This is me swallowing my pride and asking for the love of this community to help share, post, and blog this link. Anything helps, and there is no end date. However, monetary or not, I accept all support and encouragement, including prayers!
Thanks!
PS I’m the little nugget and that was my first look at my big sister!
https://www.crowdrise.com/meetingmybirthmother/fundraiser/GabrielleB
As far back as I can remember, thoughts of the future caused me great anxiety. I can recall crying to my father, fretting about not knowing what I wanted to be as an adult. His stern voice told me that I had no right to be worrying about such a thing at eight years old, and I stopped my tears. I did not stop worrying.
This pressure rose as did my grade level. Each year a new assignment revolved around career goals or job shadows, interviews and presentations. Each year my desired field would change. Certainty finally struck my senior year in high school. I will be a teacher. I boasted the perks and nurtured my confidence. I will be a math teacher… or an elementary teacher… or a music teacher… shit… I still had no idea.
Thankfully, this indecision is exactly what freshman year in college is for, according to everyone. If I were asked though, the indecision is what freshmen, sophomore, junior, junior hiatus, senior hiatus, and senior year are for. In post-secondary accumulations, my transcript holds seven declared majors, five declared minors, four different schools, eight years enrolled, over 200 passing credit hours, over $60,000 in Federal student loans, and zero degrees. My final degree choice, and the one declared the longest with the most complete transcript, was a BS in Psychology. However, one week ago I finally realized the path I walked for so many years was not the path for me.
And just like that, it was as if the proverbial bulb lit up. I knew more about my path than I had ever before. As whole-heartedly as I desired to help others through psychology, I would never be truly unbiased. My beliefs and experiences would outweigh my ability to council the individual or patient in a way best fit for them. A part of my advice would always be self-centered. Additionally, being barraged day-in and day-out by topics that resonate with my life and cause emotional pain would be more detrimental to my mental health than the joy of helping any number of people I could.
But before I came to this realization, I was lost. Beyond lost, I felt hopeless and it began to affect my depression. For so long, I had lived on the hopes of becoming a therapist or counselor. I dreamed of one day being able to help children and young adults overcome the same adversities I faced. After medically withdrawing from school, overwhelmed with my own mental health issues, I grew increasing less confident in my abilities to ever achieve my hopes. Once my anxiety over school waned, I began searching for ways to return. Each time I tried, new and old obstacles arose. Money, time, and even doubt stood in my way. It was a battle between succumbing to, or overcoming my depression.
Recently, I was inspired by a dear friend to research returning to school. We met as co-workers but our similarities drew us together as friends. During our long nights working third shift, we would talk about our goals and encourage each other to achieve them. Less than one month after a certain conversation, he enrolled in school become a writer. The news elated me. Overjoyed and filled with such excitement for his new journey, I decided to take another look at mine. This is when I had my epiphany.
I placed too much pressure on the follow-through with my degree. Between the money owed in federal student loans, the time wasted in nearly a decade of post secondary education, and the overwhelming feeling that I was disappointing my parents by not graduating; my anxiety over the situation began to mount. However, this time something new happened. I realized that this is not my way to helping others, that there is another way I can help others heal without sacrificing the value of my advice or the stability of my own mental health.
As depressing as it may seem, to no longer be striving for the goals you so long coveted, it instead, was liberating. Free from the poorly laid path I told myself to walk, I was no longer lost. For so many years I wandered the metaphorical forest, passing the same trees and tripping on the same roots. Now, finally, I found my way. This is not to say that every one person had a set path already laid by the Gods of Fate. It is simply saying that of all the possibilities my future holds, this is not the one that will bring me happiness or fulfillment.
I may not know where my path is headed, but I can finally say, for once in nearly two decades…
I’m not worried, I’m free.
The Life of an Asian