I’ve heard it dozens of times, uncountable times maybe… “It’s just a job, Yas!” but for me, that’s never been the case. School, work, any kind of self improvement has always been my greatest passion and motivator. It’s how I feel valuable, appreciated, loved and connected. It’s how I feel comfort.
So, when I was without a job for four months, I thought that my only option to feel better was to find a new job, something to throw myself into, something to get me back on my feet again. After months and months of intense therapy and care, I thought this was my way out of it all and that my healing journey would be taken to new heights.
I believed for so long, let it be my beacon of light that once I was back to my usual ‘functioning self’ that things would go back to ‘how they should be’
This blog isn’t going to be one of immense hope or statistics on work and mental health, but solely a heartfelt blog of my inner feelings.
I have suffered many emotional breakdowns in my life, this one lasting the longest by far and I’m scared that this time, I have been broken beyond repair. I truly don’t think I’ll ever be the Yas I used to be and that I’ll always remain ‘damaged’ and don’t get me wrong, I’m a sensible person when it comes to mental health and I can usually think realistically, but I can’t deny what I feel nor will I try to hide it. I want to validate it, I want to become familiar with it, understand it and my relation to it and how I can possibly change it.
It’s really rough to think that I may never be who I once was, and that I didn’t do anything to deserve the hurt or pain that I’ve been put through in these past few months. I miss myself, I miss being happy, I miss laughing… I’ve been wanting to laugh for over a quarter of a year now, yet all that comes is tears.
So I put on my pant suit, I do my hair and I click my heels, yet I feel like I’m walking towards nothing but darkness, that I’m surrounded by it, covered in it, that I am it. I’m not a person that feels sorry for myself often, but damn, it’s been a hard road. One I thought I could see coming to an end, but one that I’m realising now I’m probably just starting. This realisation is heavy and haunting.
I try to keep in mind what my amazing caseworker would say, and that’s that I don’t have to have all the answers just yet, I can’t heal overnight, nor with a new title. The path is going to be long, maybe and possibly lifelong and that I have to be kind and patient with myself, but then the little Yas inside of me just wants to go to sleep. Little Yas is tired and just wants this all to be over. Little Yas doesn’t want to fight anymore, wait anymore.
Right now, I’m not feeling like what doesn’t kill me makes me stronger. I’m feeling that doesn’t kill me, tries and tries again, but I also have pride and self gratitude for managing to keep going this long, in a situation where I didn’t even think I’d be able to last the upcoming hour.
So, to anyone struggling with—or even hating—their healing journey, you’re not alone. It’s tough. It’s filled with constant reminders of the most painful moments you’ve lived and the possibility that nothing will ever be the same again. And maybe that’s okay. Maybe it will all work out. But in the moments when it feels like it won’t, it’s okay to feel scared, tired, angry, confused, disappointed—even to grieve the past. I know I’m not alone in this, and I want you to know—you’re not alone either.
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