Being Authentic

I feel like I am always grieving a loss. This time someone very special to me, some one I considered a role model and a very dear friend, was snatched suddenly from us in a car wreck. Her life impacted so many people, so many people are grieving her loss, cherishing her memory, thinking of her, right now. Including myself. I keep trying to wrap my head around why someone like her, someone who could light up any room, who has a loving husband and beautiful children, could be taken like that. Selfishly, I think to myself, why am I still here? What is my purpose here on Earth? I have so much less to offer than she did.

I kept thinking this to myself and then there were two things that just made it click for me. One is her final cover photo for her Facebook profile, that she posted just a day after her birthday, “Don’t trade your authenticity for approval”. The second was a girl speaking on some YouTube video my husband was watching shortly after I found out my friend had passed. She said something to the effect of: everyone wants to think they’re a good person, but we all want the biggest piece of cake or the last piece of bacon. It is whether you act on those selfish impulses or pass them along to others and that if we just reflected more on ourselves, we wouldn’t have such a mental health crisis in our country.

I don’t know why this clicked for me except that my friend was one of those exceptional people who told it to you straight and was always very open with me about her mental health struggles. I could tell her anything I struggled with and know that she wouldn’t judge me or laugh at me. She would help me. So, it clicked with me that the best way I could be honoring her life through mine is by being authentic with everyone about my own mental health struggles. To reflect upon myself and see why I struggle with the things I do and to perhaps help someone else struggling with the same mental health issues.

I minored in psychology in college, mostly to deal with my own mental health issues, and I worked for a year as a paraprofessional psychologist in North Carolina. I’m by no means licensed or even very qualified to be giving anyone mental health advice. Everything I say is a reflection upon myself and upon my learning and observing. I am by no means suggesting that anyone follow anything I say or do. I am just wanting to be open, honest, and authentic to honor my friend’s life. If you feel like sharing with me, that’s amazing and I will definitely be open to all stories that are shared.

Just to end this off on a funny note: I definitely have an obsessive part of my personality. Or at the very least, I did into my late twenties. (Teenage psychology is fascinating and different than adult psychology, by the way.) My poor friend moved to our school for her SENIOR year (which I always thought was terrible, but she made the best out of it) and was stuck taking FRESHMAN PE with my class. We had already met over the summer, at band camp, where we were both on the drumline. (Sidenote: It was actually her that convinced me to do band instead of softball, since my mom was making me choose.) So we spent our PE class doing as little as possible to pass (which wasn’t hard since almost every class was either walking around the gym or playing what we dubbed “redneck ball”) and talking endlessly about our common crush. The man she wound up marrying and having children with.

As I said, I was obsessive. I was convinced that this boy was my soul mate. This had started a whole year before I met this girl, when I was in 8^th grade. Our middle school and high school were on the same campus (small town growing up) and this guy was in band and we had crossed paths doing concerts or when he played baseball with my cousin. He was just so nice to me and he had the same name my dad did and my dad had just passed away that year. So, to say I could talk her ear off about him was an understatement. After all, I had written this guy a HUGE letter (it was the 90s after all, it may have even been “18 pages FRONT AND BACK!”) and I was convinced he was THE ONE. I had been jealous of any girl that he paid attention to and his Junior prom date was my sworn enemy. (Though, truth be told we’re friends now and I adore her.) But when my friend talked about him, there was something in the back of my mind that said, “This is right. She’s the one for him.” I saw the way he looked at her, I saw the way she made him smile, the way she cared about him. I saw the way he cared about her. And when they did officially start dating, my friend had the decency to ask me how I felt about that. How did I feel about that? Excited! I wanted both of them to be happy and they made each other happy. And my obsession disappeared overnight because I knew they were right together. Though, he did very sweetly (or very forgetfully, not sure really) keep my HUGE letter tucked into his glovebox for a while. I mean, it was very flattering.

My point being, I could be open with her about my obsession with her future husband and still know that even twenty-six years later she would know that I do love him but I love her just as much. Maybe even more at some points. I will miss her so much. Hearing stupid stories about what dumb thing her husband did or how proud she was of her son’s achievements or how much she loved her daughter, but she definitely was starting to know how her mom felt with her as teenager now. The simple act of tagging her in a picture or meme, liking one of her smart-ass comments, laughing at one of her jokes. Those of us here still, those of us will miss her until we join her, must always remember to be our authentic selves. Because that is who she would want us to be.