on grad school, isolation, and priorities

In isolation, one learns a lot about themselves. The biggest thing I've learned though is that I hate isolation.

Over the past two years, I've become extremely familiar with loneliness. I have spent so much time either completely alone or feeling like I am. Not because there aren't people around or even that I've had a hard time making connections out here in DC, but because I do not let myself embrace that connection. This isn't particularly new for me. I've always had a hard time meeting and opening up to new people. I've always had lurking thoughts in my mind about how despite all of the great friends have had throughout my life, the truth is I'm alone at the end of the day. But somehow it feels different when you spend nearly 9 full months commuting 3 hours round trip to an internship that stresses you out with only your thoughts to keep you company.

Grad school has been an incredibly draining experience. While I haven't been entirely secret about it, a lot of you don't know the depth of the stress I have experienced since moving to DC, especially in the past year. I have about a week left before I complete all of the requirements and the end could not come soon enough. Yet, even though this ending is providing much needed relief, I am still paralyzed by the future. I am trying to figure out what is really important to me, what I really want, and who I am, all while being petrified by too few digits in my bank account and impending rent deadlines. And it turns out it's kind of hard to figure out what you want to do with your life when you can't even decide whether or not it's financially responsible to get yourself lunch at Taco Bell. A friend asked me what my biggest priority is right now and I didn't have an answer. In fact, the question stressed me out so much I shut down the conversation and went to bed.

But I think the truth is my biggest priority (outside of making sure I can afford rent next month) is feeling like I belong. It's kind of funny how spot on Abraham Maslow was when he first drew that pyramid. I want to feel loved and appreciated. I want to feel connection and companionship. In fact, those things are critical to growth. I need them for my own health and progress. I also need to get my own anxieties in check to make it happen. Spending two years either physically or mentally isolated, though not constant, has not been easy on my poor brain, especially the parts that spit out lies and worries. My brain thinks that it's being helpful, that it's keeping me safe from pain. But, no surprise, the constant stress tends to cause more damage than it remedies.

I have never been a very open person. Vulnerability scares the hell out of me and I keep most of what I am feeling locked down. Writing has given me somewhat of an outlet, but I still largely "suffer in silence," as the people would say. And that's not at all healthy. I know it's not. I've been stuck in this cycle for years. I don't know how to process my emotions, I don't know how to advocate for my needs, and I don't know how to express myself effectively when I am not hiding behind a screen (and sometimes, I can't do so effectively even with that degree of separation). I have dug myself into a pit of self-pity and isolation and I don't know how to get out. I guess that's something for me and my future therapist to find out.

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As I sit here writing, I am trying to figure out why. I don't know my reason for sharing this. Maybe it's my own way of processing. Maybe it's a futile attempt to feel better about the life changes ahead of me. Maybe, and most likely, it's me reaching out my hand and hoping that what I have to say resonates with one of you reading this. I'm not quite sure.

But what I do know is that people are important. And in the same way that I am willing to support others need for love and affection, I have to be willing to do so for myself. One of the hardest things I have had to learn and am still learning is that I am worthy of the same respect and care as others. It's so easy to view the people I love as worthy of compassion. The real hurdle is seeing myself in that same light. I am worthy of compassion, of love, and of respect. There is nothing that makes me less worthy than anyone else. It's a tough pill to swallow.

I can't say that after writing this my life and perspective on connection will have changed. If it was that easy, I would have changed my ways years ago when I first watched Brené Brown's TED talk on vulnerability. I will probably still have anxiety about connecting with people. I will probably still hide a lot of my stress and pain. I will doubt my worth and question whether or not my friends actually like me. But writing it and putting it out there will hopefully help me internalize this point a little bit more: having people you love and trust is crucial. Love and belonging is an innate human desire. I am not silly or needy when I feel like I need more attention and affection. And it's okay for me to ask for it.