M.T.

When I sat on the roof of the parking structure at UC Davis, the end of my freshman year, I thought I was experiencing the worst time I would ever have. Little did I know I was about to go through so much worse. I had been diagnosed with anxiety just a few months before, lost my grandmother, and broken up with my high school sweetheart, who I more-or-less followed to Davis. Moreover, my awful relationship with the men in my life had rendered me incapable of recognizing my rebound’s abusive tendencies. I had brought myself up there, prepared to jump, after my final counselor meeting for my academic dismissal. I felt completely hopeless. I somehow convinced myself off the ledge, pictures of my family in hand. With the predictability of my life slipping out from under me, I tried my best to stay afloat. I moved in with my boyfriend (ignoring the manipulation), enrolled in community college nearby, and forced myself to be happy in a life that I was only half-heartedly living, unsure of where I’d go next. 

My anxiety and depression continued to tell me to keep trying in a painful relationship, working towards a goal I didn’t care about, and most importantly, keep everything a secret from my very traditional family. They couldn’t know how hard I was spiraling, or how fast. I tried so many life “band-aids”—I got a dog, picked up a hobby, and smoked all the time, but never addressed my anxiety because I was convinced, I could make it go away—but every step forward came with two steps back. When I finally felt safe enough to break free from my abusive relationship, he took my dog and took my one bit of happiness. When I found a new apartment, I had turned to drinking and partying, and the crowd I hung out with got me kicked out. When I thought I found a supportive relationship and got back into Davis, another tragedy hit me—a positive pregnancy test. When I found out, all the anxiety I had been trying to bottle up came spilling out. I failed the following quarter at Davis. My boyfriend’s support quickly turned to resentment and avoidance. I was far from home with nowhere to turn, and with no one who truly understood what I felt. I made the decision to terminate my pregnancy, knowing I would not have the means to give a child the life they deserved. It was the most emotionally painful choice I’ve ever had to make. During a serious anxiety attack after the procedure, I told my mom about how hopeless I was feeling. Drained from three years of pent-up anxiety, depression, failure, and shame, I poured my heart to her. I told her I wanted to end it all. She presented an opportunity to start over: move to San Luis Obispo, where her boyfriend (and later she) was based, take some community college classes, and then apply at Cal Poly, where I could pursue a different major. Desperate for anything different, a week later, I picked up the pieces of my life, packed them in my car, and moved to “the happiest town in America”.

Though I arrived unsure, I enrolled in early childhood education courses, and quickly fell in love with my program. I loved it so much that I still haven’t left—I have been teaching there for three years. I met new people who helped me talk through my issues. I threw myself into the love of teaching and let the children’s positive attitudes propel my life forward. I slowly but surely started making changes in my life to be the kind of person I wanted to be, caring for myself and living a life in the service of others. Most of all, I strengthened my connection with my mom. In my mind, I had built up walls around my emotions and told myself no one in my family would ever understand what happened to me, who I was, or why I made the choices I did. Choosing to stop hiding things from my mom showed me that I don’t have to hide from anyone—every one of my experiences is part of my story and has made me this person I have always wanted to be. I even came out as bisexual to her when I moved to SLO, which I had known since I was a teenager, but was too anxious to ever tell anyone all those years.

My biggest fear about my story was always people knowing. I wanted my parents and relatives to think I was living a perfect life. I never wanted them to be ashamed. If I had posted any of this on social media, they may well have been. I would have been afraid my friends would abandon me and judge me, that people I went to high school with would pity me, and that people would want nothing to do with me. I think everyone who uses social media has this internalized fear of other people’s opinions. We filter our photos, so people don’t criticize our flaws. We write vague captions to look cool instead of sharing our true feelings because we think no one wants to hear it. We as humans crave connection, and thus we fear social rejection. We want to be accepted so badly that we are afraid to show the parts of us that are real, flawed, and raw, even though everyone has those parts. 

This fear held with me even when I decided I wanted to participate in Girls Who Handle It. I knew I wanted to share my story, but with all these people? Strangers, family, friends, the world? While I wanted to be brave about it, I was still apprehensive. How would I react to people’s comments? How would my family take it? How would it change my relationships with everyone? I realized that people would see me in a new light. I also realized that being my most authentic self in this way would allow them to see me for who I am, for what all my experiences have made me. I would get to be unapologetically myself, and the people who truly love me would continue to hold me up through it all.

I remembered all my most loved ones, and without such an intense cloud of anxiety in my mind, I now know they would have come to my aid if I had called on them. I realized that now, I am much more afraid of another girl like me choosing to end things because they feel alone, because they feel like they have failed everyone, because they have hit rock bottom. Rock bottom only means that you’re done falling. You don’t have to pretend to be happy or positive: be upset, angry, sad and confused. Admit it—it’s dark and dirty, you’re hurt, and it seems like there is nowhere else to go, but there is hope and indescribable power inside of you. Give yourself space to heal, and then dust yourself off and stand up. Instead of letting your fall determine your fate, use it to help you plan how you will get back up, or pave a new path for your life. Look at your mistakes as ways to learn rather than reasons to give in. As tough as it feels to get up there, there is a light at the end of this hole, and there are people who want to throw you a rope, too. Use your negative emotions to propel yourself towards the kind of life you really want to live, and don’t stop until you create the happiness you hope for. Know who you are and know what kind of person you want to be. Push to be that person for you and nobody else. Mental illness, stigma, trauma, toxic relationships, and a hundred other things will try and scare you into giving up. I believe in you. Hold your head up, girl, and handle it.