the most important word in the world

it's been awhile...

I can't even begin to count how many times I've started a journal entry like that. I go through these phases where I want to document and remember and pour out my heart. Then I go on with life and I forget. I forget about all the good things in my life. I go through the motions. I just try to survive. I put on a happy face. I convince myself that I'm going good. I'm killing it.

Then it all hits me again. I forgot. I forgot on purpose. I pushed it to the back of my head so I could function.

When I was younger I had the best neighborhood. Everyone knew everyone. It was so safe, we never locked our doors. I could still name every family that lived on my block and the block next to us. I thought that was normal. I thought everyone knew their neighbors. I dare say I had the ideal childhood. So many loved ones and supporters. People who cared about me and my family.

There was one summer evening where a bunch of the neighborhood families came to our backyard for a get-together. Our across-the-street neighbor talked to us. He asked us "what is the most important word?" We all gave our guesses. Then he told us.

"Remember."

Remember is the most important word. In this essay I will....

Just kidding.

But really, I truly believe the most important word is remember. Rob's message sticks with me today.

Remember is hard though because there are a lot of things, feelings, I don't want to remember. It hurts too much. But you know what? I need to remember them. Because they were real things that happened in my life. They are apart of me. A part of my story.

Now I don't have to focus on the hard, sad things and let them define me. But they do put my story, personality, and actions into a real, living context.

It's coming up on 5 years since my mom died. I usually try to write "passed away" because it sounds nicer. But it's not the truth. My mom died. And that's still hard for me to put into words. It's been 5 years and I still feel like I'm in the "denial" stage of the grieving cycle.

I've made posts in the past where I've said things like "it's nice to know it gets better"....and other things to the effect of it's okay, I'm okay. Trying to spin it into something positive. However, I can't honestly think of anything positive from my mom dying. It's brutal. And I think that when someone says something positive about that sort of thing, they're lying to themselves.

To be blunt: It sucks. It's stupid. I hate it.

And that's the truth. Remembering is not a pleasant experience all the time.

Let me explain...

I have to remind myself to remember the last time I hugged her. I have to remember the phone call when my sister told me that something was wrong with her. I have to remember the long walk down the abandoned hospital hall. I have to remind myself of my brother-in-laws bloodshot eyes. I have to remember my dad holding me and telling me that she didn't make it. I have to remember seeing my mom's parents sobbing and saying "we were supposed to go before her." I have to remember seeing her, laying lifeless in that hospital bed. I remember her cold hands. I remember the smell of her usual shampoo. I remember my dad telling me to tell her that I love her. I remember leaving and having to tell my friend who drove me to the hospital. I remember coming home to make rice and wait for our Bishop to come over. I remember sitting on the couch and holding the plastic bag with all her valuables, her watch, her phone, her wedding ring. I remember sliding it onto my finger and having it fit perfectly on my pointer finger. I remember sending a tweet asking for my friends to pray for my family. I remember my best friend calling me. I remember scrambling to tell her through tears that my mom had died earlier that day. I remember crying so much my head hurt. I remember not knowing what to do or how to go on. I remember feeling like I needed to tell the world but also wanted to keep it to myself. I remember waking up the next morning to my dad making us waffles. I remember going downstairs to wake up my sister and climbing into bed with her. Hugging. Sobbing. I remember picking my brother up from the airport. I remember having to tell him the whole story. I remember watching him, defeated, bearded and crying. I remember going to church. I remember sneaking in the back. I remember the Bishop telling the congregation. I remember the audible gasps. The looks. The instant tears. The people coming to us during the meeting. Shocked. Asking "what happened?!"

I remember it all, but sometimes I chose to forget. To protect myself. To tuck it away in an effort to convince myself that it's okay. And sometimes I get so far away from it, it doesn't feel real anymore. But then, I have to remember. I have to make it all real again. I have to feel sad and lonely and lost. By forgetting I bottle it all up and eventually it explodes on me. And I lay in my bed and I just cry and cry. And my nose runs. And somehow it makes me feel better. I feel relief. But I can't possibly do this forever.

I need to choose to remember, but not let it destroy me. I think I need to learn to live with remembering. Remember is the most important word because it reminds us. It helps us feel and be in the moment. Even if that moment is in the past. Sometimes I think it's good to spend some time in the past, to remember how it all used to be. Then you time travel back to the now and you realize how much has changed and how your life has evolved. It's nice to have that perspective. Remembering puts your life into perspective. It helps you zoom out and see more of the picture. It makes me feel better and it might make you feel better too.

I still wear her ring every day. I slip it on in the morning. I fidget with it throughout the day. It catches my eye accidentally. And it helps me remember.

Don't forget to remember.

forgive them anyway //

The other day I was driving somewhere with one of my sisters. She was talking about how she's thirty-something, has three kids, and still doesn't have all the answers to life. 

But now I'm thinking about it.

Does anyone?

The truth is we are all just kids trying to navigate life based on our past experiences. As we get older we gain more experience and knowledge. But no one has it all figured out. And, sometimes, age is just a number. However, most of the time my dad's advice is useful regardless if I think so when he's lecturing me. At the end of the day, he's usually right. 

So back to just being kids. We are all imperfect people because we don't have life all figured out. So, naturally, we all make mistakes. Big ones, small ones, everything in-between. 

The fact of the matter is everyone messes up, no matter how old they are.

Everyone can name a time someone did something unfair to them. Or said something rude. Or really hurt them. Or totally overstepped a boundary. Maybe even betrayed them. You might even feel hatred towards them.

All I have to say is, forgive them anyway.

Forgiveness doesn't mean you become best friends again. Forgiveness means you let it go. You realize they are just a kid, too. We are all still figuring it out. It's really not worth worrying about. Talking about. Gossiping about. Feeling sad for yourself about. 

And the reality is they might not ever apologize. Be okay with that.  Move past it. Be kind to them, even if you don't feel like it. Forgive them anyway.

We have to stick together in this life. Recognize that you make mistakes. She makes mistakes. He makes mistakes. They also make mistakes. It's just life. We are all kids. We are all trying to figure it out. 

Forgive them anyway. 

The Reason //

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

there's no waiting in the lobby //

i recently moved across the country to be a nanny for an amazing family in new york

it was a whole new world out here, i've been on the east coast before but this family lives in a way i've only ever seen on tv

it was exciting to be apart of

the kids were so fun and i enjoyed taking care of them

there was one day in particular that we went into the city

i went and explored rockefeller plaza, NBC studios, and st john's cathedral

i grew up watching the today show with my mom so it was amazing to be there in real life

new york city is exactly what everyone says it is: busy, crowded,  a million people rushing somewhere, taxis honking, massive buildings, bright lights etc etc

i couldn't believe i was really seeing and experiencing it

however, it was different than i expected in the fact that i didn't fall in love with it like everyone said i was going to. . .

maybe i didn't spend enough time there but amidst the skyscrapers i longed for the mountains

instead of rushing people i wanted rushing rivers

i sound so cliche . . . but i don't think the city life is for me

i remember walking into another tall building with beautiful architecture and golden doors

i was waiting for a friend

there i was standing in the lobby and the bell boy said to me, in a harsh and short manner:

     "there's no waiting in the lobby"

     "oh, i'm just waiting for a friend, she'll be down in a minute"

again, he said:

     "there's no waiting in the lobby"

so i walked out of those golden doors sort of frazzled

i remember thinking "wow, he wasn't very pleasant"

as i walked away i couldn't get those words out of my head

there's no waiting in the lobby

soon after i met up with my friend, we grabbed lunch among blue collar boys, and headed back to grand central station to catch the subway home

on the ride back the words still echoed

a few weeks went by and while new york was amazing and we spent some time at their exotic beach house in south carolina i couldn't help but feel like i wasn't supposed to be there

i felt like i was putting things on hold at home

i felt like i was missing out

i felt like i was getting behind

i didn't feel happy with where my life was going and the person i was becoming

so i made the hard decision and i quit my nanny job and came back to utah

so now i can go back to school

and start my elementary education program

and chase this pangea dream

and most importantly, be with my family and friends

because as that wise bell boy told me, there's no waiting in the lobby

likewise,

you can't wait to change your life

you can't wait to be the person you know you can be

you can't wait to be kind

you can't wait to tell someone you love them

you can't wait to finish school

you can't wait to chase your dreams

you can't wait to be happy

so i changed my mind and all my plans i had for the next year
at times it's been super stressful trying to figure out my life
but sometimes you just have just go for it
then somehow things start to fall into place
and now i'm so incredibly stoked where things are headed :)

just remember,

there's no waiting in the lobby

xoxo

nel

it's good to be home

a ted talk & a conference talk that changed me //

whether i want to listen to something while i'm getting ready or i can't sleep and want to listen to something...i'll usually watch a ted talk & a conference talk

they enlighten me and ALWAYS put me in a better mood

plus they get my mind going and thinking

//

i love love love ted talks. i used to / try to listen to one every day. there are several that i am obsessed with and that i watch over and over.

this is one of them.

shonda rhimes is an amazing independent woman who has done so much in television, it's crazy.

for one, she created gray's anatomy.

she has such a phenomenal work ethic

her outlook and philosophy changed me and made me want to be better.

watch and i know you'll enjoy.

she is incredible. 

i also really really love conference talks. i especially love jeffery r holland. i think i have almost all of his talks memorized because i've watched them so many times.

this talk is called "where justice, love, & mercy meet"

it's a line from a hymn

he gave it in april of 2015 on easter while i was on my mission

it made me cry, maybe because i was a missionary, but i think it was because it touched me so much

and it continues to

bottom line, the atonement is amazing and i am infinitely grateful for it

enjoy enjoy enjoy!

my brain lately with a few borrowed words //

Earthly Father, Heavenly Father //

Today is Father's Day and I am very far away from my Father. And yes, I wished him a good day. I wish I could have done more. I feel like I have so much to say. - rather - so much to thank my Father for . . .

My Dad is amazing, first of all. He is strong. He is kind. He is the smartest person I know. He knows how to work, and he knows how to work hard. He loves the gospel. He is honest. He is dedicated. He is humble. He provides. He takes good care of us. He is an example in all things. He is passionate. He is caring. He is respectful. He is shy. He is sweet. He is loving. He is amazing and he is my Dad. 

I am lucky to have him has my Dad. He taught me all those things. I may not have listened to all of them all the time, but the example was always there. It continues to be there and I am grateful for that. I know who I am because of my Dad. I get a lot of my personality from my Dad, whether he will admit it or not. I may be more outgoing than him but I get my dedication and work ethic from him. 

And my height ;)

I love my Dad. I love what he believes in and what he stands for. I love that we essentially went to the same mission - him Little Rock, Arkansas - me Bentonville, Arkansas. I'm lucky that he has taught me so much. He taught me to work and to enjoy work. He taught me to love baseball. He taught me to travel and explore. He taught me to hike and see new things. He taught me about money and how and when to spend it. He taught me about cars and where to put my windshield wiper fluid. He taught me about the scriptures and about a Heavenly Father who loves me.

My Dad taught me to love through how he loved his kids and how he loved my mom. They didn't always say it, but they always showed it. He has shown me a glimpse of what Heavenly Father must be like . . . 

Because I know that Heavenly Father
loves
knows
understands
feels
cries
rejoices with me.

He knows. And because He knows, He can help me. He can literally pick me up and give me the strength that I need to push through one more day. Because He knows what I am capable of and He has incredible things in store for me. 

He loves me.

And He loves you.

I'm grateful to a Daddy that loves me and taught me to love. Especially to love my Heavenly Father.

Happy Father's Day.