"A life worth living." I did not understand that those words on my graduation cap would save my life.
An awardee who ranked as the class speaker of my high school’s graduation. I was painfully aware of the “trophy child” narrative I embodied from being a top student in a competitive school to earning scholarships into prestigious colleges. I was everything my Bay Area community wanted me to be.
I was also everything they wanted to be quiet about.
Mental disorders were “something that other people got”, never me. Sitting in my seventh-grade, one-week mental health units in science class, I learned what “depression” and “self-harm” were. I watched the 2-hour long movie explain that people with mental disorders are unable to function and lack long-term goals. But, I’m normal. Depression, anxiety, and mental disorders are all “something that other people got.” Not me.
Hi, I’m Emily! I graduated early from a top university, began my own six-figure creative agency, co-founded a start-up, worked at competitive consulting and banking firms, and now lead brand marketing at a Series B fintech start-up.
Hi, I’m Emily! I was diagnosed with depression and anxiety at 11, involuntarily held in a mental hospital at 16, and asked to drop out of university at 18 due to my eating disorder condition.
I embody the spitting image of conventional success. I am also the spitting image of those patients I saw in my seventh-grade class: it took 18 years of my life before I began to understand that I, too, suffer from “something that other people got”. There are two types of people: just bundles with a human experience of mental health. I continued hiding double identities: while my peers saw my top grades and early graduation, they knew nothing about the self-harm or the eating disorder threatening to drop me out of school within my first year. I felt shame for my “ugly” parts. I tried to show the pretty parts everyone wants to see. But perhaps, these “ugly” parts are the sides that deserve more care and understanding.
As my college graduation, I decided to graduate from the “trophy child”. I no longer wanted to shamefully conceal what made me the person I am today. While I would never wish my experiences on anyone, I would never wish my life to be different; it was because of these silent struggles that I am now driven to be unabashedly loud. Unfortunately, I am only one of millions who struggle daily to simply live with myself. But I also am one of millions who refuse to just be a statistic.
When I was 11, I told myself I would not let myself live in this world past 18.
At 12, I experienced my first, but unfortunately not the last, sexual assault.
At 16, I was held in a mental hospital because of my third attempt episode.
At 17, I permanently damaged my body when I stopped eating for days, weeks, months.
At 19, I celebrated a birthday for the whole point denied by my heart, coded to not support itself anymore.
At 21, I experienced what I consider the lowest point of my life, even when I thought it couldn’t get worse after 16.
At 21, I graduated from the University of Chicago.
At 21, I admitted myself into a rehabilitation program.
And at 23, I finally understand what it means to live. A life worth living.
I’m often asked what drives me to keep living during the darkest hours. I used to be lost for an answer and temporarily found security in answering that it was all for a stable future. It was not completely a lie – hope was my greatest weapon that I did not know I had at times. But now, I’ve learned that my will to live and fight is driven by the wish to help as many people as I can reach to never experience the depths that I did.
It is because I still hear stories of silent struggles that I am starting these conversations. Our professional world is not transparent about what it looks like, both psychologically and mentally, to go through – especially when all we see on front pages are the successes. But let’s start these stories, about survival, among our experiences. By being open and vulnerable about the kinds of mental health struggles I experienced, I am hoping that we can make our spaces a little bit more human.
My therapist tells me that she has never seen so much poison in a girl my age. My hope, after living this body of poison for 13 years, is to lessen the body of poison as much as I can. My wish is that future generations will never see mental health as something for “other people” only, but as something that we are all human to. It’s a selfish ask, but I want to show an 11-year-old, 16-year-old, and 21-year-old Emily that there is hope.
A heartfelt thank you to everyone who has supported me to this day. You all are the heroes that a younger me needed 10 years ago and maybe a child somewhere needs now. I am proud to make this life worth living, and I wouldn’t be here without those who have dedicated time and energy to my recovery with me. If one day I can no longer fight in this world, then I want to be remembered for fighting my hardest everyday with a smile.
I published my book “Everything I Leave Behind For You” in 2022. I had always been asked by others and myself how I can share my story and lessons with as many as possible, and it was during my last year in school when I found myself struggling again that the time to help others is always now.
My hope is that my writing will be able to give readers a greater will to live and fight on. No matter what we have crumpled under, are tumbling over, or will be beaten by, we can’t wait for the world and its challenges to pass by before we take charge of our own times and happiness. Through my book, I recollect memories from conversations, the mental hospital, and therapy in raw and vulnerable expressions of my struggles so that others will not need to experience them. To learn how to find themselves again. We’re all a little bit lost, after all.
I title it “I am too scared to not share my work with the world.” It is a raw, uncut, and vulnerable reflection into thoughts and conversations I didn’t document when most needed. Yet, my hope is that one person feel a bit less lonely or driven to make footsteps on hardened path. I ask that you join me to reach those who are also hiding “ugly” parts.
“Emily dedicates herself to making this world a better place through vulnerability” – it is a letter to each of us: the burnt out working professional. The over-pressured student. The concerned parents. This book is a hopeful yet fragile attempt to sit down and untangle the noise. An honest and weird hope. And perhaps, the honest attempt is all we need.”