Not too long ago, I admitted something I’ve been scared to admit. After tiptoeing around it,alluding to it, I finally just said it: this past fall, I struggled with depression.
When I was going through it, it was hard for me to see. Mostly because it was also a season of my life where I was incredibly challenged. So I lost myself in difficult situations, people and experiences that usually, wouldn’t impact me so much.
My self-esteem eroded. Melissa, Missy, me, as I know myself, disappeared. For awhile, it transformed me into a sad, quiet girl I don’t recognize now.
It was a large part of the reason I went back to Europe. In September, I wanted to recapture some of the exhilaration I felt the first time I went to Iceland. I desperately wanted some kind of refresh that would knock me out of (what I thought was) a funk.
So I booked the New Years trip.
And you know, it was a start. Though I didn’t have some huge transformation right away, I found peace and solace in planning something big for myself. But more importantly, when I returned from the trip, I felt extremely humbled and grateful for what was waiting for me back home.
A good job, friends, family, faith and community here in North Carolina. I chose to invest as much as I could in those things – and as I’ve elaborated on before, this changed so much for me. But there was still this lingering discomfort in my identity.
I still didn’t really see me, driftyland/fuck mediocrity/happysunshine/kind of immature/Philly girl Missy anywhere. Sure, there were glimmers – whenever I stood my ground, whenever I worked on a Sunday afternoon to get ahead of the week, whenever I took a weekend trip.
But it wasn’t until I Robin Wrighted myself that I looked in the mirror and thought:
“It’s you. Where have you been?”
It was like pushing a boulder off a cliff – one that has picked up momentum for the past two months.
The feeling of welcoming someone back into your life… when that someone is you. The only other time I’ve felt that was when I lived in Wilmington – before I went to Iceland, when I was right on the brink of it. It was the only other time in my life that I was completely overjoyed and grateful for everything I had, and so excited to see what was going to happen next.
The feeling of running into a huge fountain, and picking up every single bit of change you’ve thrown in there for the past few years. Except the bits of change are actually bits of strength, encouragement and love you gave away – that you really just want to give back to yourself.
I think my optimism has always kind of blinded me, and sometimes, to a fault. Sometimes to the point where I gave too many chances to everything else and not a single chance to myself. To remember what I taught myself before, all those years ago in Wilmington, and am now learning again:
I like hard work. I like getting my hands dirty. I will always prefer having blonde hair. I love grapefruit and rye bread, and other odd foods that my grandmother introduced me to. I’d rather spend a day drawing, doodling and journaling, rather than doing anything else. I hate when anyone treats me like a child. I am okay with not being the best at everything – as long as I get to be the best at a few things. Burritos are amazing. I will never think to use a coaster. I intuitively know when something is none of my business. I have the sense of humor of a 12 year old boy – with the exception of fart jokes. I do not ever want to be with someone who doesn’t know the value of what they have the first time. I will always try a little too hard to get what I want. I fall in love quickly. I am sweet. I am kind. I believe in God. I love people. I deserve happiness. I want to see the world.
And I will not settle for anything less.