Living abroad has been (and continues to be) an ever changing adventure. I find myself in awe most days of how lucky I am; how much my hard work has paid off. That being said, I hit a bit of a rough patch in December. And it slowed me down. A lot. I found myself yearning for NH and my family, not only because I was homesick, but because I was accustomed to being able to lean on those close to me whenever I stumbled into a funk. I've created a great friend circle here in Madrid, but they couldn't provide the same familiar comfort that I needed at the time.
I then made a conscious decision to lean exclusively on myself. I pushed people away, stayed in my apartment as often as I could, and counted down the days until I headed home for my holiday break. In a fragile state, I boarded my plane back to the states for a 2-week trip that I had presumed would be therapeutic. I had created an image in my head of a perfect oasis, and I was unprepared for the possibility of any alternative scenario.
Unsurprisingly, life doesn't always come wrapped in a pretty package. Reality is not always organized, and 9 times out of 10, the things that happen to us and those we love don't make any sense. Upon reentry into my American life, I realized that the same demons I was fighting with in Madrid existed inside my old life as well, in my favorite cafes and bars, in my friendships, and even in my childhood home. They weren't something that existed exclusively in external ways in Madrid, they were something that lived inside of me.
Just a few days into being home, I learned of the tragic passing of my college boyfriend's father, a strong, caring, and seemingly indestructible man. I was hit with an unbelievably deep amount of sorrow for not just his passing, but for the empty place it was going to leave in his family's life. Combining this pain with an unexpected announcement from my sister, and with my own detrimental thoughts, I started to spiral. It quickly became clear that leaning exclusively on myself wouldn't keep me afloat. I returned to Madrid feeling lost.
Through and odd series of events, I found myself composing an email to a therapist in Madrid, asking for help. I felt silly when I walked into her office for the first time. Used to being able to handle everything myself, I entered denying that I needed help, and downplaying how hollow I was feeling. Within 20 minutes, I was crying so hard that I could no longer speak. I had spent so long trying to be my own hero, that I had become blind to the fact that it was ok to ask for help; it was normal to need guidance. It only makes us human to have ups and downs, and needing someone to lean on doesn't make us weak, it makes us honest. Its been difficult to admit that I'm unable to stay afloat through every storm, but asking for help made me realize that if I ride the waves, they will eventually pass.
I've been actively seeing a therapist for 2 months now, and though she can only listen and give advice, realizing I can admit my weaknesses has made me stronger. I learned that the more I try to hide from my demons, the louder they get. Getting over the stigmas of therapy and the difficulty of opening up has been tough, but trying to pretend everything is ok when it isn't is tougher. From a better, happier, healthier place, I can confidently say, it's ok to ask for help.
