From the outside looking in, I might come across as a really easy kid to raise. I was always conscientious about my studies or actively involved in sports. I never partied or caused trouble. I did not drink underage, do drugs, or have a problematic boyfriend that caused unnecessary drama. With that said, looks can be deceiving. Raising me was not an easy task for my parents, nor is it for any parent. This post is dedicated to all the parents out there that go above and beyond to nurture and raise us to the best of their abilities.
Growing up, I was like any other kid. And by that, I mean I was extremely quirky. From being obsessed with dinosaurs to pretending I was an animal and crawling around, it was quite clear that I had a vivid imagination. Playing pretend was a common theme for me as an adolescent. Yet, this is all completely normal for most kids. It is an essential part of development.
Things started to change for me as puberty began to hit. My friends and I went separate ways, as they chose boys, I chose to focus on my future (i.e. academics and athletics). The middle school years are certainly not ones of which I look back on with fondness. With all of this insecurity building up within me and just the notion that I was different, I developed an eating disorder. To avoid uncomfortable social situations, I immersed myself in working out. It gave me this false sense of confidence, that somehow it would make me more popular. My anorexia nervosa progressed at an alarming level and I would not be here today to tell the story if not for the proactiveness of my parents. They found the best team of doctors imaginable to get me back on track. It is important that I note how lucky I am. Anorexia nervosa is a deadly disease that removes any sense of judgement when at its peak. The support system my parents afforded me was essential to my survival.
Fast forward to freshman year of college, when my parents were supposed to be done with their responsibilities. Three weeks into my first semester at this prestigious university, I withdrew due to panic attacks and extreme social anxiety. I was heartbroken and disappointed with myself, but I was more distraught that I had failed to thrive off of all the support my parents had given me. They had raised me right, with an abundance of love and encouragement, and I did not want my failure to reflect poorly on them. Despite this, they never stopped loving and supporting me. Not once did they give up on my aspirations or see me as a lost cause. I owe it to them that I got back on my feet and enrolled in Hope College the following fall. Through their wisdom and advice, I decided to finally get tested for learning or social problems.
As a 19-year-old, I was diagnosed with autism. For some, that might seem like a setback, but for me, it was liberating. Through educating myself, I learned how to cope with the symptoms of social anxiety and black and white thinking and grow in myself. Moreover, it was comforting for my parents to acknowledge that it was never their fault. I knew that all along, but like any parent, they were their harshest critics. In reality, they were my support system through it all and the solution to my many moments of adversity.
Not many college students can say this, nor will they admit to it, but I proudly declare that my parents (and my brother) are my best friends. The Merriam-Webster Dictionary defines a friend as "a person who helps or supports someone or something." My parents are the epitome of this definition. They are the first people I turn to when I need to be consoled and the first people with whom I want to share exciting news. Family members are the friends that never fade away or go separate directions in life. It is true that my parents will one day not be around, but it is my wish that my brother and I can carry on their legacy of unwavering love and support as we start families of our own.
