I graduate this semester.

I've written about this before. I'm almost certain there are a myriad of other writings on the cliche Millennial "woe is me, I have to be an adult now" narrative. But the people that know me best know that my best method of processing begins with a pen and paper. And that is where I am right now.

I'm excited to graduate. I really am. I've been reaching, fighting, crying, and hoping for this semester for over five years now. I've contemplated when "my turn" would be as I watched my friends flip their tassels. I changed majors, joined and left student organizations, and worked until I wasn't sure what "fun" meant anymore. I've struggled to remember that my journey is not the same as others but uniquely my own. I anxiously awaited the day where I would finally apply for my diploma myself. But now that that day is finally here, I'm not exactly sure what to do with myself.

My journey through college hasn't been an easy one. That's why it took me so long to get here. But I don't think it really is easy for anyone. It's a prime time for self-discovery, growth, and learning. I have been blessed with the opportunity to gain valuable experiences while learning from some very difficult truth. And it was these trials that begged to tear me down, to cut off my limbs and to render me defenseless; absolutely unable to reach the potential I was meant for. This isn't an unlikely story.

I'm the student that is studied within the writings of the "what is wrong with today's college student" think pieces. My testimony is quite similar to many: First generation college grad, lower middle class, riding entirely on student loans/scholarships, working 30+ hours a week while maintaining a heavy class load, attempting to become involved in on-campus organizations to resume build and make a couple of friends, crying on her bedroom floor exhausted from the balancing act that just didn't seem to apply to the vast majority. But even with these circumstances, I know I am not unique. Varying aspects of my life have become 'unique' but I, in and of myself, am not unique. These stories happen all the time.

But I knew that there were aspects of my journey that were, in fact, unique. And this isn't where I go on-and-on about the hardships that have been these past five years. But I'd be lying to myself if I were to say that I stood by completely unaffected by them. We are shaped by our past and our brokenness. Our stories of victory occur following defeat. Our image is a reflection of healed wounds. And seriously, what a beautiful sight.

My defeat story began with a car and a drunk driver.

I'll spare the details, because I don't want to go over them again. I've written about them before: how you can walk through life, innocent and unaware and suddenly everything can change. How healing begins with forgiving. How picking up the pieces can mold you into a stronger person. How God moved for me, allowing me to heal in record time at virtually everyone's surprise.

But really what this breaks down to is: trust.

I'm so bad at it. Perhaps this is due to my unrelenting need to be in control of everything and to know exactly what lies ahead for me. Maybe it's due to the fact that I suffer from extreme self-doubt and comparison. Maybe it's the idea that humans fight with the concept of trust all the time. Because bad things happen to us, and when they do, it's difficult to remember the good.

Maybe that's why I am freaking out so badly.

Things were bad after that accident. I remember the anxiety, the pain, and the fear very clearly. I remember the "why me" mantra. I remember the fear of not being able to graduate on time. I remember the sadness I felt knowing that my life would never truly be the same. I remember the anxiety surrounding what was unknown: would I get better? Would there be any other health problems? Would I be okay? But I also remember the underlying trust I had that it would work out. Because it always does.

As graduation approaches, I feel these same things (to a much lesser extreme). I fear the idea that something else will prevent me from graduating in December. I am afraid of what will happen. I'm afraid of what may not happen. I might be unemployed. I might be in greater debt than I think I am. I might find that I obtained a useless degree with absolutely no hope for a future.

But I also might find that I am none of these things. I might find that I am employed. I might find that I am able to pay off my student loans in (semi) reasonable time. I might find that my degree meant something. I'm not entirely sure.

But what I am sure of is that this all breaks down to trust. Every transition in life begins with trust. And while I'm so entirely bad at it, it is essential.

If I can trust through the storm, I can trust now. Even if it is "underlying." Even if I am unsure and afraid.

Because things work out for me.

The day I have been anxiously awaiting is coming. I'm not quite sure if I'm ready. But I don't need to be sure. It all works out eventually.