Growing Pains

This semester has been, by far, the most emotional four months of my life. Many say that entering grad school is one of the hardest times of your life; and though there have been challenges, I would rephrase this into, “Entering grad school allows you to grow more than you ever thought possible.” Those who were with me in the trenches of this life-changing program understand the depth of this statement in their own personalized way. Before August, I didn’t consider myself a “crier”. I was perfectly content with holding everything so tightly, and composing myself so rigidly, that only the straw upon my back could break me. My mom has always commented that if I do cry, I’m not crying over one thing, but a myriad of experiences that have piled up waiting for the dam to crack. This past semester has altered this aspect of myself, and, in my opinion, for the better. I cried nearly every week for three months straight, with a few total breakdowns in between. It wasn’t because of the hardship of academia, because, while the homework is challenging, it’s doable. The particular program I am in (Masters of Clinical Mental Health Counseling), pushed us to do the hard psychological work that we will be asking our clients to undertake. It’s difficult to understand this kind of work until you’ve actually encountered it, but I will do my best in trying to explain: Think about a current hardship in your life. It could be anything, as long as it causes some grief for you. Now, think about how that hardship applies to where you’ve been, who you’ve become, and where you’re headed. It is entirely possible that this particular hardship has been one you’ve faced multiple times in different forms, reinforcing possible thought processes or emotions you believe about yourself, others, or the world around you. Welcome to this type of work. It seems ambiguous, feels uncomfortable and painful, yet can be one of the most rewarding and growing things you ever do. Of the multitude of internal processes and core beliefs I own and have yet to be discovered, these two made themselves extremely apparent these last four months:

• I Will Survive

Though perhaps in a broader sense than Gloria Gaynor described, I realized I will survive. Each one of us have our struggles that at times feel like we are gasping for air as the storm continues to push us underwater. The fear and anxiety we experience over this loss of control can make anyone want to surrender. However, in the midst of an insane amount of personal, psychological, and academic stress this semester, a sense of calm filled me. I was not nearly as worried about certain issues because I knew I would survive them. Thus far, I have a 100% success rate at living through various hardships, and will (hopefully) continue to do so. For a control-freak who is ridiculously detail-oriented, this state of being was, and is, so freeing. I still get things done, I just don’t worry or obsess over them the way I used to; and ironically enough, I couldn’t have learned this without the challenges I’ve faced. Perhaps this thought process merely comes with age, as people encounter more and more trials that imbue them with this sense of serenity. Either way, I’m grateful.

• Core Belief Realizations

This one is a bit harder for me to admit to, as it governs the majority of my thoughts, actions, and feelings. However, it was such an epiphany that I wish to share it to allow its awareness to permanently embed itself in my psyche, as I have recognized that I attempt to consciously forget it (it’s so ingrained!). During a specific class this semester, I asked my cohort for some feedback on a sensitive issue – whether or not I come across as closed off. I should state here that I have some social anxieties and insecurities, and this question was knocking at the door of each one of them. While many people said sweet and amazing things that are definitely more a testament to their character than mine, I felt ashamed to be asking them, and began crying even before the question was asked. At the time I said that I was crying because of nerves and how much their words touched me, which was absolutely true; however, little did I know that this question and subsequent reaction would begin a spiraling into the dark, uncharted territory of my soul where beliefs about myself and love reside. With poking and prodding from a professor, I recognized two things: 1) I hate being seen as weak; and 2) I only feel worthy of love if I’m caretaking.

In asking for that specific feedback from my cohort, I saw myself as weak. In asking for something that I couldn’t immediately return, I felt indebted and vulnerable. Though rationally it doesn’t make a ton of sense, it existed in this dark chasm for a reason. I am a caretaker, and have been in various ways since I was a child. I grew up with the belief that unless I was caretaking in one way or another, I was unworthy and undeserving of love. If I asked for this love without caretaking, I was weak because I wasn’t giving as much as they were giving me. Being a caretaker is part of who I am, and I am learning that the other parts of myself deserve just as much love. I truly enjoy caring for others; still, I’m realizing how this belief has previously allowed me to suspend my own needs, wants, and desires in hopes of feeling worthy enough to love. Slowly, I recognized that the majority of my interactions and emotions were based on this notion, and, naturally, I began questioning all the things. From friendships to relationships, insecurities to triumphs, how much of these were motivated by my need to feel love through caretaking? It’s an interesting process; I am not ashamed of who I am, yet I recognize that unless I change, I will constantly walk around with a void I’ve created for myself. Learning how to cope with this has been the biggest growing pain I’ve yet endured.

It’s interesting for me to discuss some of the most emotional months I’ve had via the medium of a blog. If you simply Google search blogs that discuss emotion, sterile writing of the human condition becomes present. We’ve become so afraid of feeling anything that we’ve tried to simplify it. Yes, emotion is transient and uncomfortable at times, but isn’t that what makes life worthwhile? Taking the ups with the downs, and fully experiencing the majesty in-between? Without the emotion of the last four months, I would still be the person who attempts to tightly contain herself, not truly understanding the beauty that can enter by simultaneously letting beauty out. Emotion cannot be quantified; internal growth cannot be scientifically measured. Life is too important to get carried away with the details.