Everyone is born into the world as glass dolls. We are fragile beings and are taught to protect ourselves from any harm that may ever be inflicted. Guard yourself at all costs. Do not show your imperfections. Do not show your scratches. Most importantly, do not crack.
August 30, 2013. I cracked. All my little scratches struck my fragile being and I shattered. I was no longer the perfect glass doll. I suddenly became imperfect.
Society teaches young children at a young age that they must always have everything together. When asked a simple question of “how are you?”, the appropriate response is always “I am fine.” As children, we are taught to mask our vulnerabilities. We are taught to always have everything put together. Never show fear. Never show stress. Always look perfect. We are taught to look up to role models who always appear perfect. Every singer, actor, actress, princess, or prince that we look up to is paid to look perfect. They are paid to keep their glass selves together at all times, at all costs. No exceptions.
August 30, 2013. I had a panic attack in my mother’s suburban as we pulled up to check-in to Episcopal High School for my sophomore year. Slowly, my glass pieces fell apart. It was suddenly impossible to find any oxygen and my world seemed to close all around me. Two months later, I found myself in a doctor’s office in the heart of Washington D.C. and was diagnosed with depression and anxiety. Despite my struggling, I was able to put up a master facade, so no one knew my inner battles. I looked happy all the time, I looked put together all the time, I was getting great grades. Thank you to society for teaching me how to mask my feelings. During the times when I needed to be surrounded most, I felt the strongest sense of isolation. I was shattered on the floor and each day, it was becoming more and more impossible to pick up the pieces that once portrayed my glass being.
After months of counseling, I finally came to the understanding that depression and anxiety are some of the most common mental illnesses and millions of people suffer. I was not alone. What troubled me the most in the months that followed was why it was never discussed openly. If so many people have the same feelings I do, why does nobody talk about it? The single thing that helped me through my effort to pick up my pieces was sharing. I talked to anyone and everyone about what I was going through. Looking back on this two years later, I realize that through those conversations, I was beginning a dialogue about an illness that so many people suffer from but everyone's too afraid to speak out.That being said, it doesn't make sharing any easier. It is still terrifying each time I open my mouth or try to put words on paper. I am still scared to death every time I open up. The stigma of mental illness still hangs over my head, and society for that matter. As much as I want to break it, I know we still have a long ways to go. So, I challenge you to be a part of the conversation. If you can, open up. If you can't, listen. The most precious place in the world is sitting with a shattered being and just being there. You don't need to say the right thing or do the right thing; you already are doing the right thing by being there. You don't need to pretend like you know what it is like, because truth be told, you don't. When people break, they all break differently. And when people get put back together, they get put back differently.
I am not the same person today as I was 3 years ago. I have put myself back together, but not the same way I was. I am back to being a whole glass doll, but this time, I am held together with glue. I do not try to mask my imperfections, I do not try to keep myself from cracking or scratching. The world doesn't need anymore perfect dolls. The world needs you and me. The world needs us to show up all scratched up and cracked and say "Here I am".
So... HERE I AM.
