Growing up, I always felt like a lot. I talked a lot, and people, especially my family, had no issue letting me know that. Since a child, I've always been creative and have enjoyed various things. I loved making things, and even went as far as to make a craft YouTube channel lol. Zairahdiy and zandmslimes are out there somewhere. When I got older, it was no longer a cute personality trait, but rather annoying (me talking a lot, that is). Occasionally as a child, my family would tell me to sit down and stop talking, but eventually it started to have an impact. Same with friendships and other relationships; I started to feel like a lot, and so I minimized myself to be less. I felt like I was too much for people to enjoy being around, and I started viewing myself as annoying too. I began to make myself feel small, because I thought that would make other people want to be around me more. If I was less myself, I thought more people would like me, because it would take a lot for people to like all of me. During and after the pandemic, it only got worse. I went from being such an outgoing, talkative kid to someone who was shy and didn't like being in rooms she didn't know anyone. I became very depressed, even more than usual, and had so much self-doubt and insecurity. I never felt good enough, in school or in life, and I always felt like I could be doing better. Years later, now that I am in therapy and doing the active work, I am reflecting so much on my childhood and who younger Zairah was. Not to toot my own horn, but I was really a spectacular child with spectacular interests. I was so creative, vibrant, and outgoing, and had so much I wanted to do. Every summer, I dedicate my time towards becoming a better version of myself, and the summer after freshman year of college I decided to work back towards authenticity. I wanted to revert, not completely, lol, to who I was as a child. I wanted to reintroduce hobbies and interests, become my talkative, outgoing self again, and just go back to being me. The real me. I'm not exactly sure the physical steps that I took, but it worked. I stopped shushing myself and minimizing myself to make others comfortable, and started focusing on whether or not I was comfortable. I knew it worked because I developed closer bonds with my friends. I had more and more of them tell me I'm funny, and I was invited to more things. I formed newer friendships as well, and the initial conversations I had with people were so nice. The best part was I felt like myself again. I felt comfortable and relaxed and not like a fake carbon copy of myself. Now I'm nowhere near where I fully want to be, but I am damn proud of my progress. Despite all the growth and improvement, life wasn't all sunshine and rainbows. Sophomore fall quickly began one of the most depressing seasons of my life since 10th grade of high school - it's something about sophomore year, smh. I felt so isolated, alone, overwhelmed, stressed, and I had my first-ever panic attack. I was crying all the time, and genuinely it felt like too much was on me. I finally took the initiative to see a psychiatrist, and it really changed the game for me. I want to be more involved in mental health projects because if I wasn't able to get the help I need, idk if I'd still be here. I had such negative feelings towards medication, and held all the stigmatized views you can think of. However, I couldn't be more grateful for the medication now. I think since being on the medication, I've become more emotional, which sounds backwards. However, I really think this medication has just given me the outlet to feel the emotions I had been suppressing for so long. I am so dramatically grateful and emotional about everything. After I watch a romantic TV show, I'm crying in the bathroom about how beautiful love is. Whenever I am sad and want to cry, I have no choice but to let it out, because my body won't let me hold it in, and trust me, I've tried. It honestly feels like such a nice release, because I haven't cried this many happy tears in a while. I haven't cried this much in general. Before, I'd wait until I was at my breaking point to finally cry, because I felt like I had to be composed. I felt like I needed to have everything together and that it's weak to cry. Growing up, I often wasn't able to cry freely because my reasons weren't deemed valid, and I think that is something I carried with me into adulthood. I also hate asking for help or telling those close to me what I'm going through, because people see me as having it all together and that things work out well for me. Because of these assumptions, I felt like I had something to prove, and these expectations combined with my own were burdensome. I felt such immense pressure and exhaustion, all while feeling alone, which was no one's fault but my own. Going to therapy, seeing a psychiatrist, and going to bible study were all outlets and spaces that have allowed me to be free from my own self-inflicted emotional prison. I allow myself to feel, and MAN, do I feel a lot. I feel things so intensely and passionately. I care so deeply about life itself, about my life, about people, and about my future. I feel like I live in constant nostalgia, and I feel like a movie character in a very dramatic movie, lol. I just finished "Every Year After," and it genuinely gutted me in the best way possible. I cried so much during that show, and I watched intensely for the first time in a while. That show really touched me and made me feel a plethora of emotions. Each character had something relatable to them or made me realize what I want from those around me. They made me think about the kind of person I want to be and the kind of person I want to love. The show made me reflect on what I deserve and crave in romantic relationships. After it, I came upstairs, turned on Ruth B, and dramatically sang to her lyrics while cleaning my whole room. I started thinking about moments with friends nostalgically, and looking at drawings and thinking about my childhood drawing days. I think the medication has honestly given me the room to just allow myself to feel again, and yeah, maybe it's a lot or too much, but that's me. I AM a lot, and I am proud of that. I wouldn't want to be anything less than ME. Passionate, talkative, curious me. I don't want to feel less, or talk less, or be less. I want to be to the fullest. I want to laugh until my stomach hurts when I'm happy. I want to bawl my eyes out when I'm sad. I want to feel every emotion to the fullest. It's what makes me me. It's what makes me human. One day I may not be able to feel like I do now. Remember the memories like I do now, or even cry over minuscule things like romance movies. I want to soak up all the stupid things and make the most of it. I want to drive 2 hours to another city with friends and complain before I do it. I want to have sleepovers and continue talking about high school drama like it was yesterday. I want to talk about dumb things like whether I'm going to change my last name to my husband's or not. I want to continue those pointless, meaningless conversations. I want to continue enjoying the stupid, uneventful things. That's what matters to me. All the seriousness is important, sure, but it's the little things that really remind you what we're here for. We're here to LIVE. To cry. To laugh. To send embarrassing texts. To have unrequited crushes. To make dumb decisions our parents scold us for. To get mad over dumb test grades and get a sweet treat after. To be bored. To explore. To smile. To FEEL. All of it. As dumb, as primitive as it is, this is what matters most. To be the older version of our childhood selves. To prove to her that we still love her, and feel her, and care for her. To keep those promises to her. To let her come out now and then. I don't ever want to minimize myself again, not for anyone. I don't want to make little Zairah feel like she's not enough anymore. That she's too much. I want to cherish her and embrace her every day. I want her to know she is valued - by me. That I love her, and I won't forsake her again. That I won't lock her away because I'm scared of how others might view her. That I view her as perfect and that's all that matters. That she is enough and great and kind and beautiful, and never has to change. That's what life is about, and that's my mission to uphold it.
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