I woke up this morning, and I wasn't ok. When I say "woke up", I really mean that I finally decided to get out of bed after tossing and turning all night with anxiousness. I've struggled with anxiety my entire life, but the past few weeks have been harder than most. Actually, the past year has been harder to live with it than most. Aside from my minor moments of panic in public, no one really knows that I struggle when I'm alone, so I surround myself with people as much as possible. I like that "version" of me better; the one who doesn't overthink as much, the one that's talkative and laughing too loudly at everything. No seriously, I think everything is funny. That "version" of me is easier.

I posted a letter I'd written for class a few weeks ago, and the responses I received from it were overwhelming. I really only expected my mom to read it, and right away I began receiving positive messages from so many different people. People I hadn't seen in forever, some I'd never met— many detailing some of their deepest thoughts, emotions, and experiences. I was quite literally left in shock. I felt so honored that people trusted me enough to open up, I felt happiness in knowing that my words were able to help someone in some way. As odd as it sounds... I felt a sort of comfort in knowing that so many people have had the same feelings of doubt or emptiness. Feelings of being incomplete, unworthy, at a loss or simply just confused. When the positive messages stopped, I felt full. Full of joy and full of confusion. I was back to my original feelings of confusion that I'd written about in that letter. I was confused as to what I was supposed to do next. I was confused as to how I was ever going to post another piece of writing again. After all, it's not like people were so touched because of my writing in particular. Just being real, it was full of grammatical errors and it wasn't like it was so perfectly and eloquently written. Any writer could've taken my story and probably written it better. It was the life changing experience that touched so many people, and I don't have those life changing experiences on the daily as a college student in Ohio. I was scared to post anything else out of fear that it would be a let down, to me and to anyone who was touched by my original letter. My feelings of insecurity, doubt, and anxiety crept back in.

It's weird, huh? How my anxiety can be triggered by something as small as posting a piece of writing, it seems irrational. I can't explain why it happens, and I certainly can't explain when it's triggered by absolutely nothing at all. I didn't like the "version" of me that was tossing and turning all night and I didn't like the "version" of me that got out of bed this morning. I was so tempted to get back in bed, turn on the tv and try to not think about it, or anything really. I contemplated posting a picture to Instagram, that makes it easy to get instant gratification. The likes and nice comments are always a temporary bandaid to forget whatevers weighing on me. Instead, I pushed myself to follow through on plans I'd made to go to church with a group of friends that I don't even really know that well. I was nervous to get in the car because I was scared everyone might see the "version" of me that I don't like. I was nervous that I wouldn't be enough today.

The word "expectations" came up several times in church this morning, and I haven't been able to get that topic out of my head and off of my heart since. How expectations can be the biggest thief in our lives. The more I think about it, the reason so many people connected to my first letter was because of the humanity in it. Because I'm not the only one who's gotten angry with myself, with God, with life. I'm not the only person who feels anxious, not enough, scared, fearful, confused, depressed, stressed, and so many other overwhelming emotions all at once. The trouble is, we all are victims to our own expectations, we're all guilty of it. We're convinced that we need to hide our struggles and raw selves because we create this idea that people are expecting us to be a certain "version" of ourselves. The anxious and confused "version" of me that got out of bed this morning, is just who I am. No one I went to church with this morning expected me to be any certain "version" of who I am. It wasn't the words in my letter that touched people— it was that for a moment while reading how I felt, people were reminded that they weren’t the only ones who felt feelings of confusion or pain, feelings that we all convince ourselves are irregular. People were reminded that we're all beautifully flawed and purposely put through trials, and people found comfort in knowing they weren't alone.

I was anxious last night, I'm anxious today, I'm anxious in this moment, and maybe I'll wake up tomorrow feeling fine. Maybe next month I'll feel a heavy weight on my heart and have no idea why. Maybe it'll last for a day, and maybe I won't be able to shake it for a few weeks, but overall, I feel joy and happiness more often than not. So no, this letter might not be as impactful as my first— but, I’m ok with that because I realized that I don't need some life altering, miraculous story to simply say that I get what you're feeling, and that I don't expect anything from you, other than just who you are. No one does.

I never ask for help, I know the feeling of desperately wanting someone to ask you if you're ok and wanting no one to bring it up all at once. I know what it's like to have no idea why you're feeling the way you do. It's taken me this long to muster up the bravery to just openly admit that I'm not always ok. Much like me, this letter is completely all over the place, ADHD, full of errors that I don't have the time to go over. It's imperfect, but it's me, every version.

I don't have the answers to anything, but I know that it felt good to not give in to my anxiety this morning, and it feels good to just be honest. To admit that I expect too much of myself, and to let this letter be free of those same expectations. I don't expect it to be some life altering piece of work. I only hope that you feel the humanity in it, you feel comfort in it, you feel like you have someone here for you, someone who will listen to you, someone to remind you that what you’re feeling right now isn’t irregular— even if your expectations are different than mine. Because regardless of how we vary, we all expect too much.