Julia S.
Photography by Ally Szabo
In this letter, there is discussion of suicidal ideation, depression, and anxiety, and reference to an eating disorder. If you think you may find this content triggering, please consider reading one of the other letters of IfYoureReadingThis.org, or prepare to access any support systems or resources you find helpful.
If you’re reading this, thank you.
Three years ago, when I first started IfYoureReadingThis at Villanova, I never could have fathomed the impact it would have on my life. Since then, I have been empowered, inspired, strengthened, and supported so deeply by the incredible people at this university. I don’t think I will ever be able to find words to express my gratitude, but this is me trying.
Mental illness has impacted me throughout my entire life, and I’ve been writing letters since I was seven years old. It was my mom’s way of communicating with me about the things I did that made no sense (such as refusing to shower for two weeks due to fear the fire alarm would go off while I was in there, lifting every object in my bedroom before I went to bed each night, needing to touch the walls a certain amount of times as I walked through a hallway) – we’d write letters back and forth to each other in a notebook. Though we didn’t know it at the time, these actions were symptoms of my seven-year-old self’s OCD and anxiety, and though she didn’t know it at the time, my mom had introduced a therapeutic tool that would stick with me throughout my life and be at the core of my college experience and advocacy.
In middle school, I went to the nurse’s office in tears several days a week. I pretended I was sick so that the nurse would let me call my mom. But I wasn’t actually sick, I was just panicking because I was worried something had happened to my mom while I was at school. She wasn’t sick or in any sort of danger, but my life was (and, sometimes, still is) constantly plagued with the crippling fear that something awful will happen to the people that I love.
Around the same time, my anxiety presented as hypochondria. I was convinced that my throat was closing at random moments on random days – sometimes after I ate a food I hadn’t had in a while or tried something new, but other times it was completely out of nowhere. Each time, I felt my body shut down and begged my parents to take me to the emergency room as they looked into my completely normal and non-swollen throat. Eventually, my mom took me to a therapist. At the time, though, this was an anomaly – very few parents in town understood anxiety and depression. I never even considered the thought of telling my friends I went to therapy, let alone had a diagnosed mental illness.
Flash forward a few years to eighth grade, when my little sister developed an eating disorder. She was only ten years old. I watched from the sidelines as she suffered, and my parents scrambled for resources and treatment options (which, at the time, were incredibly scarce – especially for children). It was painful when she and my mom (my two best friends) had to relocate from our home in New Jersey to a treatment center in Colorado to get help, but it was even more painful to see her and my parents in so much pain and not be able to do anything about it. At the time, it was incredibly taboo to talk about eating disorders and other mental illnesses because of the stigma surrounding them – and even if we felt comfortable sharing what was going on, barely anyone had the knowledge or awareness about the topic to understand. Because of this, my sister felt ashamed and bore her burden alone, further isolating her and extending her pain, and my family and I barely spoke about it with anyone despite how much it characterized our lives. The nine years since then have been an uphill battle for my sister, but because she is stronger than her eating disorder, and, in my opinion, the strongest human being in the world, she fought and continues to fight every single day. My sister has shown me and everyone around her the true meaning of courage, perseverance, grace, and empathy. In the process, she has also educated thousands of others about mental health and eating disorders by sharing her story publicly on USA Today and having open, honest conversations with the people around her.
If she had not taught me these things, I would have never survived my first year of college.
When I graduated high school, I knew that starting college in Washington DC, four hours away from home was not going to be easy. Almost immediately after arriving on move-in day at GWU, the panic attacks began, and it wasn’t long before the depression set in. I waited for it to pass in a few days or a couple weeks, as it does for many college freshmen, but it only grew stronger. I felt helpless and hopeless. I was physically unable to stop the tears – they’d come as soon as I woke up, when I walked around the city with my incredible roommates and new friends, and when I sat in class trying to take notes. I felt heavy, but also hollow.
Like middle school, I’d call my mom every 5 minutes to make sure she was okay without me at home and to beg her to calm me down and tell me I was okay. How ironic – there I was in the nation’s capital, a bustling city of over 700,000 people, but I had never felt more alone in my entire life.
Having struggled with mental illness before, and experiencing borderline suicidal ideation (which terrified me), I immediately took action to try to get some help. I called all of the helplines that the university promoted at orientation, only to be told there were no available appointments for 2 weeks. It took me walking into the clinic and telling them I felt I may be in danger of hurting myself for them to even see me, and even then, like most campuses, the counseling center only offered a maximum of six appointments. Luckily, again, my family was well-versed in mental health and had the resources for me to find a therapist off campus, but most students do not have this luxury. It’s hard enough as is to recognize you need help and work up the courage to go see an on-campus therapist.
I went through a lot during my first semester freshman year. In addition to the typical freshman struggles like homesickness, finding your people, and adjusting to a new place, I was diagnosed with separation anxiety (yes, as a nineteen-year-old). I worried about my sister’s eating disorder nonstop, and in October, a good friend from high school passed away suddenly. When I got the news, it was over the phone, as I was driving my dad and me home from dinner. I nearly crashed into a guard rail.
When my dad safely got us home, I fainted on my couch in my mom’s arms. I couldn’t tell if I was conscious or not. This feeling, this unknowing, yet overwhelming pain, remained for days following. I had never experienced grief before, and the grief ate me alive. In addition to mourning the loss of an extremely important person in my life, it was a huge trigger for my already crippling anxiety about others I love dying. I stayed home from college for two weeks, completely numb, most days unable to speak. My mom took me to a psychiatrist, and with love and care, the people around me nursed me back to health. From then on, my guardian angel has watched over me and gently helped me piece myself back together.
I started medication. I (reluctantly) went back to school. I went to therapy weekly and leaned on my support system like never before. I realize what I need, and what I value. I realized my urban university lacked a strong sense of community, and I needed to be in a place where I feel safe, calm, and comfortable. I applied to transfer for the second semester and was accepted to Villanova, known for its unrivaled sense of community and school pride, with a safe surrounding area under 2 hours away from my family. For the first time in months, I felt hope again. I could wake up without tears immediately falling, and the constant pit in my stomach wasn’t quite as heavy.
I’ve come a long way since my 7-year-old self refused to shower, my middle school panic attacks in the nurse’s office, and my freshman year crying my way through the streets of DC. But, even after a glorious 8 years of therapy, I’m still a work in progress – I think we all are.
In the past few years at Villanova, since enduring the hardest part of my life, I have felt a constant sense of gratitude for the incredible human beings around me. But that doesn’t mean I haven’t still struggled.
I’ve had bouts of social anxiety where I convince myself everyone hates me, that I’m a bad friend, and that I’m not a good person because of mistakes that I’ve made. I still have trouble sleeping often because I am so worried about the people that I love. My anxiety can still convince me that I have a heart condition, that my nervous system isn’t functioning properly, that I have a terminal illness, or all of the above.
There have been days, even weeks, when I’ve gotten so stuck in my own head that I spiral and can only be pulled back out by my mom or my therapist. I still feel the need to check my family member’s locations on Find My iPhone to make sure they’re okay every single time they don’t pick up the phone. But hey, I’m working on it.
I’ve learned what grounds me – journaling, meditation, thought stopping techniques.
I’ve learned how to use my experiences for good, and to hold tightly onto the lessons I’ve learned. My mental illness has made me a more passionate, resilient, conscientious, and empathetic person, and a better friend. I now know how vital it is for me to stay on top of my mental health, to be conscious of it – especially when I get particularly busy, or come across things that trigger my anxiety. And I know how important it is to talk about mental health and to remind the people around us that it’s okay not to be okay.
If you’re reading this, grow through what you go through. Do I wish my family and I never experienced any of the pain and suffering we’ve been through? Of course. However, I know that without it, I wouldn’t be the person I am today. I wouldn’t have the passion for creating change, nor the strength to do so.
Over the years, while living through everything I’ve chronologized above, I kept a Pinterest board filled with random words, poems, and pictures for when I needed a lifeline.
It held validation, bite-sized phrases that perfectly encapsulated how I was feeling at that moment. There was a self-love section, for when I needed to build myself back up from the pieces I’d become. It held inspiration, for when I needed to remind myself it gets better. There were coping tips and ways to help me through the worst days. It had tiny quotes and stories to remind me that I wasn’t alone and that other people have felt these same things.
My Pinterest board still exists, but I haven’t visited it in a while. Because now I have IfYoureReadingThis, which serves the same purpose, but in a much deeper, stronger way. The letters shared by Villanova students over these past few years give me all the same validation, inspiration, tips, and comfort that my Pinterest board did, but on a whole new level because they were written by my peers. So now, I don’t just feel less alone because someone in the world feels the way I feel, but someone here, on this campus, feels the way I feel. And they’re here for me when I need them. And we will make it through whatever we are going through and be stronger because of it. And we will never be alone.
If you’re reading this, thank you.
Thank you to the 50+ brave people who have submitted their raw, honest, and beautiful stories with me and our community discussing their mental health experiences. Because of you, someone out there feels less alone. Because of you, someone feels empowered to share their own story. Because of you, someone out there can better understand the people in their lives who are living with mental illness. Because of you, someone may have chosen to open up to their loved ones about what they're going through, to get help, or to live. Thank you to the readers. Thank you for taking the time to understand these stories, to empathize with them, and to support them. Because of you, these stories are immortalized.
There is no amount of thank yous that will do justice to how appreciative I am for everyone who has supported IfYoureReadingThis and worked to make it what it is today. I am so excited for the next generation of IfYoureReadingThis and I will always be your biggest cheerleader. I know I will continue to find comfort and empowerment from these letters in the years to come, no matter how far from Villanova I may be.
Leading IfYoureReadingThis has taught me more than I could have ever imagined, but what I think it’s taught me the most is that stories matter. Please keep telling them. Reading your stories has been the privilege of my life, and I will be forever grateful.
Julia S., Villanova University
IfYoureReadingThis Villanova Founder and President
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