I don’t talk openly about this chapter of my life too often.
When I do, it’s often for a well-timed, calculated purpose.
This time, it’s because a little voice in the corner of my heart kept telling me to share.
I am an adjunct professor at Brigham Young University-Idaho. I love my job. I love my students.
One of the things I love most about them is their strength. It astounds me.
And not just physical strength. I’m talking mental strength.
I see so many student who carry tremendous loads and do so with grace and dignity. They bear the burden of anxiety. They trudge through the trenches of depression. They rise from the ashes of their pasts as pure, refined and triumphant champions.
But the scars are still there. And sometimes, the wounds are too deep to ignore.
I get it. I mean I really, really get it.
I’ve struggled with mental illness my entire life.