A Growth Story: Finding My Way Back to Me

Oh y'all this post has been on my mind for months... but somehow the words kept getting scrambled and the message wasn't clear. So I sat with it. And for a long while, I let that be enough. Me and my thoughts. It really was quite that simple.

Then this past week, I did a lot of reflecting. I sat with my morning coffee and old notebooks every morning. And then I got to work in the evenings. I went through a ton of things on my external hard drive and found the delete button to be so refreshing. I went through my closet and filled a bag for Goodwill. I finalized my grad school apps (yes multiple, because why apply for one program when you can dual enroll and drive yourself crazy for 2.5 years). I wrote a letter that has been on my heart for a while (and I'll share more about that at a later time).

It can be so cleansing to get rid of things, not just physically but emotionally. I feel lighter this weekend and I promise it's not because of cutting out dairy -- I may have caved and found ice cream this week.

Okay enough babbling. I just wanted to explain that this post has been a long time coming. It is full of hard conversations that I had to have with myself and with others. It is full of realizations that can only come with time. And it is only a part of this journey that I am currently on.

You see September was an ugly month. It came at the end of an awful summer. Now mind you, some great things came from this summer, but I was in an awful place emotionally and mentally which led to being in an awful place physically.

She looks happy doesn't she?

I find that it can be easy to hide behind a smile and "I'm fine," and unfortunately, most people will accept the surface value of those things. But the hard reality is that sometimes the smile is fake and the "I'm fine"s are really just a means to keep from burdening the lives of others with your problems. I know this because I lived it. For months (I'm talking over a year, on and off, here), I had a smile on my face that didn't tell the whole story. In fact, it didn't even tell part of the story. I hated myself. Plan and simple, just like that.

But how does a girl who is supposed to have "been healed of anxiety and depression" by pills and therapy come to the thought that she hates herself?

There is so much wrong with that sentence and evidently with that thought process. Y'all it has taken me years to come to terms with the fact that anxiety and depression are lifelong illnesses. They aren't something you can be cured of or something that goes away... Please don't tell someone to just be happy or to let it go or the worst, to get over themselves. The individual struggling with either one of these illnesses is dealing with a lot already. Be there for them. Or allow someone else to. But don't ever downplay their symptoms simply because you don't get it or because they are already getting outside help.

I spent countless nights crying myself to sleep. I stopped working out, almost altogether. I stopped eating things that made me feel good in the long run and instead ate to fill emotional voids. But the worst of all was that I spent countless weekends drinking to numb my reality.

I didn't touch alcohol until I was 24. Not because I looked down upon anyone who drank, most of my friends did and still do. But because I had seen the negative effects of alcohol, up close and personal. I didn't want that life for myself.

But on my 24th birthday, I got mad at a friend and like the mature 24 year old that I was, I told another friend to buy me a drink. He didn't for about 10 seconds. Then I said that if he didn't do it now, I'd probably never drink. I have no idea why having alcohol, after so many years of avoiding it, finally seemed like the solution to a problem, but it did in that moment. I had one drink that night and then not again for months.

But you know how it goes. I started enjoying wine with friends and socially drinking "something fruity" when we went out. I learned two things very quickly. One, I liked hard liquor best - whiskey and rum were at the top of my list. Two, I had a really high alcohol tolerance. Which made sense to absolutely no one, but I just went with it.

Well one thing turned into another and I no longer knew how to enjoy just a glass of wine with dinner. This past year, I was drinking full bottles almost every night after work. Simple nights out with friends started including shots and a bartender who made my drinks with mostly liquor and a splash of coke to give the illusion that I was drinking a mixed drink. But still it continued, weeks full of wine and weekends full of liquor... very few (I think 2 total) hangovers and I still can recount the events from all those nights. I have an insanely good memory and drinking didn't seem to hinder it.

Until that terrible September night. It started out innocent enough, wine and pizza with friends. We were in good spirits. Which was a good thing, because it's worth mentioning that my pre-drunken mood is only heightened when drunk. So if I'm sad at the onset, well I'll be the crying drunk. And if I'm happy, then I'll just be extra giggling and probably extra loud. You get the idea.

So a few other people showed up and my mood was crushed, almost instantaneously. But the bigger problem was that they showed up with liquor, a lot of it. Well once my mood took a hit, I decided I needed a drink to numb it. So the mixed drinks started being poured and then shots were taken, with my glass a little fuller than the others. And then there were the shots I took after everyone had moved into the other room. Then more drinks were poured and things started spiraling. I grabbed a bottle, sat on the front porch away from the noise, and started calling half my contacts - because I clearly had no sense of the time. I talked to 2 or 3 friends who knew about everything I was going through at the time. And then I remembered nothing... not a damn thing. I don't even remember ending the last phone call I made.

I still lose sleep over that night.

But it's also the night that I decided that I was done.

It was the best and worst thing that ever happened to me.

Finally, once and for all, after about 2 years of tearing my life apart for other people, I was done. I was too tired to keep doing it. I had become everything I had once stood so adamantly against.

I no longer liked myself. I gave up my own happiness for that of those around me. And I was using alcohol to try to fix it. I'm pretty sure if I had looked in a mirror that night, I would not have recognized the girl looking back at me.

The next day was rough, but the weeks that followed were even harder. I was finally allowing myself to heal from years of emotional abuse - that I had brought on myself after a failed friendship a few years earlier. In order to heal from something like that, you have to sit with it. You have to reflect and then you have to let that shit go. And nothing about that is easy.

I started to pick up habits that I had once enjoyed. I started writing again. I started running again. I deleted what remained of my social media accounts (outside of Instagram). I cleared our my followings on Instagram though. I reached out to some good friends who I knew would be willing to love me through this transitional time. I put back on my boxing gloves and got back out there. I started fighting for myself, both physically and mentally.

It's still a constant battle. I am by no means to my destination. But I am a happier, healthier person because I made the choice to get back up and keep moving forward. And I make that same choice every single morning.

This is the story of who I am today. I am a fighter. By the grace of some really great friends and the right kind of professionals, I am digging myself out of the pit that I once lived. And for the first time, I am doing it for me.


I replaced whiskey with weights, and wine with water. I have not touched liquor since that terrible September night. And I went without wine from September to December, but enjoyed a few glasses at Christmas.


I replaced take out and fast food with smoothies and real food. I traded in the life of late nights for early mornings. I wake up at 5am, every single morning. Instead of sitting with all the negatives, I mediate on the good things in my life.

I deleted all my social media accounts outside of Instagram. It had all become too much. And I needed to replace notifications with real life.

I let go of false friendships that were hurting me. I started running anytime I felt that I needed to go back to those people - not to punish myself but because I actually enjoy running. I pushed through the emotional pain by turning it into something physical.

In November, I ran my first half marathon. It was something that had never been on my bucket list before. But once I signed up to do it - completing that race felt so important. I did it for myself, without telling most people in my life.

I set a schedule and stick to it. Because I crave consistency. And knowing what's next.

I turned down brewery trips with new friends and orchard tours with old ones. I put my head down and put the work in. And that's where I am right now. I've got my head down and I'm working on me.

I have learned to laugh at myself again. I have learned to trust the people who love me. I have learned to listen to not only mental health professionals, but also to my body. I rest when I need to. I take mental health days without feeling guilty. I work on being positive toward myself every day. I write daily gratitudes and drinking less caffeine than I did before.

This was not an over night decision, or transformation of my attitude. It has taken me almost 5 months to get to this point. But every day is another day that I've succeeded in making a life I am proud of.