I've been hiding one big, filthy secret for the majority of my life. I've put up a façade, I've fooled you all; constantly banging on about how courageous I am and how nothing can stop me. I've painted the perfect picture of myself to the outside world, and I know what you've all been thinking… my life has seemed a little too perfect. You're right - it's impossible for someone to be THIS great. I had to have a flaw lurking somewhere, right? In the hopes of inspiring or helping some of you, I feel it's imperative that I shed some light on my imperfections. So, here goes!

I suffer from a very serious condition. It may be self-diagnosed, but I need you to understand that this does not make it any less serious. The official term and the term I prefer is the tendency to experience 'homesickness'. However, you may be more familiar with its commonly used street names; 'Mamma's-girl' or 'wussy'. Essentially, I'm a wimp and I don't like to be away from my parents. That's my big secret!

Now, let's get something straight; by 'homesick', I don't mean the occasional withdrawal symptoms from mum's lasagne or missing the way my dad yells at the television when the football is on. When I say 'homesick', I mean the crazy stuff. That insane separation anxiety that lands you in the big red chair of a psychologist's office at age eight.

I was that kid in class who would cry, no… who would SCREAM, every single morning for the first three years of school. I was also the kid that would come over for a sleepover and then disappear before morning because I'd called dad in a sobbing, blubbering mess demanding him to pick me up. Oh, and school camps? Don't even get me started… I will never forget the three long, traumatic nights of my seventh-grade trip to Maroon Dam that most definitely resulted in an immediate increase in psychologist bills – that big red chair quickly become a part of my teen life.

I grew used to the jittery and unsettled feeling that came with being away from home. I knew my limits; no sleepovers, definitely no school camps, and home for dinner by 6 pm every night. I guess you could say I was only completely comfortable inside the brick walls of my home, with the sound of mum tapping away at her computer and dad turning the TV volume up even higher in an attempt to further destroy his already sub-par hearing.

After approximately 19 years of dealing with this clingy behavior, you can only imagine the shock on my parent's faces when I announced I would be departing for the US in 2019. Six whole months away? Wasn't it just last week I refused to sleep at a friend's house for fear of embarrassingly sneaking back home at bedtime? Apart from the fear of the hardship that was to come, I think my family and I were both sure this needed to happen. We had tried everything, and if I didn't act on my 'problem' soon, I'd end up like Alan from The Hangover; living with my parents at age 30 and calling out to mum when I've finished my lunch (although, I really don't see anything wrong with this).

Never in my wildest dreams did I think I could live 8,846 miles from home and be anything but a nervous wreck. Alas, I'm past one-third of the way through my semester abroad (42 days to be exact), and I am somewhat surviving. On second thought — it may be extremely premature to make this call, and I'm probably going to jinx myself, but I think I might even be thriving. I don't think I've ever felt freedom and confidence like I do now. It took months of restless nights waiting in anticipation, and even more appointments with said unlucky psychologists, but I'm doing it! Breaking free from the fear that was holding me back the most has unlocked an entirely new independent side to me. I've stopped going to mum for boy advice and asking dad to translate my homework questions into dumb-dumb language. I'm even capable of choosing what I want for breakfast, lunch and dinner every... single... day... (adulting!).

I know for a fact now that there is no better way to get over your biggest fear than facing it in the most head-on, direct way possible. Go cold turkey. Dive in the deep end. Put ALL your eggs in one basket. What I'm really trying to say is, get off your mum's couch and get out there! It may feel awful and unsettling, and you may want to run back home the minute you've walked out the door, but I promise you it's worth it. You aren't really living unless you're so far from your comfort zone you can barely recognize it anymore.