And suddenly the words “I’m so proud of you” held meaning again. Which is crazy because when those words were spoken to the version of me from three years ago, they went right through me. And they continued to go through me during my stages of recovering and healing. No ounce of the word held meaning. For three years. And the problem didn’t lay with those who said the words to me. No, the problem was right here. With me. And the real problem was that I wasn’t proud of myself.
        Three years ago, I was every version of myself that I never ever wanted to be. A version I never even thought was possible of becoming my reality. Suddenly darkness became something I was well acquainted with. It was simply a part of my every day life. It was as if I was followed by it. Every hour of every day. All the simple joys became something I couldn’t get myself to remember. And this hurt me more than I could ever express. It was also hard for me to accept as there was nothing in my life that I should have lost any amount of gratitude over. To the outside perspective, I had/have it all. A beautiful life, with so much love and support from my family and boyfriend. Yet, I couldn’t help but feel so alone. My anxiety and depression lead me to self-isolate. I let it control me rather than me control myself.

        I was always someone that felt such immense gratitude for everything that life offers. Until this unexpected shift. It truly felt life my world had turned upside down. And the thing is, there was nothing that caused the “shift”. I believe that is one of the misconceptions of mental health. Mental health carries such a negative connotation along with stigma. I knew what mental health was. I knew what anxiety, depression, and OCD was. God, I’ve dedicated my whole life to studying these mental health struggles because even before my own experience with mental health, I knew I was put on this earth to support and help others through my career in social work. But at this time, these struggles surely couldn’t have been what I was going through. There was just no way. I refused to accept it. I did everything I could to avoid accepting it. That was until I couldn’t bear to avoid it any longer.

        They say the first part of any healing or recovering is acceptance. And speaking from personal experience I wholeheartedly agree because I know what it feels like to avoid and ignore it until it winds up consuming you. Until you have no choice but to accept it. I’d rather be the one to share my experience in hopes that someone out there relates and can get support or help they need before they let their struggles consume them. Before they let what happened to me, happen to them. Which was letting it consume me until I felt like I was drowning and doing just about everything to keep my head above water. For a little over two years, my mental struggles was all that I was. It stripped me of everything I ever was.

        I feel like it is not spoken about enough, but it is so hard to grieve past versions of yourself. And what I mean by that is we develop so many versions of ourselves, through different stages of life, as well as from life events, whether tragic or monumental. As for me, the new version of myself happened without my control. I turned into a different person and was having a hard time navigating this new version of myself. It was during this time that I was mourning who I once was. I still remember my therapist saying to me, “You’re not that version of yourself anymore, you are at a completely different stage in your life”. These words are not some form of magic that ultimately fixed me. But it rewired my thinking into understanding. Because it was during this time that I was so adamant about being that version of myself. The one who was happy all the time. Who was always doing something with her friends and being social. Who didn’t have an ounce of anxiety. Who didn’t experience panic attacks at least three times a day. Whose everyday tasks, even the most mundane ones, weren’t impossible.

        My mental health reached really dark and downright scary times. I sought out therapy which was one of the best decisions I have ever made. I knew I needed professional help. This was a tough pill to swallow. Because I wanted to be independent and self-sufficient enough to fight through this on my own. I wanted to be that so badly. But then I realized the true bravery of acknowledgement. There is so much courage that lies in the ability to recognize your struggles, to be vulnerable enough to ask for help.

        Therapy and the support from my therapist helped me in inexplicable ways. Another aspect of mental health that I feel isn’t talked about enough, is that when we undergo these intense amounts of anxiety, depression, and panic, our body is physically affected as well. I am in no way a scientist, but I do know that my brain was wired to fit the thought patterns and unhealthy habits I formed to cope with my struggles. My struggles became my new “normal”. And I remember feeling so stuck. I always described it as such. It felt as if all of my lights turned off and I was using a flashlight to guide me through the maze that was my struggles. I continued searching through this maze. Days. Weeks. Months. Years. There were days when I felt as if there really was never a way out. This maze was never ending and I will be here forever. Two and a half years later, I was creating my own way out of the maze. I accepted that there was no easy way out. I had to try and try and try. Eventually I realized it was up to me to create my own path out. Recovery and healing is all about consistency. Having the strength to know that YOU CAN GET THROUGH THIS.

        Now, obviously there was no maze. The maze is a metaphor for my life, and for what it feels like to deal with mental health struggles. I built my own way out of the maze with coping skills and through new behaviors and thought patterns. The biggest challenge in my mental health struggles was that I lost control. Part of my real struggles dealt with my OCD. So, the loss of control caused a spiral. Think about how I mentioned brain wiring. And think of the mechanisms that involve wiring, if a wire overheats, the whole circuit will burnout. I reached a mental burnout. All of my internal struggles became an external problem.

        Overtime, I took my control back. It took an enormous effort. Physically, mentally, and emotionally. I worked on myself day and night. I fell in love with running. I found escape whenever I would put my headphones on and run. Suddenly my brain was quiet. It was as if for that short amount of time that I was running, I was “me” again. The me I knew before all of the anxious struggles or obsessive thoughts I had become accustomed to on an everyday basis.

        Running has helped me so much. Those thoughts that consumed my brain aren’t so loud anymore. Of course I have my bad days. We all do. We are human.
        So I signed up for a half marathon. I chose to make a goal for myself. One that seemed completely farfetched, at the time. But in the back of my mind and in my heart, I knew I could do it. It was something that excited me. I mean something that truly excited me. Something that I wanted to do FOR ME. I trained for 14 weeks. That’s 98 days. 98 days where I stayed on a structured training plan, where I dedicated my physical and mental strength to one self-attainable goal. I learned about my discipline and strength more than I ever knew I was capable of. I gained healthy weight back that was lost on me from my struggles. I started feeling healthy both physically and mentally again.
        The day of the race came. I woke up so nervous but so excited. I was so ready for this race. I trained and worked so hard for this. This is an experience that I was in complete control of. All of the weeks I spent dedicated to this race was right at the bottom of my feet, and it started as soon as I crossed the start of that line. I felt all types of emotions during the race. Exhilarated. Strong. Motivated. Emotional. Optimistic. But nothing could have prepared me for the emotions I felt when I crossed that finish line. Where right before I crossed it, I saw my family members and my boyfriend, signs and flowers in hand. Each one of them cheering me on, smiles stretched. 

It wasn’t until this point that the words “I am so proud of you” held meaning again.