#amwritingprose

The other day, I heard some of the most exciting news that I’ve heard in a while. One of my former students is graduating! He worked so hard to get his GED. Now, he’s done it! He’s moving on with his life. He’s accomplished his goals. It made me so happy to hear that.

This student was one of the most dedicated people I have ever worked with. He would work all night, then, show up for tutoring the next day without any sleep. He hardly missed any sessions. Even when he wasn’t my student, we still talked every time I was on campus. I always knew that he would be able to pass. Even if he doubted himself, I knew that he could do it.

I tutored him for math. That’s kind of funny though since I hate math and I’m not that good at it (there is another story about me tutoring a math group if you all would like to read it). However, we worked through it. I learned how to become a better math tutor because of him. I never did get the chance to thank him for that though. Anyway, when he did get into GED classes, he would always boast about me to his teachers. That always made me tear up. In a good way though. He would say in the proudest voice, “He got me to where I am today in math.”

Now, he’s moving on with his life. He has taken a job that he is really excited for. I couldn’t be happier or more proud of him. It’s truly amazing.

You have made so many mistakes that there was no way to keep it all together anymore. You couldn’t help but change everything about yourself just to keep everyone around you happy. You obeyed your friends, your family, because that was how you were raised. For as long as you can remember, your family and your friends have told you that if you didn’t become *that* girl, the one who laughs and smiles at just the right time and wears the right clothes, has the right body, that no one would accept you. People taught you who you were supposed to be, making sure their harsh lessons stuck in your mind much longer than calculus or biology.

In the cafeteria at seventeen, you stared down at the sandwich you had made the night before and felt as vulnerable as the plastic wrapped around it. Everyone could see what was going on with you, because you were too tired to wear your mask and hold your head high. You were too broken and drained from living the life that was expected of you that you forgot to use the harsh lessons that were forced upon you for years, and you had never felt more guilty than you did in that moment.

Then, something changed. Boys looked into your eyes and promised that you didn’t have to pretend for them. People you grew to love helped you up when you collapsed, offered a shoulder for you to cry on. They wrapped your wounds and kissed your scars instead of judging them like all the others, their gazes filled with love and worry. The hatred and annoyance was saved for the ones who broke you, who refused to acknowledge the treacherous ocean you were drowning in. You were able to find a sanctuary in the prison the ones you had been forced to respect built for you. You finally had a way to feel free, but still the chains and cages remained locked.

It was too painful for you to reveal everything about yourself to the world. Your past had destroyed you too much. Didn’t someone you once trusted tell you that nobody cared about your problems, anyway? Weren’t you raised to believe that your trauma wasn’t real, that everyone else had it worse specifically because of the side of town you were from and the life you had been handed?

They don’t tell you this when you need to hear it, but pain doesn’t discriminate. Everyone who walks this Earth will break, sometime and somehow. Maybe some will break more than others, and that’s okay. It’s what you take from that pain that makes you better. What if I gave up the first time my heart had broken? I wouldn’t be here. I wouldn’t have met him. I wouldn’t have learned to love again, after being bruised and destroyed by so many people I thought I could trust. I wouldn’t be the woman I am today if I had just decided no one cared. I would be gone. How would I make a difference in the world if I died?

Everyone breaks and everyone does what they can to get through it. I may not always choose the healthiest road, but I learn from that. I do what I need to do to sort out the darkness in my head and shine at least a small sliver of sun through the cracks. Sometimes, tearing myself apart from the inside out is the only way to get past the sense of drowning I feel inside. I imagine everyone daydreams of hitting their self-destruct button at least a few times in their life. Aren’t we all human? Don’t we all go down dark paths? Who’s to say that someone can’t feel pain when we were made to hurt and grow?

Do what you can to keep going. You will break, so find something good in it. Say you’ll make it through. Say you’ll be strong. Say you’ll hold on for just one more day. Say anything you need to convince yourself that everything will be okay. Everyone deserves to live.