Even if you aren’t acutely aware of it, every single choice you make has a profound ripple effect.
Simply put: actions have consequences.
Five years ago when I enrolled in university at the ripe old age of 20 I started out as a Psychology major.
I actually got a tattoo of the Greek letter “psi” on my finger to honor it.
Psychology has always been deeply fascinating to me. It’s a social science for sure, but the spectrum is wide enough that you’ll learn all about the brain and behavior. Learning and Cognition, Psychopathology, Biopsychology, Counseling Skills, Psychological Research Methods…the list goes on and on.
Unfortunately for me, I turned 21 in April and had just moved out of my parent’s house for the first time. Substance abuse is a silent killer and alcohol just so happens to be at the top of the list.
By the way, addiction is a disease, not a choice. If you’re genetically predisposed already and make the choice to do something you probably shouldn’t…
You should be able to connect the dots on your own but in case it wasn’t obvious enough already: I was on academic probation after just one semester.
Here at IUP, we have a “three strikes and you’re out” policy: you get two semesters of academic probation to get your shit together before you are dismissed from the university for an entire calendar year.
My academic track record is a bit of a nightmare. Or at least, it was. On paper, it says I was academically dismissed.
I vividly remember sitting in the office of the dean of the College of Natural Sciences and Mathematics hysterically sobbing about it.
It was either empathy or sympathy and to be perfectly honest, I’m still not sure which. But he told me he would override the system and give me ONE last chance: the winter semester of 2017.
One class. One goal: get an A.
Not to humble brag or anything, but I managed to pull my GPA up from the literal depths of hell to be graduating with honors in August.
I’ve also taken enough classes between the Psychology and Sociology department to qualify for a dual bachelorette (difference of 120 vs 150 credits but a dual bachelorette will land me a degree in each hand).
I also have a minor in Child and Adult Advocacy Studies (CAAST).
For your reference: you need to have taken 12 credits in classes such as Violence Across the Lifespan, Child and Adolescent Psychopathology, Child Abuse, and Social Perspectives on Intimate Partner Violence.
As it stands, the only thing getting in my way is the 12 credit internship that I’ll be taking over the summer. 40 hours a week. It’s a full-time job and I don’t think I’ll be making very much over minimum wage.
It’s a learning experience that I’ve been craving for almost an entire year. I’m just not so sure that’s the direction I want to take my life. At least, not right now.
I’ve always felt too much of something or other. Too proud, too loud, too much, too fast.
I have tried so very hard to approach and overcome every single obstacle in my life with levity and grace.
Perhaps a little too hard.
Quite simply: I can’t do it all on my own.
But no one really can.
Life is a balancing act anyway.
But it doesn’t have to be a performative one.
Right now, it feels like I’m tiptoeing across a tightrope. I seem to be caught in between two good things, and I’ve spent a lot longer than I probably should have overanalyzing and overthinking.
I’m trying to rid myself of my anxious tendencies, but that’s not always so easily controlled. Something I still need to work on, I suppose.
When you find yourself surrounded by so many prying eyes, you can’t help but feel judged.
Even unintentionally so.
These past few years, I’ve spent a long amount of time picking and choosing what parts of myself to share and with whom. My emotions are my own.
I’m certainly resilient enough, and your early twenties should be a time of learning.
College most certainly is not for everyone. There always seems to be such (unintended of course) societal pressure to work yourself to the bone. We learn (and continue to learn) these things through the process of socialization.
It starts when we are small.
It’s a lifelong learning process, and you’ve already committed yourself.
You learn something from just about every single interaction and connection you have ever made, even subconsciously.
All behavior is learned and enforced in one way or another. Behavior is initially taught and reinforced according to unspoken rules and roles (societal standards, of course).
From the moment you are born to the day you die, you are who you choose to be.
However, it’s easy (a little too easy perhaps) to go through the motions instead of allowing yourself to exist as you truly are.
We spent two years now hiding away, hiding our smiles beneath masks and smiling eyes that don’t quite seem to reflect the person we are, or rather the person we wish to be.
But first, you must break. Your bones may seem so soft and weak, too brittle and broken but the cracks are already there.
At first, it may seem like they always will be.
It hurts. It always does. Probably more than it should.
You may scream.
You may cry.
You may feel nothing at all, distant and cold as the bones reset themselves.
But that’s okay.
All those jagged edges, all the splinters, and the stitches slowly come together as you heal.
But first, you must break.
Then you must deconstruct and reflect upon yourself and your character.
Who are you?
Who do you want to be?
Do you like the person you seem to be becoming?
All things considered, I seem to have done a decent job bearing that burden long enough on my own. Still, it sits heavy on your shoulders until your spine starts to curve.
The weight becomes too heavy to handle, but there’s a solace in introspection.
I am immensely proud of myself for putting so much time, effort, and energy into my academic career. I’ve had so much support that I wasn’t even acutely aware of: family, friends, even professors and am so very grateful for that.
Humbled even.
The entire Sociology Department at IUP truly has some of the best professors at the entire university (but that’s just my opinion).
I’m actually considered to be one of the department’s best students if you can believe it. My GPA is 3.90 and I won a scholarship, but I didn’t realize I was so highly regarded among the department until I was flat out told.
Each and every single one of those professors deserve to be thanked but I’ll try to name a few:
Dr. Hysock and Dr. Swauger: the chair of the department and the internship coordinator (respectively). They’ve taught some of my absolute favorite classes (Drugs and Alcohol Abuse, Juvenile Delinquency, Clinical Sociological Practice, and Social Perspectives on Partner Violence just to name a few) and provided the absolute best learning experience possible. Both of them are incredibly hardworking mothers as well. The second shift is a bitch but they know what they’re doing. Dr. Swauger has brought her daughter to class before and she’s an absolute delight.
Dr. Molina: first-generation college student (dyslexic and Native American) gave me (all his students really) some of the best advice in my entire life.
Dr. Duncan: she’s a lot closer in age to the graduate students (probably early 30’s) and taught my absolute favorite class. Her enthusiasm and knowledge on the subject is truly inspirational, and I went through my very last manic episode while I was writing the final paper for the class in the fall of 2019.
I have met so many incredible people and made so many genuine connections that will most certainly last a lifetime in my time here at IUP.
The college experience is a journey in and of itself. I spent a lot of time and energy involving myself in organizations to guide me towards the “right” people: Alexis, Logan, Charlie, Madi, Steph…but Maria most of all.
I’ve had the absolute pleasure of meeting some wonderful people off-campus as well.
At this point, they should know who they are so I don’t think it’s necessary to name any names.
At the end of the day, I have surrounded myself with people who “see” me as the person I am: kind and considerate enough of others to never say or do anything to hurt a single soul (at least not with malicious intent).
I’m not perfect. No one really is. I have enough self-awareness to admit and accept my flaws at face value instead of drawing on social comparisons.
We’ll all be the villain in someone else’s story someday. Perhaps sooner than later. I can play the part of the villain if you so desire. You cannot expect to project your insecurities onto others and avoid taking accountability for yourself and your actions forever.
Empathy is a learned behavior, but it doesn’t matter how kind and good you think you are as long as you continue to surround yourself with people who drain your energy.
Quite frankly: be the energy you wish to attract.
I’ve found my people, but I don’t think I’ll ever be able to thank them enough for believing in me in the first place.
Especially at times when I didn’t really believe in myself.
Considering I spent roughly ten years of my life living with bipolar disorder that was VERY mismanaged, the lows were…very low.
I’ll try to paint you a mental picture.
Imagine the color red. Now imagine the color blue.
See the difference?
I’ve spent a long enough time bouncing between the two to know what it feels like, but it’s hard to accurately depict something so abstract.
Mania is the worst of it.
You want to wake up and watch the California sunrise? You jump in your car, start the ignition and you go charging ahead.
You can’t sleep when you’re manic either.
Sooner or later, you’ll come crashing back down to earth and you’ll be burning through the atmosphere on the way down.
You may know the difference between right and wrong, but it’s not like you have any impulse control. You can’t help it much either.
One way or another, you’re tempting fate.
The mind is a terrible thing to waste.
Bipolar disorder is VERY commonly misdiagnosed in young adolescent girls. It’s a “man’s world” and the very second you are born into this world the odds are stacked against you (that’s actually my entire master’s thesis BUT I haven’t gotten there yet so it’s not quite written).
My family (naturally) have been my strongest supporters, as it should be.
Love is unconditional, but the blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb. It’s certainly multifaceted enough, but love alone is not enough to save your aching heart.
You might have learned to tread lightly, but you cannot keep your head above the water forever.
We accept the love we think we deserve.
My grandparents in particular have shown such love and kindness (especially financially). Truly, I’m immensely grateful to have been alive long enough to have a childhood filled with such fond memories with them both.
I know that love is unconditional, but it does hurt to know that my grandmother will never see me graduate.
She and I became especially close. Even as my academic workload increased, we put forth enough time, energy, and effort to enjoy each other’s presence up until the day she died.
Knowing she didn’t live to see the day I would reach such a significant milestone in my life is painful but I know she’s proud of me.
I had hoped she would at least live long enough to be physically present at the graduation ceremony but that can’t really be helped.
I’ve never actually participated in a graduation ceremony before either.
I dropped out of high school. The GED test is divided into four parts: Math, Science, Social Studies, and Language Arts.
Four tests. It took me two years to get through them all and I finished the Math portion of the test in January. It was probably a week before the start of the spring semester but IUP has rolling admission and a 93% acceptance rate.
I didn’t exactly have a lot of options in that regard. I didn’t have the means or methods of moving away from my hometown, no matter how desperately I craved it.
Now I can taste it on my tongue, and I’m stuck here in between of the shadows of my yesterday. These ghosts always seem to creep beyond my field of vision, darting in and out of the silent spaces behind my eyes.
I would much rather avoid them, but even I can’t run forever.
Believe me, I’ve tried. My legs are shaking now. My soul has grown weary and tired, and I don’t think I can fight off these strange spirits on my own.
My knuckles are bloody and bruised, but not irrevocably so.
I wouldn’t call myself much of a fighter. I’m as quiet as they come.
Such heavy-handedness seems so strange to me. But these things, they are strange and they are terrifying.
I can’t keep up the facade. We all try (some harder than others) to tuck ourselves away beneath the sheets to sleep soundly.
It’s so much easier to drift off and dream.
All things considered, I started out wanting to be a therapist.
The college experience is a learning experience in and of itself, so seeing this particular chapter come to a close is bittersweet, to say the least.
As much as you may try, you are not the savior of the broken and the damned.
There’s a reason why helping positions (such as social work) have such a high burnout rate.
The therapeutic relationship goes both ways, but the client must be ready and willing to start the healing process first. Those first steps forward are clumsy anyway.
Therapy definitely works. Advice from your friendly (unlicensed of course but not for much longer) neighborhood therapist.
You do the best you can with the skills and knowledge that you have.
My lifelong dream has been a doctoral degree (either Counseling or Clinical Psychology, but the logistics of that are a little shakey).
COVID made me seriously reconsider my career in academia. At least, it did at first. Still not quite sure of logistics, but I have enough faith and trust in myself and my abilities to weather that particular storm.
For now, it sits calmly on the horizon.
And for some strange reason, I’m not afraid anymore.
I’ve always been afraid. Although it may appear to be unyielding, it is shrouded in the same shadows. There is no cataclysmic collision course.
I wholeheartedly believe in that.
Call it fate. Call it luck. Timing. Destiny perhaps.
The seeds have been planted so long ago. I simply cannot continue to dig them up with my bare hands. There is dirt beneath my fingernails, but I am ready to wash them clean.
I certainly possess the skills and knowledge, and I have an incredible support system.
I’ll be 26 in April. I have lots and lots of time to figure it out. I don’t want to put too much stress and pressure on myself before I’ve taken the first step off the ground.
Either way, I’ll keep moving forward. The past is in the past, and there’s really no sense in conjuring up old ghosts.
I’ll write an autobiographical novel someday. Someday, but not quite yet.
You’ll just have to wait to see my name up on the shelf.
I’m not trying to say it’s easy (it most certainly is not). I’m not trying to tell you that it gets better but it definitely gets easier as time goes on.
Trust the process, but trust yourself first and foremost.
The very second you learn to provide yourself with the validation, attention, and support you think you deserve (and you do, you really and truly do) you’ll start to attract the same sort of energy into your life.
You might not believe it at first, but you really do deserve to be loved.
Learning self-love is the hardest most of all, but an easy “life hack” is to talk to yourself as you would a loved one. Mother, father, sister, brother, friends…anyone at all.
Stop and think about all of those intrusive thoughts that keep running through your head. They may keep you up at night. Or maybe not.
Seriously.
Stop.
Think.
Take a second or two to catch your breath.
Imagine standing in front of someone you love.
Imagine saying the same things you keep telling yourself directly to their face.
Now imagine their reaction. How do you think your mother might feel if you look her in the eye and tell her that you hate her more than anyone in this world. What about your brother? How about your best friend?
Healthy relationships are forged, not forced. Make a mental note of that.
Life itself is a profound gift and the fact that I was born into this world is proof enough of that. No one is born to die.
I myself was born to run.
More often than not I find myself overwhelmed with emotion and gratitude more than I ever anticipated.
But that’s okay. Crying is cathartic anyway.
I’m just happy to be here breathing in the first place.
Life is the most precious gift and I count myself lucky to be alive.
Despite everything, I’m proud of myself and the choices I’ve made to get me from Point A to Point B.
Are you?