25

I am 25 today and somehow I simultaneously feel eighty and eighteen. Too many years crunched into my twenty-five-year-old body, and yet, not enough to feel like I have any idea of what I am doing in this world. 

First, some confessions. 

The past few months have been hard. If you have read any of my writing you may have noticed that I have said that before about my life. Let me tell you where my mistake lied this time. 

I failed to recognize that I was still in the cycle. If you’re a hiker you know this feeling, it was my false summit. It’s ok to reflect along the journey, but my false sense of cockiness that I had “made it through” some stuff was sadly (for me and everyone that had to deal with me), not accurate. How many times have I told myself healing isn’t linear?? It’s still a hard pill to swallow sometimes. 

This year was a blur. I don’t remember much of it to be honest. I remember working, a lot. I remember being tired, a lot. I remember going on a lot dates and thinking it would make me feel better...it didn’t. I remember moving out of my apartment and into my new one. I remember my panic attacks coming back. I remember feeling full of purpose and then suddenly having none at all. 

Since rediscovering spirituality and what it meant to me I had swelled with this larger purpose. It was ok that I had to work three jobs because one day it would be worth it, I had my purpose. It’s ok that I don’t have time to see my friends or to date because one day, it would be worth it. It was ok to sacrifice my sleep, my health, my sanity, because one day, it would be worth it. When something shifted in my life it was stressful, but I always felt ok. I could lean on this connection I had. 

This summer I felt it pull away. I know it didn’t actually pull away, but all of a sudden my experience, and with it who I was, was different. It was like someone had built a steel wall right in between me and my most trusted person. It was a prison, no visiting hours allowed. 

I pushed this away with excuses that it would all come back when I had a moment to breathe. When I could just get enough sleep and find my creativity again, it would be back. It would show up for readings, thank “god” (pun intended), which I was grateful for. However, I had so much trouble feeling the motivation to do them or market myself anymore. 

Then, social media. Every time I opened any app my throat would tighten and my stomach flipped, my body was telling me I didn’t belong here anymore. I wanted to, which made everything more complicated. I haven’t left yet, maybe I will and maybe I won’t, depends on which devil wins that day. 

It’s difficult to show up when you are in the ebb of knowing. So I ran. Not as much physically, although a good angry run really freaking came through for me. No, I was literally trying to run away from my emotions. 

I have always, ALWAYS, prided myself on feeling my emotions and here I was, pretending. I was pretending to be me. For a long time, I was confused why everywhere I went it felt like I was putting on some kind of mask. I was an expert chameleon and the less I was noticed, the better. Turns out though that this isn’t sustainable (insert breakdown). 

Have you ever had a panic attack? For me, they always start in my throat. Imagine being on the edge of an orgasm for months, but instead of that nice euphoria-type tension, it’s the ice water bath type of tension. My ice water bath had me in a death grip. At times, I thought I had bested it but the moment I had a chance to breathe it found its strength again. Until, last week. 

I met my family in Wyoming for Thanksgiving this year. On my eight-hour drive there I was just excited not to be working. I had just gotten back from a work trip which was very fun but also very tiring. My drive was filled with podcasts, audiobooks, and a few car concerts. I was also running on very little sleep which meant I had two matchas and a kombucha running through my bloodstream (as someone who doesn’t drink a ton of caffeine, this was a lot). The point is, I didn’t let myself just be. 

The night before I left Wyoming I went to a cowboy bar by myself. It was awkward, only because I’m a little awkward, but I finally made it to a spot at the bar. I turned and said hi to the guy sitting next to me, I had the air of fake confidence from pretending to be this badass woman that hits on dudes at bars she goes to by HERSELF. Even writing it down feels pretend. Anyway, we ended up talking for a couple of hours, and eventually, the conversation landed on what I did for work. I told him, and he was curious. By the end of the night and only after he had asked, I gave him a very mini reading. He didn’t seem to have much of a reaction but after a while, I came to a stop and he politely asked if I was done. When I nodded he turned to face me, his eyes looked different and I could tell I had hit on something, and then he hugged me. He told me that he was interested in what I did but was surprised that what I said was so accurate. All of a sudden it felt like I had that purpose twinkle in my eye yet again. 

My drive home was a little different. I did give myself time to think and boy did it get juicy. Now, before I tell you this next part I need you to know that I was safe while doing this, so don’t get nervous. As I was driving I had the sudden urge to shut my music off and just be still for a moment. The next urge I had was to scream, so I did. My first scream came out timid and my voice broke at the top of it. I kinda giggled after I did it. I had never screamed like that in my entire life. “Good girls don’t scream” I kept thinking as I let it all out. My next scream was confident, loud, and horrifying. I started sobbing. And I did that, for about an hour. I screamed with words and I screamed without. My race was over, and I had lost. 

I had been bottling for months and months. In the wide-open space that is Wyoming, I let myself go. I stopped running and it all caught up to me. Even though at the end of my release I was a swollen, red-eyed, and snot-filled mess, I was finally me again. I say this fully knowing that tomorrow may be different, or next week, or next month. However, to me, all that mattered was that moment. The two-year-old that I nanny says “see you again” instead of “see you later”. For some reason, all I’ve been able to think about for the last week is if I do lose myself it’s only one more “see you again” before I find her. 

Just a week later, as I turn twenty-five, I want to share with you some things I know about me, and some things I don’t. I want you to know who I am, even as I’m figuring it out. I want you to know me because I am proud of who I am and I am excited about who I become every day. And to future me, I want her to know, that she is worthy even when she doesn’t know where to go. 

Here are some things that I know:

I have hurt people and people have hurt me. I have apologies stuck in my throat that replaced insults I never could quite give. 

I like to write, although I’ve always told myself I wasn’t any good at it. Now I understand that I was just keeping myself small. Creative outlets don’t have to be understood by all, for even if the seed is just planted in one fertile mind, a garden may spring up down the line. 

I have a deep commitment to honor myself and who I am. A hefty responsibility and one to which the only person I have to answer to is me. 

I become and unbecome every single day. I used to shy away from this process, sometimes painful but always liberating. I am no longer ashamed of how I feel. 

I like puzzles. Figuring someone out is a beautiful process to me. I need to work on letting (and listening to) them tell me who they are. 

I work a lot so that I can convince myself that I am “successful”. I know what success means to me, and it is not the typical answer, and yet I still stop myself from fully going for what I want because I am scared. 

I coexist with my body. Sometimes it likes to play the part of that ex of yours, that texts you right as you start to forget and reignites everything you’ve felt from the beginning. I have to remind it that we are no longer in a toxic relationship. We’re a team and will be forever. 

I am very good at being the open book. I can share with almost anyone the depths of what I feel about something, fears I may have, parts of me I have dissected. What you may not know is that I am also very good at protecting. There is a sliver of me that is so scared to be held and I have built a hefty fortress around that part. I have just started the demolition. 

I like to think I’m fiercely independent. But the truth is that I hide behind my introvert label, if no one can really see you, there is nothing to critique. 

I speak in metaphors so people can understand the depth of what I feel. 

I yearn to be understood. So deeply that sometimes it hurts. 

Here’s what I’m not so sure about:

I have no idea what the fuck I am doing. Like at all.  Most of the time, this feels ok. Except when one of my expertly juggled balls falls and I am all of a sudden lost once again. The difference is that now I know that I can trust myself through whatever may be presented to me. Through whatever I may find, or discover, or explore. I can do it.