#FergusonDecision

When I was about ten years old, my dad was walking me home from a friend's house in our Virginia neighborhood. It was after dark when I saw a large black man walking towards us. Without thinking, I moved closer to my dad and clung tightly to his arm until the man had passed. After a few minutes, my dad knelt down on the sidewalk so we were eye to eye, and said to me, "Sweetheart, if you felt scared of that man because he was bigger than you and it's dark outside, I guess that's okay. But if you felt scared of him because of the color of his skin, that's not okay."

I have thought about that instance many times throughout my life. As a ten year old, I had already been influenced by what the media told me about black men. And my father asked me to question those influences. My parents taught me to stand up against prejudice. I saw it on September 12th, 2001, when they sat me down and told me that the parents of my Muslim friends might be afraid to send their children to school, and that I needed to stand up for my friends if anyone made hurtful comments. I saw it again when my dad hung a map on his office wall that Americans would consider "upside down," and he told me, "This is to remind me that not everyone sees the world the way I do."

This was the rhetoric I was raised with, and it's clear from my social media news feed this week that not everyone I associate with was raised the same way.

As you all know, Michael Brown, a recent high school graduate, spent the summer with his grandmother. He and a friend were walking down the street when they were confronted by police and asked to get off of the sidewalk. Here, the story differs depending on who is telling it, but it is undisputed that Brown was unarmed. Several shots were fired by police and Michael Brown was killed. His friend said, "We wasn't committing any crime, bringing no harm to nobody, but my friend was murdered in cold blood."

When the riots began, I found myself wondering, "Why do we have to have this riot all over again? Isn't this the same riot we had for Rodney King? For Trayvon Martin? Has nothing changed?"

I was upset and saddened by the Ferguson event, including the court decision, but I was even more sad to see the way some people reacted to it. For several days, I noticed that many of my friends were posting articles on social media about white people being killed by police officers, or articles arguing that black on white crime goes unreported by the media.

It hurts me to think that when people post these articles, what they are really saying is, "Stop whining, black people. Racism isn't real."

Racism is real, and for some reason, Utahns don't want to acknowledge that, or at least they would like to think that people of color make a bigger deal of racism than they should. The problem of ignoring racism is worldwide, but I believe that there are unique reasons for the phenomenon in my own community. Why are we trying to silence discussions about race, whether they be about institutionalized racism or individual prejudice? What are Utahns so afraid of?

I realize that people don't want to see their police officers blamed and disrespected. I can understand that. I have the utmost respect for our many honest and brave police officers, and I am not necessarily blaming the police for what happened. I think this incident is part of a bigger issue called Institutionalized Racism.

I tutor for Sociology 1010, so I have watched a lot of Utah freshmen sit through their first Sociology lecture and I have seen how they react when their worldview is challenged. I have learned that Utahns hang on fiercely to their ideas about agency, and that their understanding of agency sometimes plays into their ignorance about race in the U.S.

During the first week of Sociology 1010, students are asked to use their sociological imagination. That means, if your friend is going through a divorce, instead of just thinking about the choices made by individuals that caused their relationship to fail, you would think about the larger social issues that cause divorce and how your friend's divorce reflects current trends in society. My tutoring experiences have shown me that, as a group, Utah Mormons usually don't have much of a sociological imagination.

The last thing these freshmen want is for a professor to tell them, "8 out of the 10 reasons you are sitting in a classroom at Utah State have nothing to do with the choices you've made. The reasons you are here instead of sitting at Harvard or sitting in a jail cell are mostly centered around the social situation you were born into."

This is not a piece about the Mormon church being prejudice or incorrect.I am a Mormon, and I believe in agency.  But I disagree with the cultural idea that individual choice determines every aspect of a person's life. Utah students want so badly to believe that everything good that has happened to them is due to choices they have made, and that if something bad happens to someone else, it must be because that person made bad choices.

That's why it's so hard for us as Utahns to accept that institutionalized racism is a reality.

A black man my age has a higher chance of going to jail than attending college. If you explain that to a room of Soc 1010 freshmen who grew up in Utah, they are going to want to explain that fact using their worldview of agency. They want to believe that the reason a black man ends up in jail instead of in college is solely because of the choices he has made.

But if you are going to tell me that the aforementioned statistic has nothing to do with racism, then you are arguing instead that black men are simply more lazy and more criminal than white men.

AND THAT IS FUNDAMENTALLY RACIST.

It hurts to examine our own prejudices. We all have them, myself included. But we have to look at ourselves honestly if we want to make the world a better place.

This phrase has been making its way around social media following the Ferguson Decision:

I have noticed several people taking offense to this image, arguing that ALL lives matter. I agree wholeheartedly. All lives do matter. But in the context of current events, black lives are the ones being treated as if they DON'T matter. It would be pointless to have a profile picture that said, "Black and white lives matter" because, as a whole, white lives have never been treated as otherwise in this country. This image is a direct response to a specific tragedy, and I'm not sure why some white people feel threatened by that. Giving one group their rights does not take away rights from another group. It may take away the advantage of privilege, which is threatening to those who are used to privilege. But I don't think the police force will value white lives any less if they value black lives more. We must use the privilege we have been given to support those who are less privileged.

Using my sociological imagination, I can see that the Ferguson incident is just one example of several large-scale social issues in America: gun violence, police brutality, institutionalized racism, mass incarceration, and the relationship between race and policing. I love my country. There are things I don't love about it, and I am going to speak up about those things. 

I often hear white people say that they are tired of hearing about race and racism. Well, I'm sorry. The story of America cannot be accurately told without the story of racism. Racism is woven into every part of our lives, and we need to start acknowledging that, rather than hiding from it by telling people to stop complaining.

Using my sociological imagination, I can also see past blaming police officers themselves, and I can see past blaming people for posting thing on social media that I consider prejudiced. I know that people are in part a product of their institutions: their families, their schools, and their churches, and that people who were raised differently than I was are not necessarily wrong. But I think that when we blame society we need to realize that we ARE society. And as a society, we can be kinder, smarter, and more understanding.

Why the Temple?

I love Neil. I really do. Every morning, I wake up excited to see him and to find out what he's going to say and do - how he's going to surprise me with his kindness, how he'll make me laugh. In fact, I love Neil so much that I want him to be my family. Forever.

Mine and Neil's relationship has been based in spirituality from the start. When we decided to get married, it was because of answered prayers. We were sitting in church together, and I suddenly thought, "I'm going to marry Neil, and our life is going to be so good." I told Neil that I was just feeling really happy, and that it seemed like God was looking at us and going, "I like this. This is good." That afternoon, Neil told me that during church he'd been praying that I would know, like he did, that we were supposed to be together, and that he felt assured that I was fine and would figure it out.

We decided to get married because we love each other madly, but also because we felt that getting married was God's plan for us.

Ceremony is an important part of our faith. It is an outward expression of our inward commitment to follow God and Jesus Christ. In the temple, Neil and I will promise to dedicate our marriage and our lives to God. To consecrate our love to Him. As we put our relationship in His hands, He will promise us that through the Atonement, every imperfect part of our marriage will eventually be made perfect in Christ. If we promise to give our marriage to Him, we can live every day with the assurance of His grace to help make our marriage beautiful.

HOW AMAZING IS THAT.

By being sealed in the temple, Neil and I are also promised that we will continue to be married after this life. Better yet, we can live with absolute certainty that the children we have together will be ours for always. After this life, we will continue to be a family. We get to keep creating, serving, and playing together as husband, wife, and children, not just as long as we both shall live.

We are getting sealed in the temple because we love each other and we love God even more. We want our marriage to be His. Even though we haven't tried it yet, we know that marriage is hard, and that it would be even harder without the promise of God's grace every day.

I love Neil. I really do. In fact, I love him so much that I never want to be separated from him. I am so thankful that through the Atonement of Jesus Christ and because of the temple, we will never run out of time to be together. Our forever is about to begin!

Our Story: Hilary + Neil

I first met Neil two years ago on the night of the 80s dance. It was September at Utah State, my home for the past four years. I had five brand new roommates, and we all got dressed up and went to the dance together, along with Neil and his roommates. They lived on the floor above us, and my roommate Colette had been friends in high school with Neil. I don't remember too much about that night. I know that Neil intimidated me a little bit, because he kept talking about living abroad and he could dance and I cannot.

Over the course of that school year, we all became close friends. Neil and Cody were in our apartment almost every day, often late into the night. I remember so many nights staying up until one or two in the morning, with just me, Neil and Cody in the living room, talking about life. We all got lost in the mountains together, went down giant slip n slides together, took road trips to football games, and hit up midnight movie premieres. But we were just friends.

That same year, I decided to serve a mission. Neil was very supportive and helped me through one or two emotional breakdowns concerning the matter. In my heart, what I wanted most in life was not to go on a mission, but to fall in love and have a family. When I brought this concern to my Bishop, he promised me that if I served faithfully, my mission would bless my future husband and children, and his exact words were that I would find myself in the temple with someone I was absolutely crazy about, not just someone who was good enough. I moved forward with excitement.

I fell in love with Neil suddenly and in a single moment.We were decorating our apartment for Christmas, and Neil and Cody were helping us. Our decorations included a Christmas wish list for Santa, made of strips of green and red paper we were taping to the wall. We were all shouting out things we wanted to add to the wish list: a kayak, nail polish, colored pants, concert tickets. Then Neil said, "World peace."

I was smitten. We were soul mates. It hit me all at once and it scared me.

I went to my friend Jessica's house and told her about this crisis. Talking it out helped me see how crazy it all was - I was going on a mission and I KNEW now that that's what I wanted to do. I pushed Neil out of my mind.

Shortly afterwards, Neil came to me and said, "Colette asked me if I liked you. Weird, right?" I was hurt that he found the idea so strange, so when Colette asked ME if I liked HIM, I said something along the lines of, "Gross." It was all very mature.

In January, I got my mission call to Melbourne, Australia, and we had a going away party for Neil, who was moving to England. I remember wanting to ask him to stay. But for what? I was going to Australia in June.

When you love somebody and bite your tongue, all you get is a mouth full of blood. 

On the day he moved out, I helped Neil pack and scraped all the ice off his car. He drove me to campus. I wanted to kiss him, but instead I said, "Don't come back without a hot British wife." He looked at me confusedly, and promptly flew across the Atlantic Ocean. 

We skyped a few times while Neil was in England. He said all the English girls were ugly, which left me strangely satisfied. At his request, I came extremely close to buying a plane ticket to visit him over Spring Break, but went to Hawaii instead. 

Honestly, I didn't think about Neil at all while I was in Texas or Australia. He emailed me one time while I was in Lubbock to tell me something funny about Cody. I wrote him back and told him he'd won the Most Hilarious Email of the Day Award, but he never wrote to me again.

After serving for only seven months, my homecoming was not the happy reunion I had imagined. It was a violent, traumatic, forced removal. I was dying. So when Neil texted me and said, "What exactly happened to you?" I asked him if we could talk about it in person. He came to my homecoming talk and I hugged him for a long time because his muscles were huge.

A few days later, my sister Rachel left on her mission. She is tied with Abbie for being my very best friend in the world, and I felt empty and alone. I realized that the person I wanted to be there with me while I felt empty was Neil. I called him and said, "Rachel left and I had a meltdown and spent $150 on clothes." He suggested that we go on an adventure together the next night. 

I didn't know we were on a date until he picked me up and opened the door for me. That was new.

We drove to Antelope Island and talked and talked as we drove around the island. I told Neil what had happened to me, and he was so understanding. I felt comfortable with him. We got out of the car and walked out across the sand and into the water as the sun set. In an instant, I wanted Neil more than I had ever wanted anything. I held his hand. He didn't kiss me, so I thought he must not like me too much.

Neil told me later that after that first date, he knew we'd be together forever. I, on the other hand, was unsure of whether we were still just friends.

A couple of days later, he asked me if I wanted to come night swimming in his neighborhood. In the pool, we had this conversation:

"Neil, when I'm not with you...I want to be."

"Me too."

 - Insert epic first kiss here - 

And no one's been able to pry me away from him since. 

Neil Jordan Brown is perfect for me. He brings out my adventurous side and gets me to do things that would normally scare me. He supports my dreams to be a good teacher and advocate. He's logical and methodical, while I am all emotion all the time. He's good with money. I'm good at spending money. We both hate littering and have moments where we have to lie down because we're thinking too hard. I finally have someone to watch nerdy documentaries with, and I can talk to him about what I'm reading and thinking about. Most of all, Neil wants to be good. I see that in him every day and it makes me feel safe and honored to be his.

I am so excited for all the adventures we have ahead. Stay tuned!

What Happened to Me and How I Feel About Suicide

One of the happiest moments of my life was when I opened my mission call to the Australia Melbourne Mission. I had never felt so hopeful, excited, and loved.

The first few months of my mission were extremely happy ones. I made lasting friendships, felt I was making a difference for people, and deepened my conversion to Jesus Christ. My every intent was to serve a successful and happy 18 month mission. I loved being a missionary.

About five months into my mission, things took a dramatic turn for the worse. After being transferred and asked to open a new area, my new companion and I found ourselves in a situation which caused us to be stuck in our flat all day, every day, for weeks.

 At this point, I had no idea that I had been battling several mental illnesses my entire life. All I knew was that I was restless and anxious. I wanted to be out doing missionary work and I felt like I wasn't fulfilling my purpose. I quickly became depressed, and spent every day pacing around the house, thinking about all the things we weren't getting done. I felt that God was disappointed in me and that if I had more faith, things would've gotten better by now. Now I understand that being stuck with nothing to do but THINK was the absolute worst thing that could have happened to me. I desperately tried to figure out what I had done wrong to make my missionary work come to an abrupt halt. I replayed my entire mission up to that point in my mind over and over again, searching for flaws in myself. Then I started to do the same thing with my entire life. I analyzed my faithfulness and worthiness until I was absolutely convinced I was doomed to hell.

I remember the exact moment when this "realization" dawned on me. It was the middle of the night. My anxiety had made me unable to sleep for nights on end. When the thought came to me that I was going to hell, my body reacted violently. I started sweating and I had to get out of bed to throw up.

Then I woke up my companion and told her, "I don't think I can do this."
"Do what?"
 "Be a missionary. I need to go home."

In the morning, my companion called my mission president's wife. I could hear her in the next room: "She thinks she's going to hell." That night, my companion rushed me to the mission home. I was shaking when I went into my mission president's office. I told him, "I realized last night that I'm not worthy to be here. It was the darkest moment of my life. There's no way for me to get to heaven."

I had the kindest, wisest, most gentle mission president. Ever. He looked at me and said, "Sister Webb. You are worthy. You're an incredible missionary. I think you have depression."

No one had ever told me I had depression before. President Maxwell told me that he'd had two children go home early from missions due to mental illness, and he suggested that I talk to a doctor over the phone. I thought I'd tricked him into thinking I was a good person. I knew that I just wasn't worthy - I didn't have depression.

During the next few weeks, my mind became completely consumed with the idea that I was going to hell. When I was eating, I wondered if I'd be able to eat in hell. When it was cold, I wondered how cold it would be in hell. When I was walking outside, I wondered if I'd ever be able to see the sun in hell. I could experience faith only as personal condemnation. This made everything about being a missionary completely terrifying. Studying the scriptures and praying made me feel anxious. Church meetings made me feel anxious. Eventually, I was throwing up because of anxiety about three times a day, and I wasn't sleeping at all.

A quick lesson about OCD: obsessions cause tremendous anxiety. A compulsion is anything the person with OCD does to reduce that anxiety. Because the anxiety is momentarily reduced, the compulsion is reinforced, causing a vicious cycle.

My obsessions had become religious, so my compulsions became religious as well. I couldn't stop thinking of things I needed to confess to my mission president. I began to confess to him constantly. Each time he would assure me that I was worthy, which would reduce my anxiety for only about an hour before I would think of more sins I had committed. I repeatedly asked for priesthood blessings, seeking for reassurance of my worthiness.

I'll give just one example of how my mind was working during this phase. Because I'd been moved around a lot and my brain was no where near functioning, I'd misplaced a lot of my personal belongings. I immediately linked this to a scripture in the Book of Mormon about a wicked group of people whose riches became "slippery." I was sure that because I was such an awful sinner, my things had become slippery too. My well-meaning mission president offered to let me go to the temple. Being in the temple, I experienced more anxiety than I had ever experienced in my life. It was in the temple that I would absolutely certain that I was nothing more than a son (daughter?) of Perdition.

Soon, my mind became so consumed with anxiety that I could focus on nothing else. I was exhausted from lack of sleep and overthinking. I was paired with a new companion, Sister Anderson, who took me back to the mission home after only a few days. The two of us stayed there together for a couple of weeks. I will always think of Sister Anderson as one of my guardian angels. She understood depression and was so sympathetic. She stayed up with me at night during my panic attacks, and during the day she played with my hair, encouraged me to sing with her, and told me over and over again that I was being so Christlike, something I could not see in myself at all. It was at this point that I stopped crying and resigned myself to hopelessness. I finally decided to just stop eating, determined that I would wait to die in Australia. I found out when I got home that being unable to cry is the last phase of deep clinical depression.

During my time at the mission home, my mission president could see that I was absolutely not okay. Finally, he called me and said, "We need to get you home. We're buying you a plane ticket for tomorrow morning." I said, "Can't I wait a few days? To say goodbye to everyone and try to gather up my missing things?" He told me that he felt I should get home right away. I was allowed to talk to my parents on the phone that night. My dad was crying (one of the only times I've ever heard him cry) when he said, "It's okay. You can come home." I didn't tell them that I wasn't sure I'd be able to make it home.

The wife of  the mission psychologist had to come on the plane with me to keep me  from ending my life. I threw up the entire way home, a 22 hour flight.

When my family saw me in the airport, their faces fell. I'd lost weight from all the throwing up, and I hadn't slept more than two hours in one night for months. I looked like death itself. When I saw my family, I was finally able to cry. Then I slept for days. I woke up disoriented and unable to focus. My brain was so crowded by fear that I had forgotten a lot of important things about my life. I could hear myself repeating over and over again that my sister Abbie was in Ohio because I didn't want to forget that too. I couldn't focus enough to finish my sentences. I called my closest friends and scared them to death by frantically trying to explain to them in scattered fragments what had happened to me.

My terrified parents took me to a therapy clinic where happened to be working the only doctor who understood exactly what had happened to me. He had just started working there two weeks before I came home. I didn't know then that he would save my life.

I told him that I knew I was going to hell, that there was nothing I or anyone else could do about it, that everything that was happening to me, from my inability to remember things, to my lack of sleep, was a direct result of my sins.

He said, "You have a disease called Scrupulosity. It's a religious form of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. That tells me two things about you that are unquestionable: You have an extremely high IQ. And you are an incredibly good person. Also, there is absolutely no other thing that could've happened to you on your mission that would have made it harder than this. I am so sorry."

At the time, this made no sense to me. I thought I had tricked him too. No one was listening to me! I was SURE I was as good as damned, and no one would believe me.

The next few months were confusing, to say the least. My parents kept saying to me, "It's time to move on." And I kept telling them, "Move on to what? There is NOTHING for me." My life felt completely empty and meaningless. I knew that I had no future.

Most people were kind to me, but some asked hurtful questions, like, "So did they figure out what's wrong with you?" The most painful thing for me was when I'd open up to someone and say, "I'm home because I'm working through some anxiety disorders," and they'd say, "Oh. I'm SO glad it's just that!" Excuse me? I would've rather lost a limb!

Sometimes I felt like I was always awake, and sometimes I felt like I was always asleep. I cried every single day. I woke up to hopelessness and despair every morning, and fell into a restless sleep to it at night. I felt physically sick and exhausted constantly. Every second of every day, I had these mantras running through my mind: "It doesn't matter, I'll be dead." and "I don't have to worry about that, I won't be here." I learned that a lot of people with scrupulosity had succumbed to suicide because of the pain, and I started planning for my death.

I filled the walls of my room with post-it notes with the names of people I loved on them. I was going to write a letter to all 65 of them before I died, so that they knew I loved them. I decided who to leave my money and important possessions to. I finally felt calm - I knew this would be better for everyone.

If you have lost a loved one to suicide, I have to tell you something.

Your loved one did not want to leave you. They love you deeply and would never want to hurt you. They did not want to die. They were trying to end their pain, not their lives. Most people who contemplate or resort to suicide are incredibly sensitive, tender-hearted people who would never mean to hurt anyone. Sometimes a suicidal person convinces themselves that it's better for their loved ones if they die. Mental illness completely distorts your thinking and judgment.

 I kept putting off my suicide because of my care for other people. I kept thinking, "If I do it now, it will ruin Lauren's birthday," or, "If I do it now, Rachel will think I didn't care about hearing her mission call." Obviously, a healthy person could see that there was never going to be a convenient time for me to end my life. But when you are that sick, your thinking is warped. There were several times where I was in my bedroom, holding something with which I was going to end my life, and I stopped myself because of my sister Abbie, who is still serving a mission. I so badly wanted to see her, and I willed myself to wait just a little longer, until she came home.

My doctor told me to stop reading the scriptures and attending the temple because of the anxiety it was causing me. I was confused, because everything that was supposed to help people through trials was making it worse for me. I couldn't pray, because I felt God was angry with me. I wanted so badly to pray for my sisters, especially Abbie, but I felt that God would say to me, "You want me to help Abbie? When you're about to do something that will scar her forever? Yeah, right!" I didn't pray at all for a couple of months. I had no idea where to turn for relief or peace.

Finally, in March of this year, I attempted suicide. When I failed, I felt even more angry and worthless. I was ashamed that I had even failed in that, that I couldn't even do THAT right. But it was also a turning point for me. I saw a glimpse of what my parents would have felt if I had succeeded, and I couldn't bear it. I resolved to do everything I could to get well.

My doctor eventually diagnosed me with scrupulosity, OCD, severe anxiety, and ADHD. He told me I'd have to be patient while we figured out which medicines worked best for me, but he also told me that I'd always have difficulty being patient with ANYTHING because I had ADHD.

I fought hard to get well. It was painful and exhausting, but once I was medicated, things finally started to go right for me. I was given volunteer and service opportunities, I was offered several jobs, I figured out how I could still graduate with my teaching degree and with my service learning scholars certification, and I fell head over heels in love.

I cannot talk about my battle with mental illness without talking about my Savior Jesus Christ. When I was at my lowest point, I imagined what God would say to me if we could sit down and talk. I thought He'd say, "What is wrong with you? Don't you want the life I gave you? Why are you being so selfish and fearful?" But now I think what He was trying to say to me is this: "My heart is breaking with yours. I am so sorry it feels like there is no way out of this. But there is another way. Please, let me show you." Jesus Christ is the great physician and healer. There is no one beyond His reach. He understands mental illness. He understands hopelessness. He understands suicide attempts.

If you know someone who is coming home early from a mission:

This missionary has been through a traumatic experience, whether they are coming home due to rule infractions, physical illness, or mental illness. Above all, be kind and nonjudgmental. If going to church causes this missionary anxiety and discomfort, don't push them to go. But keep inviting them to have experiences where they will feel the spirit. Help them feel safe. They are worried about what friends and family will think of them and they feel confused about their future. Be their reassuring, safe place. Do NOT ask, "So what's wrong with you?" and don't ask them when they are going back on their mission. Let them choose when to talk about their health and their mission and they will.

If you know someone who has lost a loved one to suicide:

Again, be kind. Let the person know that you understand that their loved one died of an illness. Because that's what depression is: a physical disease. There should be no more shame in losing a family member to suicide than there is in losing a family member to cancer. Say the same things you would say to someone who lost a family member in any other way. Help them remember the best times with their loved one, and assure them that those good times are not over. The person may feel guilt and wonder if there was anything they could've done to help the suicide victim. Let them know that they are not to blame, that their family member was taken from them by an illness that we're all still trying to understand. Never refer to someone's suicide as selfish, cowardly or sinful. A healthy person is completely unable to commit suicide. When I came home, I was told that my frontal lobe was flooded. That meant that I was unable to make clear judgments and wise choices. In my opinion, suicide cannot be a sin because suicide cannot be committed by someone who is thinking clearly and rationally. Just don't judge. Period.

If you know someone battling depression:

I cannot say it enough. Be kind. Never act as if any symptoms of depression are a person's choice. Don't tell a depressed person to just get out of bed or snap out of it. Invite your loved one to do things with you outside, especially physical activity. Encourage your loved one to seek help and offer to go with them their first time. Let them know that there should be no stigma attached to seeking psychological help. Compare their illness to any other physical illness that they would be expected to see a doctor for. Be patient. Even after the person gets help, they will relapse. Don't give up on them.

Life is worth it. I'm so glad I was given a second chance to live mine.