I finally graduated and it’s such a bittersweet feeling.
The past few years have been some of the worst years of my life because I’ve been learning how to heal from trauma – be it done unto me by ill circumstances or simply self-inflicted.
I’ve had to charge headfirst through these years, casting aside my own wellbeing due to the the weight of responsibility that was instilled upon me through certain tragedies that took place. I was a 19-year-old who had a family to support, and I will forever grieve over the person that I was before I was catapulted into the world of responsibility, where my performance became directly correlated to my family’s wellbeing. At 19, I forever lost the luxury of failure and I guess that’s where my 3-year long relationship with anxiety began.
The last thing my dad ever said to me was, “Study hard, and work hard,” and I took him seriously. That year, I went to the library every day and was in school from 8am to 11pm. I got involved in 3 extracurricular activities. I worked part time. I did the best that I could, and I got recruited that year.
At that point in my life, I was so fixated on my career that I truly lost myself. Someone said to me, “I really hope you are having fun and not just setting yourself up for a job.” I felt only bitterness in response because I could only feel the anxiety running through my veins.
Fast-forward to 3rd year when I went on exchange: I had to unlearn anxiety and self-hate, and then learn to have fun. A strange concept for a 21-year-old, I know. I had to learn to take some risks and go on unplanned adventures. Exchange will always be my eternal summer, where for the first time in years, I felt protected from my responsibilities by a Pacific Ocean and a 12-hour time difference.
Moving forward to last October, I overheard my professor ask my peer, “Who are you outside of school and work?” It resonated deeply with me and this was when my quarter-life crisis began. I guess it wasn’t until my career was becoming clearer that my personal storm manifested – for the pathetic reason that I finally had the time to process my own emotions.
Over these 3 years, I’d repressed my emotions so much for the sake of performing well that when I opened the Pandora’s Box, I was nearly floored. I was overwhelmed by the simple concept of feeling that it launched me into a full-blown nervous breakdown one drunken night.
“I tried to be everything for you and I’m sorry I’m not enough,” was what my poor intoxicated self kept crying to my mother. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I continued for hours.
At that point, I was battling the feeling of incompetence that was coupled with insecurity about my career path. It didn’t help that my self-worth dwindled to nothing as I started to question the validity of my identity. That was when I knew I severely needed to focus on myself and to care for mental wellbeing. While my grades took a hit, I think I’ve learned to be a lot more well-rounded in more ways than simply being an “excellent candidate for recruitment.” I was seeing my friends a lot more often, smiling a lot more, spending more time with my family, and focusing on art.
It wasn’t until then that I learned the most important lesson in my life: while flowers may bloom in adversity, they still require care to ensure the longevity of such bloom.
