Let Yourself Be Happy

I had kind of an embarrassing moment over the 4th of July weekend. I basically had an emotional meltdown with weeks of pent-up stress spilling out for my whole family and our 4th of July guests to see. I was shaking and screaming and fighting with people I love. Eventually, I had to just walk off by myself around the block to release some of the insane energy that had possessed me. It helped a little, but I still felt angry and like I might shatter into a million pieces.

It wasn't my proudest moment.

Moving to Provo has been great. I like living on my own and doing what I want, when I want. I love my internship. My ward and the people I've met there are nice. But until this weekend, I hadn't realized just how stressed I am.

See, being on my own has been good and bad. It's made me more responsible. I've become more thrifty. I've been able to prove myself, in a way. But it's been really hard being stuck alone with my thoughts all the time. I'm about halfway through my internship and I have no idea what I'm going to do after. That scares me. I don't know how I'm going to support myself. I don't know what kind of jobs to apply for. So then I stay up late with my heart pounding and my thoughts running in circles, and I scour the job boards. My life seems to start collapsing in around me and I can't see where my place in this world is going to be. It's scary.

These thoughts got even worse when I went home for the holiday. I was surrounded by my family, people that I love, and all I could think about was what a gigantic failure I am. I feel like I've been faking success up until now and that if I don't get a job quickly after my internship, everyone will finally see through my facade. They'll too realize that I'm a failure. That I'm worried. That I have doubts. That I'm afraid. My meltdown let people see that side to me a lot sooner than I'd been mentally prepared for. My confident exterior had cracked and I felt completely defeated.

Driving home that night back to Provo, back to another week alone in my apartment, I blared music loud to try and shut out my thoughts and feelings. I wanted to keep burying myself and my problems. I kept trying to tell myself I was fine. But as I sang along with the radio, tears blurred the road and my voice cracked.

I can't keep doing this. I can't keep feeling this way. I need to get out of my head. Out of the house. When was the last time I did anything for fun?

I couldn't think of a time in the past couple weeks that I did something that actually made me happy. Instead, everything I did made me feel guilty.

You should be looking for a job, I'd think as I washed the dishes.

You should be working on your books, I'd think as I cooked dinner.

You shouldn't be spending money on that. Your bank account's getting low, I'd think as I bought groceries.

This guilt and the ridiculous standards I was holding myself to were going to kill me. I couldn't keep feeling guilty about everything that brought me a little bit of happiness. I deserve to be happy. I deserve to not feel like a failure.

So on the drive home, I made a list of all the fun things I could do. Drive to Draper and visit the aquarium. Go see a movie in the theater. Get an ice cream cone at the BYU creamery. Visit my friends and have lunch. Go the mall and buy myself something from Bath & Body Works.

But when I got back home to my apartment, I felt discouraged. My guilt was rooted in real issues I'm facing--the plummeting number in my savings account, the lack of a plan after August, and the neglect of my goals. My problems wouldn't just go away because I went to the aquarium or got some ice cream.

With this mix of emotions creating a volatile cocktail in my blood, I turned on my computer and opened YouTube. That's a skill I could put on my resume--Great at avoiding her feelings and problems by surfing the internet. One of my recommended videos caught my eye and I decided to click on it. This was the video.



Now, don't tell me that at the chorus you didn't find yourself swaying along with the drunken customers? And don't tell me you didn't laugh your a** off when the wife started singing about her cunning little husband. Cause I did. And after I did, I felt a lot better. My problems were still there. But I felt lighter. And I realized, sadly, that I hadn't laughed for real in a long, long time. It was magic.

That's when I decided I'm going to let myself be happy. I love Broadway shows and musicals, but didn't let myself watch them because they're "a waste of time." Not anymore. If I feel like watching that Les Mis clip three times a day for the rest of my life, I'm going to do it because it makes me happy. If I want to make brownies, I'm going to do it, because it makes me happy. If I want to have a Friends marathon, I'm going to do it, why? Because it makes me happy.

My problems are going to be there whether I'm obsessing and miserable about them or not. So I might as well obsess and find happiness where I can.

Now that I've let myself feel some happiness, things are getting better. But I still worry. And I still have no clue what's going to happen at the end of August. However, I've found that despite the worry and the fear, there are little pockets of sunshine that get me through the darkness. My pockets of sunshine are juggling. Playing the piano. Reading a book for fun. And I've discovered something weird.

As I've let myself be happy, I've become more motivated to write. I decided to update this blog. I cleaned up my apartment. I did my dishes. Allowing myself to be happy has done more to improve my desire to reach my goals than all my guilt-tripping ever did.

So, my advice is to let yourself be happy. Watch that funny YouTube video. Take 5 minutes away from homework to play the guitar. Call up a friend and chat. The dishes will wait. The worrying will wait. Your problems will wait. But they're a lot less scary when faced with happiness in your heart.