When I hear phrases like “Revenge body” or “success is the best revenge,” I cannot help but think that many people do not know the difference between self-esteem and an unhealthy obsession with others’ opinions. 

As the word suggests, self-esteem comes from within, yet many people rely on others to validate their worth.  Khloe Kardashian has a new TV show called Revenge Body, and while she may be encouraging people to eat healthily and stay active, she is ultimately promoting the notion that in order to be happy, one must impress others.

After obsessing over other’s opinions for thirteen years of my life, I understand how dangerous it is to put so much weight into others’ opinions.

I forgot to look after myself, and instead, I lived my life for others.  Whether my motivation was to effect jealousy, sympathy, anger, or admiration, I did not live my life happily or healthily; I was obsessed with what everyone else thought.  As I lay awake every night, I did not understand that the people I was trying to impact were living their lives.  Eventually, this tore me down to the point where I did not know who I was or what I wanted in life.

Khloe Kardashian is promoting this unhealthy mindset that being successful is about impressing others.  This can lead people down a path of obsession and possibly self-destruction as a result of never being fulfilled.  Happiness does not come from others or external forces; it comes from within.

If someone wants to lose weight or live healthier, he should do it for himself, not for a reaction; reactions may feel good for a moment, but it is fleeting.

Pleasing others or impressing them will never be satisfying because the real issue, oneself, is not being addressed.  Instead of focusing on his own happiness, the person focuses on others.  Noone’s happiness, jealousy, or love will ever replace self-love.

Self-love and self-esteem, however, take time to build.  The first step is identifying the difference between wanting revenge (or to be taken back) and wanting something in order to be healthier.

I prefer to focus on doing what makes me happy instead of worrying about what everyone else thinks; their praise or disapproval lasts for a few minutes, but I can never escape my thoughts.

I have borderline personality disorder. I have severe bouts of anxiety and depression. I can become erratic and manic in the flip of a switch. I am withdrawn from school. I’m broke. I am in debt to many. But I’m happy.

As I’ve become more and more comfortable opening up about my mental illness and the different ways it has affected me, people that I wouldn’t even consider acquaintances have shown their support to me. It’s shocking, amazing, heart-warming, and overwhelming all at once. To know that a stranger took the time to hear your words, felt sympathy, and came to me with kind words and support. One of the recurring phrases that I was told was that people hoped I would find happiness one day. One day.

It makes sense. On paper, I don’t have much that I should be happy about. But how could I not be totally and completely happy despite my mental illness?

I’m tired of people telling me that they’ll hope I find happiness or that good will come one day. Happiness is here. Good is right now. Despite all of my circumstances,  I have so many reasons to be happy. I have too many beautiful people in my life who help me. The saying “it takes a village” is no fucking joke when literally ever person in my life gets get through my day to day. Some days I’m even overwhelmed with how much happiness I feel.

Yes. Some days are sad. Some days are excruciatingly difficult to get through. Some days it, I can’t wait to just crawl back in bed and go to sleep, just to do it all over again the net day.  But there are so many other days that are joyous. And those are the ones worth sticking around for.

I grew up in an age of Disney princesses and feminism; an age where Snow White waited for her prince while the Cheetah Girls decided they needed to rescue themselves.  I fantasized about being saved, yet I also wanted to be strong enough to save myself. 

It was not until I was diagnosed with depression and bulimia that I needed saving.  I searched for validation, acceptance, and support in friendships and relationships. More than anything, I craved love and reassurance that I deserved love.

I spent this last year confronting my need for validation and I began a journey of self-acceptance.

I understand now that in order to be truly happy, I must accept myself rather than wait for others to accept me. With this realization came the understanding that I am the only person who controls my recovery. Although a support system is helpful, I ultimately am the one saving myself.

Last year, I thought I was ready for a relationship.  I thought I needed another person to remind me that I was beautiful, intelligent, and that my past mistakes did not define me.  This unfortunately, founded my relationship on unhealthy expectations. No matter how much my boyfriend reminded me he loved me, I felt unlovable.  After months of fighting, we broke up. That was when I realized that the love I craved could not come from another person—it had to come from me. I am the person I spend the most time with; I am the one who is there when I wake up, go to school, eat, shower, laugh, cry, and sleep.

If I hate myself, no amount of love from anyone else can counteract the constant hatred.

I started out slow—wearing more makeup and clothing that made me comfortable, but eventually I socialized more, voiced my opinion, laughed out loud, and loved myself even when I made mistakes.  For the first time, I let people in and I let myself out.

For the first time, I am ready for another person to see me in my entirety.  I am ready to be loved by someone; only my self-worth is not dependent on their love.  I will love myself regardless of who loves me or hates me.

The other night I was sitting around a table playing cards with some friends, while another group of friends gathered around the television engulfed in the finale of the famous show, “The Bachelorette”. Why was I not one of the girls with my eyes glued to that screen for two hours?

That love is not the love of our dreams.

That love is forced for 12 weeks until a female narrows down a group of 25 men to a single one, who she is apparently lucky to call her future husband. Now, I’m not bashing on this show, I find it quite amusing and I definitely get a kick out of it. That said, that show does not portray the love we want or need.

• Love is something every girl dreams about.
• Love is something that makes a girl so vulnerable on the inside that words cannot come close to describing the feeling it brings with it.
• Love is strong, so powerful that it can shape our daily lives.
• We constantly place our self-worth on that feeling of love.

Do people love me?

Society has placed it in our minds that we are on a constant search for the one that will give us this “feeling.” But is this “feeling” really so great? It causes so much heartache, so much jealousy, so much sadness, and yet it is all we are searching for as human beings.

Does my significant other love me? Do my friends love me? So much is dependent on love. I see elderly couples walking down the street hand-in-hand clearly in love, and I wonder … how can it be that easy?

The love I have experienced has been nothing short of a roller coaster ride filled with never ending twists and turns. Love can never be simple. I think of that couple, I think of the amount of hardship and problems their love most likely endured, and how in the end they are together, hand-in-hand, loving each other.

Then I think of my best friend, 20 years of age, experiencing a love that at the same time is breaking her heart. How can love bring so much happiness, but at the same time be so menacing to someone’s mind and soul? It makes absolutely no sense.

We dream of this love that is so easy, so simple, so perfect; a love that we honestly will most likely never experience. Why keep searching for it, you ask? Love is what keeps us going. It will find someone multiple times in their lifetime taking on different forms, but affecting them all the same. Love is the boundless feeling that overtakes every mind, body, and soul on this planet and there is absolutely no stopping it. The only thing you can do is embrace it and pray that it happens to be the love that you ultimately desire.

“We are what we repeatedly do. Excellence, then, is not an act, but a habit.” – Aristotle. This quote was painted on the wall in the cafeteria of my high school growing up. At the time, I couldn’t appreciate how it truly describes all facets of life. Only after years of learning to be independent in college did the truth become apparent to me. Our everyday habits define us and our search for excellence and happiness.

We’re taught many things from the time we become teenagers to the time we reach our mid-twenties – everything from how to write eloquently, to how the economy functions, to how to program and build computers.

There aren’t any classes offered in college that teach you how to live your life. Presumably, we’ve been taught everything we need to know by the time we’ve ascended to higher education. As a result, most of us have to figure it out for ourselves when we finally leave the nest.

We have an endless amount of temptations in college. Alcohol, various drugs, sex, porn – it’s all easily accessible and we’re entirely responsible for ourselves.

All of us slip up at some point; we give into one or more of these temptations that give us a momentary feeling of happiness and they become deadly everyday habits. That’s the edge of the cliff.

It’s easy to latch on to what gives us what we perceive to be happiness. We’ve never had to figure out on our own how to manage all of our free time, so we spend it doing what feels right.

At some point reality comes back to all of us. These vices, though they seem to promise lasting happiness, never retain their value over time.

This is when the quote from Aristotle hits home.

Real happiness is the net sum of the values we live out rather than those we expect of ourselves. Therein lies the true wisdom of Aristotle’s words. Our actions define us; the habits we build are the secret to our own happiness.

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.

Being happy sounds so simple.

We’ve grown up learning “happy” as a common adjective to describe our mood and how we’re feeling. We are continuously finding ourselves evaluating whether we’re happy or sad, but sometimes we can lose sight of what makes us happy.

Whether it’s love, friendships, school, or work, it’s so ridiculously easy to get caught up in something else and completely forget what makes you happy. It sounds cheesy as anything, but I’ve realized in the last month or so, the only person that can truly make you happy is YOU.

I believe that you really have to lose sight of what makes you happy to end up finding it again, and I’ve experienced this first hand. Love is also a word that sounds so simple. We say we “love” so many things on a daily basis, but there is so much more to love than just feeling affectionate.

With love comes an endless amount of challenges.

I’ve only been in love once in my entire life, and it’s the most indescribable feeling in the world. After a fourteen-month relationship and whirlwind of emotions, fights, good times, bad times, weird times, awkward times, and everything in between, our relationship came to an end.

It was hard to pinpoint where our problems were coming from, but we both knew that we couldn’t bear to keep making each other unhappy. It was mutual, because we both realized how unhappy we were, but we had been ignoring it.

Sometimes, in relationships, you get so caught up in another person that you solely depend on them for everything, but mostly for your happiness. I had completely lost sight of what made me happy and who I was.

If anyone had told me this during any part of our relationship, I would’ve brushed it off and just kept thinking at the very least, I still had my boyfriend to fall back on. It took my lowest low and the very bottom for me to realize that I wasn’t necessarily unhappy with my relationship, I was unhappy with myself.

It’s a dreadful moment that you don’t want to come to terms with, but once I did I could literally feel a weight being lifted off of my shoulders. I spent the last fourteen months neglecting relationships with friends, neglecting my own feelings, and ultimately giving my all into a relationship that wasn’t giving back to me.

I wanted to believe every piece of advice I was given in the first weeks of my heart-breaking split, but I just couldn’t with the way I felt. I was still in love with my ex-boyfriend, and that wasn’t going to change right away.

I knew time would be the best thing for me, but who is ever really excited for time to make them feel better? I would’ve paid a million dollars to speed up the clock and fast-forward any amount of time just to swallow the grieving period and never look back. Boy, am I thankful that I didn’t have a million dollars and that speeding up time isn’t a real thing.

Time can be a cruel thing, but in the end time is our friend.

I learned more about myself in a month than I ever had in my whole life. Happiness depends completely on you, not anyone else. If you can learn to be happy with yourself, then the rest will work itself out.

To some people, it’s a foreign thought to even have to evaluate their happiness. Throughout the deterioration of my relationship, I would always look at people I knew and wonder to myself how they’re so happy, whether they were single, going through a hard time, or just had nothing exciting going on. I was plain jealous.

I wanted to know why that couldn’t be me and why I couldn’t have it figured out, even when I felt like I had it all, boyfriend included.

Happiness surely doesn’t come easy to some, but I promise that the sooner you start searching for it within yourself, the sooner you will become the person you want to be.

(Written by Lindsey Kehres)

When I was younger, happiness seemed quite elusive.

I woke up each day going through the motions of one who was living. I would enjoy time with friends, eat dinner with my family, and at night immerse myself in various worlds with every book I read. Often it felt like I was living my life through someone else’s; through the hundreds of pages in which they told me their stories.

To me, I was simply lacking what I called “my passion”. And as soon as I found this thing that I was passionate about all would be better.

I was depressed. And I didn’t know it. Depression runs in my family, but that meant nothing to me. I was 15. And probably one of the most stubborn 15-year-olds in the history of the universe (I like to blame that trait on being a Leo).

My mom asked me if I wanted to see a therapist and I was appalled. In my mind, therapy was for people who were crazy and I was obviously not one of those people.

High school was a blur of mundanity, people who cared far too much about things that didn’t matter, and friends who either stuck by my side or faded off into the distance.

It was during my senior year of high school where I first learned to let go of people who only drained my cup and never refilled it.

The kind of people who twisted my words, turned against me, and decided to taint my final year. I have gained the ability to let go and move on and for that I am grateful.

In the first semester of college came the happiest few months of my life up to that point. I was in a new state, a new school, surrounded by all new people; and I loved it. I joined a sorority and suddenly was surrounded by a strong group of dedicated and loving women.

It was all so wonderful until it wasn’t.

Second semester I fell into a deep depression, although at the time I wasn’t all too sure what it was. I was tired all the time and lacked any form of energy and motivation. I have always been a driven individual, so dealing with this sudden loss of interest was the hardest part for me. It was like I was living in a hazy daydream; living in a fog in which I couldn’t shake.

Then one day, after about a month, everything changed. I woke up and felt as though my depressed episode had never happened. To this day it has been one of the weirdest experiences. It was as if someone finally decided to flick the light switch of my heart and mind back on, so I soldiered on.

Life during my sophomore year of college became excruciating. The weight that I had gained my freshman year hung heavy on my mind and heart. I was finally at the weight my doctors had pleaded for, but I wasn’t happy. Thoughts became obsessive, relationships with those close to me became strenuous, and I began to once again restrict my diet.

This restriction was not a new concept to me. After a tremendous growth spurt my sophomore year of high school I had fought long and hard to keep myself at 100 pounds. Looking back I find it hard to comprehend how I kept my 5’9 frame at such a weight. I was at the lowest point in my life.

Every day was a battle to get out of bed, an attempt in vain to connect with others, a struggle to accept harsh criticism, and a fight to fend off disturbing thoughts of suicide. I was so low I wasn’t sure if I could ever find my way out of the abyss I had landed in.

But I did.

I reached out and found help for myself. I realized that I would never get better until I decided I wanted to and made strides to do so. I went into counseling for the next months to tackle these problems that I had been facing yet couldn’t define.

After a few months I came to terms with my depression, and after a few more I came to terms with my anorexia. It was with the help of my therapist and some internal reflection that I decided this: these labels do not define me. No matter the comments that were made or the doctors that I saw, I was not my eating disorder. And I was not my mental condition. And to this day I am not.

Sometimes you need to put labels on the battles you are facing, but that does not mean those labels will stick to you. They are simply used to help you sort out the chaos of the mind and help to organize your life. I can and have written whole stories on my eating disorder alone, but that is not all that I am made of so I do not choose to do so here.

Off I went to England to study abroad and I couldn’t have been more thrilled. Now there was finally a time for me to work on myself. To feel okay saying “I want to learn to love myself before I can love anyone else”.

For understanding that pursuing my passion for writing and exploring the world with me, myself, and I was all I really wanted right now. I realized that now was my time to be selfish. I had spent so long being overly-conscious of others’ feelings that I never actually looked out for my own.

I gave other people’s problems priority and in turn ignored the demons I was facing.

But not anymore.

Today, I care for myself. I have learned to live and let go of my past and those who no longer want to be part of my future. I have learned that being comfortable in my own skin is not an easy task, but it is something I will happily work towards. And I have learned that it is up to you to give your life purpose.

Every day I strive to fall in love with something, someone, or someplace. Life has a lot to offer if you let it; and I have found that having a sense of adventure can lead you to finding peace within the world.

So here’s to losing yourself in nature and finding yourself again among the sea. It is with this search for peace of mind that I am learning to love my life.