Josie L.
If you’re reading this, it’s your first time living, too.
Hi there. I want you to start by asking yourself one question: what would you say to a friend who was going through the same thing you’re going through right now?
Hold onto that thought, we’ll come back to it.
I’m going to tell you about something I went through that changed the way I understand struggle (and grace) forever.
Starting at just three months old, I moved around my entire life because of my parents’ careers in the Navy. Throughout every day as the “new girl,” every new house, every goodbye, the one constant I had was my family—my mom, my dad, and my brother. Especially my brother. Everybody who knew us knew we were best friends; every pair of siblings wished they had the kind of friendship we did. I took for granted that it would always be this way and that some things never change despite everything else in my life being a whirlwind.
Unfortunately just last semester, in a period of only six months, the family dynamic I built my entire sense of stability and identity around was shaken to its core due to unforeseen challenges in my brother’s mental health. I won’t share the details out of respect for my family’s privacy, but I will share this: I felt completely and utterly alone in it. This experience was truly the first time in my life where I felt afraid to say out loud what I was going through. Maybe it was the stigma around certain mental health conditions, maybe it was that I thought speaking about it was accepting it.
Yet, I had to keep going. It felt like I’d dug my own grave by enrolling in 19 credits while being a House Leader in Whitman, Vice President of Panhel, and an active member in my sorority. Most of all, I was a big sister and an eldest daughter. I was trying to hold my family together while I was quietly getting weaker with each passing day. For someone who used to pride themselves in never missing class and having straight As, I could feel myself slipping as my brother’s situation worsened despite my battling tooth and nail to keep the four of us from growing distant.
What I didn’t know then is that it is literally impossible to carry that much. No matter who you are or what you’ve been through.
Since then, I’ve learned more than any situation has taught me before. Here are some of the things I remind myself almost every day:
Family struggles are not your failures. When someone you love is hurting, it does not mean you have failed them. Being a sibling (especially us eldest daughters), a child, a friend is to love and support—not to fix. You are not responsible or capable of solving what is not yours to solve.
Energy is finite. You’re not built to have an endless supply, no one is. Not only is it unrealistic to manage school, responsibilities, relationships, and a crisis, it is impossible. When things slip under that kind of weight, it means you are a human, and certainly not a weak one.
Your brain wants safety. When you undergo serious stress or trauma, your mind enters survival mode. Those “bad” grades, unread texts, and missed meetings are just your brain doing what it’s programmed to do. Your brain is keeping you safe while practically running on an empty tank in crisis mode. You cannot be blamed for that.
Stepping back is not giving up. Making sacrifices for your own wellbeing is not a sign you’ve failed. You can still be hardworking, loving, and present even while giving yourself the grace to put something on hold for a while. This is often the only way to keep going at all. My dad always told me to imagine you’re spinning plates. Sometimes when the ground starts to shake, you have no choice but to drop a plate or two or three. You can always start spinning more when you catch your balance or when the ground is less unstable, but right now you cannot keep spinning all of your plates while pretending there isn’t an earthquake happening. Let some fall.
This too shall pass. It might not be okay tomorrow or next week or even next month. One day, it will be, though. Nothing lasts forever, not even this.
After reading all that, go back to the question I asked you at the beginning. What would you say to a friend going through this? You’d probably tell them that their mental health matters most and that they’re doing the best they can. That they deserve kindness and warmth rather than self-criticism. That they need to give themselves grace.
Now imagine that friend is a younger version of you—someone who has never been through anything like this before, because they haven’t. They are living through it for the very first time, just like you are right now.
You’d be gentler to them. You’d have patience and tell them not knowing the answers does not make them weak. If you had all the answers, you wouldn’t be a human. I’m asking you to please extend that same grace to yourself. It’s your first time living through this, too.
You do not need to have it all figured out. You just have to keep going. I know you will.
With love (because you are truly so loved),
Someone who has been there <3
Josie L., Syracuse University
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