Some of the hardest things in life are perceivably some of the simplest. Saying goodbye—leaving unfinished business—letting go.

These are the kind of situations that feel beyond our control. There are no more physical actions to take, so instead we fall into the business of “mind over matter”. These situations raise the question of “can you accept the past and move forward?”

This happens to me a lot. While I value adventure, spontaneity and new beginnings, as a child change was not my forte. I was stubborn (or determined and persistent as I prefer to call it). I have a hard time letting go of the past, which in return binds me from properly moving forward. I always like to keep one foot dragging behind, holding open that figurative door—on the off chance I need to turn around. But the thing is, that is not healthy for me.

This habit of holding on too tightly can apply to almost anything.

Bad habits, negative thoughts, past loves and fruitless fights leaving only resentment and angered feelings. One of the deepest parts of me secretly loves to hold on to these negatives and keep them in an ornate little box, label it “memories” and open it up over and over again just for the hell of it.

I live for the pain. Enjoy the sensation of wallowing in it. Or so it seems. Why else would I continue to torture myself and delve back into these painful histories to relive them over and over again?

My therapist feels that I hold myself to too high of a standard. I expect only the best from myself. I know I am only a human, yet when I make a mistake I find it unacceptable. I take full blame even when I know the blame is not mine to take—and I internalize it. I chalk it up to the bigger picture of how I am a failure, a bad friend, a bad lover—a bad person.

So I punish myself. I think back on the good memories I had with someone, forget the bad, and curse myself for giving up on something that was supposedly so great (at least in my memories). But I know I am not alone in doing this. We as humans tend to shield ourselves from discomfort and only remember the good when we look back from a distance. From there, we are left with intense nostalgia remembering everything we once had.

I tend to describe my mindset as having an “all or nothing” way of thinking. This particular mental distortion is like fixating on one small, missing piece of the puzzle when in reality it does nothing to affect the overall picture. This is equally painful for me. This is where I begin to live inside my own head—more than a little lost in the past.

So I’m doing my best to move forward. To leave the past in the past and realize dwelling on the “shoulds”, “could haves” and “what ifs” will leave me more broken than anything.

Realizing that I don’t need to hold on so tight. Knowing that the universe has its plan for me—and those who are meant to stay, will.

Not every situation is going to wrap up smoothly, neatly tied with a colored ribbon. There will be many hurt feelings in your life, many embarrassments and many events beyond your control; but that does not mean you need to allow them to make a home inside your heart.

For me, I have found that the best medicine is to let go. Let those unwanted thoughts and anxiety roll off you and puddle onto the floor. They are not beneficial to your life. They do not fill your cup—and holding onto all that negativity does not make you a better person. In fact, it actually inhibits your growth as an individual—always has you one step back in the other room.

So let go. Breath it all out. Open up your heart.

It’s not going to be easy. I’m not even close to being able to accept my past mistakes and continue to love myself through it all. But that’s okay. The important thing is that you continue to work on bettering yourself. That you learn from what you still call blunders and move forward with the intention to do better, be better, for yourself and others.

Because in reality, that’s all you can do.

Pulling a segment from my all-time favorite poem The Type by Sarah Kay:
“Forgive yourself for the decisions you have made, the ones you still call
mistakes when you tuck them in at night. And know this:
Know you are the type of woman who is searching for a place to call yours.
Let the statues crumble.
You have always been the place.
You are a woman who can build it yourself.
You were born to build.”

You’ve finally made it. You’re wearing the cap and gown, anxiously awaiting the moment you’re ushered to turn your tassel, signifying the declaration of that you’re a college graduate. You’ve dedicated four hard years to furthering your education and are now sitting in the stadium of one of the top universities in the country with your family there to cheer you on.  This is the biggest moment of your life and should be treasured.

Except you’re fixated on cake. Cake, really? Yes, cake. That beautiful vegan cake your father went to great lengths to procure solely for you, to make you happy on your graduation day. Rather than let this thought fill you with joy and gratitude, you’re filled with fear knowing you’ll have to eat it. You don’t know the calories. You don’t know the ingredients. You don’t know how much exercise is required to burn it off, so you’ve already made arrangements to be in the earliest spin class the next day to prevent any ounce of fat from accumulating on your body. All this unnecessary anxiety caused from one piece of cake on a day that’s meant to be celebrated.

This is the detrimental thought process that gradually began taking hold of my mind over the past year. Because I had no idea what post-graduation life would entail, I clung tight to one thing I knew I had control: my weight. It began innocently enough with eating clean, counting calories, and developing a regular workout routine. I was graced with labels such as “health freak” or “health nut” and took immense pride in them. Friends and strangers alike kept telling me how great I looked and were enthralled by how tiny I was.  But it never seemed to be enough in my mind. I had to eat cleaner, slash more calories, and workout even harder. If there was a way to lose weight, it was pertinent that I incorporate it into my lifestyle.

It didn’t take long for me to begin viewing food as an enemy.

In some cases, this even included healthy foods like sweet potatoes and bananas because they were too high in carbs. I wouldn’t allow myself to make sandwiches using more than one piece of bread, mind you, the healthiest possible bread I could find. More than one piece of fruit a day would allow for too much sugar in my diet. I wouldn’t dream of eating any products with more than five grams of sugar. Suggested serving sizes were too large for me, so I ate less.  Cooking, one of my favorite things to do, was tossed to the side because I knew I would have to calculate the calories in each recipe I wanted to try. Going to restaurants was completely out of the question. I denied requests from friends to spend time together because there was the fear that food may be involved somehow. I hated for people to see me eat, fearful they might think I was eating too much.

I was consuming at least 1,000 calories fewer than what my body required to function on a daily basis. Factor in the workouts I was doing, sometimes twice a day, and you can imagine my level of exhaustion. I look back and cringe at the thought of how tired I was, even after a full night’s sleep. I had enough energy to get me through that early morning workout but not much else. I would go about the rest of my day completely depleted of energy. I’d been active my entire life and was now getting winded from walking up a flight of stairs.

Fast forward a few months to the end of August. I was offered a job and moved back home to save money while I worked. Everything was slowly falling into place and a regular routine was in the process of being established. That meant I could relinquish the obsessive control over my weight, right? Not exactly. It took at least a month after starting my new job before I realized the toll I had caused my body.

I was getting ready for work and looked in the mirror, as I do every morning. But something sent panic through me: the sight of my scalp. Hannah, the girl with notoriously thick hair, who was born with a full head of hair, now had thinning hair. I wouldn’t blame you for thinking this sounds completely superficial of me. But it’s a real wake-up call when something you’ve been praised for endlessly is no longer applicable, especially when you can’t blame anyone but yourself. It was this realization that caused me to truly take a hard look at myself. In addition to the thin hair, I looked frail, exhausted, and downright miserable. And I felt miserable. I was constantly freezing, despite wearing sweaters in the middle of the summer. I was irritable because I was constantly hungry (just imagine being “hangry” all the time). I was so incredibly uncomfortable in the little skin I had left.

I was under the impression losing weight was supposed to solve all your problems. For me, it created more than I could ever imagine.

For the past month, I’ve been working with a dietitian. As sad as it sounds, I’ve had to teach myself how to eat. I’m learning how to eat when I’m hungry, which is something that shouldn’t even require a second thought. I’m learning that food is energy. I couldn’t recognize this simple concept and I hate how long it took for me in order to do so. Food is essential to our well-being and I recognize how absolutely ridiculous it was for me to fear it. The first day I increased my caloric intake, the benefits were instantaneous, giving me more energy than I’d felt in a year. After months of feeling hungry, even just minutes after eating, I finally felt full and satisfied. I can’t emphasize enough how great a feeling that is and I’m ashamed how long I went denying myself of it.

I wish I could say I’ve completely stopped counting calories, but I haven’t. I can’t yet go out to eat without having an intense wave of anxiety strike me and instantly wrack my brain for excuses. I’m still not at my ideal weight. Recovering from an eating disorder is a gradual process and I know these issues will resolve in due time.

So far, my weight has increased by 10 pounds. I am eating the proper amount of calories my body requires. I am still exercising every day, but my mindset towards it has changed: Not every workout has to be more intense than the last. I enjoy exercise now that I have the energy to go about my day afterwards. It’s not a punishment for the foods I consume.

Am I happy with my body? If I’m being honest, every day is a struggle to shift my mindset to one of self-love and appreciation for this body.

From a young age, we are taught to never be satisfied or happy with the bodies we’re given. There is always some improvement we need to make in order to love ourselves, rather than accepting our bodies for what they are. Gaining ten pounds over the course of a month brings on a lot of days where my body image is not the least bit positive, but I’m finding these days are becoming less frequent. I’m learning how to live without my life revolving around food. Because that’s not living. What does my weight have to do with my ability to perform my job well and pursue my passion? Does my weight take away from the fact that I graduated from one of the best universities in the country? Is the love from my family and friends contingent on a number on the scale? No, no, and definitely not.

This fixation on weight is so irrelevant when looking at the big picture of how much I’ve accomplished, how lucky I am to have family and friends to support me, and the dreams I still have to chase.

I never thought that skills I learned when I was 12 would play such an important role in my adult life. It’s funny. We go through life knowing that the things we learn in school build on top of each other to teach us things we will need to know to go to college, but the skills we learn outside of the classroom teach us the most important lessons of all: honor, courage, integrity, and, most importantly, perseverance.

Junior year of high school is when it all began. Everyone starts looking at colleges and begins to take the dreaded SATs. All of my friends seemed to know what colleges they wanted to go to and had been getting great results on their SATs. In the midst of the secure attitudes surrounding me, I felt lost, as if there was something wrong with me because I didn’t know where I wanted to go.

I could barely answer the simplest questions my counselor asked me about what I wanted out of a college.

My scores were good but not great and certainly far from spectacular. I thought that after working with my parents to compile a list of colleges to apply to, I would feel more secure and that I could measure up to my classmates. To my surprise, that only made me feel more anxious than ever because I began to think that I wasn’t good enough for any college that I applied to and asked myself why would they want me?

Needless to say, self-doubt is a wrecking ball that doesn’t hesitate to attack its victims and demolish any shred of mental toughness they had keeping them together. This is what happened to me. Even after I started to get acceptance letters, I felt like a fraud.

I didn’t understand why these colleges were choosing me when there must have been thousands of applicants that were more deserving.

The one college that I really wanted to get accepted to was Georgia Tech. I would joke with my friends and family about the impossible odds of me being accepted, but I was always secretly hoping that there was a welcome packet with my name on it somewhere in an office on campus. Then the day came. March 14th brought with it my entire future in the click of one button.

I remember standing at work and getting the email from Georgia Tech that my admissions decision was available online. I asked my boss if I could step in the back and check it. I got to the office and pulled up Buzzport. Before I looked, I sat there pondering things to say to my co-workers when I didn’t get accepted.

After I thought of a few that were acceptable to me, I clicked the button. My manager came into the office when he heard me crying. He came up to me and gave me a hug to encourage me that everything was going to be ok.

I turned around and proudly exclaimed that I was officially a Yellow Jacket and part of the class of 2019!

My self-doubt was shattered not by my acceptance into Georgia Tech (although that definitely didn’t hurt it either). When I was sitting at the computer waiting to click the button to see my admissions decision, I remembered the advice my Girl Talk counselor gave me when I was 12. She told me, “You are an inspiring person who has so much to offer to the world. Don’t let the words of those who don’t know you dictate your life. Let your light shine through.”

This is the motto I choose to live by every day. We are all unique and have something special to offer the world. Sometimes we hit rough patches that try to diminish the light we all have in us, but through our own strength, that light can radiate out to the world.  

By: Someone who believes in you and your strength.

Her name was JuJu. A nickname from childhood that her dad had called her before he passed away. Juju was one of my campers in the Yellow unit of nine to eleven year olds and was a natural born leader.

She was only in elementary school, but carried herself as an outgoing young adult with a passion to create a brighter world through creativity and joy. I met Juju at Camp Kesem last summer. Camp Kesem is a place where kids can find solace, support, and love from others who truly understand losing a parent from cancer.

Losing a parent is difficult, and it is unimaginable to me to lose one when you are nine years old.

But Camp is about finding light in dark situations and creating incredible friendships. At Camp when the sun goes down and the campers are all in their pajamas, we have Cabin Chat. This is a time when counselors lead a discussion with a series of questions. The first couple questions are lighthearted, but eventually they become more serious throughout the week.

On one of the first days, we asked the girls in our cabin “What is the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen?” I was expecting the girls to say something like “a rainbow!” or “my dog is beautiful,” but instead I was floored from the answers they provided. Juju’s answer is the most vivid in my memory.

Calmly she asked, “Does it have to be something I actually saw or can it be something I know?”

The other counselors and I were curious. We let her continue, “The most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen was when my dad passed away and he wasn’t hurting anymore. He was finally peaceful…I know he’s up in heaven now playing golf with my grandpa and catching up.” We were all speechless. What nine year old should be able to say that? I started thinking about how young she was and how mature I could never be at that age.

I mean nine years old and accepting that your life will go on knowing this? Feeling at peace that you know he’s safe and one with God? When I was nine, I was playing with Barbies and cried when butterflies accidentally hit our moving car. But here she was, this little girl with the biggest heart and a calm voice. I however, was not calm. Internally I was wrecked, bawling like a typical elementary schooler.

I teared up and looked around to the other counselors, only to see similar teary eyes looking back at me. As we nodded heads towards each other, it was like a wordless agreement between the counselors that we would not let our emotions interrupt this beautiful time and that our lives were forever changed. Juju was only one of the campers who became one of my role models and inspired me to become a bigger, better person.

It is incredible to be part of an organization that brings children and teens together to share this experience with and make each summer unforgettable. This summer, Camp Kesem is providing two weeks of camp so even more kids struggling with a parent’s cancer can finally be a kid again and college kids can find inspiration from 3rd graders. I joined Camp to change lives, but this summer, I can’t wait to see who will change mine.

(Written by Nkenna Njoku)

Whoever said “Time heals all wounds” had obviously never met my brother.

It’s been over a year and I’m still learning how to do this crazy life thing without my best friend and little brother. Whenever something good or bad happens I always want to run next door to his room, text or call call him just to hear some uplifting words or hear his reaction.

The best way to summarize this whole situation is with 3 words, “It takes time.”

There are five stages of grief. In the last 19 months I’ve fluctuated constantly, sometimes on a daily basis between all five.

Denial

This stage seems to come most frequently. When I first got the news I refused to believe it. I was confused and tried to block out all the things I was being told. At one point I called his phone multiple times just to try and prove everyone wrong when he answered.

And the weeks passed. Denial would come in the form of waking up and forgetting that anything had ever happened and having to relive the situation all over.

More recently denial has been simple; whenever I feel myself getting sad I tell myself that my brother is on a long beautiful vacation, and I’ll see him someday soon.

Anger

Anger was simple. I felt an anger that I had never felt before. I was angry with anybody and anything involved.

“Why did this have to happen to my brother when there are terrible people committing heinous crimes and walking around freely??” “Why didn’t they help him?” “ How can they claim to be his ‘friends’ but nobody can seem to explain what really happened?” “Why did they invite him to such a place? “What if he had been somewhere else with other people?” “WHY, God?”

It was the type of anger where all you can do is cry and feel defeated because you know that there is nothing that you can do within your power to change the outcome of the situation. Anger because you don’t have answers.

For months I felt like a time bomb that could explode at any moment. People around me would use certain trigger words and phrases like “drown”, or “I’m dead” and it took everything in me to refrain from 1) bursting into tears and 2) giving them a verbal tongue lashing about their poor selection of words.

Bargaining

Bargaining came in the form of me constantly begging during my morning and nightly prayers. “Please God, I will never sin again, I will always be kind, I will never stray from you again, if you just let this all be a dream.”

But every morning following those evening prayers I would wake up and the outcome would still be the same. I was stuck with this new reality and there was nothing I could do about it. Even when I saw my brother for the last time I thought, “well maybe if I just hug him or hold his hand he’ll wake up and make a joke.”

Depression

I got to a point in my depression where I selfishly thought that dying would be much better than living because at least then I would be able to hang out with my brother. Dying was the perfect option. Feeling nothing was better than hurting every minute of every day.

If I died I wouldn’t have to be in constant pain. There would be no bills to worry about, no people to deal with, and most importantly, I wouldn’t struggle with telling myself every morning “just make it through the day.”

It was then that I also got to a point where I questioned my faith. There were many days where I would just be sitting in my room for hours crying and wanting to feel something other than pain and crying out to God, “If you are a merciful and good God why would you allow me to feel this kind of pain? why would you kill my brother?”

3 weeks after my brother’s accident I went back to school and resumed my adult responsibilities the best I knew how. The same week that I resumed class and work, I also celebrated my 21st birthday.

The morning of my birthday I rummaged through some old letters on my desk and found the birthday card my brother had sent me for my 20th birthday. I sat there staring at it, rereading it, and just pictured him singing “Happy Birthday” and a warm hug from him. It wasn’t right. I told myself that I wasn’t allowed to enjoy that day or any other holiday for that matter.

Initially I didn’t make any plans and had no expectations for my birthday, but with the help of an amazing teammate, Tunya, and even better friend I had the best birthday given the circumstances. Although I found myself doing what some would consider enjoyable I still found myself wanting to cry and thinking “I wish my brother was here so I could be happy again, I shouldn’t be having fun without him.”

During summer session I would sit in class struggling to take notes because I could barely see through my tears. Many days I just wanted to be left alone, in the darkness, to just grieve in peace without being asked ‘when are you going to go back to “normal?’” or being interrogated about the whole situation and having to relive the emotions from when I first found out.

I often found myself laying wide awake at night pacing up and down in my room. And when I was fortunate enough to get a few minutes of sleep I found myself quickly woken by a nightmare.

The hardest days were the ones when I woke up unable to discern between reality and dreams and found myself reliving the horror midway through dialing his phone number, sending a text, or logging on to any social media outlet and seeing the numerous “I’m sorry for your loss” posts.

As always, time went on and I adapted to school and this new life. Just when I thought I was making small progress, I was inundated with thoughts of the future. I realized that my brother would not be there for many milestones.

-My brother will never see me graduate from college

-My brother will never see me get married.

-I won’t be able to celebrate any more birthdays with my brother

-My children will never get to meet their Uncle Vince

Graduation seemed to be the hardest to come to terms with because it was the most meaningful and was happening in the very near future. Graduation was also just 4 days shy of Vince’s accident, so I knew my emotions would be running high.

The afternoon before graduation I found myself sitting in Rooker Hall with 2 of my teammates reflecting on the last few years and our plans for the future. I expressed to them my disappointment that my brother would not be there the following evening witnessing my commencement ceremony. My teammate Sarah said to me “Just because he’s not here doesn’t mean he didn’t get the invite. He’s going to have the best seat in the stadium.”

It was then that I knew that it was ok to move on with my life and no longer feel guilty for having fun or achieving wonderful things without my brother because he was always there with me, in my heart.

Acceptance

There were and still are so many unanswered questions. The lack of closure is what kept me up at night or kept me from focusing in class.

For a long time I thought that having an answer or just having someone to blame would make me feel better. It came to a point where I had to silence my thoughts and say, “ok Lord, I don’t understand at all what you’re doing but I trust you.”

I also had to tell myself two things:

that all those questions didn’t matter

even if I had the answers to all my questions would it put my heart and mind at ease? Honestly, probably not.

We live in a death fearing society. I think it is foolish for any of us to deny death or think that we are immune from death.

One thing that I have learned in the last 19 months, although cliche, is that life is short and anything can happen at any time, whether you are ready or not. I have learned to take things at face value and always embrace people with constant, unconditional, and selfless love. I had no desire to learn how to live without my brother, but I had to because life continues whether you’re ready or not.

You can learn how to live without someone, even your best friend. It won’t be easy, and it’s going to take some time, a long time honestly, but you can do it. Just remember that small progress is still progress. Never let anyone tell you how long you should grieve for, it’s a process and it takes time.

One thing that settles my heart is knowing that however many remaining years I have to spend on this Earth without my brother pales in comparison to an eternity in God’s kingdom. Until then I just have to remind myself he is on a beautiful long vacation.

I can’t wait for the day we can pretend we have our own cooking show again, or he can jump out from behind the tree in the front yard and spray me with his water gun when I’m running, or Saturday morning cleaning and taking breaks to have a sing or dance off. But most importantly I can’t wait for the day Vince can give me a long hug.

A wise man told me this year “Quality of life is not measured by quantity of life.” Vince taught me so much and did so much in just 19 years. He was the kid that loved to run drills in the backyard and put in the extra work even in the off season. He was also the kid that loved to volunteer with Hands on Atlanta on the weekends to build homes for families in need.

God gave me 19 years with my best friend and I will cherish them until I take my last breath on this earth because they were the best. We used to do EVERYTHING together. We had so many jokes we basically spoke a different language. Some nights we would stay up all night just being goofy and talking about the most random things.

This whole situation is so surreal. The only thing Vince hated more than tomatoes and brussel sprouts was seeing me cry and wallow in sadness.

I still don’t understand why this all happened but I do know that God has used this situation to soften my heart. I am learning to love and serve the Lord the way my brother did.

My brother would not only want me to be happy but he would want to be helping others and spreading Christ’s love. Time doesn’t heal all wounds, but with time you learn how to cope and be at peace, not in pieces.

My brother was my best friend, and he will always and forever be my best friend.