A Letter to my Teenage Self

I let you down.

I’m sorry I was so mean to you. I’m sorry I called you so many names. I’m sorry I didn’t treat you the way you deserved.

Comparing you to everyone else was my favorite thing to do; pointing out each flaw like it was a checkmark on a list of things to fix.

Remember the times when I wouldn’t let you leave the house without perfectly straightened hair? I hated your curls; they were weird and frizzy, and so unlike all the other girls’ hair in your class.

That was unkind of me, because each unique part of you is what makes you so special.

It wasn’t fair of me to starve you so your curves weren’t so…out there. It wasn’t right of me to say you weren’t good enough for anyone and that no guy would ever love you, because you deserve the world.

I wish I would have stood up for you when everyone called you names, instead of cowering and pretending like it didn’t bother you. Telling you any attention was good attention. I wish I could have helped stop the rumors that burned through the school like wildfire.

I should have lifted you up, praising each attribute and letting you know that it’s okay to be different. In fact, it’s cool to be confidently you.

So what I want to tell you today is: thank you. Thank you for persevering. Thank you for using the struggles to be stronger and smarter. Thank you for not giving into the dark voices. Thank you, for being YOU.

I love you and am so proud of you for flourishing.



Trucking Through the Trauma

As I was huffing and puffing at the gym last night, willing myself to keep going, I came to the realization: I have been praying for this exact moment.

Five years ago, I injured my back while I was studying abroad in Germany. No, it wasn’t some dramatic fall or injury, I just basically woke up one day with back/leg pain and within a week it was so severe I could hardly walk. What the hell? Imagine being a fit, 21-year-old college student who’s been an athlete their entire life, to all of a sudden barely be able to walk.

I took a taxi to the hospital. I had no idea how the German health system worked, all I knew was I had insurance through my student visa. After waiting in the ER for two hours, I was seen by a doctor, to only then be prescribed ibuprofen (German things). Clearly my situation required more than ibuprofen, so back to the ER I went the next day.

They put a pain meds drip in me, admitted me, ordered a bunch of tests and sent me up to my hospital room. Terrified and alone only began to describe how I was feeling. All I knew was I was glad to finally have pain killers that actually worked.

After a three-day hospital stay, an MRI and multiple assessments, I was told I had two herniated discs at the bottom of my spine that were causing sciatica, aka hella nerve pain, shooting down my leg to my toes. The doctor told me that they wanted to operate on me.

I’m sorry, WHAT? My family is 5,000+ miles away from me. No way in hell are you touching me with a scalpel. So I checked myself out of the hospital, took the bus home, changed out of my three-day-old outfit (fun fact: they don’t provide hospital gowns in Germany) and took a shower.

Within 20 minutes of being home, my arm started twitching. Raising itself on its own beyond my control. Back to the ER I go… After having to walk to the ER because it was the closest one that was open, a room full of doctors speaking German so quickly I couldn’t understand, two ambulance rides (they took me to the wrong hospital at first) and some blood tests, I was told I basically had some freak panic attack/mild seizure that my body couldn’t control.

Off I rode in another taxi home. Feeling helpless, confused and was quite frankly in shock.

Upon returning to the U.S. I tried physical therapy. I got steroid injections. I was prescribed multiple medications. Nothing worked. I could still hardly walk let alone workout or enjoy everyday activities I was used to doing.

Finally, after two years of agony and several consultations, I scheduled my back surgery. The healing was much slower post-op than I thought it would be, but nonetheless I was better. Each day was slightly better.

Daily tasks were getting better, but still hard. One time I was changing the laundry from the washer to the dryer and tweaked my back, instant pain searing down my leg. “Great, here I go again…”

Sneezing was so painful because each sneeze caused the sciatica to come out of hiding.

I was scared to live. Each night in bed, I cried, praying to God to alleviate my pain. “Please, I just want to be able to walk normally again. I want to be able to socialize for more than an hour. I want to dance. I want to run again.”

Hopelessness became my normal. My depression was so severe all I did besides work was lie in bed, it was the only place I was comfortable.

So, five years later, you can imagine how scared I was to get back to the gym. I’ve been solidly walking/feeling normal during my every day activities for the past year or so, but I hadn’t pushed myself physically beyond that.

Now, I’ve been on the workout/eating healthy grind consistently since the New Year. Last night I did four miles on the elliptical in 54 minutes. I almost want to write that sentence again just to have it sink in for myself!

Y’all – I find myself smiling while sweating! Straight up jammin’ to my music and singing along while I am doing hardcore cardio. I can’t fully express how elated I felt last night when I noticed I was so happy to finally be MOVING. My body, the same battered, cut up and stitched back together body that used to be so stagnant, was now moving like the athlete I know is inside.

Weight and body image have been a struggle for me as long as I can remember. I used to get so caught up with the scale, my jeans’ size. But now? I am so happy to just be moving and breathing hard and sweating for f u n.

I definitely have goals of weight loss and fitness, but I am so damn proud of how far I’ve come. 21-year-old me is crying seeing me now.

Except this time, they’re tears of joy.



Life’s not all rainbows and butterflies

I am tired. 

Tired of being the life of the party. Tired of being the one who puts in the extra work. Tired of being the funny one everyone looks to for a laugh. Tired of being the go-to friend for advice. Tired of being the optimistic bubbly person everyone thinks I am. (Which, don’t get me wrong, I am optimistic and usually pretty bubbly, but that’s not the only side of me, folks.) Tired of giving everyone else my time when I don’t give myself a minute.

Y’all, I am just TIRED.

Don’t get me wrong, I love cracking jokes, being the one my friends can lean on, putting in the extra work on a group project. But I can’t be that person all the time. Nobody is happy all the time. Nobody is equipped to deal with outside drama 24/7. And while most of you reading this will agree we can’t be happy or helpful all the time, nobody actually considers this when seeking help on something or wanting a shoulder to cry on.

Sometimes, the advice-giver needs an open ear to vent to. Maybe the person you rely on to do the majority of the group project just can’t muster that extra energy this time. Maybe, just maybe, they need a  b r e a k.

My depression has been getting the best of me lately. It keeps me from wanting to socialize, catch up on the phone, or even just run errands that I typically love. What do I say when my coworker asks me what I did over the weekend, admit I didn’t leave the house until it was time for work Monday morning? Because that would be the truth. But that’s not the fun answer, it’s not the crazy party story people may be used to hearing from me.

My anxiety comes into play when someone bombards my world, whether it be work or a friend or family or whatever. When you’re depressed, you hardly have enough energy to do the things that normally are a breeze. Waking up on time? LOL that snooze is going off at least five times this morning. Doing my makeup? Y’all might get to see me with mascara and brows on that day. So when I’m having a more-than-usual depressive day, I just can’t handle anything else. And if something is thrown my way I’ll go into a panic.

The thing is, humans are creatures of habit. We get into routines, learn people’s behaviors, and then start to expect those routines and behaviors to stay the same. That’s my issue though: because I’m usually the fun one, the advice giver, the hard-worker, that’s what people start to expect of me. And when I’m struggling with my depression and anxiety more than usual, just thinking about someone needing me or expecting my typical happy-go-lucky self sends me straight into stress mode.

Being an empath is both a curse and a blessing. I love the relationships I’ve made and the connections that continue to grow because of the deep conversations, the venting, the listening, the advice giving. But as someone who lives with anxiety and depression, on my bad days I just can’t handle any more emotion. I will get sad about your dog being sick or your grandparent dying along with you. Truly. That’s why it’s both a blessing and a curse.

I know most of this post has just been ranting, but here’s a quick recap:

  • Be considerate, you never know what someone else is dealing with
  • Stay patient with loved ones who may seem moody or distant
  • Check on your happy friends

This blog was mostly just to get my feelings out there and off my chest so I can take a bigger breath. Have a moment to sit still, quiet and calm. But I also hope some of you can relate, and know you aren’t the only one.

It is okay to say no. It is okay to say, “I’m sorry but I’m just not up for that.” It’s okay to put someone else’s needs off because you need time for yourself. Here’s to a more understanding and empathetic future for us all.