The following is the second instalment of our second ‘Perspectives’ series. ‘Perspectives’ as a concept was born out of a desire to provide thought-provoking and relatable snapshots into students’ experiences navigating relationships, self-discovery, and other affairs of the heart. Our extremely talented writers continue to respond to the series and express themselves in ways that go above and beyond what we ever could have initially imagined. Please enjoy…

Alice, Sex and Relationships Editor

Karla and Shannon, Deputy Sex and Relationships Editors

 

The more time I have spent in Trinity, the less peaceful I have felt. Perhaps it’s the innate pressure of my Law and Political Science course that lingers in the back of my mind even when caught up on all of my work, or maybe the unease of living in a different country has never fully dissipated. The different possibilities had led to the deterioration of my inner peace. As my internal turmoil came to its peak last spring, I decided to give myself the emotional break I needed and return to the United States one week earlier than planned; I knew that being in the comfort of my own home would automatically remove the anxieties associated with my environment, and it was worth it to me. The choice between my mental health and taking exams in the Dublin time zone was an easy choice to make. 

 

Mid-air, I scribbled down notes in my journal, which I typically dedicate to reflections and memories I will return to and  appreciate at a later date; this time, it was a list of goals to pursue before travelling to Dublin once again. The constant theme I found myself coming back to was this sense of peace: happiness in its purest form. The pandemic has been unkind to everyone, with some suffering greater loss than others, but this is the first time many of our generation have experienced universal grief, and it certainly took its toll on me. Every single individual simultaneously experienced loss of some kind: the loss of a friend or family member, the loss of work, the loss of normalcy. To feel these exact pressures as well as witness them whilst in Dublin was a greater emotional burden than I originally recognised (or was willing to recognise). Going through the pandemic in a foreign country, I had to rely on myself. I had moved into a new apartment without any roommates, so, in a lot of senses, I was physically alone for long periods of time during the lockdown months. I was my own support system, and that taught me a lot about my interpersonal strength, but it also highlighted a need for self-improvement. I was unhappy. Not in the sense that I would cry or outwardly appear sad, but in a secret, strangely worse way– hidden, even from myself. I pretended that I was okay during a time when most of  life was objectively not okay. Therefore, over the middle of the Atlantic, I decided to invest in chasing my own sense of peace.To me, this meant adventuring away from pursuit of romantic love and focusing far more on self-love, and developing a stronger sense of worth. 

 

Having practiced this for four months in the US, I find that I have not come out of the other side. That’s the trick, I suppose: there is no other side. I thought that “getting through it” would be like crossing a finish line of a race, mimicking the instant relief of pain and an immediate sense of accomplishment. Instead, I’ve come to realise that making the cognisant choice to work on yourself requires effort every single day. It takes practice and dedication. It gets easier to recognise your own values and focus on improving the way we reflect those in our everyday life, but there is no end: it’s intrinsic to living a full life. I have come to find that self-love, much like romantic love means choosing myself and my values. While romantic love can be beautiful and certainly a great experience, when the dust settles, it also becomes an active choice, and one which requires dedication. 

Returning home, I felt devoid of the creativity and imaginative spark that inspired me to even come to Trinity in the first place. While I absolutely love my course and the subject material I engage with daily, studying, at that point, felt robotic and forced and left me feeling like the rest of my effort could only go toward walking to my bed and starting all over again the next day. I am sure that many can relate to the burn-out that leaves you feeling like the only part of yourself left to give is nearly gone. For me, the burn-out was not actually academic, but a feeling of emotional inability—texting or calling even my closest friends felt like a chore. A week after I landed in Tennessee, I found out that a friend of mine from high school had tragically passed away. While unexpected loss is never an easy thing to understand or feel, often it is the connections we have around us that help get us through difficult times. It also comes down to knowing who we are and what we need in these moments. To offer ourselves grace is a form of self-love on its own that can be found even in the simplicity of telling ourselves that it’s okay— that it’s okay not to be doing 7,000 things to fill a CV, that it’s okay to skip the gym for a day, or that it’s okay to remove people from your life who are hurting you. Reeling from this loss, I isolated myself, unable to even identify my own emotions, let alone be a support system to others. I did not want to be the friend people vented to  because I simply could not take it, and voicing this fact to them also felt like an insurmountable task. This feedback loop strengthened when I pretended to be well enough to sit my exams or host final meetings for The Eagle; I was struggling massively but couldn’t say, and not because I didn’t want to, but because having that conversation with myself and confronting my own emotional burdens was the self-fashioned Everest that I was unwilling to climb.

 

This is obviously not a healthy way to live. When exams were through and I found myself with two weeks before my summer internship began, I called one friend in town who I trusted and who has ventured on a mental health journey of his own. We started to meet and kickbox together, or have dinner and chat about the little things. Without my friend even knowing, he helped pull me out of an internalised rut I did not feel I could escape. One theme that has remained consistent throughout my entire experience is that the power of real friends is exceptional. A friend’s love can save you. Even though I did not realise it in the moment, I can now recall thousands of instances that my closest friends in Dublin were there for me and swayed  me away from wrong decisions or pulled me out of darkness that I didn’t think I could move forward from in the first place. Simple invites to walk a friend’s dog, random phone calls from people far away, or dinners with my best friends–these are healing. While I didn’t even know I needed a support system, my friends were there for me. Once I did recognise this need, I tried to really devote my time and attention to those who had healthy habits and who could understand that I was going through an evolution of my own. I limited the number of people who I was dedicating my time to; this was not to exclude people from my life, but to include myself in my own. When we spread ourselves too thin, we steal the ability to enjoy life in peace from ourselves. I used to be able to do this with ease, but was finding that it had suddenly become a task.

 

My self-prescribed cure was to make a list of all of the things I used to love to do and then to choose three of these actions to practice every single day. Reading was the first that I identified, and I made a promise to myself that I would make time to read for a minimum of an hour each day. Racing through my old favourite books in no time, one of my best friends from high school recommended a non-fiction self-help book called Why Men Love Bitches by Sherry Argov.

 

Before we go any further, it’s important to point out that Argov is using the term “bitches” ironically, playing on a self-created acronym: “Babe In Total Control of Herself.” Argov highlights that a woman who is confident, self-assured, and unwavering in her own self-worth has often been mocked as a “difficult” woman, differentiating throughout the book between the “nice girl,” who is a people-pleaser, and the “bitch,” who has expectations of how others must treat her. If these expectations are not met, then she removes herself from the situation.

 

To my people-pleaser self, this was a horrifying read at first. I saw myself in every single example she used, and then later denounced as the “nice girl.” From the most minor examples like how the “nice girl” would move her own schedule to accommodate a flaky guy, to greater issues such as putting up with a lack of communication, and making excuses on a man’s behalf so as to not hurt his feelings, I saw myself. In friendships, I really try to be fair. I think that it is important to be upfront with issues, and I have lived out the reality that occurs when small things are allowed to boil over to a point of no return—talk about the opposite of fun. In spite of this, romantic love has always made me act differently. I have sat through drinks with a guy who berated the color of my hair and actually felt bad about it; now I sit here and think “WHAT THE HELL,” and wish I could go back and shake my old self out of this delusion.

  

The messages of Argov’s book may seem small, but they caused an outright identity crisis for me in the midst of my pursuit of peace. I was the “people-pleasing nice girl”, and it was eroding my personality and ability to give my energy to the positive, loving people in my life. When I moved to Dublin, I lost a lot of who I was. This was certainly not done on purpose. It’s a hard thing to explain, but I feel like I was evolving too much too quickly. I no longer went to church, I no longer threw a football in the park, and I no longer spent a weekend fishing. While growing into who you are, letting go of parts of yourself is normal and healthy; however, to strip away your entire identity is not. We see this highlighted on movie screens in the ever-predictable romantic comedies that still suck us in: a girl goes through a break-up, moves to a big city, loses all of her past self, but then finds a new version and happens to fall in love along the way. We see her struggle for 30 minutes, but the reality is that this lost, messy phase can last for years. For me, moving to a new city and feeling lost felt completely contrary to the Hollywood narratives. It had been years since I played country music playlists or slid down the hardwood hallway in my socks, since I felt secure in my faith, or since I sat down and wrote for fun. How could I ever let someone in and forge a successful relationship if I could not even identify with who I was anymore? How could I escape the lost, messy phase? I felt like I was due to have my 30 minutes end, but I didn’t know how to end it.

 

Argov’s book is basically about maintaining your sense of self regardless of who you are with or if you are flying solo. Argov paints the difference between being nice and being kind in vivid color so that each reader takes on her message. The “nice girl” goes above and beyond for a guy she has only just met, and the “bitch” simply does not. She cares for herself and ensures that her needs are being met and that she can reasonably meet the needs of her partner. If there is an issue  the “bitch” has the confidence to walk away. She does not sign up for something that is wrong for her just because it is right for someone else. In my journey to peace, Argov’s message was exactly what I needed to hear; peace can come largely from having that strong sense of self. Though there is no particular recipe to follow, letting go of others’ judgment and what you cannot control is freeing; when you do not worry about the opinion or approval of others, you live in peace.

 

After I finished Argov’s book, I felt inspired to hold fast to who I know I am and to uncover the bits of myself that I have hidden both subconsciously and on purpose. I learned a lot about the practical  consequences of my own actions—when you allow people to treat you in a certain way and then decide to make changes, they may not understand. But, I, like the book encourages, want to invest in my own growth and hopefully do so with enough grace and kindness to keep my close friends around. By making this investment, my emotional burdens have already dissipated, and, as trite as this may seem, for the first time in a long time, I feel like I know who I am. If nothing else, I feel at peace with the woman speaking to you now.

 

I think romantic love is wonderful, and it’s something that I wish I could just fall into. I wish I could simply be in love and be loved and forget all of the hard work that goes into knowing who I am. But loving yourself and being your own partner is more important. It is by taking small steps towards personal peace that you can grow independently. In the end, having a strong sense of self is integral to being the you that is loved in a relationship of any kind—it is important to be sure that who that is, is who you want to be.