My parents’ generation and the people I grew up around did not know to value mental health. Now, receiving the support and help I need is changing my reality.
Those in what is described as “Gen Alpha” (born roughly between 2010 and 2024) and “Gen Z” (1997-2012) have created inclusion for people with open arms. It’s healing to watch. Yet, I still struggle with being vulnerable. Neurodivergent masking and not knowing how to develop deeper relationships effectively led to my emotional isolation.
That deep darkness is a place I fight daily not to return to. It is the door in the back of my mind I keep closed and away from my own vulnerability. It is a door I now have to open again and unpack what I have stuffed in and behind it.
When I was eighteen, I went to college. It was terrifying to be in a new place with new people, attempting to function without adult help.
At my university, there was no effective counseling support for what I needed. It was assumed I could medicate the problem away. But the real issue was my emotional wounds. Drugs only treated the symptoms.
No one in my family knew what was going on. I didn’t even know what was going on.
I have no clue why I was so sad or didn’t want to eat much. Why did I feel exhausted and disconnected from the lively person inside of me?
Mental health was never discussed in the context and culture I grew up in. It was something meant to be kept silent. I must now face a belief handed down to me. To align with the life inside of me, I am burning the internalized lies to the ground.
I have learned more about myself and my experiences, and I am learning to love my soul and affirm that there is nothing wrong with me. My diagnosis and years of looking for answers was the confirmation and validation I needed.
Before, my thoughts weren’t focused on my well-being. I wasn’t taught about my connection to my human nature passed down from my ancestors and my own lived experiences. It wasn’t until I experienced burnout that I learned the concept of listening to myself. Typically, I always focused on the well-being of others, thinking that was my job. But it isn’t. I can encourage, not save.
We all have something called intuition or an inner alarm system. This uses past experiences and things I have learned to make snap decisions. If I listen, I can just “know” something. To be sure, it can sometimes be wrong in new situations.
Regardless, I usually know when I need rest or escape. I also know when the person in front of me is a threat. I get “off” vibes from specific people and places, generally from a repulsion in the form of feeling disgusted.
Listening to my body sometimes means choosing what I feel over what I think I need. I trust my body to remember things I don’t consciously recall. I know a part of me continually recognizes patterns, communicating through subconscious thoughts when I sit down and focus. I ask myself: What do I need? What’s going on? Did this happen in the past? What’s “off” about that person?
This part of me kept me alive when I didn’t know how to keep going.
While I wish I could describe my intuition more, what is more important is that I follow it. This part of me either pushes me forward or stops me dead in my tracks. This inner knowing tells me what is and is not for me. I would rather follow my intuition and do “wrong” than never listen to it again.
She told me to keep going even when others said otherwise, feeling deep in my bones there were more answers. Every time I hear someone else’s opinion of me, she fights against it, knowing they cannot even begin to know the hell I have been through.
I will sit there and feel my anger because the feeling signals something important–I have worth, no matter what someone says.
This pain slowly fades with time as I begin to understand the ultimate truth. I don’t need you to understand me. My circumstances don’t define me. I am a daughter of God, learning to trust the process that is life.
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A current Master of Divinity student at Campbell University Divinity School.
