What keeps you going?

In life, we all have something that keeps us going; a passion, a goal, fear of failure, love or hate, or maybe just a dear friend or sibling. The most important to me, through experience, is love for those around me, especially my family and friends.

What do I mean by love? It seems this word can be used in a thousand different ways. To answer this, think about your life. Who do you think is more important to you, a brother or a friend? These days, no one seems to pick up the journal to read of the beauty of the sun. Most newspapers are full articles on killings, theft, terrorism, rape, and porn.

A lot of these happenings occur within our own home, the family.

Boundaries are crossed, anger builds and the family is torn apart. To see the beauty of the sun, to look beyond the newspaper, and feel the love of life, we must have a united family.

It seems the family is becoming an ever less important aspect in the eyes of the world. The world seems to focus on individuals and how one can grow up independently, without the care of parents.

One of the organizations where we can still find the teachings of a family, is within a church.

Most members of church organizations refer to one another as brother and sister. They do this in believing God is our universal Father, thus we become brother and sister at birth.

I find this to be a little ironic. Most churchgoers believe in God, but also in the devil, who like you, is a child of God, making him our brother as well. Knowing he is our brother, would you refer to him as your friend?

One great teaching from Jesus Christ is of the power of a true friendship. In John 15: 12-13 he says, “This is my commandment, That ye love one another, as I have loved you. Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.”

The true love that keeps me going is that of my friends. We need to establish our strongest friendships within our family. Love is felt and lived when friendships are formed within the family and then with others.

Life keeps going by love, be a friend. It keeps going.

In Portuguese:

O amor no lar Na vida passamos por dificuldades e as maiores geralmente acontecem no lar. Os relacionamentos dentro de casa são essenciais para nosso bem e trazem amor. Na vida temos irmãos e amigos, mas qual deles é o mais importante para ter em sua vida ou em sua casa? Já se perguntou isso, qual é o mais ideal? Porque dentro de casa ás vezes há briga, conflito, violência e discussão.

No jornal sempre saía artigos muito tristes sobre traições, roubos e assasinatos, mas o fato mais assustador são que essas tragédias estão acontecendo dentro da família. O amor nem sempre existe na família, ás vezes irmãos brigam entre si. Esses acontecimentos tiram a felicidade e o amor do meio familiar. Deus quer que a alegria e a felicidade habitem no lar porque Ele é nosso amoroso pai dos céus. Ele nos concedeu uma família aqui na terra, mas por sermos gerados por Deus nós nos tornamos igualmente sendo todos irmãos e irmãs com Deus sendo nosso pai.

Com esse propósito nas igrejas os membros se referem um ao outro com o título de irmão ou irmã. Sendo assim até Satanás seria nosso irmão e na verdade ele é nosso irmão. Ele como você, é um filho gerado por Deus, todavia por causa de suas escolhas, habita no inferno, num lugar de infelicidade. Agora sabendo que ele é nosso irmão você o chamaria de seu amigo? Todos nós nascemos irmãos e não amigos. Nós precisamos merecer a amizade entre nossos irmãos. Jesus Cristo disse em João 15: “Ninguém tem maior amor do que este: de dar alguém a sua vida pelos seus amigos.” O amor pode ser alcançado quando nós nos tornarmos amigos de nossos irmãos e assim o amor estará presente no lar.

There’s something that people never tell you when working in suicide prevention – it’s easy to blame yourself when you lose someone.

On February 13th, 2012, I missed a call from my parents. I listened to a panicked voicemail urging for a callback immediately. In my gut, I knew something was wrong. My mind fluttered over everything it could be – my grandmother, recently diagnosed with cancer, or perhaps my twin brother, who had a knack for getting into trouble. As my mind considered all of the horrible possibilities, I never once thought that my younger brother, getting ready to graduate high school in the spring, would have instead taken his own life.

Let me tell you something I’ve never told anyone – I blame myself.

I had planned on texting my little brother that day just to check in, but I didn’t. I often think to myself – what if I would have texted him? What if I just would have reached out? Would he still have taken his own life?

The premise behind suicide prevention work is that it IS preventable. That WE can do something to stop another person from taking their life.

So how come my little brother died? How come he fell through the cracks and took his own life? Why wasn’t it prevented?

These are the questions I ask myself. These are the things I wonder while simultaneously volunteering with the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention (AFSP). Volunteering with AFSP has helped me heal. It has helped give meaning to the pain I experienced, and it’s helped me connect to other people who have suffered their own loss and experienced their own pain.

What losing my brother taught me is that I can help other people. I can help other people out of a dark place. I can help people find resources who have lost someone.

I can be the voice for prevention.

The reality is, my little brother had a lot of help. He was someone who had a family rooting for him and a solid support system. But it wasn’t enough in his case. What I hope is that others will join the fight for prevention before they lose someone they love.

Want to join me? I will be participating in an Out of the Darkness walk for AFSP to #StopSuicide. You can help by donating to my page.

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.

When you decide to become a college athlete people tend to tell you all of the horror stories that come along with it. They tell you about conditioning, the long nights and early mornings, and the responsibility that comes along with it. But what they don’t tell you about becoming a college athlete is that…

You’ll be blessed with a roommate that has been such a blessing in your life. A roommate that started as a walk on but worked hard and did everything it took to earn a full scholarship. You won’t know that the girl that you were too afraid to say hey to outside of Jervey will be your teammate and road roommate. They don’t tell you that your roommate will help you through one of the most difficult times in your life. And they don’t tell you that Vee will become a part of your family and you’ll become a part of hers.

They don’t tell you how competitive and determined your teammate will be. How she’s one of the first in the gym and one of the last to leave. They don’t tell you that she’s so selfless and will go out of her way to do things to help you. That she’s shy and quiet when you first meet, but one of the goofiest people you’ll ever meet. And they don’t tell you that if you ever tell Nelly that she can’t do something, she will prove you wrong.

They don’t tell you that you’ll have a hairdresser on the team that runs House of Beauty. That she is the most girly and prissy person you’ll ever meet, but she’s also wiling to listen and offer helpful advice with whatever you’re going through. They don’t tell you that MK will come to your house whenever you have a rough day and bring Spill the Beans to make everything better.

When you decide to play a sport in college, they don’t tell you that you’ll meet someone who wears Nike all the time. You wont hear that her laugh is contagious and she has the best taste of music. They don’t tell you that she’s competitive at whatever she’s doing. And they definitely don’t tell you that Lex will dance at any moment.

They don’t tell you that you’ll have an Italian teammate that is one of the funniest people you will ever meet. She’ll tell you exactly how she feels no matter the situation and make you laugh while doing it. They don’t tell you that she works so hard in the classroom and is one of the smartest people you’ll ever meet. You won’t know that she can sing almost every song that comes on the radio, but has no idea what they mean. They don’t tell you that Franny has the meanest Euro step in the game.

They won’t tell you that you’ll have a Canadian teammate who knows how to have a good time. You won’t know that she will say whatever is on her mind no matter who is around. They don’t tell you that she’ll try to get everyone to listen to Dancehall and that Sirah is one of the kindest people you’ll meet.

They don’t tell you that you’ll have a teammate that doesn’t talk much, but when she does she has something to say. She can be closed off at times, but you’ll learn more about her as time goes on. They won’t tell you that she’s strong and fast and takes no prisoners on the court. You won’t know that even though she barely spoke her freshman year, you could pick her laugh out of a crowd of millions. They wont tell you that KP is an observer and one of the funniest people you will ever meet.

For some reason they fail to bring up the teammate who seems to never run out of energy. The one that is everywhere on every play and is one of the hardest working people you’ve ever met. You won’t know that she has the funniest facial expressions and always has a clap back for whatever you come at her with. They don’t tell you that Li is full of random facts for every day.

They fail to tell you that you’ll meet a guard that came in ready to make an impact on the team. They don’t tell you that she will always be one of the best-dressed people that I’ve ever met. You wont know that she looks out for the people around her and has a heart of gold. You won’t know that Dani is leaves an impact on someone everywhere she goes.

I wish someone would have told me that I would bond with the freshman in just a few months and they would feel just as much like family as the people that I already spent a year to two years with.

I wonder why no one told me that I would have a teammate from “Bawdimore” who is absolutely hilarious. They didn’t tell me that her dance moves are terrible but she makes up for it by how much she enjoys dancing. You won’t know that she’s scatterbrained and sometimes you have no idea what she’s talking about until you ask more than once. They don’t tell you that Jaia says whatever comes to her mind no matter how it comes out, but she’s one of the best people to be around because of her amazing personality.

They don’t tell you that you’ll meet someone with such a STRONG southern accent that she has to clarify what she’s saying. You won’t be told that she is one of the most down to earth people that you will ever meet. She may not say a lot, but if you listen hard you’ll hear Kobi’s quick and funny comments under everyone else talking.

You won’t hear about the girl who’s completely independent and seems to have everything together. They don’t tell you how hard she works to get what she wants. They tend to leave out that your little sister Kayce is all about the team and brings so much energy to every practice and workout.

People fail to tell you that you’ll meet of one the most random people that you’ve ever met. They don’t tell you that she has a nickname for everyone that matches her bubbly personality. If you watch closely you’ll find her dancing to whatever song is playing. When see her you can pick her out by her love of socks and her curly hair and after you meet her you’ll never forget Chyna.

You’ll never hear about the girl from Cali who is one of the coolest people you’ll ever meet. You won’t hear that she’s so selfless and cares so much about the people around her. They don’t tell you that you’ll love her style and the way she dresses, but most importantly you won’t know that SiSi is a hard worker in everything she does.

What they don’t tell you when you decide to become a college athlete is that you’ll be blessed with not only teammates, but also a family.

I thought my high school experience was normal at first. Surely everyone in my AP World History class sobbed into their pillows three times a week. We all joked about the class making us unhappy. We all felt consistently stressed and anxious. We all struggled to sleep and spent our nights googling “how to be happy.” My experience was normal. I spent the entirety of my sophomore year of high school telling myself that.

Not everything was bad. There would be parts of my day here and there that I would embrace and play on repeat when certain thoughts started creeping in. My family loves each other a disgusting amount. I was and am surrounded by this unit of constant love and support. My parents are financially stable, and I went to bed with a full stomach each night. There was no reason for my unhappiness, yet it continued beyond sophomore year and AP History. When I stopped hanging out with my friends, it was not because I did not like them. I did. A part of me hoped that they would pursue my friendship even after I avoided their texts and phone calls, but it was too exhausting to pretend to be happy all the time.

Instead I would sit in my room alone for hours. I don’t even remember what I used to do for all that time.

I do remember coming home from my aunt’s house one Sunday evening after dinner. My parents sat up front in the car, and I sat in the back seat with my twin sister. She was teasing me about something insignificant, and instead of teasing her back, I broke down. I cried. I yelled. I cried more. All of this in a four minute car ride. When we got home, I immediately went to my room, but I was too worked up. I couldn’t figure out why I was so upset, but the feelings were very real and very persistent. So I went for a walk. I found myself sitting among some trees by a parkway. I just cried and held my knees to my chest for about half an hour. The world was loud. My thoughts were loud. The cars were loud. Everything was overwhelming. My thoughts went a certain way, and even my happy memories that I would use to calm myself down were not working. I had considered taking my own life before, but it always seemed to be an abstract concept. Not like this. This felt present. This felt immediate. I stood and watched the cars zoom by me. I thought about how easy it would be to step into traffic. I was tired. I had been aggressively crying and holding myself for the better part of an hour. This was my worst breakdown yet, and I am forever grateful that I was tired. I was too tired to walk into traffic.

I sat back down and only part of me realized how close I was at attempting suicide.

My parents and sister were huddled around the computer when I walked back into the house. I tried to go upstairs without talking about what just happened, but my sister stopped me. They asked me if I was depressed. I denied. They asked if I wanted to talk to someone. I declined. I lied to my perfect, only trying to help family. I lied to my twin sister, my other half, but after a year of pretending to be happy, I was finally called on my bluff. I remember the relief of falling asleep that night. I knew I wasn’t fooling my family anymore, and I realized I wasn’t fooling myself anymore. I wanted to live, and in order to do that I realized I had to face my depression. I could no longer passively watch it ruin my friendships, my grades, or my relationship with my family.

My journey to happiness was not completed in one night. It took another year before I had more good days than bad, and it took another year after that before my bad days were all but gone. I was never alone, but it sure felt like it until I opened up to my last remaining friend about my depression. She was going through it, too. I wasn’t alone. We relied on each other to do simple tasks like going to the gym or writing in our journals. She encouraged me to make new friends, and I did. I started spending less time shut in my room.

Life became enjoyable again.

I now appreciate the bad days when I have them. I think I will always have them, but now they are choppy waves rather than tsunamis. They remind me how much I enjoy life on the good days. I still worry that my happiness will be taken from me for what seems like no reason at all, but I know now that I don’t have to face depression alone. I can now openly talk about my history with it. When I feel overwhelmed, I know that I have people. I hope that in sharing this story I can help eliminate the stigma of mental health issues. I am beyond grateful that I was tired. I am beyond grateful that I have a caring family. I am beyond grateful that I am still alive.

If you think someone may be struggling with depression, I urge you to reach out. Just showing kindness to someone may impact their life. You may provide a happy memory that quells the creeping thoughts. There is no easy fix when it comes to mental illness, but things do get better.

First of all I want to thank everyone who took the time to read my first piece with the wish dish. You never know how ones story can affect you and the Wish Dish has a ton of great stories that are inspiring and insightful.

Will Smith stars in a movie called Seven Pounds as the character Ben Thomas trying to save seven deserving strangers. If you haven’t seen this film be ready to get the tissues out because it’s very emotional. Woody Harrelson who some may know (or just me) from the classic movie White Men Can’t Jump as Billy Doyle plays the character Ezra Turner in the film. Ezra is a telemarketer who sells meat but is also blind. Ben calls Ezra at his job harassing him to see if he would break.

Check it out:

This scene was so moving to me because he demonstrated what patience truly is. Although his body language shows he was hurt from the harsh words, he still had a smile on his face and remained polite and calm.

This past year was a challenge for me, as my patience would really be tested. As I mentioned in my first piece with the Wish Dish, I had a dream of playing professional basketball. I had it all planned out, sign a contract, average this amount of points and hopefully sign a better deal the next year. However, that plan was not what God had for me but it took me awhile to realize that. Every time my agent would call my heart would stop just hoping something would come up. I questioned whether I’d play the game that has done so much for me. There were days I didn’t even want to watch basketball let alone go to the gym and workout.

I felt like a part of me was just stripped away and it was never coming back.

Although I was going through this tough time, I knew I was prepared for it. In my basketball career I’ve endured many obstacles that have shaped me into the person I am today. For example, my freshman year of high school I had the idea that I would play Junior Varsity because I felt I was too good for the freshman team. I was humbled that year where I didn’t make the J.V. team and would end up playing freshman. Frustrated wasn’t even the word, especially since one my best friends would make the team over me. That experience was probably the best thing that could have happened to my career. After a year of playing with some of my closest friends to this day, I would improve my game and leadership qualities. The next summer I worked my butt off and ended up becoming a starter on the Varsity team and from there my high school career would take off.

Looking back on that time I knew the place I was in was familiar and there was still some hope for my dreams.

With my basketball aspirations on hold, I had to figure out what my next move would be. I immediately turned to one a person who has been a big influence in my life on and off the court. My High School coach Chris Whelan is the Co-Owner of a company called Overtime Athletics. Overtime Athletics specializes in after school sport enrichment programs working with over 500 schools all over the country and summer camps as well. From starting this job full time, I knew it would limit my time from basketball but I needed a way to stay involved in the game.

Ever since high school I’ve done personal training with kids who would like to improve their game on a personal level. I’ve been fortunate to play at a high level so it is only right for me to pass along the knowledge I learned from the game. I trained about 6 kids throughout the year and it was a joy to see them work hard and get better. This summer I had the opportunity to run a basketball camp with OTA along with my older brother Walter and some old teammates of mine. We had so much fun working with a great group of kids that were eager to learn.

I think we often forget what’s important when we have our minds set on something we want. Looking back on my situation I thank God I didn’t play professionally my first year out because I would have missed out on so many great people I met and impacted this year.

I became closer to family and friends than ever before and at the end of the day no contract can replace that.

Matthew 17:20 reads, “Because you have so little faith. Truly I tell you, if you have faith as small as a mustard seed, you can say to this mountain, Move from here to there, and it will move. Nothing will be impossible for you.” This bible verse has been instilled in me since I could remember and I’ve always stuck to it. Like Ezra I still had a smile on my face no matter the circumstance and trusted God and his plan for me. I was passed along an opportunity of continuing my basketball career as well as getting my masters at a university overseas. I immediately jumped on it thinking this would be a great opportunity not only to play again but also to further my education. Thanks to TeamGleas and owner Lindsey Gleason I would find my new home at the University of Essex in Colchester England. I am pursuing my masters in Marketing and Management in addition to continuing my playing career.

There are so many people I want to say thank you to but I know you guys don’t want to read that but all my family and friends know who you are. My purpose in sharing my story is to show people that you may not know at the time what will unfold but be aware because there are blessings to be found in every situation.

Wish Dish is awesome, thank you again for the opportunity to share. Stay Blessed people! #LetsGoChamp

To read Austin’s first story, Sky’s the Limit, click the link!

I thought I would never see my family again. I was told I was a disgrace and that I had committed one too many betrayals against the Arab culture. I went to my half-empty dorm bedroom and tried to kill myself. I was so sick of the pressure and the blame of being who I was, and I figured I’d be doing everyone a favor. An honor killing, if you will, except contrary to normal tradition, I’d be inflicting the “honor” on myself.

Clearly, I didn’t succeed, considering that I’m writing this right now. I was drinking and had a pair of scissors and two bottles of pills to help me in the act. My roommates came in to our apartment and I was then caught.

And later, after I woke up from a dreadful alcohol-induced sleep, I got up to deal with the mess(es) that I had made. I forced myself to act strong, like it wouldn’t hurt, like my parents’ absence in my life would be for the better and that the only detriment would be finally paying my own phone bill.

My work ethic and relationship with my boyfriend were struggling. It’s improbable that this was a direct result of family problems, but consequently, I felt like I was losing all of my support systems at once. It came out that my boyfriend was cheating on me, and we temporarily broke up.

Already sick, I didn’t eat for days and started slipping back into the toxic habits of drinking myself to sleep and hanging out in sketchy places. My classes threatened to be too much for me in seven weeks, and I, once the valedictorian with a 98.6 core average, prayed to pass with B’s.

I struggled emotionally and physically, finding it difficult to keep food down and enjoy the things that used to give me any pleasure, like sex, reading or spending time with my friends. Thunderstorms blackened the unbearable Georgia summer heat, and I doubted that I would make it to the fall.

My boyfriend and I reconciled and got back together – I elected to choose forgiveness because resentment and anger never got me anywhere I wanted to be in the past – and things gradually returned to a semi-normal state.

I buried myself in schoolwork and started drinking less. My parents began speaking to me again- it wasn’t how I wanted our relationship to be. I still didn’t trust them, and I know that mistrust went both ways. But I stayed with them for a week that summer, and it went well. While fearing the loss of the essential scholarship due to my difficult upper level summer classes, I received a report card covered in A minuses and felt relief.

The past year has had its stressors: getting mugged and lost, genuinely fearing for my life on multiple occasions, a sex addiction, numerous cases of adultery, my parents’ marriage failing (and my father’s use of me as a scapegoat), and adjusting to a rigorous class and work schedule in the big city.

But every time I thought I was drowning, I came up above water. I’ve found confidence in myself to face whatever obstacles life throws at me and faith that I will survive it.

I have always been very adventurous, outdoorsy, active, and energetic; I’ve been this way since my childhood. I became an avid runner and deemed most valuable player on my high school cross country team. Outside of school, I rode my bike, roller-bladed, traveled to the mountains to white-water-raft and the beach to try my hand at surfing.

I placed an extreme amount of value on new experiences trying new things. In college, I was granted the opportunity to study abroad twice- both times in London. While there, I visited Scotland, Wales, and Amsterdam of the Netherlands. I made some amazing friends, had some incredible cuisine, and had two true adventures of a lifetime.

At my United States University, I was living the all-American dream lifestyle. I was in an awesome program- Communication Studies and I loved most of my classes and teachers. I had two roommates that I considered best friends. I had a part-time job at The Gap and all of my co-workers became a close network of friends who did everything together. Oh, and did I forget to mention I attended college at the beach? Life was great, but I hit my prime the year after I graduated.

For a job, I became a brand ambassador and worked in sales and promotions.

It paid well, but it was very erratic and I was left with a lot of spare time. But that was the way I liked it. I became great friends with a very adventurous group of people- I had found my perfect companions. We played Frisbee golf every weekend, went zip-lining, skiing and snowboarding, jet-skiing, kayaking, hang-gliding- you name it. When I was outside or partaking in an adventurous activity, I was in my element.

About ten months into participating in these adventurous and outdoorsy activities, I discovered the long-board. Although it didn’t give the rush of flying three thousand feet in the air like hang gliding provided, long-boarding lent a new kind of adrenaline kick. For those of you who don’t know, a long-board is similar to a skateboard, but is made for cruising. My friends and I were long-boarding down roads, paved trails, and even parking garages. This new-found activity offered the most adrenaline I had ever experienced- looking back on it, I wonder if I was getting adrenaline mixed up with fear. But it was a new feeling and experience, so I was basking in its glory.

I had been borrowing a friend’s long-board, so the day mine came in, I couldn’t wait to break it in. I immediately called my friends and we hit the hills. In our boarding expedition, we came upon some new and uncharted territory. We all stopped and stared in awe at a steep hill. Not too much later, I hopped on my board nonchalantly, wanting my friends to think of me as bold and fearless.

I started the hill and went down a curve, only to realize the hill stretched on. The hill was longer and more daunting than I could have imagined. But it was too late now; I had already committed to it and was progressively picking up speed. I went around a second curve and that’s as much as I can tell you. According to my friends, I collected a bad case of speed wobble. Unfortunately, I could not recover, and what happened next started a new, foreign, and life-altering chapter of my life. I flew up in the air off of my board and came crashing down on the back of my head. Oh, yes- I forgot to mention: I was not wearing a helmet.

This is the part I find hardest to type because as much as people need to hear this story, I absolutely hate reliving it.

Where to begin? I had suffered a subdermal hematoma, or often called a traumatic brain injury. I spent twelve days in a coma. Upon waking up, I couldn’t walk and had no use of my left arm. I had a shaved head, no sense of smell, and a ventilator in my throat, making it very hard to talk. I spent two months in the hospital doing in-patient physical therapy, occupational therapy, and speech therapy. I had to learn how to transfer back and forth from a wheelchair to a bed. Being left-handed prior, I had to relearn how to feed myself. I had to relearn how to get dressed with the use of one hand.

I remember my family members wanting me to remain positive but realistic. They kept reiterating how lucky and very fortunate I was to not have suffered any mental deficits, but they also told me it was going to be a long road to recovery. Shock and denial kicked in and I chose not to hear them. I was going to return to my adventurous, care-free life in no time. I had only hit a little snag, but this would all be a distant memory. Not so much.

After being discharged from the hospital, I did out-patient therapy for a month. I then found a private physical therapist an hour away from home and I began to visit her once a week. My mom and brother rearranged their lives for me. They were at my beck and call 24/7. Thankfully, my mom was already retired. My brother took a semester off from school and they looked after me around the clock.

Two months passed and I graduated from a wheelchair to a walker. Whether I wanted to admit it or not, this was going to be a very long journey. I remember a specific time about six months after my accident. My family had taken me to Lake Johnson in Raleigh, a lake with a three mile loop trail surrounding it. I was still using my walker so I was a bit slow in my gait. We had only been walking for a few minutes when we came up on a slightly upward hill.

My mom and brother suggested we turn back and walk in the other direction. Ignoring them, I took two strenuous and unbalanced steps forward. Having only one hand available to hold the walker was making it all the harder. I stopped and looked around. There were two girls in yoga pants and tank tops jogging past and chatting away. I looked at their hair pulled up in cute pony tails and hearing them talk and laugh happily and carefree. I used to be those girls. I broke down, sobbing, as the realization finally dawned on me that I may never get back to running and being carefree.

Although I progressed and regained my ability to walk independently, life was still an everyday obstacle. I had been so physical in my past life and to have that aspect stripped away from me was almost more than I could bear. I went from having adventures, being in top athletic shape, and priding myself on my independence and efficiency to a disabled individual, having a difficult time even doing minute things such as getting dressed.

It’s been five and a half years since that tragic event. Let me update you: I walk better than I did, but I still have foot drop and I walk with a limp. As far as my arm goes, I still have very little movement. But that’s okay; I’ve made modifications as I learn to live one-handed in a two-handed world. I wear braces on both my foot and arm. I’ve finally learned to be grateful that my accident wasn’t worse. I easily could have acquired mental deficits, and I’m extremely thankful that I didn’t.

Whenever I get down, I just remind myself that the brain injury didn’t affect my memory, my ability to talk, and my capability to read and write. If I had suffered mental deficits, I may not have been capable of writing this story. I’ve had to work hard to gain back confidence under this new development. Yes, there are some things I can’t do, but there are plenty of things I still can do.

I’m still picking up the pieces of my life and putting them back together.

I set goals for myself each year and work hard to achieve them. This year’s goals: landing a full-time career and getting my driver’s license renewed. I turned my attention inward and started looking at work from home jobs. In the meantime, I applied for an internship in human resources with a virtual record label called Hit Records Worldwide. About six months into it, the instructor called me to inquire about another position I might like. It was in the marketing department, which was perfect as it was directly related to my college major. Working in that department for a year has allowed me to work my way up to Senior Regional Social Media Marketing Manager.

This internship has been extremely rewarding. We are working towards starting a non-profit called Getting Out Records, which will be an online community for foster care girls who want nothing more than to reach their goals of becoming music artists. I am very passionate about assisting these girls as I completely understand hardships and adversities. Some of the foster care girls my CEO has taken under his wings ironically long-board. I have spoken with them on the phone and have stressed the importance of helmet use. I think, or at least hope, that my story touched them and had some influential meaning.

My mom and I are writing a book about my journey and advocate for the importance of helmets. We see kids all the time biking and skating without helmets. I would like to educate them and tell them my story in order to make a difference in their lives. A helmet can make the difference in life and death.

I was extremely fortunate to have lived to tell. Since my accident, a lot has happened and a lot has changed. There have been very high highs and very low lows. There have been many laughs and many cries. Though I’ve suffered loss, I’ve still made gains. And though I’m limited in my capabilities, I’ve made many modifications and have still found a way to live life.

But most importantly, I’ve learned. I’ve learned to accept my accident and disability, and learned to move on and forward.

I’ve come to believe we choose how to play the cards we’re dealt. I’ve learned that it is okay to have bad days, but not to dwell on it. To try to be positive, and know that it could always be worse. I’ve come to believe that we are all on a journey of self-discovery.

In no way, shape, form, or fashion would I have believed that this is where I would be in my life right now. That being said, I now believe that this had to happen in order for me to end up where I do one day. This belief helps me cope and keep moving forward, knowing that this is only a part of my path. I don’t know what I’m destined for yet, but I do recognize that I had to go through this tragedy as a part of my journey. Perhaps I had to overcome this adversity in order to gain strength. Perhaps this strength will be put to use in the future.

I’m very hopeful that this will all be a thing of the past. They are making strides in stem cell treatment every day, and we are coming closer to finding cures. And perhaps I will not fully recover, but only partially. This will still be a good thing. However, I will always keep hoping.

Everyone is fighting a battle and undergoing a struggle, no matter how big or trivial. If you ever feel alone or feel like quitting, just remember that you are not alone and that there are millions of people trying to overcome adversities and underlying circumstances. We are all a team, rooting and cheering each other on through our trials and tribulations. We all are hoping that we can pull each other through the tunnels of darkness to see a sunnier sky.

So no matter how bad things get, just know in your heart that we are pulling for you. “Hope is a good thing. Maybe the best of things. And no good thing ever dies.” Andy DuFrane, The Shawshank Redemption

Jessie,

It hurts. Being in love hurts, right?

You told me once that I do not know what it is like to truly feel the pain of a broken heart if I had never been “in love” for that first time. The truth is, I have. It might not have been a first love in a traditional sense, when a human shares an intimate connection with another.

However, it was love, it just happened to be a bond with a round, orange inanimate object full of air.

I had my first love when I was three years old. It would wake me up at 6 in the morning along with the neighbors. It would call me to the self-reflective depths of my basement, when the weather would not permit, though every now and then it would draw me out into the rain, to test if wet clothes, hair, socks and spongy shoes would hinder my dedication. Though I was free to come and go as I pleased, I was not a slave to this love.

There were no expectations, assumptions, or things to be taken personally. More importantly there were no definitions or labels placed upon the connection I shared. Only a fire in my soul, or as my pops called it “a heart of a tiger,” to put a basketball between my legs, around my back, cross it over, and through a hoop. Then hear that confidence-building, sweet and crisp sound of the nylon net swish.

Perhaps when we are that young, we are actually aware of the mystery behind what true love is. Our minds are not creating obstacles to block us from what we want to naturally do, we just do it, whatever “it” is, we are not afraid of it. It became my escape from the distractions of a broken family, unwanted schoolwork, and the regular pains of being a kid. My driveway with the basketball hoop mounted above the garage was my portal to the coveted holy land, the land of milk and honey for creation, “the zone.”

As I grew older, I gained knowledge of the fundamentals of basketball. I learned how to shoot lay-ups right and left handed, footwork and the correct jump shooting form; from two-handed to one-handed using the offhand to guide the ball to the hoop with backspin created by the flick of the wrist. The only caveat was that I wanted to shoot like my Dad, who shot using his right hand. I was left-handed; it was not my natural fluid motion.

Slowly my conditioning of what a basketball player should be and look like took place.

I progressed through grade school gathering an identity like moss on a stone of being a “basketball player.” Then boom, it happened, a title was slapped on my back. A title turned a pure love into a near-egotistical obsession because if I was not a basketball player, then what was I? What was my place in the cafeteria; my role in school’s or life’s social society? I thought to myself, “Would I be worth being friends with or deserved any love from anyone without it?”

In the words of Simon and Garfunkel, “A love once new has now grown old.” In high school, I nearly hated basketball because it was no longer fun. No longer my escape from an unaware and abusive father, or the social anxiety I had grown into that led to an indifference to school. I could not tap into that spiritual connection, “the zone” anymore and I hated myself like there was something wrong with me. If I could not make an open shot or get by my defender… I was simply a stupid, a no good piece of shit.

I had forgotten why I naturally gravitated towards basketball, and I had forgotten how to love myself. I let other’s opinions about my game shape my self-perception and determine my worth. I needed validation from it, so there was no way I could leave it, it was all I knew, it was my first love. Even when it crushed my heart, unleashing an endless stream of tears in front of grown men as I was getting cut from the varsity team; I still believed that it was the savior to my dreams and problems. I believed it could take me out of that basement where hours were spent dribbling in the dark or blind folded around various objects and chairs.

High school passed and I was soon skipping college courses to go play at local basketball courts. Without the pressure of impressing a coach, teammates or my father it became fun again. In addition I was growing and becoming stronger. I could jump higher and move quicker, I felt a sense of power.

Soon I returned to the love and knowing in my soul that this game could lift me higher and help me achieve my goal of playing college basketball.

Although, I was unsure how to get to my destination, so I sought out some guidance from high school coaches and I myself started coaching. Over a few years I taught junior varsity girls, freshman boys, middle school boys, spent summers working camps and making connections with other coaches. I was sharing this intense passion and love for the game that I had, so that maybe the players I coached could be lifted higher as well. This was noble and good but it was not the same as playing on the court in flow of a game, in harmony with the ball and four other teammates.

A pivotal experience occurred at a basketball camp where I worked as a coach but spent the last few hours of each day playing in competitive pick-up games against the other camp coaches. The coaches who played mainly consisted of NCAA Division 2 and Division 3 players as well as some high school players who were most likely going to end up playing at some level of college basketball. Needless to say the competition was not lacking in the least.

At first this intimidated me but after my first three point shot went in during my first game, I was in the zone. After a couple of weeks at the camp, my confidence in my game had never been higher and I felt I could compete with anyone. I had elevated my game to a new level but it was not solely because of my skills. It was because I had grown an undeniable belief in them. Almost in perfecting timing as my confidence was ascending, a test from life brought me crashing as I got injured. A severe ankle sprain suffered from coming down on someone’s foot as I was extending myself too far to block someone’s shot. Even though I did block the shot, I was devastated.

Quickly, the new fragile bravado about my basketball skills turned into self-loathing, “fuck basketball.”

Six months after the ankle injury and hardly looking at a basketball, I was depressed. The fire was still in me to chase my dream, but I was ignoring it. It hurt too much to let that love back into my life. It was too intense. Watching basketball commercials or highlights of my favorite players was like that breath-taking sting of seeing an ex happy and doing just fine without you. Restlessness would set in and tears would nearly be shed because deep down I knew I was only hurting myself by avoiding that fire within.

Eventually I reached my breaking point. I finally cried, letting that resistance go and began training for my dream again. It was out of half-love and half necessity because again, who am I without it? Am I worth anything? Will a girl finally want to date me if I am on a college basketball team?

Even though it was a burning fire within me, driving me, I could not let go of the anger at the world, my father, myself and or former coaches. There were hundreds of hours spent punishing myself and body for not being perfect. I would cuss myself out and run extra sprints or shoot for an extra hour for missing 2 out of 20 free throws when I had already been training for 3 hours. Giving myself a break was not an option for me.

After two years of internal rage at myself, my father, the varsity coach, or anyone who I believed doubted me, I completed my goal. I made the junior college team at Northern Virginia Community College, with a promise of playing time from the coach as well as a Division 2 scholarship, depending on my performance. Finally I was accepted and my skills validated but I still did not accept myself. I still was not good enough.

Over that summer before my first basketball season since sophomore year of high school, I was recovering from torn muscles in my left thigh. Doubts began to pour into my head whether my body could sustain a college basketball season as I was already dealing with a stress fracture in my lower back and deteriorating cartilage in my right knee. During my personal training sessions, it felt like I was fighting my body, pushing it to go farther but the results seemed to be diminished.

Not only was I reaching my limits physically but mentally as well. School started, and the pressure of balancing classes, work, financial issues, and practice was building like a molehill into a mountain. The more I thought about it, the more anxiety came flooding in and my brain wanted shut down. So much so that the first practice of the season I injured my most prone left ankle and at this point I said to myself “Enough!”

The self-hate and the physical punishment were not worth it anymore.

I decided to not play that season, and my dream of playing college basketball was nonexistent as my eligibility was going to end soon.I spent that winter quite depressed and questioning my decisions. Did I lose out on the chance to realize my dream doing the thing I loved the most? Regardless of the fact that I did the best that I could, with the knowledge I had at the time, the decision not to play would keep me up most nights.

In the spring, the nagging itch to play came back again. With the knowledge I had gained over the last couple of years of physical and basketball training, I was sure to become good enough to at least be taken seriously at an overseas tryout. Though a few months into it, my body said “NO!” again as I injured that same damned ankle two times in the span of 3 weeks. This time I had no choice but to listen to my body, so I did. I gave it up and learned to be at peace with no longer being a “basketball player” or a coach.

It was not that I did not love it anymore; rather I just could not do it.  The mental or physical capacity and determination to put that toll on my body did not exist anymore. I could not give it my honest 110 percent.

Since then I have tried other endeavors but it too became too egoic, as it was a way to prove to everyone and ultimately myself that this broken down, abused, pissed off kid was worth something. Living like that is not worth it, taking things personally, and letting how well you shoot in training sessions, not even a game; determine whether you positively or negatively view yourself. Such thinking sabotages any attempt I have or had to be the best version of myself or share the love that we all desire.

My first love, basketball, reflected the relationship I shared with myself. Nothing was quite good enough, allowing my basketball performance or other’s opinions balance and weigh my worth as a person. I did not allow myself to feel love because I was not worthy of it. I had to be better, shoot better, and dribble better… I could not accept myself for where I was at, at any point. I was holding onto and squeezing basketball for something it could not fully provide, self-acceptance and love.

Life, passions, and love are not meant to have titles, be defined, or put in a box. It limits the spirit, our source of true creativity. We do not allow ourselves to change, grow, let go of something and have it flow naturally back into our lives. We hold onto those titles like they make up whom we are, when it is only make-up on a vanity desk. We ask, “Will others love me for what I truly look like?”

“Can I even love myself without it?” So we scratch and claw to defend them like animals guarding a fresh corpse from vultures, because who are we without them? If we did not have them, chaos and change would ensue, causing us to go to the self-reflective depths of our internal basements. Requiring self-induced moments of solitude; where one goes to get dirty, getting knee deep in the grimy, sticky mud of our past pain, and change the negative agreements we hold true in our mind about ourselves.

Initial moments of love are ones we tend to desperately hold onto while that love has already changed and moved on but we have not. Love is an ever-changing, uncontainable force as free as the wind and yet we tend to try to put in a bottle like it was lighting. Because conventional wisdom tells us that it does not strike twice. Instead it strikes differently each time and it is easy for us to fail to realize that each bolt across the sky is just as or more awesome, as each one teaches something new and necessary.

It is meant to break the bonds of anything that is not love, which is a painful process. By breaking those bond or us, it allows us to return to our true selves, having contentment, love and peace with whom and where we are in life. Therefore it cannot be defined otherwise something or someone else becomes our worth, our obsession, and our definition.

UGA Miracle is the biggest philanthropy on campus. There are thousands of members and the goals we set each year are outrageous. This year, we raised over $1 million dollars for Children’s Healthcare of Atlanta. That is amazing.

Raising that much money is something I never thought I would be a part of, especially as a first year student. I will forever be impressed by what a group of students can achieve when they really want to. All of this is just factual. The thing that gets to me is the dedication and inspiration you can sense in every member of the Executive Board. Everything for Miracle is big.

In UGA Miracle, the goals are huge, the meetings are loud, the reveals are magical.

At the beginning of the year, the goals reveal seemed like such a simple thing. Everyone gathers in a big room and the leaders announce how much money we aim to raise for the year. The reveal is something that gets put on a to-do list – something you go to because you feel obligated. When you get there though, everything changes.

A family comes in to talk to you, to connect you to what you are raising money for. Then the tears come. Some of the kindest people go through the most difficult things and that is tough to handle, even when you are not the one experiencing it. These families are inspirational beyond belief.

After the family shared, one of the Family Relations committee chairs spoke. She detailed her time with the Hopkins family and part of her message was “I am me because you are you”. This got to me. I think we see reflections of this statement in our daily lives and we just let them slip.

We are shaped and molded by those we spend time with.

It is obvious that my best friends throughout the years have made me who I am, but it is easy to forget. We forget that moments and concrete memories would have been completely different with other people.

Other times, we get angry and upset, and then we really forget. In the midst of heartbreak, we would much rather foster on the negative things that came with the pain rather than the light and the joy we had the chance to have for so long. Sometimes you go through a pain that is unlike anything you have experienced before. This is when you learn. You learn how to heal.

Sometimes the hardest things are what make you who you are. Sometimes the people that seem to cause the most damage actually teach you about yourself. I am me because you are you.