The Year I Started Therapy + Became ½ a FNP

I haven’t written a blogpost since April and if that’s not an accurate representation of how this year went, then idk what is. I’m sharing all my feelings and thoughts reflecting back on 2020 in its entirety, especially being halfway done with my FNP program. If you have any questions regarding my decision choosing FNP over other paths, check out this blogpost.

I would also like to preface this blogpost with a trigger warning re: suicidal ideation, depression, anxiety.

I really didn’t think I’d survive this fall semester. My first semester in the Spring was undoubtedly a whirlwind: figuring out how to get back into the swing of studying after working full-time at the hospital for 1.5 years, balancing working nights, keeping up with household chores, exercising, spending time with my husband and friends/family, keeping up with Instagram, creating quality content, working with brands, learning how to be a Graduate Research Assistant and keeping my mental health at bay. But I got through it. And I learned so much.

By the summer semester rolled around and I had 3 classes under my belt, Advanced Health Assessment, Gerontology for the Advanced Practice Nurse, and Culture of Healthcare, I thought I had a decent routine and that I could do it. I knew what was expected of me as a GRA, I knew how to kinda study in grad school while working in the hospital as an RN, so what could go wrong? But that summer semester rocked me even harder. Advanced Patho I and Advanced Pharmacology in 10 weeks!? I still get whiplash thinking about how insane that semester was. I was studying almost every day, cried way too many times to count, but I survived that, too.

This fall was different. I was anxious about starting clinical rotations and adding that on top of Q4 being the busiest time of the marketing industry meant I was being pulled in all sorts of ways- as a nurse, a student, a small business owner/content creator, and then also as a friend and wife. The day before I started this fall semester, something personal also happened and it is still an ongoing trauma and I knew I couldn’t go through it alone.

The past couple of months, I felt like everything was being balanced on a see saw. My thoughts were a constant cycle of:

I have to keep working so that I can have sufficient work experience by the time I graduate.

I have to stay full-time in school so that I can qualify for full tuition reimbursement as a GRA.

I have to keep working as a GRA so I could get that tuition reimbursement so I won’t have to work full time as an RN or take on more brand partnerships or take out a loan to pay for school.

I have to keep creating quality content to keep my engagement numbers up on social media so that I can bring in partnerships that pay enough.

I have to keep working nights because it allows me to get more work/studying done.

I have to stay active as best as I can so I can keep my mental health afloat.

I have to be present in my marriage so I won’t be an absent wife and partner and eventually ruin my marriage.

On top of this, I was dealing with the previously mentioned personal trauma and those implications, as well as dealing with my permanent residency renewal process.

And did I mention… there was a global pandemic?

Don’t get me wrong, I am so grateful to still have a job, to be able to pursue higher education, to have various sources of income, and to be healthy. But this year was difficult in a way that I could have never imagined, as I’m sure is the same for many of you reading this. In a way, I’m grateful for Covid. It taught me what was truly important, like the health of myself and my loved ones, and gave me time to really focus on my studies.

It taught me that I had to ask for help before I crashed and burned.

So I started therapy. It was a long time coming. The search for the right therapist was daunting, at best. If you watched my Story Highlight on IG called “Therapy,” you know that I was extremely intentional in my search for the best therapist for me. I wanted an Asian-American therapist who was familiar with working with immigrant families, BIPOC, disordered eating, body image and social justice. I eventually found her and though we only meet virtually, it still has been life-changing being able to talk through my thoughts and emotions without feeling the need to reciprocate when I felt like I couldn’t take on any more emotions other than my own.

One month into therapy, I participated in self-harm after a night of watching a presidential debate. I won’t go into details. I was overwhelmed with school, work, the pressure of needing to be the best, the pressure of working as a nurse in a pandemic, the frustration of being so powerless among so much shit happening in the world, the sadness of my past traumas coming up in therapy, the fear that I would never live a life free of trauma, the shame of not being the best partner I could be to Caleb, the anxiety I felt from not being able to see family and friends, the worry of the future, the grief from what I thought this year would be, the annoyance of myself feeling this way when I was still “blessed.” I am so thankful for Caleb and my friend Morgan for helping me this night and taking care of me.

I didn’t want to end my life, I just wanted to feel a pain different from the anguish I was feeling in my heart. I wanted a temporary relief from the deep depression that was brewing inside of me. Instead, the physical pain just added to the emotional pain and the next morning I was mostly ashamed and annoyed that I did it, and that I would have to keep my arm covered at work and in public so that I wouldn’t have to talk about it with anyone or draw attention. I didn’t want to admit I had a moment of weakness. I didn’t want to be reminded of the times I hurt myself prior to this time. I didn’t want Caleb to feel like he couldn’t help me.

I distinctly remember going to Target with Caleb the next day wearing a hoodie when it was 80 degrees out and my arm was just burning from the heat and I started crying and had to leave. I became so anxious going into work because I didn’t want to be stared at for wearing a long sleeve under my scrubs during a delivery or in the operating room.

I learned in the first month of therapy that I live with a lot of guilt that stems from my parents immigrating to the US so we could live a better life. I feel guilt when I don’t excel in my studies because I feel as if I’m not living a life good enough to justify their sacrifices. I feel guilt when I don’t call my mom enough. I feel guilt when Caleb takes the dogs out when I’m sleeping after work. I feel guilt when I post a sponsored story. I feel guilt when the house isn’t perfectly clean. I feel guilt when I buy something for myself and not for anyone else. I feel guilt thinking about having kids who will have a depressed mom. I still feel guilt when I log onto my therapy session and spend an hour talking about how I know I shouldn’t feel guilty. I feel guilt because my parents never got to worry about their dreams and their desires and their mental health and their hobbies because they were trying to survive the pursuit of a skewed image of the American Dream.

But I’m learning and this is a journey. My therapist referred me to a psych nurse practitioner to start anti-depressants. I just had my monthly appointment with her and we decided that this medication is working well for me so far.

So here I am, a Korean American who was raised to think that depression and anxiety were character flaws, a sign of laziness and failure, going to talk therapy and taking an anti-depressant every day. Despite my blessed life. Despite my outward appearance. Despite my “have it altogether-ness.” Despite my accomplishments. Despite my abilities. Because depression and a good life aren’t mutually exclusive. You can be depressed and not seem depressed.

One resounding point that I bring up in therapy all the time is that I used to be optimistic at a toxic level. I thought by only thinking happy thoughts and repeating positive messages, my inner demons would be silenced. But it just deepened the space between my depression and real joy. So I’ll be honest and say that I’m not hopeful that next year will be a million times better than 2020. The veil won’t be uncovered on January 1st, 2021. But come that day, I will still be working on myself. I will continue to work on accepting that I am not born to be perfect. I will counteract each thought stemmed from guilt with the notion that I deserve to be happy.

Thank you for reading this, and for all your support and love throughout this year.

xo,

Clara