I am really excited about the beginning of this newsletter. My hope is that eventually, it will form some sort of community, and a place for people to feel less alone, in a world that can often feel incredibly isolating and overwhelming at the same time. Writing has always been an immensely powerful tool for me to express emotions, and to create, as well as communicate with others. There is so much power within the spoken word, stories, and literature, and I feel more fulfilled when I am a part of an exchange of prose and sharing my work with whoever is interested, which was another motivation of mine when setting up this newsletter.
In the fall of last year, I moved out of the state I grew up in, and away from the people who I could not have grown without. I did not expect the transition to be as difficult as it was, but I suddenly felt alone and intensely overstimulated all at once. Growing up an only child, my parents have become not only my mentors, but my friends, and I missed them more than I could have anticipated. I missed being a bike ride away from my best friend’s house, and a short drive from there to go pick up my two other best friends. It was simpler than any of us realized to be together, with minimal effort or obstacles, we would all be in the same car, the same home, the same room. I did not fully appreciate the feeling of sharing a space with the people who knew me best until I went months without seeing them, until I had to open back up again.
Vulnerability went from an enemy to a distant friend during my first couple of months away at school. I went in wanting to hide parts of myself, experiences from my past. I wanted to be seen as a positive and lively person, and did not want to carry past traumas or grief with me into a place where nobody knew a thing about me. People continued to tell me that I would be able to reinvent myself in college, which felt like an insane amount of pressure. Who did I want to be, and how did I want to present myself to people who had known no previous version of me? I quickly noticed that to neglect being somewhat open about aspects of my past and present state of being was to create a wall between myself and the new people I connected with. They wouldn’t have a full understanding, or even a half-baked one, of why I responded the way I did to certain events, where my anxieties were rooted, and why I needed oodles of time on my own. I knew that I would want to know these things about a new friend I met, so that I could be the best possible companion, so that I would cease to let them down or disappoint them. I noticed vulnerability in the people I met. They asked for help, even if it was difficult. They were okay with sitting in their sadness, or in silence sometimes. Not every moment had to be full of joy, because it wasn’t, and we didn’t have the energy to fake it all of the time. Vulnerability became my savior.
Being vulnerable is not something that comes naturally to me, and I am still working on the ability to be comfortable in my sadness while surrounded by others. When I feel the need to cry, I hold it in until I can step outside. I have cried in 26 degree weather, in sweats and a tank top, to avoid being seen in a state that may be seen as weak by friends. This is not a plea for pity, but instead the beauty that comes with vulnerability. You will not be judged by true friends for feeling and existing in those emotions, whether they are joyful or not. You will be warmly embraced.
The other day, I was walking home from my friend’s dorm and I ran into one of my professors. She was leaving campus late, as she said she had stayed in her office grading papers for most of the evening. She asked me if I was going home, and I said yes without thinking twice. I have realized that you can feel at home at multiple places at once, and I have learned to come to peace with that.
