One of my really good friends from the MTC is serving in the Mission I live in. So I emailed her the other day and told her if her and her companion ever needed a ride, or a member present lesson to give a call and I would be happy to tag along. So I had the amazing opportunity to tag along with them as they visited some members and it was awesome, it brought back a lot of memories And that right there was part of the problem. As soon as they got in the car I instinctively checked to make sure my tag was where it should be and it wasn't... And then I remembered. Sometimes it hurts to be an early returned missionary, a lot. I asked them about things like companionship study, daily planning and just how missionary life was for them. It was amazing to be able to tag along and feel the same spirit I felt when I was wearing a name tag and serving in New York, but at the same time it felt like my heart was going to tear into a million pieces. I miss New York. A lot. I miss the people there, I miss serving at the sites, I miss my companions and the other missionaries there. I miss waking up every day and just being in awe that I was on a mission and got to do all those amazing things. And sometimes I feel like my heart is still back there somewhere in New York. It hurts, so incredibly bad. And every day I am reminded of that, that I'm not a missionary. I keep waiting for one particular feeling to come, but it hasn't yet. I'm waiting to feel regret. It hasn't come. The plain and simple truth is I don't regret leaving my mission at all. I realized that I had a choice to make, I could either choose staying or my health. With the way my anxiety and depression are right now, staying just would not have been healthy. In the days leading up to me going home I just kind of lost the ability to fight it off. I remember sleeping on the couch in the break room at the Whitmer farm instead of going out and giving tours because literally I just physically could not do it. And that scared me, a lot. The best way I can explain it is it felt like I was a prisoner, like I was holding myself captive. But there was literally nothing I could do about it in the moment no matter how hard I tried. It broke my heart to realize that my dream was shattering all around me, but that is the way it had to be because I needed to come home and get better. I felt broken, I still feel that way sometimes. I know there are others who have struggled with the same thing, have fought just as hard and have finished their missions. But I am proud that I can say without a shadow of a doubt that I know that I did what my Father in Heaven wanted me to do, it took the hymn "I'll Go Where you Want me to Go" to a whole other level for me. And this decision Hurt, it hurt a lot. After getting through security in the Rochester New York airport it was all I could do to not start sobbing as I looked at my mission President and his wife and waved before walking away. But I managed, I got on that plane with all the courage I could muster and came home because I know that this is what I needed to do right now. And I thought about that moment as I drooped the missionaries off back at their apartment tonight and drove back to my house. I don't like feeling like I'm being torn in two like I belong in two places at the same time, and who knows maybe one day I will go back. But that day is not today. So in the meantime I will just keep putting one hesitant foot in front of the other, and trusting in my Savior because he has helped me through uncertain moments before, and I know that he will help me again.
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