My journey with vulnerability

Content Warning: This essay contains mention of self-harm. If you find the content disturbing, please seek help at Tuttleman Counseling Services or click here to find resources regarding mental health.

I often grappled with my emotions and struggled to express myself growing up. I was overly emotional and easily angered, causing me to lash out at my classmates or get set off by minor inconveniences.

My outbursts caught the attention of my mom, who thought I was experiencing depressive episodes. Her suspicions were confirmed when my fourth-grade teacher called her one day during school as I cried on the floor of the classroom for no apparent reason.

My parents decided to put me in therapy, a concept I couldn’t fully grasp at just 10 years old. I had no clue why I was there or that my therapist was trying to help with my emotions, so it felt just like having another friend.

For the next seven years, I laid on the couch in her office, snacking on the Jolly Ranchers on her table. Each week I would talk about school or how my lacrosse season was going, but our conversations never went beyond surface level. I told myself I couldn’t be vulnerable because I would be a burden to everyone around me if I let down my emotional shield. 

I constantly dodged questions requiring answers that would reveal how I truly felt: alone. It was obvious why; I pushed everyone away until they just stopped asking me about how I felt.  If someone asked, I would say I was okay — even when I wasn’t — before changing the topic to take the pressure off myself.

To me, vulnerability meant being comfortable enough to let people see me at my lowest point. I had seen many of my friends at their lowest, but I was so scared for people to see mine that I bottled up everything I felt. It only worsened my mental health because I was pushing people away.   

Regardless of how often my friends would check in on me, our interaction would always end up the same.

“I’m spiraling, honestly,” is how I wanted to respond to questions about how I was doing.

“I’m chillin’,” is what I would actually say.

I began cutting my arms halfway through my freshman year of high school to cope with my depression. I felt alone and didn’t know what to do, but self-harm was the best way to relieve the pain without feeling like a burden.

I continued to keep the same smile on my face to avoid people noticing my mental and emotional struggles. After keeping everything in for so long, I finally broke in March 2019 and was admitted to the hospital for a mental breakdown.

I was hospitalized three more times throughout high school, but I continued to push through by myself. I was diagnosed with depression and tried to cope by journaling and running, but I still shielded everything deeper away from those closest to me. 

One week during my senior year of high school, I stopped eating and slept all day instead of going to school. My friends noticed and asked my parents how I was doing, but I just said I was sick. 

I was sick — sick of being alive — but I could never tell them that because I believed if I let people in, they would think I was unbearable and leave me.

By the end of the week, I spiraled out of control. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do, but I was confident I wasn’t going to get through the night. I hit a wall and couldn’t do life alone. 

I finally realized I needed to open up rather than let my pent-up emotions control me. If I hadn’t, I doubt that I would have woken up the next morning.

Instead of doing anything to hurt myself, I walked into my brother’s room and cried for him to help. I bawled my eyes out and he called out to my parents who were in the other room. 

My parents’ reactions when they walked into the room are forever etched in my brain. My parents were crying and visibly afraid for my well-being yet relieved I wasn’t harmed and was finally letting my guard down.

I was checked into an outpatient mental health facility and began to speak openly about my struggles and feelings in the group therapy sessions. The more I talked to others there, the more comfortable I became with opening up about my emotions.

I learned hiding everything only made the people around me worry more, which was the opposite of what I wanted. Being closed off and doing everything alone only made me feel more isolated and emotionally exhausted.

Once I checked out, I began to apply what I learned little by little in my daily life.

During my freshman year at Temple, I was burnt out and could feel a depressive episode coming on. I decided to take a trip back to my hometown in New Jersey so I could refocus and relax before going back to school.

My mother was brought to tears, knowing I never would have taken such a step before. She hugged me and thanked me for the strides I was making in my willingness to talk and open up about my feelings.

Since then, I’ve been gradually improving. I’ve been more honest with my therapist and even started letting my friends know how I’m feeling, both positive and negative. I still run and journal like I did before, but I realized I don’t need to go through everything alone.

Vulnerability can be difficult to adapt to, and while I still struggle with letting people in, I’m working through it. Once I accepted I didn’t have to feel ashamed and afraid, it felt like a weight was lifted off my shoulders.