Persevere

For the past few months, I’ve been living in a state of survival. Doing what must be done not because I want to, but because I have to. Because I have a plan.

On the 7th of January, my grandad passed away. Christmas break was ending, and semester two was starting in a few days. I didn’t go for the first week, but I knew I would have to pick it up again because exams were around the corner... already. So I did. 

I had a competition in a week, which meant I had to get back to training. So I did... reluctantly. I didn’t want to compete, because I didn’t want to lose and because I knew I wasn’t ready.

But my dad saw that I was holding everything in, and that I needed to push myself until I could let everything go. Openmat Bermuda came to Toronto to compete and support, which made everything feel a little less daunting. I had my dad, my siblings, my boyfriend, and some friends. But my nerves had a hold on me, and I lost my first match due to an advantage. When the match was over, I cried in my dad’s arms. I didn’t care that I had lost. I was exhausted and overwhelmed—and my dad was holding me in his arms. 

I went on to win my second match. I got a silver medal.

A few days later, they went back to Bermuda and I went back to school. I’d see them in a few months, but “goodbye” had become my least favourite thing to say.

I didn’t want to. But I did. I had to keep going.

Then it was my birthday. I didn’t feel like celebrating, but I did. It was nice to be surrounded by family.

That was January.

I had seven midterms in February that I thought I failed, but I did surprisingly well on. I procrastinated to the point where I was worried I had ruined everything. A part of me was ready to give up. But everything ended up working out—even though I had convinced myself there was no way it could.

By the time March came around, I was mainly studying for finals. But the sun was making more of an appearance, so I did too. I performed a poem about the temptation to give up when loss outweighs everything else, but also about how there’s always a reason to push forward. It was nice to step out of my comfort zone and perform something so vulnerable, but also hear my words reverberate off the walls. It means something when written words come to life.

I wanted to perform my poetry. So I did.

By April 1st, all my finals were done. I had completed an entire semester in what felt like two weeks. It was a blur, but I had accomplished so much in such a short time. Among all the looming emotions I felt, pride began to breach the surface. I was proud of myself. I had completed something. Even though the option to give up had been whispering in my ear the entire time.

But I found something I liked.

I wanted to keep going. So I did.

Every time I slowed down and felt like I was drowning, someone threw me a life ring to keep me afloat. 

“Everything is going to be okay.”

“Give yourself some grace.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

“Come over. You need to be around people.”

“I’m proud of you.”

“You’re doing the best you can right now, and that’s okay.”

I have high expectations for myself, but I was reminded that sometimes I need to be easier on myself. When I set my standards, I didn’t take into account the death of a family member during the school year. Or the emotions that would follow. My boyfriend and best friend reminded me of that. But still I argued that I could always do better, because I wanted to be better. I didn’t want to be sad, but I had no idea how to deal with it. So it lingered.

With time, the sadness drifted. But it somehow finds it’s way back. So I’m learning to face my intimidating feelings rather than push them away, so they can guide me instead of blind me.

I love you forever xx