccessful suicide attempt. I woke up the next morning disappointed. I had a message from my concerned professor because she had noticed something was *off* with me the day before.

A lot of it still really hurts and I have days where I cry for no reason. But then I realize it’s just life and I need to move on. I'm finally content with where I am. I definitely still have issues to sort through. I won’t claim to be perfect or have all the answers. I’m sorry if this seemed like a list of complaints. It’s not meant to be. I’m scared about what people might think. Although, I’m relieved to have it all written out and organized.

The good news is my dad and I are on good terms. I love that man and I'm grateful for everything he has done for me.

I got back in good standing in school and made a lot of new friends.

I tried to repair the damage I made on my mission.

I have learned so much about myself and about mental health.

I take care of myself more now. I am more conscious about my decisions and how I spend my time and the way I talk to people.

I try to listen more. I try to take care of myself. I step away from heated situations to make sure I understand how I'm feeling. I let myself cry and feel the hurt. I am working on loving myself.

I want to be a good friend and a good person.

The reason I came home from my mission is this: I couldn't tell the truly good people I met on my mission that they were wrong because they weren't apart of the church I belonged to. It didn't feel right to me and it still doesn't. I gave up because I felt like a failure. The culture hurt me and then the ever-changing doctrine crushed me.

Instead of gaining a testimony on my mission, I crumbled any idea of what I wished to know.

Ultimately, I can't healthily be a part of church and culture that is so exclusive and secretive. There are good people everywhere (including inside the church) and I am going to be friends with them. You can be friends with people without agreeing with all their actions. It's as simple as that.

I suffered a lot of mental abuse on my mission and it damaged me significantly. There are some things that always stay with you. I’m not trying to bag on the church; this is merely what happened to me and how I feel.

I’ve experienced healing through the good people I’ve become acquainted with in the last few years.

I'm comfortable with where I'm at and what I believe. I am happy. If you read all of this you are amazing. Thank you.

All my love,

Nels