Hannah F.
Photography by David Lee
Please Note: March is self-injury awareness month. In her letter, Hannah writes about her personal experience with self-harm. If you think this content may trigger you, we encourage you to take a pause before reading this letter, center yourself, and prepare any resources you may need to access after reading it. If you'd rather not read this letter, we encourage you to read a letter on a different topic. If you’re reading this, we support either choice you make.
If you’re reading this, you don’t have to make yourself small.
I’ve always been a sensitive person. Even as a child, my emotions felt bigger than me. I didn’t think they made me lovable, beautiful, or strong. My softness felt more like a weakness than an authentic reaction to my personal experiences. I thought I was wrong for letting my feelings show, for so vulnerably revealing how deeply I felt. I thought it was embarrassing. So, at some point, I decided it would be better to feel nothing at all than to feel everything so intensely.
I have always fought hard to be wanted and needed by others. Like a prize, I thought love needed to be bought or won. I thought love meant making people proud, keeping people satisfied, and always making sure others were taken care of, even at my own expense. I spent a large portion of my childhood and adolescence shapeshifting, pretending to be someone I wasn’t because I thought my true self was far from enough. To me, others always came first. I was a yes-person, a people pleaser, and a chronic apologizer. I kept my feelings to myself until they overflowed. I didn’t want others to feel my feelings, but I would take theirs on like they were my own. Even today, I tear my true self down to be what I think others want, but it comes at a cost. It is frustrating and depleting to try to be everything for other people in hopes that they will love you and that they will stay. And it’s even more disheartening to come to terms with the fact that love cannot be bought or won. True, unconditional love listens, it feels safe, it doesn’t abandon you, and it accepts you in your entirety.
Over time, I lost my substance to the feeling that I was innately wrong. I would choke down my feelings until I couldn’t name them anymore. The numbness that encompassed me was what I thought was right, that feeling nothing made me good. Self-harm became a way for me to reduce myself to something invisible, to nothing. Jeopardizing my safety and then immediately regretting my actions made me feel like I was less than whole. It still does. Sometimes, self-harm feels like the right choice, though deep down, I know it’s not an issue of right versus wrong. I’ve gravely mistaken self-harm as an act of love, as if marking my body with my self-disdain is evidence that my love for others completely consumes me. As if self-harm reveals how much room I hold for others in my heart. My self-harm behaviors indelicately scream please love me back. Look at how little I care about myself. Love me. Make me whole. But the truth is, we are whole as we are. Right now, in the present moment, we are whole. No amount of pain, hurt, or unprocessed emotions can change that. Love does not discriminate against those of us who struggle to take good care of ourselves. Love knows no limits. Love is a balm for all wounds, both visible and invisible. By showing up as we are, unapologetically truthful, we open ourselves up to the healing that love provides.
It has taken me years to understand that sacrificing my own substance for the benefit of others takes light out of the world. I thought that by making myself small, I was doing others a service. I extinguished my own light, hoping it would make others’ lights brighter. I thought love was about being less so others could be more. But love doesn’t break you so others can heal, it doesn’t silence you so others can speak; it doesn’t pick sides. It doesn’t numb you so others can feel. Love doesn’t make you small so others can rise. Love celebrates you when you show up as yourself.
We are worthy of our place in this world. Just by simply existing, we are invited to experience life with authenticity and truth. Life swells with joy and sadness, and you’re allowed to swell, too. You are allowed to cry when something hurts. You’re allowed to mess up. You’re allowed to make mistakes and you’re allowed to make bad choices. You’re allowed to feel good. You’re allowed to be messy, unraveled, and uncertain. You’re allowed to show up completely as you are. You’re allowed to take up space. You’re allowed to feel. You’re allowed to be imperfect. … and I am, too.
For too long, I’ve let myself believe that I must suffer, that I must erase myself in order to know love. I believed love was self-destructive, that I must become nothing in order for others to love me. But love will never take away a single ounce of your substance and depth. Love conquers pain. Love will never ask you to shrink, to make yourself small. Love loves you as you are: big feelings and all.
Hannah F., Boston College
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