I met with my cousin a couple weeks ago, and she was unusually somber. She had just gotten back from an overseas mission a week before, and she turned to me and said, “I don’t know what to do. I don’t want to be here. I want to go back. They said it would get better, but it isn’t getting better, it’s getting worse. I feel like I am on a small break and then I will go back home to my mission.”
I never had my act together enough to go on a mission when I was a young man. Now that I am older, I look forward to going on a mission with my wife in about 20-25 years. But the reality is that I just have no clue about the feelings my cousin shared with me. Can those of you who went on missions sympathize and/or explain?
It’s worth pointing out that I have spoken to many missionaries, and they have expressed similar feelings. It seems that the ones who served farthest from home are the ones who have the most problems adjusting when they get back. Elder Groberg’s experience of completely getting swallowed in his work (as portrayed in “The Other Side of Heaven”) seems to be a good look at this phenomenon. When I was in Brazil, missionaries usually didn’t want to go home, but it appears that many in Miami feel more ready to return.
So, perhaps it’s just culture shock. But methinks it’s a lot more than that. It seems people are truly happiest when they are serving the Lord. They feel the most complete and most in tune with their universal purpose.
What do y’all think?
I think those things are at play. Also, a mission is something of a terminal event — life has been all about preparing to serve a faithful mission for a long time, and, when that’s over, there’s a sense of “now what do I do with my life?” It’s an exaggerated version of what I felt every quarter at college right after my last final — much of my life has been wrapped up in these courses I”m taking and now I’m done. It’s like going off of a ramp at a high speed and waiting to hit the ground again.
Mission life is structured, directed and purposeful. Normal life is less of those things. Learning how to structure one’s own life, of directing it and making sure there is purpose while (for some) working at menial, low-paying jobs is a challenge. When you’re on a mission, you’re special, and, when you come home, you’re only special like everybody else is. You’ve been released from your first major calling and now you’re something different.
I think preparing for this time before the mission is a good idea, and preparing for it during the mission is a good idea also. I’m a ward missionary, and have been able to build strong, close relationships with a few of the full-time elders we’ve had, and I try to build this into our conversations. I can’t click like that with every elder, but I at least try to sow seed ideas about life after the mission and not rushing to get married too quickly and trying to bring some of the spirituality of the mission into that more mundane experience.
I’m learning more about the world of full-time mission service, and some of the stuff I”m learning isn’t very comfortable. Be ready for some PTSD-like stuff from your cousin — she might have seen some things that have rocked her world or her testimony a bit, and might not know how to talk about them without casting her relationship with the institutional Church into the shredder.
Tell her to be gentle with herself. She doesn’t have to be perfect now nor ever. This time she’s in is scary, and it’s okay to be scared. But she has to go on to the rest of her life now. She doesn’t have to do it any faster than she’s able, but she does have to do it — it will come no matter what. And she will life, and it will be okay.
For me, leaving Guatemala was 10 times harder than leaving home. My last Sunday in the field was fast and testimony meeting and so I got up to bid farewell, but was not able as I could not control the flow of tears.
After getting home, I was lost. I sat on my couch and drooled on myself for about a week. It took my brother from Utah to come out and get me out of the house to snap me out of it.
So my advice is to quickly get out of the house. Go get a job, go out with friends, and don’t just sit at home and reminisce. All I know is that for teh first time in my life, I felt completely out of place, and that includes the time I first set foot in Guatemala.
Unlike some of these others, I did not find it at all difficult to leave my mission (France/Belgium) and get on with my life. I missed the structure, but little else.
I think it is analogous to the convict who yearns for prison life upon being released. The routine of mission life often becomes incredibly comfortable and it is difficult to be ejected from that comfort zone. I never had that problem myself, though, and I am inclined to tell those who do that they should accept that they should just get over it. After all, there is SO much more to post-mission life.
Oops, the penultimate sentence should say, “I am inclined to tell those who do that they should just get over it.”
My first month in the field was hard. But my first month back was far more difficult. I just felt that what I had been doing was so important, and at home, nothing I did really meant much. I wasn’t changing (or attempting to change) lives. I can recall thinking to myself during a mundane discussion that what we were talking about was absolutely pointless; that no Palestra could result from this conversation.
Wow, Scott W, a mission is like being in prison!!!??? No, but I understand your larger point, that people get used to routines. But I still think there’s more to it than that.
Blain and Tim J, thanks for your interesting comments.
Ditto to the points about going to work or going to school ASAP. And get a calling in the church ASAP.
She still has the ability to do missionary work, start gospel conversations, hand out material, bear testimony, ask people if they want to learn more or meet the missionaries, etc.
Missionary opportunities exist everywhere.
Scott, I think it’s OK to struggle adjusting to post-mission life. I don’t see how anyone needs to “get over it.” You’re right, there’s a whole exciting world of post-mission life to embrace. And if someone’s still can’t get off the plane a year or two later, then something is wrong. But it’s a big life change. Some of us need time to take big changes in.
I had post-mission trauma for several months. I think it was equal parts culture shock, the loss of intimate relationships, and the loss of a deep sense of meaning that directed everything I did. I spun around for a while, couldn’t stop boring my family about Italy, and underwent a vocational crisis and decided I should study psychology and save the world instead of the humanities, which were and are where my heart truly lies. (A couple of psychology classes cured me of that particular delusion).
Looking back on it, I think those months were a time of mourning. I missed people terribly. Writing about it now, I still miss them, more than a decade later.
I’m the opposite of Ben. The structure was the one thing I did not miss. Wahoo! Back to staying up until 2:00 a.m. like any civilized person.
I will confess that I was freakn’ WEIRD after my mission, as my siblings delight in reminding me. Maybe some of us need an MTC for normal life? (Or at least a holding pen until the freakishness wears off). I would happily nominate myself, retrospectively, for such a pen.
The best threrapy: get right at something–school or work. You don’t need a rest–a change will work wonders.
I had the advantage of returning home in mid-September, to college classes that had started two weeks before. I didn’t have time to sit around feeling lost.
On the other hand, there was a great sense of loss–to go from being a missionary with responsibility for 20 elders in a zone and all the people we were teaching, to just another 21-year-old college student was a big letdown. Besides, being a gaijin in Japan in the early 70’s was enough to make one a celebrity.
I was absolutely ready to come home. I was ready for freedom. I was ready to be done with rules and structure and numbers reporting. I was ready to be bored. Not that I didn’t like my mission. I did. But it was stressful.
So I didn’t have any problem adjusting to normal life. I got to working and playing and studying and was glad for all of it. I still have stressful dreams (not quite nightmares) about having to go serve another mission or not being done with my mission yet. I expect I’ll probably serve with my wife when we’re old, but for now I’m glad to live a normal life.
I see three major adjustments which have affected many I have known, to a greater or lesser extent. (My facetious answer to most who asked me whether I was having a hard time adjusting to being home was: “No, but then I never adjusted TO the mission”).
The first adjustment is to the loss of purpose and direction; you are so focused on doing missionary work, discussions, commitments, talking to people, planning, goals, etc. that life now seems somewhat purposeless. The second adjustment is to the loss of the brotherhood/sisterhood of the mission; those shared experiences which in some cases made you, in Henry V’s phrase: “We few, we happy few, we band of brothers.” And the third adjustment, for those who served in desperately poor third world countries, is to return to a land of plenty and wastefulness, when those whom we left were so desperately needy.
All of them need time to get over.
I remember thinking about a year into my mission that I would never want to leave, and that I would have a hard time adjusting back at home. At that time, I was sure I would want to ask for an extension. But I also found that as the time neared to return, my attitude shifted. By the time my mission ended, I was excited to move on to the next stage of my life, the next step in my calling on earth. I think that eased my transition. I didn’t find myself longing for the mission field or wanting to go back.
In reference to El Jefe’s point, perhaps that is because I had clear goals about what I wanted to accomplish in my life upon returning home (goals around undergraduate and graduate school, career, etc). That helped shape my purpose. And I also felt strongly that to all things there is a season, and the sun had set on the season of my mission.
But it was still very strange to turn on the TV for the first time and flip channels, and to go out of the house all alone. Not to mention that first awkward date!
I’ll emphasize up front that I have no idea if this describes your cousin’s situation or not.
But in Japan, we were cool. Back in America, we would have been geeky Dilbert types and probably wouldn’t have warranted a second look from a pretty girl, or anyone really.
But in Japan, we were really happening. Girls thought we were hot, everyone noticed us, we were considered exotic and trendy by most people. I could walk up to a group of tough-looking punks smoking pot on a street corner, say hi, and THEY would be the ones who would get uncomfortable and shy. I even had bouncers outside nightclubs who were intimidated by me. It wasn’t hard to feel kinda “bad” if you know what I mean.
Girls were always trying to flirt with us. Not that most of us had any intention of doing anything about it, and lots of missionaries would pretend to be utterly repulsed by the idea, but …
It was a really great feeling to know that you could get a date any time you wanted if you so chose. And these were some really nice looking young women too.
I was the life of any social function I went to. The Japanese are so stiff that even a dorky white guy like me looked hip beyond belief.
Do I miss that? I don’t think about it much anymore, but for several years after my mission … yeah, I missed it. Some missionaries missed it a lot more. They’d never been popular or liked before.
Some missionaries came back to Japan a couple months after their release. A few even managed to pick up fiances.
I never approved of this practice. I felt it was doing a disservice to the girl. The missionary wasn’t really getting engaged to a woman, as he was getting engaged to an idea, a self-image, a fantasy.
The cultural and language barrier facillitated these delusions because it was harder to personally connect with the girl. This made it easier to objectify her and for her to remain a mystery (and therfore, a part of his fantasies). These guys seemed intimidated by American girls.
I saw this happen at least once or twice. Others came back to visit and didn’t seem to carry any of this emotional baggage. My only point is to illustrate what can be the source of maladjustment for some RMs.
I think the comments so far are consistent with my experience. I want to add three things:
(1) El Jefe (13) observes: …the third adjustment, for those who served in desperately poor third world countries, is to return to a land of plenty and wastefulness, when those whom we left were so desperately needy.” I agree: this is definitely a psychological shock that needs to be metabolized.
(2) I think Eve’s (9; and others’) observation about mourning is significant. There has been a bereavement; there needs to be a grieving. I described my whole mission for a tape-recorder. It provided a sense of closure that helped me move on. And, as a bonus, I have a record of things long since forgotten.
(3) I think there might be a physical component to the adjustment (probably from any mission, but mine was 3rd-world, so I can’t say). I think my psychological adjustment was slowed because it took two months for my “acute gastro-intestinal distress” to go away and about that long for me to be able to sleep well in an air-conditioned house.
Also, although I don’t have the medical knowledge to back it up, I bet that the physical depression interferes with the neurochemical component of psychological coping. (By “physical depression” I mean the wearing down of the body caused by prolonged, near constant exertion in tropical heat on a diet of almost exclusively carbohydrates and protein while suffering from the AGD mentioned above and not sleeping well because of the heat.)
So, although in general I think the “get busy with something” approach is a good–the best–idea, there might be some who need a period of physical rest.
By the time I left Ukraine, I was ready to go home. In spite of that, I still had a hard time adjusting.
The guilt carried over to home life. I spent my mission convinced that I was never doing enough and I needed to do more or God wouldn’t bless me. Coming home was terrible because most of my opportunities to do something for God evaporated. I really beat myself up over the fact that I couldn’t testify multiple times a day.
I had a full-time job within 72 hours of getting home, and I wish I’d taken the time to get over jet lag instead.
Then I went to a new branch where they handed me three callings. I was so overwhelmed I never went back, and I lived in fear they would call me.
I loved my mission, and it took me about a year or more before I would say I got normal again. It was the guilt – the constant drive to be a better missionary that I carried over to coming home that did me in.
Tom #12, I had a similar experience in terms of nightmares (in my case, straight up nightmares!) about still being on my mission, or about being specially requested by Hinckley to serve another year, or another six months, or three months, or whatever. These lasted for years after I got home from my mission. However, it’s clear that I had an unusually difficult mission — not because of anything I did, just the luck of the draw and a conjunction of 1-in-300,000 events. So probably most people have it easier than I did.
But, on the other hand, I have never “adjusted” from my mission in the sense of losing contact with the place and becoming fully reassimilated into US American culture. Instead, I’ve become a professional Latin Americanist. So I guess I’m an extreme example of not adjusting to coming home, on really any dimension…
I was never really an “American” again after I came home from my mission. I enjoy the US, I admire many things about it. I’m also counting on it for quite a lot. But I’m just not a full American anymore. I feel too connected with others now.
The only identity I really had left after my mission was “Mormon.”
I like that Seth. If only more of you felt that way.
I reccomend that returning missionaries get busy immediatly; school or work, it doesn’t matter. I found it very depressing to have nothing to do. Although there were times on my mission I just couldn’t wait for it to be over so I could take a nap, two or three days of being able to nap was too much and I was depressed. Perviously, I had been engaged in good hard work for other people. Now that the mission was over, I only had myself to worry about and it felt selfish and wrong.
I started school after about 2 weeks, and getting back into a busy life was very helpful.
Easy adjustment. I watched a movie with a girl the night I got home, went to a Blink-182 concert two days later, kissed a girl a couple days later, drove around in a car, ate good food, wore non-white shirt clothing, hung out with all my old friends, everything. Yes, I worked my arse off in Guatemala up to the last day there, but it was time to come home. If they would have asked me to serve another year I would have, but this was my time to go home and move to the next stage of life.
I’ve often wondered if your attachment to your mission is directly proportional to how much of your testimony you gained while there. I’m not saying it is, but from anectodal experience it seems like it is the case with many people.
I was pretty laid-back on my mission (read: non-proactive). When I got home, I was the same way. I’ve always been quick to get comfortable in whatever situation I’m in. So post-mission adjustment wasn’t really an issue for me at all. I extended my mission a month because I could and because I wanted to. But coming home wasn’t a big deal.
But I was rather surprised at how many fat people there were in LAX.
Good comments. I write to a lot of young missionaries, most my kids’ friends. Most suffer some sort of jet lag when they come home. My neighbor, who went to the Philippines, however you spell it, and had a real hard time speaking English for awhile. I noticed our speaker last Sunday, a RM who’d gone to Italy, spoke English with an accent.
Another RM, though, who hasn’t had his homecoming yet, but I assume was released, is already growing a beard and wore a blue striped shirt with the sleeves rolled up. But he was in the US, so maybe the adjustment wasn’t as hard.
I don’t want to serve a mission, Geoff, but Bill does. I’m too tired. And I know we’re going to east LA. No offense.
Good, sensitive comments, so just to add. Maybe its not _enough_ to go out and get busy in something. One aspect of the problem is the shift to selflessness to selfishness. What I am trying to say is that all those months were directly about THE meaning of life, and then the RM has to find the meaning of HER life. I remember the rush of speaking to someone and feeling to share something I had read just that morning in personal study. I felt that God cared how I used every minute of my day and used me exactly as much as I was willing to be used. Without being self-important, it is a good feeling to be useful. Then as and RM, it was suddenly all about me: MY education, MY career. It can seem comparatively meaningless, so just jumping into the the think of (thin?) things has perils. After heart, might, mind and soul, be careful what substitute we choose!
My family and friends say I was a preachy creep for the first week when I got home. Telling people to repent when they swore in front of me, and telling my brother what a disappointment he was for going to a R-rated movie. I don’t know why I was like that, It isn’t like I was going around calling Australian heathens to repentance on my mission.
Like I said, it took a week and I was back to normal. I think I was nervous about the lack of structure I was coming back too. After being told what I could read, when I could sleep, and where I could physically go for two years, I suddenly had freedom and it made me nervous. I got a job, enrolled in school, and everything was better.
My mission president told us missionaries that didn’t want to go home, or asked to extend, were trying to make up for what they had not done the previous eighteen or twenty-four months. I don’t know if it’s true, but I tell my brother who extended for a month that it is, I have to be the mean big brother no matter how old I am I guess.
I’m a couple of days late on this thread, but what helped me have a *beautiful* transition from mission to home life is this: I went on vacation. My Dad was stake president when I finished (he could release me), so my parents came to pick me up and we spent 10 days touring Australia and New Zealand. It gave me a period where I didn’t have to be a missionary anymore, but I also didn’t have to try to function normally around my friends and family. I spent most of the time alone and it was great to get re-acquainted with myself.
Then again, I also only got freaked out one time about coming home, in the middle of the night before my release. I prayed about it and was distincly told that it was okay to move on with my life; the time had come for my mission to end. And I was able to easily leave my mission behind at that point.
But yes, the nightmares do still happen.
VirutalM raises an interesting point: when I lived in Brazil, many, many missionaries would be picked up by their parents. At some point, at least one mission president discouraged this by saying the mission continues until the missionary returns home and is released. But it still happens all the time — parents come to pick up their children at the end of the mission and then go on vacation.
You aren’t really ever released from your mission. The stake president interviews you and gives you some guidance of what you ought to look for in the future (education, spouse, etc.), but he doesn’t really release you. Perhaps my stake president did it differently than most, but he stated that once a missionary, always a missionary. It’s not like the missionary has to rush home and talk to the SP before he can do anything else. It is probably more for the missionary to have a feeling of conclusion. Therefore, let the parents come and tour the country with a guide that is better than any other they could have. Who knows, the missionary might even get some more referrals during this period that could actually help the work in the mission. If not, the mission isn’t out anything.
I think the fear is that the missionary will become a hinderance to the work as they go and visit with members and other missionaries within the mission. I can understand that to a point. But for as often as it happens, I wouldn’t worry about it.
Nathan, my stake president did release me (using just that phrasing), and my mission president had instructed me to continue living the mission rules (no TV, not be alone) until I had been released by my stake president.
Hmmm, I also did not visit any members or investigators after my mission’s end. In fact, we left the proximity of anywhere I would’ve served within a day. I’d already been there, done that, said my goodbyes; I wanted to go to the beach! 🙂
But again, I will say, a brief trip can do wonders to help a newly released missionary adjust. At least, it worked for me. Might not be for everyone, but I attribute it to a great deal of my easy adjustment back to ‘normal’ life.
My husband actually looks back and wishes that he would’ve had his parents pick him up. He served stateside, and his parents offered to drive out and tour parts of the U.S. with him on the way home, but he declined, wanting the whole ‘airport’ experience. I know he felt far more akward when he arrived back at his home than I did.
(And my name was spelled wrong. How embarassing)
When I had been home a short time I went to a church dance. Two young ladies approached me and asked if I had just got off a mission. I asked how they knew. They said, “We can tell.” I wasn’t dressed different or acting strange. To this day I’m not sure how they knew.
I was in the mission home for five months. I saw lots of missionaries pass through on their way home. They were all happy about going home except one.
I was happy about going home, yet sad to leave the mission field. When I got home, I excitedly embraced all that life had to offer, and while I always look back on the mission happily, I was also happy to get on to the next phase of life.
My mission president told me at my exit interview that while the mission was a great experience, and one which I should always treasure, he would be disappointed if in ten years he still heard me saying that the mission was the best two years of my life, since life was always supposed to be better.
And life is good. With a wife and children, living the gospel and serving the Lord, I am very happy. And I felt very happy at the end of my mission too.
I missed the people, and I wished I could have done even more, but I felt happy, blessed, and eager to move on full speed, which I did. And it’s been full-speed ahead ever since. Who has time to look back and wish to be somewhere else? Within two days being back I had a full-time job and was very busy getting integrated socially and into the family again. It was great.
I don’t think returning from a full-time mission is like being released from prison – it’s more like being discharged from military service. One has to make a major adjustment leaving a highly structured job that offers camaraderie, the knowledge that the work you’re doing is important, a sense of purpose, adventure, and responsibility. What sustained me as I approached retirement from the military was, “I had a life before I went into the service; I’ll continue to have a life after I leave.” So being active after a mission is good, as long as you don’t overdo it.