Share and Try Not to Care...Too Much

    I was about 12 years old when I started regularly seeing a therapist to talk about my anxiety. I am now 20 years old, and although eight years offers plenty of time for growth, there are still some days that I feel like 12-year-old Libby who wrote in her journal about being sad even when she was around other people, and how she was overwhelmed by these thoughts inside her head that told her she didn't matter all that much. When I encounter these low moments, I become very frustrated with myself and question if I'll ever be the kind of person I want to be if my anxiety's presence is so strong.     Then I have to breathe (I'm actually really working to do that simple activity more often) and remind myself that I am so not the same person I was eight years ago. I have spent almost a decade since then changing, learning, and approaching my anxiety in a much healthier way than I would've if my parents had never encouraged me to seek professional help (thank you x i

    My last blog post centered on how I have a tendency to compare in my life and how that affects my self-esteem and makes me feel isolated from my peers. Well, it's not always a comfortable place to be, but I've actually learned a lot about myself in isolation. As we get older, I think it's important that we keep changing and growing, and try not to constantly judge ourselves along the way. I often struggle with the questions "who am I?" and "what do I want?" They're not easy questions to answer, especially if we're lying to ourselves to fit the acceptable mold that surrounds us. The weight of who I feel like I'm supposed to be sometimes feels so heavy that I'd rather lie in bed watching The Office forever so I don't have to confront my fear of not being good enough. But I know that's not what I'm meant to do. I'm working to look at my life for what it is and recognize that comparing is only robbing me of my authenticit

     I don't look like her. My hair is frizzy and inconsistent. Her presence leaves its mark and I don't know if I've ever been that beautiful a moment of my life. I don't look like her and I wonder how she sees me. Does she know that I think being pretty is both a blessing and a curse? I don't think pretty girls realize the world is at their fingertips. We outsiders have to find something else to cling to; I'm still trying to figure out what that is for me.      I'm funny, but at my own expense. I don't know how to take myself seriously. I often feel like a fraud auditioning for parts everyone knows I'd be no good at. I am composed, but I am crumbling. I joke to distract from that. Laughing is easy, pretty is different—a different I don't know how to access.      That guy just smiled at me. I smile back and silently pray that I'll never see him again. Being his acquaintance is safe, that means feelings won't get involved. My feelings h