Even Rory Gilmore freaks out sometimes.

It has been three weeks since graduation and I have officially freaked out about finding a job. I didn’t handle it very well. There was a lot of Netflix involved (like, 9 hours of Netflix. The Gilmore Girls theme song will haunt my dreams) and sitting on the floor in various poses to keep certain muscle groups from falling asleep while surrounded by half-unpacked boxes of Christmas gifts from over the holidays that I had sworn would be put away the day after I got back.

But at least it took three weeks to reach breaking point. I was able to relax for the first week, and the second and third weeks were so busy with meeting my boyfriend’s family and driving back and forth between his house and mine that I didn’t have time to freak out. But now I’m back in the apartment with nothing but my thoughts to keep me company. Nothing speeds a downward spiral faster than being stuck with your own thoughts. Plus – and this isn’t really a bad thing, in fact I’m grateful for the second chance to get my foot in the door – one of the marketing firms I applied for asked me to create a press release, a sell sheet or copy for an email blast, for which 2 out of 3 are complete mysteries to me. I want to be a copywriter so badly, but without any experience in marketing I’m terrified my writing and basic research skills won’t be enough, and I’ll lose out on a job because I’m not good enough.

Not good enough. Three little awful words. I graduated early, I’ve edited a book, I’ve designed a literary journal, I’ve been a project manager and social media writer and I’m confident in my creativity and adaptability. But what if that isn’t enough for what I want to do? What if, after all I’ve done and the steps I’ve taken, I’m still not good enough?


Hardcore gardening.

Last semester was rough. When I say rough, I mean that it was the worst four months of my life, and that I am just now recovering, even though it is late February and the spring semester is almost halfway done.

To other people, I look like your normal college student: tired, short on money, hooked to caffeine but trying to quit, applying to internships like it’s no one’s business. I look like I’m adjusting well to the new semester. And I guess I am adjusted, not that twelve credit hours is much to adjust to. And I’m not stuck in a rut: I’m developing my PR and design skills, researching technology and education for a faculty member’s book, growing in my relationship with Christ, broadening my understanding of the world and where I fit in it, attending bible study with a group of authentic, lovely young women who aren’t afraid to talk about their personal suffering, abusive relationships, and opinions of feminism and social justice.

Bible study, or discipleship group as we call it, is actually where I realized how much I had come undone.

Ever since I graduated high school, my mantra has been “Academics don’t define me.” I was okay with that. But the more insidious side effect of defining myself by academic success was a deep, secret pride in my ability to handle whatever is thrown at me. And why shouldn’t I be proud? I’m a smart person. I’m good at stuff. People ask me for help in lots of things. I am a competent, fast-learning hard worker. Why shouldn’t I be proud?

Answer: I should be proud, but I should not build my identity on that pride. Whoops, too late, seems I already did, even if I didn’t admit it to myself.

Last semester was the long, grueling process of God weeding out that pride. Pride went deep, people. Every day was like being pummeled by sandpaper sacks filled with gravel, and every day I fought back by saying I can do this, it will be okay. To which God replied, Of course it will be okay, but that doesn’t mean you can do this. 

If I wasn’t stressed from 18 credit hours or my PR internship, I was too exhausted to do anything, which made me stressed because of the things I wasn’t getting done. I cried a lot. I developed a tic in my left eyelid which continued for three months straight. I felt guilty because here I was, student extraordinaire, completely crumbling underneath everything. I was weak when I should’ve been strong. I was frazzled when I should’ve been focused. I considered myself a failure – not because I failed any classes, but because I wasn’t thriving.

God worked really, really hard to get the message through my thick skull: who I am does not start and end with success. I am more than success, just like I am more than my academic prowess. The foundation I had been living on was just gone. Poof.

So now I am relearning who I am. This is my big identity crisis. It’s taken a while to get here, and I ignored it for a long time, but it’s time to throw back the metaphorical curtains and let in some good ol’ sunlight.

Which leads me to this blog and why I made it – to work through who I am via rediscovering what I can do. I can’t write poetry, but I can write a blog post. So we’ll end our little soul-baring trip with Things I Know For Sure:

  1. I don’t have to master living to have worth.
  2. Suffering sucks, but it happens, and it will be okay.
  3. I like writing blog posts.