“What did you used to do on birthdays when you were little?” my therapist asked, and I burst out crying in response. She had brought string and lots of colorful beads along to our session to surprise me in case I wanted to make a bracelet or a necklace for my 28^th birthday. Instead, the whole thing was too much and triggered some sort of sadness. It’s not that my birthdays were sad as a kid. They were the opposite if anything, but I now felt so far away from the emotions that came with it. From celebrations and excitement for a cake. From the drama of ensuring I find the right dress and the joy of crafting my own birthday playlist.

              “This must be hard for you when your brother was a big part of your childhood,” she said.

I’d no problem smiling and laughing in front of people throughout my childhood and teens, but I often struggled with expressing the more ‘difficult’ emotions. I’d hold back tears, say ‘it’s fine’ when it wasn’t, say ‘yes’ when I wanted to say ‘no’, and repress anger so nobody else would have to feel the hurt except for me. My biggest mortification was feeling shame, which was something I ironically felt a lot. Being embarrassed about being embarrassed is not ideal. People would point at my face when it turned red, which would only exacerbate the heat. When asked to read in front of my classmates or do a presentation, my heart would race so fast that I couldn’t form words. I prayed the teacher wouldn’t call on me because for some reason my mind would go blank when they’d ask for an answer, yet it would come to me two minutes later when I was out of the spotlight. I’d stay quiet in large groups of people, not knowing how to get a word in, feeling out of sync with the flow of it. I would analyze these scenarios and wonder why I couldn’t just be normal. What was wrong with me? I had this want to be in the spotlight and this need to run far away from it.

Believing there’s something wrong with me is what was maintaining this war I had on the complex parts of me. The parts I wanted to hide and transform; it’s what we call our ‘shadow side’. I slowly grew more confident in myself and became more comfortable at school and in groups of friends. I realised I was actually quite good at socializing, being silly and having fun, but I could never fully fix those confusing unattractive emotions that would surprise me at the most random times. I would write in private reflecting on the world and how I took up space in it. Confiding in my journal about these confusing feelings. I’d go on nights out and drink far too much and then have extreme guilt and shame over some minor encounter that nobody else cared much about except for me. This is what people call ‘the fear’ and I bonded with friends over this concept, learning that I wasn’t the only imperfect person who felt shame.

After my brother died, I started facing different kinds of fears. The fear of living a life that he wasn’t a part of. The fear of living a life that wasn’t true to myself. The fear of getting unwell. The fear of people I love dying. The fear of being left alone. The fear of never feeling understood. The fear of never feeling fun again.

All of a sudden, shame took a back seat and was something I no longer cared about. It didn’t compare to the pain I was already in. I allowed myself to be imperfect and to not know everything, to be misunderstood, to say no, because who cares at the end of the day? In the grand scheme of things, silly mistakes are nothing worth being embarrassed about. The new emotions that scared me were joy, love, and intimacy. After my brother died, I was no longer that fun version of myself that my friends and family were used to, so a part of me felt useless. I was reluctant to get too close to people, yet I would spill my heart out online to strangers. My bones felt too heavy that I didn’t feel they could be held by anyone other than myself, that I didn’t feel they were able to dance without breaking. For a while, I felt stuck in sadness and was latching onto anything that gave me a sense of peace. I had grown accustomed to things not going well, that I was surprised whenever they did.

On my 28^th birthday, I received a card from a close friend that said ‘You are perfect just the way you are and you don’t need to change a thing’. This moved something inside of me. She thought I was perfect despite all my videos crying online? Even after opening up about my shame and insecurities? Even though I don’t message her as much as I used to?

I didn’t plan a lot for this summer that’s just ended, but I am so grateful that joy, love, and adventure found me. A lot of wonderful humans have entered my life and I’ve had such beautiful moments with close family and friends. I have started to get used to things going well, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t get scared sometimes that this is ‘too good to be true’ and wonder if this sense of normality will soon fade and be clouded with grief. But I’ve become more self-compassionate and started looking at myself in the same way that my friend sees me. I decided to stop trying to ‘fix myself’ and instead approach those difficult emotions with kindness and care.

It is okay to miss people who are no longer here. It is also okay to have fun. It is okay to rest. It is okay to feel different.

Be patient with whatever it is you’re feeling and experiencing right now. It is okay and normal.