What’s a chapter of your life you’d title “The Hard Years” — and what got you through it?
This is an interesting question today. One that’s actually easy to answer. If you’ve read my blog for any length of time, you can probably guess what my answers will be.
My first two years of college are my first entry into what is considered the “hard years”. My mental health was spiraling rapidly downward. The initial diagnosis I had when I was in the spring semester of my senior year of high school was clinical depression. It rapidly intensified to bipolar disorder type 2 and borderline personality disorder. I don’t know that there’s a name for what makes you intentionally hurt yourself, but I was also addicted to self-harm. It was an addiction because it made me feel better and I didn’t feel that it was in my power to stop doing it.
There were three things that got me through that period…my boyfriend turned fiancé (after my first year of college) who is now my husband—Josh. My psychiatrist, Dr. Simpson who I connected with after the second year of school. And ECT treatments. ECT stands for electroconvulsive therapy—shock treatment. I had four treatments during a semester off of school that I took. All of that combined with a miracle combination of medication pulled me through that time and got me to a point where I was thriving mentally.
Twenty years later, I had another round of “hard years” when I was convinced to go to grad school to get my master’s in school administration so that I could become the principal of the school I had taught at for the previous 17 years. I was persuaded by the narcissistic principal of the school who had spent her 15 years there bullying people she didn’t like. And even though she liked me enough to want me to take over the school, she sort of groomed me to do that, she still was a big source of my CPTSD diagnosis. She bullied me too, but I put up with it because I wasn’t strong enough to say no.
Those two years of grad school were rough. My second year doubled as my first year as the principal of the school with the former leader being my mentor that year. What got me through that time was again, Josh. He was with me every single day and supported me in the way he knew I needed to be supported, right down to letting me know it was ok to quit that job if I wanted to. Which I did. Honorable mention goes to my administrative assistant that year. I had known her for several years prior when I was a teacher. But that year when it was just her and me in the front office, she knew what was really going on behind my closed office door. I also have to give credit to my online knitting group. They also knew what was really going on. I confided in them because they were far removed from the situation. None of them even living in my same state. No chance of what I was confessing could return to my “mentor”. They encouraged me when I was determined to stay at that job, and they celebrated me when I finally quit.
Leaving was just the first step. I then had to start healing mentally from the years of working under that woman. Therapy got me through. Josh did too of course, by encouraging me to really stick to therapy. Which I have. For about a year and a half. It has gotten me through and healed me in a way that I never thought possible. Of course, getting a lot of tattoos has also helped. Getting through that “hard” period meant that I was now free to be who I have always wanted to be. Or, as I like to think of it, who I always was, but was too afraid to show the world.
Hopefully it’ll be a long while before hard years come again. I’d like to spend as much time in this sort of honeymoon phase of my life as long as possible. A period where I am happy with my job, my home, the people in my circle, and…my tattoos.
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