Results of my mission

From yesterday's post, yes, I think I picked up some of my comfort with nonconformity on my mission. 

I'm not even that wild -- most of the things I do are very average and traditional -- but just because something is traditional is not enough of a reason. If tradition is the only reason, then forget it.

I think that was a good change. 

Otherwise, I mainly became more me. 

I learned more about the immigrant/refugee experience, and prejudice, but I already had a tendency to care about that, and I definitely had much more to learn. 

The thing that started in college with the possum, where I started learning that it was okay to show vulnerabilities and flaws? My mission reinforced that, but it wasn't new.

A tendency to focus on the needs of others over my own (but also with sincere caring)? Already present.

There were two things that were new.

I now consider that dark spell on my mission to have been an episode of depression. I did not identify it as such at the time. Back in 1994 -- despite depression already existing -- I don't remember encountering anything that could have guided me on that.

I did not deal with it productively.

Without knowing what I needed, I did ask for help. We wrote weekly letters to the president. I had told him what was happening, but I had not heard back. The feeling of being ignored did make it worse.

Something happened with the car. Right before that I think I spilled something on my skirt, so I changed my skirt and left the apartment key in that pocket. Because of the car thing my companion didn't have her key. So the Assistants to the President gave us a ride back to our apartment, where I discovered that I didn't have the key, so we were locked out of the apartment.

I broke down on the door step.

However, it was not a coincidence that the APs had given us a ride and walked us to our door. They had been tasked with checking on me; they just didn't mention it before then. 

Them mentioning it earlier might have been helpful, but I was so good at maintaining function they probably didn't see an opening. Apparently what I really needed was a dead car battery, a wet skirt, and enough things going wrong so that I had to let all my defenses down. 

Gratefully received (with the gratitude coming later).

We talked about it. It did help knowing that I had in fact been heard. I still didn't know what to do with it. I remember writing out a list of good things about me. It felt unconvincing, but nonetheless, I did get better. 

Remembering a President Hinckley talk, I suppose you would say I forgot myself and got to work. There is a point to that, but there is also a point to actually healing, which could be preferable. What I did instead was shove it all back inside again, but after the breakdown I was able to, and it got me through.

Here is what I have learned from my other bouts of depression: the genesis seems to be prolonged evidence that I am not enough, and cannot be enough.

When I was going through my normal over-functioning with unhealed trauma, there was periodic emotional spillover. I would get frustrated with all that was asked and accepted of me, and the lack of support and appreciation, but if I was still succeeding at taking care of everybody and could believe that I could keep it going, I could manage. I might have an outburst, but then I would rein it in and be back to normal.

That was pretty much how I entered the mission field, and how I came out of it.

Maybe my real problem had been that I hadn't had any real outbursts, keeping them all inside because contention is bad. It is much easier to yell at your family as a regular child and sibling than to yell at companions as a missionary. 

Perhaps this is why it was more common to be passive-aggressive. Obviously the preference would be that we could talk meaningfully and productively about when we were hurting each other or judging each other. Realistically, I am not sure any of us knew how to do that, or had built up comfort with doing it. Many much older people struggle with it and we were mostly kids.

However, this is where we get to the other change, and it was a bad one.

Whereas previously I was mainly insecure about the ability of boys to like me (and we are getting to the point where they will need to be called men, no matter how immature), I now had serious doubts about whether even women could like me and want to spend time with me. My worry of never finding romantic love had expanded to include all types of affection.

As much as companion issues contributed, something after my mission really reinforced that and drove it home.