Why you shouldn't hate the hard times

I’m a huge inspirational quote lover. Nothing makes me happier than pinning motivational messages to my ‘wise words’ board.

That’s all well and good, but sometimes when you’re in a downward spiral of depression and in a sugar coma from comfort food, you need more than a ‘new beginnings are often disguised as painful endings’ style quote to get you through.

So I’m writing this for anyone that’s ever felt like they’ve got a permanent residence at rock bottom. Been there, hung there for a while, and still got the t-shirt.

It all started at the age of 15, losing a parent, finding out said parent had been having an affair, and being diagnosed with depression. Losing a parent requires a whole separate post, so I’ll leave that chapter there for now.

I crawled my way through college and arrived at university like a very sad, slow moving slug. My first years at university were rocky. At first they were amazing, I met my boyfriend, made some amazing friends and had some fun.

I then arrived at second year and the work load intensified. Depression reared its ugly, scary head and screamed louder than ever. I became a recluse. I had an excuse for every invite out, so I could instead stay in my bedroom by myself, in the dark, usually crying. It got to the point where I couldn’t even go downstairs to make a meal until all of my housemates were in bed because I just could not bear to see anybody. I was too embarrassed to admit what was really going on.  

Friendships drifted and my loneliness was unbearable. I was failing assignments and exams, my attendance to lectures was a huge cause for concern to my tutors and all I wanted to do was fall into a coma and sleep until everything was okay. I tried medication, but it just made me anxious and unable to sleep.  

Then September 2015 arrived. The first semester of university was approaching and I felt determined to succeed. This was the year that was going to count, I still had the chance to turn my grades around and graduate with a classification I could be proud of. I had also just moved in with four girls from my university course, I was excited to live with new people and have new friends.

Just as I was thinking that I could finally do something about my happiness, my boyfriend broke up with me.

A few weeks later, I found out he had cheated with a girl that we had both lived with the year before.

I had never been so livid or so heartbroken. For a week I hardly ate, hardly spoke to anybody, and hardly left my bedroom. I missed my first week of lectures – so much for turning my life around.

I spent a few weeks blaming myself and convincing myself he would miss me and he would come to see me. Never happened. But eventually, something in me snapped. I did not deserve this treatment. What they did to me said more about them than it did about me.

I think the break up was what I needed to force myself to take charge of my own happiness. It made me realise the sort of person I wanted to be, and what I wanted in my future.

I didn’t want to be sad anymore. I didn’t want to be in a relationship with someone who could cheat and lie about it. I didn’t want to fail my exams. When I was 80, I didn’t want to be regretting wasting my life and avoiding social occasions because I chose to be alone instead.

What did I do? I saw a counsellor. Probably the best thing I could have done for myself. She understood, she knew what to say, she listened and didn’t judge. I bought adult colouring books, and when I was sad I would sit and colour and let my mind have a rest from worrying and dwelling. I said yes. To everything. Even on the days when the only thing I wanted to spend time with was my duvet. I also let myself cry when I needed to, and I gave myself mental health days off when I needed them.

How am I now? I am honestly happier than ever. It shocks me. After what happened to me the past few years, I thought it would take me years to be okay again. I laugh all the time. I reconnected with old friends that I isolated myself from in my depressed haze. I forced myself to make new friends, even though it’s scary. I picked up new hobbies – I am now a knitting loving grandma. I started putting so much effort into assignments, and the grades I got for them gave me such a high. I applied for internships all over the world – and actually got one.  

Depression mixed with a cheating ex-boyfriend should have knocked me off my feet for longer, right? Wrong. It forced me to make my life better and to put myself out there. And by doing that, I’ve actually not had a truly depressed day in over four months.

Sometimes the bad things that happen to you, like me getting cheated on, actually lead you to the better place. Not straight away. You need a grieving period to let yourself be sad, to feel sorry for yourself a little. But sometimes, when things start to fall into place, you might see that what happened was best thing that could have happened to you.  

Like in my case, I’m over the moon to be free of someone that cheated and seemed to have no guilt about it. I don’t deserve that, I don’t want any more time wasted on someone who could do that. It has left me free to meet someone who will cherish me and strive to make me happy.

I'm over the moon to be putting myself first and doing everything that makes me happy. It isn't selfish to be your own number 1.