By Adwoa Ampofo
I just want to be better. Not perfect, not extraordinary, just better. Fixed. Happy. Complete. Safe. At peace. But as a college student without the financial means for consistent therapy or
treatment, that simple wish often feels impossible.
Some days, I feel like I’m holding myself together with invisible tape, patching cracks that only widen the longer I ignore them. Classes, assignments, responsibilities, they all pile on while my
own thoughts feel heavier than I can manage. Towson University offers resources through the Counseling Center, the Health Center, Active Minds, and Bettering Black Minds (BBM). They help, but sometimes, help feels like a waiting room with no end in sight.
Therapy is expensive. Medication is expensive. Insurance is confusing. And even if I could pay, Baltimore doesn’t exactly have crisis centers or mental health hospitals that are easy for
students to access quickly. I want to heal, but the system feels like it’s working against me.
The impact isn’t just in my head. It leaks into my friendships and family relationships. I want to show up fully, but some days I’m too exhausted just holding myself together. Conversations feel
heavy, and I feel distant, frustrated, and invisible. Social media and campus life make it look like everyone else has it figured out, while I’m trying not to crumble.
Over the past year, I’ve turned deeper into my faith. Prayer, scripture, and church communities have given me a framework to make sense of my life, moments of peace when everything else
feels overwhelming, and a sense of belonging I desperately needed. Faith became my lifeline.
But faith isn’t medicine. It heals, yes, but sometimes it numbs, sometimes it distances me from the very emotions I need to process. Some days, I still can’t stop crying. Some days, I can’t
remember why I feel so sad, or who I am, or even what’s happening to me. Those are the days I realize more than ever that I still need my medication, professional care, and consistent support. Faith comforts, but it doesn’t replace the tools I need to navigate my own mind.
Despite these challenges, I’ve found small pockets of support on campus. The Counseling Center listens. Active Minds and BBM offer safe spaces to share experiences. They remind me
that mental health is a journey, not a checklist for perfection.
Even so, I wish for more. Affordable, accessible, consistent care. Spaces where I feel fully seen. Options that don’t force me to ration my mental health like I ration my budget, deciding which
struggles I can address and which I have to endure alone.
Healing doesn’t mean being “put together.” Some days I will feel raw, anxious, or broken, and that’s okay. Some days, I will feel relief after a counseling session. Some days, I will sit in me
dorm room, wishing I could pay someone to fix the mess inside my head. All of these moments are part of the process.
I write this for myself and for other students silently struggling. You are not alone. Campus resources exist, and while they can’t solve everything, they offer moments of clarity, safety, and
community. It’s okay to ask for help. It’s okay to feel frustrated when help isn’t easy to get. And it’s okay to be imperfect while trying to heal.
Mental health is messy, nonlinear, and hard especially when support feels financially or logistically out of reach. I am learning to navigate it one step at a time: leaning on faith, leaning on campus resources, and reminding myself that wanting to be okay is not a weakness, it’s a human necessity.
I want to be better. I want to be complete. And even when life feels impossible, I am learning that taking tiny steps toward that goal is still progress, even if it doesn’t look like I imagined.