Ten Years Ago

I was eleven years old, in fifth grade, and struggling. Mind you, I didn't know I was struggling, but, as they say, hindsight is 20/20.

I was always the quiet kid, the one adults didn't think they had to worry about.

When I say I was struggling, I mean I was having severe anxiety symptoms, but being the kid that cries multiple times a week at school means that, in my case, the people around you start to brush you off. The eye rolls, the sighs, the forced way they asked me what was going on–it really weighed on me, and still does.

As I've learned more and more about my anxiety since my diagnosis in 2017, one question has been on my mind: why wasn't anyone worried about me? I don't know much about child psychology, but I do know that my behavior was not typical for an eleven year old.

Within my fifth grade year, there were multiple times where I spent most of the day, if not the entire day, crying uncontrollably in the school office. That is not typical for an eleven year old.

No one at my school ever told my parents that they were concerned about me or my behavior. I was just quiet, just sensitive, just getting my feelings hurt. Just.

I've been dealing with the frustration of looking back on that time of my life lately. I don't know exactly how to feel about it. I am still involved with the school–my mom works there and I often help–but that doesn't cancel out the complicated way I feel about the past.

When I was around that same age, I always thought that growing up meant changing dramatically, and leaving your past self behind. As I've gotten older, though, I've realized that your past self never leaves you. The person you were is always going to be part of the person you become.

That shy, sensitive kid will always be part of me. I will continue to unlearn the things I used to feel about myself, and deal with the things that trigger memories from that time in my life.

I would like to believe that she's proud of me, because I am definitely proud of her.

Thanks for reading! Your support means the world to me, and to that little girl.

–Abbie