“I’m fine.”

“No, I’m OK.”

“I’m doing really well.”

The other night I went with my family to the beach to listen to live music and to watch the sunset over the water. It was a popular beach full of people running around laughing and all I kept thinking about was callused, deformed feet and tarp tents.

That’s a pretty weird thing to be thinking about when walking around feeling the ocean water and sand between your toes with a gorgeous sunset in the background, I know. But that’s all I kept thinking about and I felt like I was suffocating right there in front of all of those people.

And as I’m feeling my chest tighten like I can’t get air in quick enough, I kept repeating “I’m fine.” “I’m OK.” “I’m doing really well.” But I’m not fine, I’m not OK, and I’m not doing really well.

Recently I took my very first mission trip to Greece where I was able to work with Gypsies and refugees and it was the most incredible thing I have ever done. When I was there, I was able to play games, teach English, and laugh with children from all different backgrounds all while being able to show them love and kindness. And while I was there, I had my heart get so full of love I couldn’t imagine a better feeling. I spent my short time there laughing and smiling so much that when I would leave the camps for the day, my face would hurt. We kept so busy while I was there that by the end of the day I was exhausted, passing out and preparing for the next day while not giving the time to truly process the gravity of what I was seeing at each new place. That was until I came back home.

I made it back home on a Thursday and spent Friday jet lagged and really busy still not processing anything I had seen. When I woke up on Saturday it was a different story. Saturday was the day of my cousin’s open house where friends and family were already sending me messages about how excited they were to hear my stories about my trip at the party. But instead of waking up all excited for the party, I woke up in a cold sweat from a nightmare; a nightmare about babies, mud, and callused, deformed feet.

I went downstairs and was standing at the sliding glass door looking outside when my mom asked if I wanted to help her cut vegetables when all of a sudden I couldn’t stop crying. My mind had decided that was the moment to process what I had seen in all of those camps and villages. My mom ran over wanting to help and asked if I needed a hug or to be left alone because this was the emotional processing we had been expecting to happen, so I went outside alone to try to write and cry it out. I spent the next several hours randomly crying and losing my breath anytime something would remind me of my trip. And at the party, anytime someone would ask about my trip, I would give the standard “it was incredible, here take my phone and look at the pictures” because every time they asked all I could see was feet, mud, and tarp houses causing me to want to start crying all over again.

I was finally processing what I witnessed in those camps. I had met an 11-year-old girl whose parents had already tried marrying her off twice. I saw an entire camp of people living in the mud in houses made of tarps and sticks while laying on metal bed frames held up by more sticks with no mattress on top, just a blanket. I saw so many little children running around with few adults to find out these children were the teenagers’ kids. I met refugees whose feet were callused and deformed from all of the walking they had done to find safety for their families. And I met a woman washing her husband and two young children’s clothes in muddy water because that’s all they had while she told me about how badly she wanted to make a better life for her kids to then find out she’s my age.

I grew up with the phrase “rub some dirt on it, dirt don’t hurt” anytime I was hurt and since I’ve gotten home, I have been “rubbing dirt on it”. Telling everyone how well I’m doing and about all of the incredible things I did and saw while trying to avoid thinking about every other thing that broke my heart. I have been ignoring the fact that I have been taking cold showers every day since I’ve gotten home because I feel like I can’t breathe.

How every time I walk into my house or lay in my bed I think of stick and tarp houses in the mud.

How every time I find myself getting jealous of all of my Facebook friends getting engaged and having babies I feel like throwing up because now all I see is the teenage girls married with children before their 16th birthdays. Then hearing them tell me how jealous they are of me because I’m unmarried at 21.

How now every time I see a baby, I want to cry for the babies I held in the camps who have no idea how difficult their lives are going to be.

Every time someone asks how I’m doing or how great I am for going on that trip because of all the good I did, I lie. I say I’m doing great and thank you. But I’m not doing great, I feel like I’m suffocating in my own skin, screaming, trying to get out because I can’t breathe. I feel so much guilt because I couldn’t do more to help them.

Because I secretly get a little jealous and angry with all of my friends every time I see they are getting engaged or starting families when those gypsy children aren’t even given the time to just be kids before they are married off and having kids.

And how now every time I hold a baby, I wish I could have brought all the babies from the camps home with me to give them a better life.

Rub some dirt on it. Dirt don’t hurt. That’s an oxymoron. You’re taking a wound and putting dirt on it which will cause an infection and cause more pain, so why did it take me almost 21 years to realize how messed up that actually is? To realize I am human. That we are all human and sometimes we go through situations and gain experiences that take away pieces of who we are. And sometimes if you’re anything like me, we feel lost and broken not knowing how to go on after what we’ve witnessed.

So I’m here to tell you it’s okay. It’s okay to take the time to cry, hurt and be lost. Most importantly it’s okay to admit you’re not okay and that you’re struggling. That doesn’t make you weak. In fact, it shows you are strong enough to admit when you’re having a hard time. It also gives others a chance to understand what you are going through while giving them a chance to help you though it so you don’t have to go through it alone. Take your time to process what you went through. If you need to cry, then cry, and if you need to scream, then scream. Don’t just rub dirt on it. Accept the fact that you may be lost and hurting right now but in time you will make it through.

In time you will be able to breathe again.

I promise.