Monday. I hate Mondays. It was a day during my sophomore year in high school when I received a text message from one of my closest friends that I have known since middle school. Her church, a small place hidden behind a larger, commercial one, would be feeding the homeless tonight, and she insisted I come. As rude as it sounds, my first initial response was a no. I said no because I was struggling with social anxiety at the time which prevented me from doing a myriad of tasks such as making eye contact and small talk with a stranger. Plus, it was a Monday. Mondays are my salty days. Somehow, my friend convinced me. When we arrived at the church I saw three setups: a station where they were handing out clothing and apparel, a soup kitchen, and a place where all sorts of instruments from guitars to a drum set were displayed, ready to tune in a Christian melody. Being in a social setting made me restless. My breathing lost its pattern, and the feeling was onerous. My body was shaking, and my teeth were chattering like pots and pans. My friend and I headed to the clothing station and started taking out clothes from donated boxes, ordering them from smallest size to largest, and putting them in separate categories. Church members were encouraged to donate clothes so by the end of the day the amount of clothes donated outnumbered all the clothing in the shelves of the Mall of America which kept us busy. Two hours passed and it was pretty late for a school night, so we went to look for my friend’s parents to leave. When we found them they were having a fathomless conversation with a young guy that looked like he was in his late 20’s. He wore achromatic gloomy clothes that were torn here and there,but despite these circumstances he passionately mumbled to my friend’s parents how grateful he was and how his journey to find the Lord saved him. He shared a story that I accidentally overheard, one that I believe was meant to to be said that night. The young man expressed a time when anxiety had taken control of his life, and how it drove him to a point where he lost everything. He said, “ that is one thing I wish I could change back then. But I am glad to say things are getting better”. As we were about to leave he stopped my friend and I for a moment and with a patient voice said “ God bless you for helping out tonight, most kids your age don’t do this kind of thing” unable to maintain proper eye contact in attempt to avoid awkwardness we both replied with a simple, “ We like to help” then departed with a smile. This was a memorable event that I will never forget. It helped me realize that I could change my life. All my life, I have felt like a rock,  motionless and lifeless due to my anxiety.  Now I understand that instead of accepting that role, I could have a purpose by helping others. I never hated another Monday after that.