When my depression hits those lowest points, I have often wondered, "God, why? Why me??? Why do I have to suffer like this????" Unfortunately, I do not know the answer to that question. I wonder if maybe I could not have learned certain lessons or attributes without it. That's a depressing thought in itself--I hope I am a good enough person to gain those insights without depression, but whether or not that is the reason, I look back and see how much I have grown from this experience.
I was diagnosed with mild depression when I was about 20. I saw a counselor, and that seemed to be just what I needed. Then I had this crazy idea of going on a mission! And a little over a year later, I entered the Missionary Training Center, where a name tag was placed on me, and I became a representative of Jesus Christ.
I gained so much from my mission...but it was hard. It was in this setting, in the rigors of trying to become the "perfect" missionary, bending over backwards trying to reach daily goals, being told that if I just had enough faith and worked hard enough, I could baptize every week...it was here that my depression took its toll. I did not baptize every week. Not even close. My depression slowly worsened as I began to feel more and more that the failures I experienced as a missionary were all my fault. I began each morning pleading to God for guidance, for more motivation, and through my scripture studies I usually got the zeal worked up to tackle another day. This day I would do it--we'd reach our goals, we'd find someone God had prepared, and we'd reach our baptism goals. Right?? I had the faith, and we worked our butts off. But more often than not, goals were not reached, our "golden" investigators hid from us, our converts went inactive, and the baptisms rarely, if ever, came. I ended each day dejected, worn out, and wondering why in the world God had ever wanted me to be a missionary only to come and fail.
But I had been told over and over in the MTC, at Zone Conferences, and in fuzzy feel-good stories over the pulpit in Sacrament meeting that enough faith would produce miracles, and that our mission had the goal to baptize every week because it was what God believed we could do. So when those baptisms didn't come, I looked in the mirror and saw failure. Slowly, I began to feel ashamed of myself. And ever so sneakily, Satan placed a terrible thought in my mind, that unfortunately, I believed. The thought was: you do not deserve God's love. I tried to keep that thought out...but over and over it went through my mind, and I began to really, truly believe that God did not love me. That I was too worthless of a missionary for Him to love, and when I could learn how to do things right, then, and only then, would He love me. I stopped feeling His love.
I want you to think for a moment, if you have never experienced this, what it would be like to truly believe that God does not love you. The belief in God's love for me had kept me going my whole life. Growing up, I had believed that God loved me more than I knew, and that He had a plan for me, and that everything would work out. But when that belief was gone, a desperation consumed me. I wanted to deserve God's love. I wanted it so badly that I would do anything and everything required of me to earn it. I studied the languages (yes, plural) like crazy, I tried to be extra efficient in planning, I was determined to be 100% obedient at all costs, I worked on my teaching skills over and over, I prayed and pleaded, and spent my lunch hours studying more, or reading articles from the Liahona to inspire me to keep working. However, the results did not change, despite everything.
But....I changed.
I became a master teacher. So much so, that my good hermana friend told me that the Elders were intimidated to teach with me during practices. My investigators listened. They did not usually accept the commitments we extended, but they always listened. More than that, I learned what compassion really was. I began to understand more the pain felt by my investigators and fellow missionaries, because I was going through so much of it myself. And because I was so desperate for good things to happen, I became way more sensitive to such occurrences and began to be pushed along by the little miracles that made my day. I still felt emotionally "off" though, and once I was re-diagnosed with depression, my mission took a downward spiral. But I finished what the Lord would have had me do, even if it wasn't everything I had hoped to do.
Post mission, I still find myself more sensitive to the good things that happen in the day, or at least in recognizing them. I can connect to so many more people than I could before--people I normally would have judged, but now see as people with weaknesses just like me who maybe just need a little help. I have been called to be one of the Sunday School teachers in my new ward, and it as become my favorite calling. I attribute my teaching skills to those which were honed during my lowest points of despair, when I was desperate to become more than the nobody I thought I was.
I also met wonderful people who have changed my life, that I would not have met without depression. After I returned and was still suffering, I was connected to a woman online who happened to serve in my mission years earlier with depression. I wouldn't trade our the wonderful friendship we have for anything. We have been able to help, support, and learn from each other in ways I have not experienced in any other friendship.
I realize that the skills I gained are probably not the same as someone else who is living with depression. But I would like to challenge you to see the blessings in your life, the skills that you have developed, and the wonderful associations you have made because of this "fiery trial" you live with. I promise that if you search for them, you will find them.
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