Growing Pains
By: Joy Ou
Tags: Growing Up, Lessons Learned, Reflections, 2020, Covid 19

If life were a blank piece of paper, 2020 is a big, black, ugly smudge. I originally wrote another version of this, detailing everything that happened this year. But as I was halfway through, I decided to delete everything, and thought carefully about why I was writing this. I was writing to remember growth; there was no need for me to record my heartbreak, loss, or grief — they would always remain a stain in my mind anyway.

21 often marks the coming of age of an individual, and is celebrated with parties, legal rights, and finally being taken seriously. In essence, great things. What I wish someone had warned me about was the pain that accompanied all that. I’ve learnt many hard lessons this year, ones that I know will change the trajectory of my life:

1. Hold on loosely to things

On January 16 I embarked on what I thought would be the adventure of a lifetime, but I guess Covid-19 had other plans. My exchange at the University of Maryland was cut short, and I had to get on a flight back home within a couple of days notice. I was really quite devastated, because this was something I spent much time dreaming about even before I entered university. I had it all planned it out in my head — the places I would visit, friendships I would forge, and stories I would come home with. My experience was going to be perfect.

Well it seems like the more determined you are for something to go to plan, the more expectations you have. And the higher your expectations, the harder you fall when they aren’t met. I had to grapple with the loss of an idealised experience, and the recalibration of my immediate future.

For context, I’m an INFJ in the Myer-Briggs type indicator, and a super strong J. That means I place high value certainty and order, and get more affected than others due to uncertainty, and when things don’t go to plan. Being a J has been largely positive, but perhaps not so great in the age of Covid-19.

Dealing with uncertainty meant letting go of my planned experiences and accepting a new reality, which took me some time. But it was only that hard because I held on tightly to what was going on in my head. If I were to take life as it came, I probably wouldn’t have dwelled in the disappointment I felt. That’s not to say it’s wrong to feel sad or disappointed, but holding on too tightly to things leaves little space for life to take its course.

2. Let your joy come from within

There were many times this year where I felt like my name was a joke. I’ve felt anything but joy. I made the mistake of placing my hope and joy in another human. While it wasn’t a conscious choice, it was a costly one. My world revolved a single person, and I did everything with him in mind. (By no means am I putting blame on him for any of my emotions, I am a product of myself.) When this person decided to leave, so did my joy. It was then I realised my happiness, for the longest time, was dictated by this person. I thought back on the duration of my life in the relationship. All the times I felt incredibly happy, it had to do with him. On the flip side, all the nights I spent crying myself to sleep also had to do with him. Humans by nature are imperfect and fallible. And so long as the source of my hope and joy was external, I was always going to get hurt. Badly.

It took skinned knees and bruised hands for me to realise that I was not meant to feed off the scraps of affection I was chasing after. I could not survive on them. Following the breakup I plunged into a deep valley, where I knew only God could sustain me. There were a couple of things I had to do for myself, with the first being connecting with the One where my hope and joy would always be safe in. I took solace in the book of Psalm, where David drew much strength from God despite being in situations far worse than mine.

Another way I coped was through exercise, which has always been a reliable outlet for when I could not express myself. In the weeks after that I ran at almost every park in Singapore with a water body. There was something cathartic about looking out into the vast ocean, or the stillness of a reservoir. Something that reminded me that everything would eventually be okay. I’ve also committed to fitness classes, which has done much good for mind and body. There was a strength training class which was particularly difficult, but I told myself that this was something I had to do, to prove to myself that I was not weak, that I was not lousy. My physical progress pushes my mental and emotional progress, not just because of the endorphins produced, but because of the knowledge that I have control over myself.

Doing things for myself, by myself has allowed me to see that I have the power to make myself happy. Happiness and joy while used interchangeably, are slightly different. I’m in a place where I can say I am able to experience happiness, but it’s been a long time since I’ve truly felt joy. A prayer that I’ve been making for the past months is to be able to understand for myself what “the joy of the Lord is my strength” looks like. So pray for me, that my name would bear meaning again.

3. It’s okay to ask for help

This year was also the first time that I had to worry about my mental health. There came a day in the semester where I woke up, and the first thing I did was cry. I was rather startled and recognised that it wasn’t normal, but I just felt so purposeless, joyless, and empty inside that crying was simply a reflex action. That was probably the most depressing start to a day I ever had. It was at that moment I knew I had to seek help. Previously, I chucked aside any thoughts of seeing a counsellor because I felt like my issues did not warrant external help, and that the counsellor’s time could be better used on someone who needed it more.

Yet I knew I could not go on with life feeling what I was, and decided to see a counsellor, which is easily the best decision I’ve made this year. While she doesn’t provide an immediate cure to my mental health issues, she’s taught me how to deal with different episodes, breaking them down into bite-sized pieces for me to take on. Having someone to process everything with without the pressure of having to be coherent is absolutely liberating. It’s helped me understand myself better, and I’ve come to realise that while I’ve been grieving the loss of someone that meant the world to me, I’m also grieving the loss of control in my life. We’ve been practicing a method called mindfulness, which helps me stay in the present and detach myself from intrusive thoughts — which as a daydreamer I have a huge tendency towards. This prevents my brain from swinging to the past, which triggers depression, and the future, triggering anxiety. Of course, as much as I can practice whatever she’s taught me, there’s no way I’ll be 100% successful. Though I still find myself spiralling down a deep dark rabbit hole at times, I know that such instances are no longer single unbearable episodes. They’ve become data that I can bring to my next counselling session to chart the way forward in this healing journey.

I initially hesitated to tell those around me that I was seeing a counsellor, for fear of worrying them, or any judgement. I’ve always prided myself as a strong, independent person, and it is the image that I sell to others. But I’ve learnt that strength should be a resource we draw from, not an absolute to aspire to. It is okay to need help.

After opening up to a few trusted ones, I’ve found that the courage to talk about my own mental health has inspired a few of my friends to consider seeing a counsellor, which with the right one, can only be beneficial.

I am grateful still.

While I’ve spent most of the year struggling to stay afloat, I do have many thanksgivings.

1. Loved ones

This includes my close circle of friends and family who’ve always been there for me. They were the ones that held me up when my world was crumbling, and I instinctively turned to them when I could not be alone. They slept with me to help me get through the night, and sat with me on breakwaters along East Coast Park to process my new reality.

My parents embraced me the moment I got home from that dreadful night, and let me sleep in their room for a month. They prayed continuously with me, and made sure I was sent everywhere I went for the first couple of weeks.

And to those that met me individually/in groups, I owe a huge thank you for your friendship. You’ve helped to make the passing moment more bearable.

2. New friendships

I spent a large amount of time in school the past semester, due to the nature of my modules, and partially because I did not want to be alone in hall. I’ve made a couple of new friends, and strengthened old friendships which I am immensely grateful for. I truly believe friends are one of life’s greatest blessings, and I treasure them so dearly.

Perhaps not being attached has allowed time for me to get to know those I always knew better, and time to sow into others.

3. Pushing creative boundaries

As a creative, I grew a lot this semester. Mods such as Photojournalism and Performative Documentary while tedious, provided me lots of practice to hone my craft. I spent days roaming the streets asking strangers if I could photograph them, and took away conversations I would never have had if I stayed in my comfort zone. I also took every job that presented itself to me, and agreed to shoot even when I felt like I didn't know what I was doing. But hey, that’s the only way to grow.

4. Myself

I promise I’m not a narcissist. My life has been turned upside down this year and I am honestly so proud and thankful to myself for sticking around. Just thinking about what I’ve been through the past months makes me teary, because it’s been so tiring fighting battles in my heart and head every day. But I never stopped wanting to get better, even on days where it took every bit of strength in me to get out of bed.

5. God

This seems almost obligatory, but it’s not. It has taken coming to the end of oneself to recognise that it is He who sustains. I know He is leading me somewhere, and that I am exactly where I need to be. I just need to avail my heart and hands to be used, as a broken vessel.

—

2020 will always have a melancholic ring to it, because it is no doubt the most painful year of my life — yet perhaps the most necessary. Maybe these lessons are my rite of passage into adulthood. Makes me understand a little more why old people are often so wise.

I’m convinced that surviving 2020 will remain my greatest achievement for a long time to come, and I genuinely hope that such a year never repeats itself. I don’t know when this season will come to an end, but I’m determined to continue taking baby steps forward.

And this too shall pass.