August 29, 2022: Coping with the Challenges of Change
I’ve been fairly open over the years about my mental health (namely, that it’s been an issue). Over the last few years I’ve made a lot of progress and gotten back to a really good place. Of course, that was under the best possible conditions. My parents were an incredible support system, my therapist was one text message and two blocks away, and I was living in a community that I know intimately and am extremely comfortable in. I wasn’t sure how the move to Europe would go. I’d be wiping out all those beneficial factors in one fell swoop. I’d also be exposing myself to a wealth of inspiration and adventure, embracing big, crazy dreams, and I came into this without putting pressure on myself or strict expectations for “success.” I’d come leaps and bounds from when I hit rock bottom six years ago, and part of me was hoping that the transition would be easy. Would even break down some of the mental barriers I was still working to dismantle. The other part knew there was a solid chance I’d slide a bit.
It shouldn’t have surprised me as much as it did that the latter is what actually happened.
The last couple months have been a process involving a lot of back and forth. Sometimes it felt like one step forward, two steps back. I know I worried my parents. We’re tight knit, and they know me far too well. Well enough that they can tell when I’m back-sliding even from thousands of miles away. That or I’m a really poor actress. Last week, my mom said there was nothing wrong with coming home. That maybe I should, if I wasn’t doing well.
The thing is, change is always going to be hard. And it might always be that little bit harder for me, because my instinct is to shut down when I get overwhelmed. I might always have these periods after a big shift where I slow down, slip inside my own head, pull back from the world while I settle back into my own skin.
But over the last couple months, I’ve been slowly pulling myself up, bit by bit, breaking the surface to catch my breath before ducking back beneath the waves, resting in the cool, dark, familiar waters while I build up my strength, and reminding myself of each lesson I’ve learned in the last 6 years, one by one. I’m back on the shore, and I feel stronger for having tread water these last couple months. It’s progress. And perhaps, with practice, I’ll get better at change. Quicker at resetting. If I don’t try I’ll never know. And if I let this—something I have control over, something I can tame—stop me from living my life to the fullest, I’ll never forgive myself. I’ll live and die by my regrets, and that is the one outcome I cannot bear.
So I’m not headed home just yet (sorry, Mom). Instead, I’m going to see if I can eek out three months worth of Croatian adventures in the thirty-odd days remaining.
Stay tuned.
