As I look back on the last month of my junior year of college, I see a girl surrounded by her Her Campus girls, her friends watching her cry over late-night Coldstone, her best friend rushing to her side.
A boy tore me down in ways I have never been torn down before. His words still linger in my brain: that I was not enough to be loved. That I was too weak. Too emotional. That I was the problem. He took every insecurity I ever confessed to him and used them all against me.
But my girls, they never make me feel weak or too much. They make me feel proud that I am who I am: the girl who snort-laughs, the one who cares so deeply about the people in her life, the one who gets loud when she is passionate.
That first month post-breakup was one of the few times in my life I could never have felt more love. These girls are my ride-or-dies, and they proved it to me. Every one of these girls did their diligence to let me cry over dinner and dance the night away at parties. They gave me a space to rant, to have fun, to be myself, to feel so loved.
Now, I sit by myself in West Palm Beach doing my big girl internship, and the contrast is loud. I went from the beautiful, supportive chaos to the quiet reality of an apartment where I am left alone with my thoughts. I am here stressed out by so much else, navigating the heavy weight of missing my grandma constantly, experiencing moral dilemmas about what I actually want to do in the field of journalism, and figuring out how to find real joy in my own company.
Yet, as I reminisce, that boy is far from my mind. And I think it is because that painful, chaotic month was secretly one of the best months of my life.
I had never felt so sad and so alive at the same time. To a sun chase with my favorite girls, Kayden and Kendal. To so many parties #GoatHouse. To the girls, letting me flirt with questionable guys, but knowing I just needed to believe I could be wanted again. To the iconic psychic, Ms. Dee. The Chinese food with Sabrina. Bagels with Lexi. Wine night with Bri and Abe. Sleepovers with Kayden. Game night with Hailey. Face masks with Carlee. Phone calls with Eliana. Check-ups with Bri. S. Medieval times with Dayna and Caley. Coffee chats with Kyra. Sitting outside of Shake Shack for hours with Ella and Milo. Pottery painting with Liz. Dragging Jeremiah to see The Notebook musical while I sobbed next to him. To my little cousins, who went from being forced to hang out with him to shit-talking him right along with me now. To the kids I nanny, screaming with excitement when I come to support them and crying as we say goodbye. And everything in between. Thank you for proving to me that I am not hard to love.
I look back and can’t help but be so grateful for that heartbreak. To be shown that my love isn’t something that deserves to be torn apart.
So, to the boy who tried to convince me I was ‘too much’: thank you. Because of you, I learned exactly how ‘enough’ I actually am. I trusted the people I love to understand my pain, because that is what I do for my people. But you saw it as weight, and it ended up just causing me more hurt.
Trying to hide my emotions has never gotten me anywhere. I am loud. I love to tell people how I feel. I make mistakes, a lot. But I would rather be honest and get it off my chest than sit in the anxiety of not letting my voice be heard. So I am going to feel all my emotions. The sadness, the anger, the joy. I may express it in shitty drunken phone calls or crying over the little things. But that’s me. That is how I feel. And I am tired of others making me feel guilty for that.
Honestly? I feel bad for anyone who doesn’t care deeply, because loving my people gives me more joy and light than I know what to do with.
To my people (you know who you are 😉), I love you endlessly. Thank you for not turning your back on me. Thank you for lifting me when I am down.
