A year ago, I was a completely different person. A year ago, it broke my heart to look in the mirror. And yet, I would spend hours thinking about my “flaws”, and hating myself for them. I was completely unconfident, not at all assured of myself, and was afraid to acknowledge that anything was wrong. I kept all of my feelings inside, hid myself from the world, and tried to remain unnoticed. I stayed in unhappy and unhealthy relationships, volunteer roles, and commitments, because I couldn’t bear the thought of saying no to anyone. I felt like a burden, and if you had asked Anxiety for a good title for my autobiography, it would have been “World’s Biggest Disappointment”. (Note: I personify my struggles. It’s something that’s helped me lots in my recovery, to help distance “Ally thoughts” from “Anxiety thoughts” or “Perfectionism thoughts”. I’m going to be doing that for the rest of this post).
For the longest time, I wanted to be perfect. I’ve read dozens of books on mental health and body positivity, and people often debate “genes or jeans?” (i.e. is biology or societal pressure responsible for mental illness?) My perfectionism is a part of me. It’s in my genes. Perfectionism loaded the gun; societal pressure (the “jeans”) pulled the trigger for my mental health challenges. Now, I don’t blame anyone or anything for my struggles; while I did harbour some anger for a while (kind of an initial why me attitude… but I’ve come to realize why not me?), I really am at peace with my labels now. Would I like them to be more like neighbours who sometimes ask to borrow sugar, but pretty much stick to themselves? Sure. But I have learned to peacefully coexist with them, and, for now, that works for me.
Honestly, everything has changed this past year. My job, my degree, my living situation, my treatment, my friendships… the only thing that hasn’t changed is my family and the incredible support and love they show me every single day. Even if they don’t know what to say, and they can’t always physically be there from a couple thousand kilometres away, I always know that I have 4 very special people in my court (and an amazing group of aunts, uncles, and cousins). The other day, my brother schooled someone on depression and how it’s okay to take time you need to recover, and it was one of my proudest moments as a big sister.
A year ago, I was terrified to head back to school. Now, I’m taking on new academic challenges, and am excited to share my ideas, because even if I fail, I’ve got some incredible mentors. Last year, I spent my first week back in Halifax completely panicked, to the point where I was concerned I would have to go to the hospital, because I just couldn’t keep any food down. Thankfully, once I got comfortable with my new coworkers, we became fast friends, and I settled in. Some even became my best friends. But needless to say, I was in a very different place. I remember spending hours crying on the edge of my dorm room bed, not wanting to admit that anything was wrong. I remember begrudgingly agreeing to see my psychologist again, because it was something I was told I *should* do. Honestly, for a while there I was going because I knew I’d feel guilty not using a resource that was offered to me when so many others have trouble accessing mental healthcare in Nova Scotia (and the rest of Canada tbh). I didn’t think I liked her, and I certainly didn’t believe that therapy was something that I needed, let alone could benefit from. It turns out, I really just didn’t want to deal with everything that I was feeling, and I was projecting that onto her. I didn’t like my illness, so I told myself I didn’t like her. I was mad at Anxiety and Perfectionism, yet I got mad at her. She had the tools to help me get better, but honestly, I wasn’t really sure I even wanted to get better at that point. It was like standing at the bottom of a really tall mountain – I knew I wanted to get to the top, but it was really easy to say “it’s too hard”, and stay stuck at the bottom. Susan, if you’re reading this, thank you for never giving up on me. Thank you for leading me to embrace my recovery on my own terms.
It was actually during this first week back to Halifax last August, when I was feeling super overwhelmed, uneasy, and honestly ready to fly home, hide under the covers, and never face the world again (realistic, I know), that I got the most cheerful email from Addie, welcoming me to the WYL family. In that moment, I realized that what I was trying to do – this movement – was bigger than I was. At that point, I didn’t know how to be an advocate, I didn’t even know if I wanted to be one, and I certainly didn’t want to be stuck where I was forever, even if I couldn’t admit that to myself. Saying yes to this opportunity (one that I honestly hadn’t thought I was good enough to apply for, let alone be tasked with) was the first step in changing my life, and becoming a person that I’m so excited to be friends with: me. Saying yes to this opportunity meant saying yes to more than simply writing and running events for my favourite brand: it meant saying yes to the idea that things could be different.
I remember writing my WYL introductory blog post, the first piece I had ever written that would be shared with tens of thousands of people, and also the most vulnerable and personal piece I had ever written (EEP!). I remember thinking Is this good enough? Am I saying too much? Am I saying enough? Do I sound awkward.? I feel awkward… What if they hate me? What if everyone realizes that I’m a huge mistake but they just don’t want to tell me… Oh, God, her blog post was shorter than mine… Should I just quit? I can’t do this, I CAN’T DO THIS… but I want to do this…. Addie totally thinks this is trash...Get it together, Ally, this could be the best thing that’s ever happened to you…I got a visit from my old friend Anxiety (again). I remember being terrified of who would read it, and the is-this-anxiety-or-is-this-regret feeling came up when the blog post went live. My dad’s university roommate actually emailed the blog post to my mom, and while I am so happy she got to read it and be proud of me for it, that was probably one of the scariest text messages I’ve received to date. Despite loving me for 20 years, I was still afraid that she would be disappointed in me when she read this, or somehow think less of me.
A year later, I’m happier, healthier, and more confident than I can ever remember myself being (Ally is more confident… I’m still working on quieting Anxiety). When I exercise, I think of becoming stronger, and no longer think of burning calories. That old light in my head that used to go off when others would exercise, telling me If they are doing it, why aren’t you, lazy girl – now you have to work out too… sometimes those thoughts do still trickle in, but are more like flies that I swat away without batting an eye. Rest days no longer scare me. I’m okay if my workouts are high-intensity, and am also okay if all I do is stretch for 10 minutes. Intuitive exercise is a thing, friends! I know that sometimes my body needs a day of Netflix marathons as much as it needs a run or a yoga class. I know that I need to eat more if I exercise more, and that trusting my body is the only way that I can live happily, because I will never hate myself into loving myself. I’ve learned that intuitive eating is what works best for me, which ties into trusting my body; it will help me find a balance in the nutrients I’m consuming, and eliminating food guilt is so incredibly freeing. Yes, I love kale and avocados, but I also love milkshakes and chicken fingers and I will never feel bad for saying that – because there is no such thing as “bad” food!
I’m not going to lie, sometimes (more often than I’d care to admit) I still don’t feel comfortable in my own skin. But if you had told me a year ago that I would be able to go to hot yoga and sweat in front of a dozen complete strangers in only a sports bra and leggings I actually would have laughed in your face. Showering at the gym seemed so terrifying, and the idea of trying something new on my own scared the living daylight out of me. But I did all of these things! What’s more, I actually enjoyed them! Yoga has also taught me that I can sit with the uncomfortable feelings and emotions, and just breathe through them. I don’t have to force them away. Not like my psychologist has been telling me that for two years… A year later, I’ve been to mental health conferences, met inspiring people from every province and territory of Canada, written for multiple online publications, and found my voice. A year later, I’ve shared more than I ever thought I could, and learned more than I thought there was to know about myself. A year later, I have made incredible friends. I have learned what I deserve, and no longer want to accept anything less. Each of the friends I have in my life would answer the phone for me at 4am, and many have walked an anxious little Ally home more times than I can count. A year later, I still have bad days, but they are becoming fewer and fewer, and I’m learning to be gentle with myself during these times.
A year later, I found poetry. In the middle of the night, when sleep just won’t come easily, when I’m overwhelmed, sad, or confused, I write. I write for me. I no longer judge the quality of my work, and know that my words are beautiful because they represent pieces of my soul. I’ve learned that slam poetry is amazing, and that it’s such a great way to combine all of the things that I love. I’ve learned to love sharing pieces of myself with others, because it helps them feel comfortable to do the same. I’ve learned that there will always be people who say that I can’t do it, but there will also always be people who truly believe that I can.
A year later, I’ve redefined success for myself. I’ve finally begun to believe that I am successful, right now, because of the conversations I’ve had, and because I’m working towards something that matters to me. I’m learning that success isn’t found in numbers, letters, or a flawless GPA. Last night, I texted my Mom “Mom! I got a C! And I’m okay with it! This is the best thing to ever happen to me!” She responded “you did your best and that, my dear, you can be proud of! Don’t alwys have to strive for perfect… there is no such thing :)” This is something she’s been telling me for years, but Anxiety and Perfectionism wouldn’t let me believe it. Now, I finally do. I’m learning that connecting with people is far more valuable to me than a traditional career path, or a six-figure salary. And honestly, for the first time in years, I am so excited for the future. I may not know where I’ll be in six months, or a year. But if my plans fell apart right now, if I don’t end up getting accepted to grad school, or if there’s a bump in the road, I know I’ll be okay. Because I am never alone when I have a friend in myself, and when I trust those around me. I have a long way to go, and I still need to work on letting people in, but I’ve come so far this past year.
So, Wear Your Label – here’s to another year. Here’s to another year of vulnerability, of connecting with people, and working creatively to smash some stigma. Here’s to not only growing this community, this movement… but instilling a passion in others to help do the same. WYL, thank you. Thank you for letting me write, for helping me grow, and for giving me the courage to literally walk right through my fears at Atlantic Fashion Week. Thank you for helping me public speak, and being the absolute best mentors. I can’t wait to see what’s next!
I'm so excited to keep sharing my journey with you.
Ally
