Guess who’s back, back again. Yep, it’s ya girl. Wow, feels good to open the site again after a whole six month hiatus. In a lot of ways, writing like this feels foreign, but it also feels like home.

Before we get going, I want to preface this with a warning. Accounted below are my own raw, real experiences. This was not an easy write, and it might not be an easy read. Below, I speak for myself and what I experienced only.

So here’s what has happened in the last six months . . .

In preparing for today’s blog, I looked back at what my last entry was about because it has been so long that I had no idea. Turns out I was chatting about significance in the small things. I guess in a lot of ways, I am going to pick up right where I left off. So, let’s jump in.

This unexpected but much needed hiatus from anything that was costing me extra energy was brought on suddenly and tragically. I shared a bit about how 2021 was kicking my booty, and let me tell ya. . . it did not let up. Right as I was settling into my senior year, bragging about how smoothly it was going, life threw a gut-wrenching curveball. A friend and sister in my sorority unexpectedly passed away. A death of anyone is tough. It just is. But this, I had never experienced anything close to the emotions that this brought in my life. I guess this was the straw that just broke the camel’s back for me.

Death makes me extremely uncomfortable, and I really don’t like to talk about it in any sense, not about my friend that passed, not when family members pass, not strangers, not on the news, nothing. I get the heebie jeebies. I am not the girl that appreciates an open casket for closure. The mere imagination of a dead body makes my palms sweat and heart race. I get it. Death is uncomfortable for everyone, but as someone that likes to think she’s very self-aware, I know I don’t handle it well. However, like most people, this wasn’t my first encounter, so why was it earth-shakingly different? For one, I was in a position of what I like to call “fake power,” meaning I was the president of my sorority at the time. Now, I am accounting for my experiences and mine alone. I want to make that clear.

As the president of a sorority, you do things like approve event dates, make sure people follow the rules, sit in on A LOT of meetings, and lead the chapter with as much grace as you can. You are in a weird position of authority because you are held responsible for the chapter as a whole, but the people you are leading are all just a bunch of your friends. Weird. That is why I like to call it “fake power,” because sure, I could write you up if you broke a rule, or make decisions about the house that other girls couldn’t, but in the end, I was just another girl pretending she knew what she was doing. This pretending really works in most situations. Fake it til you make it sister!

Until you can’t.

This fall was that point for me. I was equipped to handle conflict, address administration, collaborate with other leaders, and make decisions on behalf of the house. I could handle the occasional angry parent yelling at me on behalf of their adult child. I could deal with drama between girls and rule violations. I was good on all this. I was not equipped for what October brought me. In an attempt to write a reflection that is not a “Woe is me” account, I will tell you. I should have never have been in the positions I was put into. Call it an exposure piece, call it me just complaining and moaning, call it what you want, I don’t care. For personal reasons, this piece is not about Lexi. This is a personal account of my experiences. While I could talk on an on about the brilliance of that girl, and how she deserved better than she got, that is just not something I can do right now.

On the day that it all happened, I was at practice. For whatever reason, my best friend and I both checked our phones on a water break and realized with out knowing the circumstances that we needed to leave practice right away. Seconds later I was met with an overwhelmingly horrifying truth. I entered my house to the sounds of quiet tears and lingering desperation for some sort of directions. My entire chapter, gathered in the living room, now all staring at me for what to do next. I had no clue. So, numbingly I called my advisor to have her tell me what to do. I repeated the words she told me, and told everyone that they needed to go to whatever was best for them to process. Unable to cry, process or take in what was going on, I immediately began to plan and lay out what I needed to do. I created a to-do list of tasks. Once I felt like I couldn’t organize anymore I called Carlos to come pick me up and we just cried.

The next week brought a plethora of challenges of their own. We suspended all Chi Omega activities, contacted professors about whether or not we would be in class and tried to figure out what to do next. That week I received more emails than I had the entire semester. I had people incessantly asking me what Chi Omega needed and what they should do. Now listen, I am not a total grinch, I know that these were intended to be emails that showed support and concern from the campus about the well-being of our house. However, I was asked over and over again for answers to questions about when vigils should be held, when Chi O would want to commemorate her memory, if Chi Omega wanted transportation to the funeral, what we wanted to eat, if we wanted flowers, how the mental health of the house was, and what campus and administration needed to do. I had answers to zero of them. I couldn’t figure out what I needed to do, let alone the rest of campus.

Asking what we need and how people can help is a nice question. But, it is also a horrible question. I didn’t know what to tell anyone. I got over 200 emails about things I had no mental space to plan or approve. You can say, “It’s the job Madeline.” But that’s some bullshnikes. I was a 21 year old student expected to account for the mental health of my entire house, advise administration and student life on what we needed and attend what felt like a gazillion meetings over things I simply did not know the answer to. “Oh, but Madeline, you need to take care of yourself.” “You look like you haven’t been sleeping.” “How are classes faring?” “Really, you need to tell us what to do so we can help.”

What you can do is show up. Don’t ask questions about what you need to do. It makes you feel good, and it sounds nice, but it was one more thing I needed to have the answer to that I didn’t. Show up. If we need you, you’re there. If we don’t, cool. Now listen, I am a struggle alone type of girl. I keep it to myself and move on (hence why it took me 6 months to even realize that its okay to share my experience.) It doesn’t take away from the struggle of those closer to her. It doesn’t minimize the sadness of the situation. It was my life too, and it is okay to share that.

My experience as a leader in a crisis was terrible. My school and my sorority can say “well we reached out to see what you needed.” But the simple truth is that I didn’t know what we needed. I could barely plan for the next two hours, let alone what the next two weeks would hold.

From October to November, I seldom slept. I was overly-emotional, riddled with fear, panic and anxiety. Again, I am a private person. I resorted to the showers to cry, fall to my knees in a panic attack, or simply focus on my next breath. I though that as a leader I couldn’t show my raw emotions. I needed to cry in private. Process in private. Grieve in private. Looking back, I think it would have been more beneficial for everyone to acknowledge the suckiness. Show that things were freaking hard.

Finally, I realized that this was not something I was going to overcome on my own. I was not sleeping, struggling with appetite and constantly anxious. I needed a doctor. I was really good at advising everyone else to take care of themselves first, and that mental health was super important to be aware of. I was not good at following my advice myself, but I finally got there.

After consulting a doctor, figuring out how to tell people that I didn’t know the answers to their questions, and that I wasn’t my place to know those answers, I finally started to feel like myself again. My mental health is not perfect; it is a train I am still riding today. However, I refuse to keep from sharing my experience out of the fear of how someone else will perceive it. This is what my fall 2021 looked like. I think we often get into the mindset of belittling our experiences just because we know someone else, somewhere else, has it worse. That awareness is both grounding and minimizing. We so often feel like we can’t acknowledge how hard our own experiences based on the knowledge of someone else’s struggles. Why can’t we acknowledge both? Why did it take so long before I could admit that my experience really sucked? Why did I feel like I was being stupid for acknowledging that I was struggling? Why do we so often belittle our pain? I don’t have those answers. But I am on the team rooting for people to be okay with putting themselves first. If I am not going to take care of me, why would anyone else?

I think its important to have an understanding of your privilege; an understanding that there are larger more consequential events happening all around you. However, if we refuse to acknowledge our own day-to-day struggles based on the idea that someone else somewhere else has it worse, how is that taking care of yourself? You’re not helping anyone else or yourself by dismissing your feelings. So, jump on the train and root for you. Acknowledge your experiences and emotions. At the end of the day, you are who you’re stuck with. Learn to love and take care of yourself, and I can promise you will be better equipped to take care of others.