MY STORY

I saw my first therapist when I was 11 years old for Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (OCD). My anxiety was debilitating and manifested in peculiar ways, like refolding my clothes and counting tiles on the floor. I was exhausted by 12.

I thought something was wrong with me — inherently wrong with me. Cue shame.

When I was 14 years old, I started getting high. I also got in trouble. But who cared? When I was high, I was free.

I started college and moved to New York City. I was a straight-A student, an overachiever of sorts. I overextended myself in school, with friends, and in my relationships. I was burnt out.

Cue cocaine. Cocaine gave me the boost I needed. It was like a warm hug, a soft blanket that I could pull over my head and make everything disappear, even myself.

Time went on. A lot happened. I moved around, different states, then countries. I changed career paths, formed new relationships and joined different circles.

All this change and yet I was stuck banging my head against the same wall.

And then he died. Just like that. Freak accident.

He had been my partner and friend for three years. I drank and got high until I forgot. I drank and got high until I couldn’t drink or get high anymore. Regression is a light way of putting it.

One afternoon, in the midst of an egregious hangover, I called my mother. She listened to me whimper and then after a long pause she said, “You know Zoe, wherever you go, there you are.”

I hung up the phone, face-down on my bedroom floor. There’s nowhere left to run, I thought. A part of me was relieved. A much bigger part of me was scared.

As I laid splattered across my floor like a bug on a windshield, I decided I needed to stop blaming everything and everyone else for my pain. I was not a victim. No one was going to walk into my cave and drag me out. If I wanted to see the light of day again, I had to learn how to crawl.

I found a therapist whose firm, unwavering presence helped me change my life. Her brutal honesty was painful and revitalizing. I discovered the power of empathy coupled with accountability.

I began to find meaning in my pain and gratitude for my suffering. My mistakes became lessons. Joy doesn’t make us wiser, only pain can do that.

I show up for others in their pain because I know what it feels like in the belly of the whale. If I have anything to thank the universe for, it’s that.

Gave up being right for being kind. Chose disappointing others over disappointing myself. Traded hope of a different past for forgiveness.