My Story (and Finding Peace)
I crept into the darkness with my stuffed bunny in toe, careful not to wake anyone.
The floorboards creaked, and every hair on my body stood on end as I walked in the pitch-black hallway, but that wouldn’t stop me from my ultimate goal. I made my way to the staircase that was on the opposite side of the hall, and I slid down the stairs like a silent snake, determined not to be caught leaving my room before 8:00 a.m., which was forbidden. I moved towards the living room and there it was—my prize.
Suddenly, the door down the hall creaked open. My heart beat rapidly. In an instance, a hand sprung out and made its way to the switch.
“I was caught!” I thought.
My body turned instinctively, and my legs began to run. A voice boomed from the end of the hall.
“Who’s up!”
I sprinted to my room. Their thunderous footsteps were not far behind. I just barely made it and slammed the door.
That was a close call to peek at my presents on Christmas morning.
In all seriousness, my childhood was safe and happy (even if I was sometimes a bit mischievous). I was one of four, and both of my parents worked. Therefore, I spent a lot of time with my grandma, and some of my favorite memories are with her. I remember those exciting rides to the bakery like they were yesterday. I would run inside, leaving my grandma in my dust, and take in the smell of donuts and pretzels (and began to eye the one I would beg my grandma for). It was a worry-free life that went way too fast.
As I got older, things got more complicated. I developed a severe anxiety towards school, even before kindergarten. I remember for entrance to kindergarten I had to count to 10 and say my ABCs, but I was so stressed about it that I sat on this green couch in our sunroom and started counting to 1,000 and back down. During this time, I began to internalize a “coping” structure: suppress your emotions and move on. As I got older, I reached out to my family to help, but it either wasn’t direct enough (they wouldn’t realize what I was saying) or my mom would say this trite phase “Don’t worry. Pray.” Like God would take away my worry! Needless to say, I rejected this “so-called” advice.
Suppression was the name of the game, and this is how I continued to think for the next decade. If a bad thing happened, like a death in the family or (God-forbid) I failed a test, I would become quiet for a couple of hours then act as if nothing ever happened. This became untenable as I got older because social dynamics were changing. Being quiet cost me a lot of friends. I began to open up thanks to my math teacher in the 6th grade. She always helped me when I was scared or silent. This helped me open up to others and finally have friends once again. I was less anxious than I ever was! Then, at the end of my 6th grade, the pandemic hit, and it ruined everything.
There was no more school help, no more family gatherings, and no more friends. I slipped back into a state of anxiety around school and tests. Online Kahoots caused me to be unable to sleep at night.
When the pandemic finally lessened, my stress did too somewhat, but my mental health plateaued well into high school.
Then one night after a horrible Spanish test sophomore year, my mom said her corny line again, “Don’t worry. Pray,” and something just clicked.
It wasn’t as if I underwent some magical revelation. Jesus didn’t speak to me and neither did an angel, but it just made sense. There was no use in spending countless hours worrying. There was no use in walking around the kitchen counter a thousand times. I can only do my best and nothing more, and when it is over, worrying won’t do anything. An F is an F no matter how long you look at it.
Then, there was the prayer part. I got down and prayed that night, and it just brought me so much peace. The belief that we are a part of someone greater than ourselves and that there is this much larger plan taking place gives me so much peace. Saint Francis de Sales once said,
“Perfection does not consist in doing extraordinary things, but in doing ordinary things extraordinarily well.”
No one is perfect. No one can change the world on their own, but together maybe we can. This world is so full of hate and suffering, yet maybe if everyone did one daily act of kindness, we could make it the world we want it to be. That is what I hope to do through BC2M. Perhaps it will never be perfect, but that shouldn’t prevent us from trying. God bless.
BC2M Resources to Try!
General Mental Health/Suicide Prevention Resources
Call, Text, or Chat with 988
Text BC2M to 741741
