I couldn’t mess up. What would people say? I figured God must be this way too. I just needed to try harder. But it wasn’t enough. I was not enough. I judged everything I thought, said, or did harshly, getting mad at myself and obsessing over the smallest details.

In my teen years, I became obsessed with soap operas, teen versions of romance novels, and pro-feminist, teen magazines. It was entertainment – my escape. I absorbed everything I was reading and seeing – not knowing that I was actually becoming a very angry person.

In college, I wanted to get away from performing, but I was drawn to it again. I was still striving and still trying to prove myself.

I married at age 20. We had our ups and downs, just like any marriage. We had happy moments, but for me, that’s all they were: Moments. I just couldn’t seem to ever get myself to a happy place and stay there for an extended period of time. Our conversations centered on the weather, work, school, TV shows, music, other people. We were more like roommates.

I was frustrated, and my striving continued in graduate school. Most days, I worked from the time I woke up to the time I went to bed. I graduated with my master’s, and I was very close to finishing my PhD. I had a brilliant career ahead of me. Still, I was empty. I desperately wanted more out of life, but my career was the only thing I could control; it gave me my worth. If I could just finish the PhD, then that would be as high as I could go. I would be happy. So I held on, even though I was irritable, critical, sarcastic, and depressed on the inside.

When I felt most alone, I would hide in my room and write. As I put my thoughts and feelings on paper as best I could, my heart was free – even for a few moments.

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