A Grateful Life Lived

When I went to Hilton Head Island with my family this past July, I experienced a resurgence of joy as I watched my nephew play in the sand and helped him explore the tidepools. But for different reasons entirely, I also experienced a sudden burst of nostalgia.

The last time I had visited Hilton Head, I was two weeks shy of reporting to campus for my freshman year of college. I still remember where I was when I got an email that my roommate and I would have a “forced triple.” I also recall feeling very hesitant that my original roommate planned on having a denim bedspread that wouldn’t at all match the color scheme I had planned on (Sorry, Caren).

That trip also stands out for other reasons. It was the first vacation we took after my dad remarried. Our newly-blended family of seven was doing our best to get used to each other, trying to emulate the more seasoned family units around us. Normal families went out for ice cream. So did we. Normal families hung out together at the beach. So did we.

Amid the normalcy, though, I felt a sour twist of concern. Time was fleeting before I was to report to campus. I was equally compelled to (1) cry for help and (2) feign ambivilance because what teenager isn’t thrilled to finally get out on their own?

Hindsight yields a bit more compassion for my eighteen-year-old self. She was reeling in the typical tides of coming-adulthood, yes, but she was also navigating so much more. Within the span of a new month, that girl moved to a new home, embraced (I use that word loosely) a new family, dealt with challenging family dynamics, and processed the first anniversary of a loved one’s death. 

As soon as I moved into that home, my new room was stacked with boxes for my dorm, and while I liked the house, I was convinced it would carry the new family on, undeterred in my absence–complete with a new daughter to replace me. I remember not knowing how to act or what to do.

Toward the end of the vacation to Hilton Head, as I iced a sore hip and contemplated what to say to Caren about her denim bedspread (which was nothing, for the record), I was overwhelmed with self-hatred. All my friends were thrilled about college and said I should be, too. When I was honest with those close to me, many said that I should simply “not be afraid.” I choose to believe they meant well, but those messages were harmful. I internalized a lot of my panic because of phrases like that–I felt condemned as a “bad Christian” for feeling afraid. Despite what Google suggests, there is not a three-step guide to banishing fear; for many of us, the fear is rooted in trauma or past challenges that aren’t merely overcome because some online preacher says that’s how it works (I digress 🙂 ).

Leaving Home for College

Transitioning to college life was awful. I hated myself for crying at every goodbye; for bringing my childhood stuffed bunny; for clinging to my dad as if we were facing impending death. I felt like trash. Instead of processing that fear and self-hatred, I used it as a motivator to be “more perfect.” Every time I wanted to text my mom or call my dad, I would tell myself to shut up and get over it. There was a fine line between needed and needy; I was tiptoing it well. But since I always felt like the latter, I waited until my parents left until I let the tears gush out.

I wanted to go home, wherever home was.

The Worst News a Young, NCAA Athlete Can Receive…

All the ice-cupping in the world couldn’t remedy what was soon diagnosed as a stress fracture in my hip. Only three days into cross country practice, and I was sidelined for eight weeks. The first few weeks, I couldn’t even cross train. I just sat alone in my dorm and wished I could hide from the world. That hairline crack in my hip mirrored the state of my heart. I felt splintered and forgotten. While I didn’t have words for it at the time, I experienced severe depression, anxiety, and a further lapse into my eating disorder. Freshman year sucked.

This may seem like a sad story. That’s because it is. It was a challenging, numbing time in my life. As a recovering people-pleaser, I hate that my former teammates and peers met that version of Hannah. She was very unwell. To the handful of individuals who reached out and showed compassionate love, I am forever grateful, because I wasn’t a very “fun” human being back then. I was learning though–just as I am now.

I’m seriously homesick already.  After two hours, I called my dad to check in…What made me sad was starting to think about how I’m going to feel tomorrow or next week…  Then, the girls started talking about when classes start and when it finally cools down– no air conditioning is NOT fun– and I started to get seriously homesick.  It’s 10x worse when I realize that I don’t just go home tomorrow.  I’m a little nervous too, because everyone has told me I’ll be fine for the first few weeks, and then I’ll get homesick.  If I’m really missing my family already, I’m worried how I’m going to feel in a few days. 

– Excerpt from a blog entry I wrote on Monday, Aug. 19 of 2013 (first full day on campus)

Why Share This Experience? (Plus: Good News!)

I know that I wasn’t the only young adult who was terrified of college or the prospect of being forgotten back home. But I didn’t know that back then. So, I hid a lot of insecurity and I tried to be an adult when, really, I was a very wounded girl. 

I’m proud of that frightened, fractured girl. She was brave enough to try.

Whether you are an incoming first year student, an upperclassman, or a university faculty member; remember the students like me. Not everyone is without hesitation. Transitioning to college is a challenge! Everyone navigates it uniquely (depending on life circumstance, upbringing, mental health, financial stability, sense of self, and so many other factors). It’s important vital to make space for the multitude of voices. 

The Good That Came from the Hard

Fear not: I won’t end this article on a downer. I share my story because I longed for someone to do so when I was heading to college. My depressed little self would’ve been elated (as elated as I could’ve been at the time, ha!) to know that others were severely homesick and feeling invisible just like me. Here’s the thing, though: my college experience was a massive blessing. During my college years, I:

• Met one of my best friends
• Grew in my relationship with God
• Learned the importance of advocating for myself and others
• Cultivated a greater love of running and competing
• Developed as a leader
• Grew more accepting of those who have different backgrounds, beliefs, etc.
• Became more self-aware

What I Wish I’d Known About My Emotions

I was sunburnt and sleepy when I left “home” at eighteen. With each semester though, it did begin to feel a bit more like home. While I would change a zillion things about my experience if I could–both my choices and others’ choices, I saw God redeem my college experience in many ways–including my concept of home. Truth be told, I cried every time I left my dad’s house to drive back to campus–even senior year.

Now, I realize that those tears weren’t such a bad thing. I had begun to feel. And while that part of my journey took another eight years to really gain momentum, it did. I found a home even as I gained confidence that, someday, I could create my own home.

Things have changed since those college days, and so have I. But I’ll never forget the terror and apprehension that alienated me from so many other students. I felt like the only one who struggled and while that’s not true, my belief that it was gives me a newfound appreciation for my brave, younger self. I’m proud of that frightened, fractured girl. She was brave enough to try.

To everyone headed back to school this season, in whatever capacity: I’m rooting for ya!

Love,

Han