Hannah Y.

Photography by Ben Curry

If you’re reading this, stigma and struggle thrive in isolation and obscurity. It is worth overcoming fear and doubt to share your story. 

So commonly, I hear mental health referred to as a “journey”. But that term implies a sort of linearity that is not a quality I associate with my own mental health. 

I have attempted to draft this letter upward of ten times, and each time I stop. Stumped. Unable to formulate what I want to say. Plagued by doubt. Physically overcome with the fear of being vulnerable. 

But by stopping, I am giving in to that same fear and discomfort that so fuels the stigma around mental health, that builds barriers to conversations and care. 

There is no perfect letter, no perfect summation of my story, of my feelings and thoughts, just as there is no perfectly linear mental health “journey”. Perhaps the best we can do is share a little piece of ourselves in the hopes it touches someone else and makes just the tiniest difference. 

So here it goes.

My story lacks a main event or an overarching theme, but rather, is defined by the culmination of constantly fluctuating “little” struggles. Throughout my life, and in particular these past four years of college, my mental health has taken many ups and downs – from times of stability characterized by extended periods of flourishing or lowness, to turbulent periods with severe day-to-day or hour-to-hour emotional variations, to periods of perceived elation that were really just busyness and distractions masking underlying difficulties. Compile all of that, and when I reflect on my college experience, I hardly recognize any one version of myself. And that is one of the difficulties I grapple with writing a summative letter like this – each draft, written in any one headspace, doesn’t feel fully reflective of me, nor does it completely capture my current reality and perspective.

But again, I push forward and share a little piece.

Freshman year, I struggled adapting to the increased workload coupled with the plethora of distractions and excitements that college brings. I overconsumed distractions with little regard for my well-being until it became clear that, without the rigid structure I had become so accustomed to, I had some underlying difficulties and I was struggling – all of which culminated in an ADHD diagnosis. Additionally, I struggled to be present in my new reality and navigate new relationships while my mind was constantly being pulled home as my family grappled with multiple experiences of grief. 

Sophomore year was mainly just sad. It was the first time in my life that I felt so low, apathetic, and dissociated for such an extended period. I wrote many drafts of this letter at that time, in which I was clearly fighting a losing battle to break out from under that murky cloud dampening my silly, little-moment-loving nature that gave me a sense of identity. Nothing I did could make me feel. 

Time passed, and I sought help. As a psychology major who literally studies the many benefits of therapy, I was surprisingly resistant to the idea. Between my hyper self-awareness and independence, I convinced myself that I could solve everything myself, and not only that I could, but that I should. Eventually though, my need to feel better surpassed my stubbornness, and I soon realized taking this step to get help was an incredibly empowering act of self-love. It was so helpful to have someone else piece together all those jumbled pieces of my puzzle that I already had, but couldn’t quite make sense of. 

My final two years of college have been more stable. I have grown so much, and I feel grateful for my reasonable and loving self who treats me with such kindness and handles each adversity with care. But that is not to say that a bout of therapy and a few critical years of personal growth have completely rid me of all mental health difficulties. I still have moments of struggle. 

I struggle with my constantly overactive mind that thrives on overthinking and hyper self-focus, to the point where some days I feel trapped in my own brain. I struggle with random spurts of social anxiety and self-doubt. I struggle with overempathizing and absorbing everyone else’s emotions and hardships. I struggle to be vulnerable with people as intimacy has often been synonymous with emotional dumping and blurred boundaries in my relationships – and it is easier to be distant than to put myself at risk. I struggle with the, at times, all-consuming fear that my life will sit in a stagnant cyclic repetition of past patterns of behavior and treatment. I struggle with overanalyzing and explaining away my emotions, with constantly searching for the “why”, rather than simply sitting with and processing them. And right now, I’m struggling to navigate the overwhelming emotions that come with closing a chapter and starting anew. 

Despite these struggles, despite the moments when I feel so let down and at odds with my own brain, I am filled with so much gratitude for that same overactive mind, as it is also the source of my curiosity and creativity, of my unique perspective and wholesome admiration, of my empathy and care. Some days are harder than others – the struggles compounding and piling up, becoming debilitating. But most of the time, they are minimally present, still there but not overpowering – acting as reminders of my strength, the foundation of my resilience. I am not defined by my mental health – nor are you – but they are a part of me, and for that, I am grateful. 

Mental health is messy and every person has their own set of battles. It is, for me, a series of fluctuating little struggles and little wins. These struggles are ongoing and everyday is a different collection of battles - few or many. 

But no matter what anyone tries to convince you (and that includes yourself), struggling is struggling, no matter the cause and no matter what it looks like. Your struggles are valid and worthy of being shared.

Hannah Y., Colorado College

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