But I Can't.

Recently, I had the opportunity to speak at the Northeast Greek Leadership Association's annual conference and afterwards, a young lady came up to me with tears in her eyes and quietly asked for my card. I could tell that she needed to talk, but knew that she wasn't yet ready. I hoped and prayed that she would email me or call me or send me smoke signals. Anything. 

Fortunately, she did. We have been exchanging emails back and forth, talking about being over-programmed, over-whelmed, and unsupported. These are the conversations that I live for... to be able to swap stories, explore our own potential for happiness, and share in vulnerability. One of my most used phrases (both in writing and conversation) is "I want to challenge you..." I love the idea of being able to present opportunities for others. It feels like getting a quest or mission, like your Zelda or Frodo or Inigo Montoya. Is my nerd showing yet?

During my conversation with my new friend, we came to the topic of seeking out time with a counselor or therapist. This is always a tricky conversation- there is such a stigma around mental health that seeking help from a professional is scary or shameful, when it definitely shouldn't be. One of the excuses that I have heard- and myself used- the most is "I am already so busy. Adding counseling to my schedule will just bring me more stress!" 

Let's unpack this one, friends. If you had a cavity in your tooth, would you wait and hope that it would fix itself? If you broke your arm, would you still go into work with a bone sticking through the skin. I really, really hope that you said no. Why should taking care of our mental health be any different? We have got to stop making excuses for why we can't see a mental health professional. Your health- physical, spiritual, and mental- is so important.

I'm gonna challenge you real quick- make a list of everything that you have going on in your life. Job, partner, leadership position, volunteering, pets, school, family, church. List it all. Then, I want you to rank everything from least to most important to YOU. No ties! Now look at the thing that you ranked last. Would you be okay with giving that up for an hour so that you can go see a counselor or therapist? Do it. Find the time to take care of yourself. You deserve it.

Before the "Moment".

Thank you to TJ Sullivan (@intentionalTJS‏) for helping me brainstorm the idea of "the moment"!

Big changes to the website coming soon! With moving, switching jobs, and changing marital status all in one year, a website change-up seems rather fitting :)

Say Its Name.

Language has so much power. While in college, I had to take a linguistic anthropology class, which was as boring as the name suggests and seemed like a tremendous waste of my time. I admit that I was a terrible student in that class and spent 90% of my time on Facebook or reading pointless articles, thus I probably missed many profound moments with that specific professor... until the very last day of class. On that day, I had actually forgotten my laptop at home and was forced to pay attention to the knowledge being dropped upon the class- I feel very fortunate that I did. My professor ended the course with a quote from Ludwig Wittgenstein... "The limits of my language means the limit of my world."

Think about that one for a minute. Have you ever tried to explain something to a toddler? At times, it can feel impossible because the scope of their language feels so small and limits how you can describe, explain, and teach them. Language has so much power over our way of understanding, our way of defining the world around us. That is why it is critical to start using the right words when tackling mental illness. There is so much power, so much freedom in language.

For example, I recently found myself wedged in the middle of a conflict between someone close to me and their parents. I like to think that I know the person quite well and am able to have open, genuine conversations with them. They know my story... they helped me find the confidence and vulnerability to share it with others. I know that they sometimes struggle with depression as well. We can talk about our good days and our bad days... mental illness is a conversation topic we do not shy away from. Yet the same cannot be said about my friend's relationship with their parents. The word 'depression' is somewhat taboo. Instead, they refer to feelings and behaviors as "moodiness".

I get it. Sometimes depression can manifest itself in ways that others may perceive as "being moody". Sometimes I describe myself as moody AF, a result of my lingering teenage angst coupled with a ongoing love for My Chemical Romance and Panic at the Disco. But reducing depression to simply moodiness creates a host of problems that can cause great harm to the sufferer. When people complain that someone is moody, they may tell them to change their attitude or (if you are a woman) they may ask you if it is 'that time of the month'. Depression is an illness, not an attitude choice. It can seriously impair daily life and should not simply be reduced to PMS or moodiness or having a gloomy outlook.

For when we use the wrong language, we transform the power to get better into stigma and shame. Instead of being able to seek help for a treatable mental illness, sufferers may become hard on themselves, feel embarrassment, and exacerbate an already difficult situation. As my professor once explained, language can limit our world... but it can also liberate us. Say its name- depression.

Goodbye, Armor.

Next week, I start the process of moving for the 2nd time since July... 9th time since 2008. By this point, I have mastered the art of moving to a new home- I know the best ways to package dishes, how to transition my cat to a new place, and the list goes on. This time is a little bit different though. This time, I am moving into the house that my fiance and I purchased together. There are a million things that I am freaking out about. This will be my first time with a roommate since college. We are buying a FREAKING HOUSE. We will have a mortgage and lawn and things to fix all on our own. I feel like I am able to jump into the ride of my life. I will write more about the process as we tackle each obstacle, starting today.

Today, I took on a massive challenge. Today, I downsized my closet.

I know, that sounds absolutely ridiculous. How can getting rid of clothes be so hard? Isn't that the most first-world, stereotypical woman thing you've ever heard? Let me explain...

Getting rid of clothes is impossibly hard for me. Over the last 10 years, I have worked so hard to keep an imagine- the girl that is well-dressed, pulled together, and perfect in every way. By wearing this armor of pretty clothes, I kept people from knowing my secret. By looking the part, I thought I could trick people into believing that I was okay... maybe, I could trick even myself. Clothes protected me from the stigma associated with mental illness. They disguised my depression. They fed my anxiety.

Now that I am on the road to becoming myself- the person I am choosing to be beyond the mental illness- I am ready to start leaving that armor behind. Staring at me from across the room are 7 boxes of clothes ready to find a new home. This time, they are no longer armor. They are just clothes. This is one little battle, but it feels amazing to win nonetheless.

What Chrissy Teigen Taught Me.

Recently, Chrissy Teigen- the glorious queen of clapbacks and Twitter gold standard comedy- shared her struggle with postpartum depression with the world and experienced something that so many people who share their stories about mental health face.... a change in the way people perceive and treat us.

When I first saw her tweet, I nearly fell out of my chair from clapping wildly and screaming "YASSS GIRL" like a madwoman. I kept my struggle with depression and anxiety a secret from the world for YEARS because I was so worried about how people would treat me differently. Turns out, this is not uncommon at all- even celebrities experience the stigma associated with mental illness- and may cause people to avoid seeking help.

Let's have a moment of real talk, here... the best thing that you can do for someone struggling with mental illness is ask them what they need from you. Then, shower them with all the love, understanding, support, and french fries that they may need. Tell your sympathies or pity to take a back seat, as that look in your eyes feels so draining and can bring forth shame. Not cool.

The stigma is so real, y'all. So how are you? Not how arrrrrre you.

Finding a Therapist.

Recently, I started sharing my story (and my phone number) with college students across the country as I have really started pursuing a new adventure as a college speaker. One of the things that always blows me away is how willing some people are to be vulnerable- if they are simply asked the right questions. Often times, I think we get so wrapped up in our own lives that we forget to stop and truly listen to the conversations that we have with others. One moment can change everything. So what happens when we stop, we listen, and we ask the right questions? Recently, I was at a conference with thousands of college students and had the chance to really be "in the moment". After facilitating a session, a young man approached me and told me his story. I listened, intently. I was surprised at what he told me. He was struggling to find himself- the person he wants to be- beyond depression. We exchanged numbers and I was thrilled to hear back from him the next day. His vulnerability was inspiring.

The conversation with the young man led to me sending him some of my favorite books on learning to love yourself. It also taught me that I had been missing a big part of asking the right questions. Whenever I speak to college students, I always ask "how are you, no really, how are you?" and tell them that it is okay not to be okay. The question that usually follows hours later via text message is "how do I do that?" Time and time again, I have found that the stigma of depression, counseling, mental illness can stop people from getting help, but there can sometimes be one other huge roadblock- they don't know how to seek help.

Seeing a counselor or therapist isn't what you see in the movies- no couches to lay on or ancient clipboards or ugly sweater-vests. It isn't necessarily prying into your childhood or digging into your subconscious. It is a conversation centered around seeking hope. You get to be the guide as you work together to find solutions to what you are feeling.

Finding a therapist is sometimes a process- you want to make sure that you have the same goals, are compatible, and you feel comfortable talking to them- but it is not difficult. If you are a college student, check to see if your school has a counseling center. If you are working through an insurance provider, see who they cover via their website. If you are seeking a child, adolescent, or young adult counselor, I suggest the American Association of Marriage and Family Therapy's "Locate A Therapist" database- that is actually the tool that I used to find my current doctor.

There are so many resources out there. What are some of the ones that you have used?

The Day After The Day About Love.

Valentine's Day is weird. Nearly everyone falls into two camps when it comes to feelings about the day- you either adore it and spend all day wrapped in bliss or you hate it and spend all day lamenting about how awful love is. For ten years, I thought that the only boyfriend that would ever stick around would be depression; we had a horribly unhealthy relationship, but he always stuck around even when I tried to date someone else. When I was ready to take (yet another) break from dating, I just happened to match with a smooth talker who convinced me that he deserved a chance. On one of our first dates, I could not stop myself from spilling every detail of my struggle with mental illness with this introverted, quiet man that had no idea what to expect from the loud redhead that he met through online dating. For some insane reason, he asked me out again and again and again- even after that embarrassing lack of constraint on that date.

About three months later, I woke up with high anxiety and knew that I was close to a breakdown. He could tell something was wrong just by looking at my face and soon found himself holding me as wrapped myself in a blanket burrito and sobbed uncontrollably. With a tear streaked face, I asked him if he thought I was crazy and if he still wanted to be with me. I had been through this before- meet a man, start to fall for him, and then the depression and anxiety scares him away. But this time proved to be different; he pushed the hair out of my face and said “I have been waiting for this. I want to see the real you- all of you. The perfectly imperfect you.”

I fell in love with someone who sees my mental illness as just another thing that makes me unique and wonderful. On the days that feel impossibly hard, he encourages me to try to take one step- get out of bed- and then another- make coffee- and another, until I feel confidently enough to take on the day. He reminds me to take my medication every day- he is a pharmacist after all- and tells me to focus on breathing when I feel an anxiety attack creeping in. I brought my mental illness to this relationship, but that doesn’t mean that it has control over us. My mental illness is a challenge that we embrace together, every day.

In October, we are getting married. My anxiety tends to be a party crasher and will probably show up without RSVPing, but we are ready. In life and love, there is nothing that is impossible when you have the hope and fight in you to keep pushing on.

PS Check out Ryan & Alyssa Photography! They took this amazing picture of us.

Little Women with Big Voices.

The last month has been impossibly hard. Each day, I wake up afraid of what horrible thing that I will see in the media or what outrageous thing has happened in our world. I have felt scared, alone, angry, and useless. I am a worrier- it is in my blood. Living in a Trump presidency feel impossible because there is so much unpredictability that my brain can't help but think of the worst in every situation. Repeal ACA? My anxious brain tells me that I am going to lose my health insurance and not be able to afford my medications. Turn public education into a private money-maker? I am worried about my students, my job, my future children. I hope that my fear is irrational, but I cannot help but worry.

With all of this fear, worry, anxiety sitting on my chest, how could I possibly think about writing this blog, seeking opportunities to further advocate for mental health and wellness, or even contemplate continuing to tell the stories that are buried within me? My voice feels so small compared to the chaos in our world. So I fell silent.

And then, I had a realization... silence is my safety blanket. From the day I was diagnosed until the day I put this video into the world, I had used silence to protect myself from the harsh reality that people may see me differently if they know that I live with a mental illness. For so long I had let being silent keep me safe from judgement, but in doing so had pushed people away, lied to those that I love, and fought my battle alone. In silence, there is comfort laced with ignorance. Staying comfortable means nothing changes.

That is my challenge- in this time of uncertainty and fear, find your voice and use it. Whatever ignites your soul, share it with others. That is the only way we will ever overcome that challenges that lie in front of us.

In Honor of Carrie.

Mental health is messy. It is not glamorous, it is not fun. It makes people uncomfortable, so much so that those who share their stories are often told that they are oversharing or coming across as entirely disordered. That's what made Carrie Fisher such an amazing woman- she is the epitome of bravery. In spite of the big Hollywood expectations that surrounded her, she allowed her true, messy self to be seen. She made it okay to share our stories. She gave a big middle finger to the stigma that is associated with mental illness and lived so courageously. She will always be an icon in American cinematic history, but what I truly hope she is remembered for is her mental health advocacy. "At times, being bipolar can be an all-consuming challenge, requiring a lot of stamina and even more courage, so if you’re living with this illness and functioning at all, it’s something to be proud of, not ashamed of.” -Carrie Fisher

In honor of Carrie, I will continue to be seen as messy- to share my story, authentically and vulnerably. Because I believe that one day, people who struggle with mental illness will no longer face stigma and instead, will be supported and loved during their pursuit of overcoming their illness. I will live like the Princess, like the General in order to help others.

Photo from the Huffington Post's amazing piece on the OG mental health hero.

A Reflection of Honesty.

It has taken me over a week to work up the courage to post this, but I think it is really important to draw attention to issues that need change. I hope that this blog post is seen as such- a call to action- and not a piece rooted in judgement or malice.  

Every December, fraternity and sorority life professionals gather together to share new ideas, network with other professionals, and challenge the future of the fraternal movement. That week is one of the most draining, inspiring, challenging, and straight-up difficult of my year. After attending four previous annual meetings, I thought that I had gotten this conference hustle down pat- attending sessions, meeting up with old friends, making new connections. However, this annual meeting was different and I am leaving with a hint of frustration mixed in with my feelings of exhaustion and hope.

I have always been hyper-aware of my identity and how others may perceive the different layers that make me the person I am. This was the first year that my identity within the profession has changed. It was last year’s annual meeting that pushed me to start evaluating the front that I had used to protect myself from other’s judgment. Unfortunately, within my profession, there is a silent fog of hypocrisy that always rolls over our annual meeting. As educators, we teach authenticity, vulnerability, and compassion to our students; yet at our own yearly gathering, we often fail to check our own unpleasant actions and behaviors. We dress to the nines and celebrate the “fashion show” while slipping side eye towards those that don’t look the part. We build these inner circles and slip individuals up onto pedestals to create our own internal hierarchy that ostracizes many. We gossip and shame and judge and generate insincere personalities that are not reflective of our true selves. Of course, this is a broad generalization and not all fall prey to it, but it is something that many of my peers have complained about.

I will be the first to admit that I have played into this game for many years- I have my idols within the profession and have strategically saved up to buy all new clothes for each meeting and have yearned to wiggle my way into the elite inner circle of association celebrities. But I’ve grown tired of trying to be someone that I am not. Last year was my turning point- I left our meeting tired, unfulfilled, and disappointed. That was the catalyst to spark my own self-discovery that has led me on this new journey. How could I possibly be an advocate for authenticity, vulnerability, and compassion if I wasn’t living that life myself? I needed to look in the mirror.

That is one reason why I decided to start sharing my story. This professional woman with new clothes, a big smile, and compliment for everyone was not what she appeared to be. Beneath the red lipstick and Kate Spade bags was crippling anxiety, depression, self-loathing, and a little voice reminding me that I would never be good enough. I got tired of being two people. It was time to start sharing my story and embracing the person I was at my core, not just in my heels. In doing so, I deeply wove vulnerability into my identity- to be authentic is to be vulnerable. That has become a part of who I am.

Which made this meeting extraordinarily hard. Although I have surrounded myself with amazing friends and colleagues who are so supportive of what I am doing- sharing my personal story and working towards become a mental health advocate- I still experienced some of negative effects of my new identity. People I have known for years treated me differently- softer, like I was a fragile doll. When walking by a conversation, I caught the shifty eyes of someone who was caught talking about me. I had not anticipated this… in a hotel full of colleagues who believe in values congruence and building people up, I felt stripped down, alienated, and (once again) like I was not good enough.

So this is my call to action. One year ago, the annual meeting of my profession caused me to reevaluate the life I had been living and set me on an amazing path towards finding myself. This year, I am going to focus on how our systems, organizations, relationships can be made better by stripping down to the core of who we are, how we treat people, and intersectionality of the two.  What would our annual meeting look like if we could be real, like really real, with one another? What would our world look like? What changes could we make?

Next time you sit in front of a mirror, ask yourself “am I living a life that is reflective of who I truly am and who I strive to be?”  If the answer is no, change it. If the answer is yes, go forth and ask someone else the same questions. That is our challenge.

I Won't Be Silent.

I haven't wrote anything in a while. I have been afraid, ashamed- my confidence shaken. A few weeks ago, I had a conversation with someone that I look up to and they revealed (with no intended malice) that people had been talking about me and my willingness to be open about my struggle with mental illness. Hearing my story made people uncomfortable. In a small Southern town, such topics are not discussed out in the open... they are reserved for back porches and whispered breath.

Nearly a year after I had first shared my story through a video, I was heartbroken, embarrassed, scared, and uncertain. Had I made the right choice? Is my story worth sharing? Am I doing more harm than good? These questions filled my thoughts and made it impossible to even consider writing- wouldn't I just be giving "the talkers" more ammunition?

The last month has been FULL of changes and challenges. I have questioned whether or not my story is worth sharing. I have gotten engaged and started wedding planning. I have struggled with horrible anxiety. I have decided to move (again) for the 7th time in 8.5 years. I have finally figured out "what's next" in terms of my career. It has been easy to put off things like self-care, blogging, pursuing what makes me happy- storytelling.

But today, that changes. I have been so lucky to attend a general assembly for a fantastic group that focuses on the health and wellness of college students. We got to take best worst selfies together, talk about vulnerability and courage, and tackle the insane task of learning to love ourselves. I got to ask my favorite question- how are you... no really, how are you?

The bravery that I saw in that room reminded me of why it is so important to keep talking about the difficult topics. We cannot be silent. We must continue to tell stories to change lives. Because the most powerful weapon against fear is love and learning to love yourself may be the ultimate training for that battle.

From the Psychiatrist's Office.

Today, I had my usual 3-month check in with my psychiatrist and once again had to face one of my biggest anxieties... The waiting room.

This room fills me with dread before I even step foot into it. I know there will be other people there and we will all shift our eyes around the room to avoid eye contact, pondering what has brought each of us here. Someone will sneak a look my way and think "wow, she is too young to be seeing a psychiatrist- I wonder what happened to her." Another person will stare at their shoes with a heart full of shame, embarrassed to be seen in a mental health center. It is an uncomfortable place with tension pulsing through the air.

That is why I always smile at every person who walks through the door.

At first, it was a way to cope with my own anxiety, but it has since evolved into a personal mission of sorts. I want the people around me to know that it is okay not to be okay. I hope that they know that simply being in that office is a monstrous step towards getting better. My smile is my weapon to combat the awkwardness that fills the room.

Today was no different until a conversation began to unfold around me. I was flanked by a middle aged man who arrived way too early for his appointment, and in front of me sat an elderly woman I have seen many times before. They started chatting- small talk really- and then began to unpack the reasons why there were there.

My smile dropped and my heart sank. The woman brought up that she has been seeing our psychiatrist for 20 years. 20 YEARS. I felt tears well up in my eyes as a thought about my future- will I be sitting in this chair 20 years from now? How long will I have to take these medications? Is my future always going to be shared with my mental illness?

The man then asked the question whose answer I needed to hear- "have you gotten better?"

"Oh yes!" the woman exclaimed. She went on to tell us how her medication hasn't changed in 10 years and she is very stable. She told us about her children and grandchildren, about her husband that has now since passed away but gave her the best years of her life, and about the amazing things she had done over the last 20 years.

In this woman, I saw my future. Yes, I will probably always be dealing with my depression and anxiety. But that won't stop me from living a full life. You can be all the things you want to be and do all the things you want to do- even with a mental illness. Life does not end at the beginning of the diagnosis.

Who Were You Before Depression.

Who were you before depression? This is one of the most complex questions I have ever been asked. I don't remember when I started feeling this way. There was never a switch that was flipped, turning on the depression and anxiety- it has been present for as long as I can remember. I have always been a perfectionist... in the 1st grade, I had a complete meltdown because I received a B instead of an A on an interim report. But the anxiety that comes from the pursuit of perfection and the resulting depression when that ideal isn't obtained... I know it wasn't always there. It crept in slowly over time.

I do know when I was officially diagnosed, then re-diagnosed, and then re-diagnosed again. Who was I before the phrase "mental illness" entered my life? When I think back, I try to compare the person that I was when I walked into the doctors office to the person I was when I left.  She was the same person, albeit with more clarity and a tear-stained face. Putting a title to the feelings that I had felt for so long didn't change who I was or how I felt. It simply made it easier to overcome each day's challenges by giving me treatment options.

Who were you before depression? I was me- the same me that I am today.

Having a mental illness didn't change the person I am. Yes, it made me more resilient, reflective, compassionate, and kind; but, at my core, I am still the same person that I was before the feelings wiggled their way in and before my therapist stamped her diagnosis onto my chart. My depression doesn't define who I am. It is simply a part of my life... like an unwelcome relative who refuses to leave, even after Thanksgiving dinner is over. It hangs out, occasionally meddling in my affairs and asserting its position within my life. Yet it has no impact on WHO I am. I am the only one that gets to decide that.

Depression isn't who I am. I am a person, not an illness.

Defining Courage.

When I first started this project, I thought I knew what courage meant. Courage was something within us that grows as we face challenges and separates the weak from the strong. It was something that not all of us have. Sometimes we may be forced into it, sometimes it would come naturally. Boy, I  was DEFINITELY MISGUIDED.

Courage is not some abstract thing inside of us. It is a choice. After I starting sharing my story, I felt that I had finally found my courage. I had arrived. But even know, nine months after I first shared my secret life with a mental illness, I still get nervous about telling new people. I am constantly faced with a choice: be brave or be silent. It is because of the stories shared with me- other people waging secret battles- that I continue to find the inspiration to be brave.

Make the courageous choice- whatever that may be for you. You never know when your courage will inspire someone else. What would this world look like if we all made the courageous choice?

"May your choices reflect your hopes, not your fears." - Nelson Mandela

Why I Want to Talk About My Mental Illness.

Whenever I bring up my mental illness, I usually get one of two reactions. More often than not, I am met with noticeable shifts in body language which signal uncomfortably and sympathetic glances that quickly melt into averted eye contact. In my experience, talking about mental illness can make people extremely uneasy- like it is a taboo subject that should be kept hidden in a box shoved to the back of a closet. This type of response will cause shame and embarrassment to rise in my chest... why does this piece of me make people feel so awkward? These feelings caused me to hide my disorder from the public for nearly 8 years. I felt like a liar, an impostor, a fake shell of a person. I felt unbearably alone in my struggle against depression and anxiety. This is why I often hold my breath when I first share my story with new people. I know that I will be met either with the aforementioned uncomfortably or a reaction that leads to a new connection, deeper and more meaningful than one can imagine. Suffering with mental illness can be so isolating, thus when one meets someone who is struggling with the same thing (or something similar), it can feel like a breath of fresh air. FINALLY- someone who I can talk to without feeling ashamed or judged. Ever since I started sharing my story, I have been blown away by the number of people who have reached out to share their own struggle and offer words of encouragement. I have been touched by the countless individuals who have sent a text or Facebook message to explain that they have been struggling to overcome their own feelings and want advice on how to seek professional help.

This is why I want to talk about my mental illness.

I want the stigma attached to mental illness to transform into support for those who are struggling. This idea that mental illness is something that we should keep hidden and those that are affected should suffer in silence is ridiculous. Approximately 1 in 5 adults experiences mental illness in a given year. THAT IS ALMOST 20% OF OUR FRIENDS, FAMILY MEMBERS, CO-WORKERS, NEIGHBORS. Instead of stigmatizing them, we should be supporting them. Instead of shunning mental illness, we should start conversations about it. Instead of hiding our struggles, we should be sharing our stories.

This is why I want to talk about my mental illness. I want people to know that it is okay to not be okay. I want people to know that you can live a full life, be successful, and have a chronic mental illness. I want to end the stigma associated with mental illness.  I want people to know that they are not alone and there are people who are so willing to help and support them. I want people to ask questions, learn about mental illness, and stop treating my depression/anxiety like a taboo subject.

So lets talk.

It's Okay to Not Be Okay.

Over the last couple of weeks, I have taken a hiatus. Friends, students, my blog, social media all took a backseat while I focused on the war raging in my mind. At first, I felt incredibly guilty about withdrawing from the world- like I was letting down the people around me by not giving my time and energy away. This is a feeling that I often struggle with, but have learned to manage. However, this time was very different. No matter what I did, I couldn't seem to pull myself together and turn to face the world again. I felt like a fraud, like a failure. How could I possibly call myself an advocate for mental wellness or promote the concept of "being unapologetically you" when I was stuck in a cycle of self-criticism and shame? I felt like an imposter, pretending to have everything together when, in actuality, I was crumbling inside. It took a very real conversation with one of my most beloved students- a conversation in which she became the teacher and I became the student- for me to realize that I had forgotten the single most important piece of advice that I can give to anyone struggling to find the light they need to push on in this crazy, difficult, overwhelming world...

It's okay to not be okay.

A little louder for the people in the back- IT'S OKAY TO NOT BE OKAY.

Every single one of us is fighting a battle, struggling to keep it together, simply going through some shit. There is no shame in that- it is a part of the human condition. It is easy to fall into the mindset that you must be perfect or at least appear perfect- this is my personal Achilles' Heel. But you will find that there is so much freedom in the moments that are messy and imperfect and real. Those are the moments in which we can be ourselves- unapologetically- with flaws and off days and problems and bad eyebrows. Because, regardless of what the little voice in your head tells you, it is okay to not be okay.

Now go out there and kick some ass. The second step to getting better (after you forgive yourself for being so hard on you) is remembering the brilliant reasons why you are on this earth. You are important, you are deserving, you are wonderful. It may not feel like that today- and that is perfectly okay- but trust me, you are worth it.

Finding Strength.

Technology & Depression.

As a stereotypical millennial, I can't image what it was like living 50 years ago... no phones, laptops, Fitbits, digital cameras, and the like. Every day, I keep a small tracker (a Spire) close to my heart- monitoring the rise and fall of my chest so that I know when I am starting to get anxious or forgetting to manipulate my breath with long, slow inhales and exhales. This tiny piece of technology helps me stay in control of my disorder. It is astounding what is available to help individuals manage their mental illness... meditation apps, mood tracking devices, and even something as silly as Pokemon Go. Although it is too soon to have significant data focused on the impact of AR games like Pokemon Go on disorders like depression or social anxiety, anecdotal evidence shows that there may be something positive happening. People who have struggle to leave their houses because of the overwhelming sense of fear, sadness, and anguish is too much, are forced to leave their houses and get into the sunshine- a key step in fighting depression. Groups of people are being brought together at Pokestops and gyms- something that someone with chronic anxiety may find hard to do without a little help.

Recently, my life was touched by the death of a student at the college that I work at. It ripped my heart open and crushed my spirit. I could not force the sadness away. My thought became obsessive over the life cut far too short. After a memorial service, I found myself barely able to breath as the air felt far too thick and heavy in my lungs. I decided to walk around campus to clear my mind. I stumbled upon a group of individuals sitting together, playing Pokemon Go. We chatted, laughed, cried, remembered, and cherished a simple moment of retreat from the world.

Later that evening, when I contemplated sharing my experience with the world of social media, I hesitated out of fear of the judgement that may come from revealing that I play the silly little game. Shame is a part of my daily life, as I am often so embarrassed that I have a mental illness. Yet, until then, I was never aware of the privilege that is an underlying piece of the dynamic in place between those who struggle with mental illness and those who do not.

"Get off your phone. Go experience life. Quit wasting your time with a game and go make some friends." What if, instead of judging, we starting listening? The reason I am on my phone is because I am texting the datemate to help me remain calm and avoid a panic attack. The reason I love playing Pokemon Go is that it motivates me to get out of bed and go outside- something my depression loves to stop me from doing. Maybe I am out making friends and using technology to facilitate that interaction as my social anxiety stops me from ever spontaneously starting a conversation.

Next time you feel like judging someone for relying on technology, check your privilege. It may be the only thing stopping them from falling apart. Each of us is fighting our own battle, be kind.

Birthday Inspiration.

Today is my 26th birthday. That is close to 9500 days on this earth. In that time, I have been to my own personal hell and back. I have failed and I have thrived. I have seen death and fought for life. Through it all, the one thing that I cling to like a newborn child to its mother is hope. Hope that things will get better, nothing will stop me from reaching my dreams, my life will be full of happiness despite my disorder, and I will be an active warrior in the fight to make this world a more wonderful place. If today was the last birthday you would ever have, what would you do? Give up and waste away those last precious 365 days? Or find hope that you can make a splash so big that the waves long outlast you? Hope seems kinda nice, doesn't it? Live everyday like it is another day towards your last birthday. Hope with all your heart. Let your light so shine.

Thanks for being a part of my birthday!

Motivation Monday.