All Aboard the Disoriented Express

Taylor Swift was right: How can a person know everything at 18 but nothing at 22?

A hotel rooftop in Milan, Italy. A bottle of cider, a faux fur coat, and a white slip dress I was lucky enough to find at a flea market. The clock struck midnight and I saw the fireworks going off in the distance, welcoming 2022. I took a swig from the bottle in my hand and thought to myself, I hate Europe.

The truth is, I didn’t hate Europe, not really. But I hated what Europe had done to me: stripped me to my bones, fast-tracked my route to rock bottom, forced me to really look at myself when I felt incapable. Despite beginning the new year in a beautiful place, full of monuments and history, I felt empty. I did not feel optimistic about my future at all, because I could barely envision it.

You see, I thought I peaked when I was eighteen. If you knew me then, you know my hair was partially bleached and my go-to accessory was a rose quartz necklace. You know I was the loud friend, and I was incredibly extroverted, and I loved modeling. My room was decorated with plants and vinyl records and I was a barista at a really crappy coffee shop, but you’d still find me there on my days off. I felt like I’d finally found myself completely, fallen in love with myself wholly, accepted the worst parts of myself shamelessly.

And then I lost her. 

The loss of myself came suddenly, shockingly. I was self-confident almost to a fault, and then the next day, it was gone. I can’t pinpoint an exact moment. I just know that one day, I looked back and realized I was nowhere near that assured young girl who thought she had the world in her hands.

I was crushed. I thought I’d finally had everything figured out, and then I didn’t. Ever since I awoke alone and cold, finding my bed emptied of myself, I went in search of her. I was suddenly nineteen, and sad, and alone, lacking the energy I once had to wake up at 5am and maintain the same self-care routines I once used to. I didn’t want to adjust to my current reality; I wanted to go back to my old one. 

This resulted in my anxiety crumbling in on itself. I’ve spoken in another post about my severe anxiety while living abroad, and this is its origin story. Unsure of who I was or where to go from there, lost in a maze I didn’t even remember entering, I hid myself as much as possible. I wore baggier clothes, insecure about my body. I began to take the long way to my classes because the shorter way was sure to be crowded, and I didn’t want to see anyone I knew. I avoided meeting new people and deleted all my dating apps. I rarely spent time with groups of people, and whenever I did, I almost always shut down in the middle of hanging out, a voice in my head yelling at me that nobody cared whether or not I was around. Where I’d once been proud of myself, I was now ashamed, feeling like a zombie whose skin was peeling off, and I was desperately trying to tape myself back together to no avail.

When living in Italy, my friends and I did an activity where we wrote a letter to ourselves and were told to open it again in a year. I forgot I’d done this until my friend gave me my letter a year later. I opened it, not knowing what to expect, having forgotten I’d written it at all. It only had two sentences: “I wish I knew how to feel about you. Maybe then I’d have something to say.”

I’ve always been the type to plan ahead in my life, even if it’s due to my anxiety more than anything else. I knew I wanted to be a writer since I was seven years old. I knew what university I’d attend by the time I was fourteen. The inability to imagine my future self was something I’d never felt before, and it devastated me to read this letter one year later, knowing how far I’d fallen. 

Here’s the thing: when people talk to you about growing up, they always tell you that you’ll find yourself. And that’s true. What they don’t tell you is that you’ll lose yourself again. 

Because no one had told me this valuable information, I thought I’d done something wrong. So I spent two years trying to go back to her—to eighteen year old me, described by those who knew me as spontaneous, and loud, and fun. Who was a little bit of a hippie and liked waking up early and could work 5 jobs somehow without getting burnt out. Without her, I didn’t feel like myself. I didn’t know who I was anymore. 

Eventually, I had to admit that being that girl again was a futile effort. I was older now. My body was different, and so was my outlook on life and my energy levels. No matter how desperately I wanted to be her again, I knew that I just wasn’t, and I couldn’t be. Without meaning to, I had changed. My only choice was to let her go, or I’d spend the rest of my life yearning for the past. 

Once I made that decision, I had to get to know myself all over again. What routine would work for me now? What do I like about who I am now? What best suits my energy levels and my time now? I challenged myself to spend more time alone to answer these questions accurately. To love myself again, I needed to know myself intimately, as I once had.

It took two years to get to a point where I know myself better and am happy with myself. I look back on my younger self fondly instead of with longing and resentment. She was a short stop I had to move on from, the same way we all inevitably grow out of our clothes and give them away. I still see parts of her in me now, as I do with all past versions of myself. But I am not her. And I know I won’t ever be her again. There is sadness in that, but there is also a great joy in moving forward, and excitement in rediscovering myself. 

Growing up has become a train I have to ride to the end of the line. It makes stops along the way, and I like the one I’m at right now. But soon, we’re back on the tracks, and I watch the ghost of myself left behind on the platform. I’ve had to get back on the train before—and I’ll have to again. 

First order of business: I (naturally) have a playlist for you and it’s one of my favorite ones yet. Listen to it here if you want to be sad about growing up.

Second of all, I mentioned in my last newsletter about the paid extra newsletter I’m working on. This is still happening! But (1) it will not include a podcast because (2) I’m going to create a podcast that’s available for streaming on all platforms. If you’re reading this, then lucky you, you’re the first to know and I love you for it.

As for the newsletter itself, the first feature is going to be free to the public so you can get an idea of what the paid version is all about (I’m trying to lure you in…is it working?). I’m incredibly excited to introduce it to you, and you can expect that very very soon.

Anyway. I love you. I’m glad you exist.

paulinha <3