First Week of the Mission

Honestly, I'm not sure how I made it through that first week. Everyone told me that if I could make it through until Sunday, I would be in good shape. However, when Sunday rolled around, I was still a bit of a mess. I told myself that if I could make it to the following Wednesday, then I'd be good. Maybe.

The routine of a missionary is very different than everyday life. Being the MTC is even more strange. Everything is scheduled: we'd get up a little before 6 (in the actual mission-field, missionaries usually get up at 6:30) and quickly get ready for our gym period at 6:05. Afterwards we would clean up and go to our classroom for an hour of personal study. Finally it would be time for breakfast (we would all be starving by then. I wasn't used to having a late breakfast). Once that half-hour or so was up, we went back to our classroom for three hours of class. The morning for me was devoted instruction on speaking Spanish and grammar. A chunk of those three hours was given to study with your companion and prepare for teaching our "investigators" (they were actually just our teachers acting like someone interested in learning about the LDS church). Next was lunch, another chance to stretch our feet before sitting in the classroom for another three hours or so. This portion of the day was generally directed towards Gospel principles and how to teach them. We again had an "investigator" to teach. Then we had either more study time or we were permitted to go to the computer lab and use the TAL program to help with vocab and grammar. Then it was dinner. Once that was over, we went back into the classroom for more language and personal study.

There were some things that broke up the monotony of all the studying: Every Sunday and Tuesday night there was a devotional. Every Tuesday evening was choir practice, and we sung for the Sunday devotionals. I attended these because I love to sing (although I'm not very good), it gave me a break from all my studying, and it helped with anxiety. Other than these few things, the days were very much the same. Everyday we get up, exercise, study, eat, study, eat, study, eat, study.

According to most of the RMs (returned missionaries) that I've talked to, they all said the the MTC was absolutely amazing. For me, that was not the case. Don't get me wrong--I loved the devotionals and the spiritual learning, not to mention the wonderful BYU brownies and ice cream served there. I just felt trapped. We could only stay within the little campus, which was gated, except on trips to the temple on P-days or special circumstances such as going to the health center. Outside the gate and down the block was the apartment I had lived at just a few days prior. I could see BYU campus from there. It felt strange to see it, to hear the belltower ring every hour, but not to be able to go there. We stayed in the same classroom all day, everyday. I think this is where the majority of my anxiety for sitting too long in one spot or staying in the same room for too long really started to develop. I think it must have also added to why I don't like having many closed windows or doors--I feel trapped inside.

These are a lot of new changes for any new missionaries. For me, I think I was just extra susceptible due to all the craziness that happened so recently. I made it through that first week, yes, but not without first having a massive breakdown--outside the temple, of all places.

My first P-day was the following Wednesday from when I reported to the MTC. I remember waiting
for that day with such great anticipation. I remember desperately wanting to see an email from my family, just to know that I was loved. Early in the day, we as a missionary district walked up to the Provo temple. Memories flooded through my mind as I remember walking there so many times, usually with my best friend Kaylyn. Oh, how I missed her then! I kept thinking about all the love she had shown me as a friend that past year and how poorly of a friend I was. Just like that my head was swarmed with memories, regrets, and pain. I thought about how I once went to the temple with Dan, how fun that evening was but how things had so drastically changed shortly after that. The wave of memories and emotions hit me so hard that it left me gasping. I stood in the dressing room of the temple, clutching at my heart. It hurt. Like a physical stab, my heart and chest ached. So much pain. I stood there several moments, trying to collect myself and willing myself not to cry.

My companion and I walked out of the temple. I told her I needed to walk for a moment, so we headed to the backside of the temple. I couldn't hold it in any longer; I collapsed on a bench and started crying. Not just crying. Bawling. I told her I needed to see someone about this. If I was going to be a successful missionary, I needed to heal from these emotional wounds. I needed to overcome my depression.

Hermana Schumacher was a blessing to me. She didn't judge. She didn't scold and tell me to snap out

of it. No, she listened to me. For so long I felt like I couldn't tell anyone about how I was feeling, that no one would listen or want to listen, but here she was, sitting patiently as I told her through sobs my story.

We decided that I would see the counselor at the MTC. That became the first of many therapy and doctor visits. I started taking medication. I tried new things to help me feel better. I started trusting more people with my story and admitting some of my fears and distorted thinking that had been plaguing me since middle school. To this day, I still see a therapist near-weekly. I take medication. I take care of myself. I'm doing so much better than I was at that time, but the road has been rough, and each day continues to be a challenge to overcome.

I made it through that week, somehow, undoubtedly through divine intervention. It took many prayers at night, many tearful pleadings to my Heavenly Father for help and comfort. It took the love and support of my wonderful friends, family, and companion. I am so grateful for them all.