She was convinced she was a failure

I spent an entire morning crying over this ESPN story of Madison Holleran, a freshman at the University of Pennsylvania who killed herself last year, leaping off the ninth level of a parking garage in downtown Philadelphia.

She was convinced she was a failure. And if you have never experienced depression, you will probably be incredibly confused when you read the article, because you will think, "But she's so loved, so talented, so beautiful - how can that be?" But do read it. Please read it.

There was no widespread Internet connectivity back in the 1980s, but back then, high school yearbooks and morning school announcement and even the local newspaper did what Facebook and Instagram do now: present an upbeat image of the lives of teenagers, where everyone is happy and successful and talented and beautiful. And if you aren't, you aren't pictured at all.

It's only been now, in my late 40s, that I've learned just how unhappy so many beautiful people around me were in high school, how much they were struggling. And it's only now that some of my closest friends have learned just how unhappy I was in my first two years at university, how much I struggled, how much I felt like I was on the verge of a colossal failure. As I read this story, of how afraid Madison Holleran was of failure, of disappointing people, it brought back so many memories of my own struggles. It's mind-boggling that she could feel this way when it's obvious she is SO loved, that people around her would do ANYTHING for her - I didn't have nearly so much support. But, of course, that's what depression does, it twists your mind, it twists reality. You cannot be reasoned-with - your mind isn't working right.

And the most pressing thought of all: If she quit, wasn't she just a failure? Wouldn't that be the first in what would become a lifetime of letdowns?

Throughout my freshman and sophomore years, I felt like I was one failure away from being exposed as the total loser I believed I was, the utter fraud I believed myself to be. If I couldn't make it at a public state university that took anyone with a heartbeat and ability to pay, I had no backup for somewhere else - the university I was attending, the one I could afford, was my backup, when I realized I couldn't attend my first choice, in another state, nor my second choice, in California, because the person I was going to go there with backed out.

I could not grasp the idea that things would get better, that I could survive it, and that people around me probably were NOT judging me - and if they were, screw 'em.

But things did get better, I did survive it, and I gradually stopped constantly comparing myself to other people (though I do still compare sometimes). And it was time, more than anything, that got me through it. I still grapple with insecurity and fears of failure, but nothing - NOTHING - like I did in high school and at university. I so wish Madison Holleran could have held out - even for just one year, because I think she would have realized all this as well.

When I get "unfriended"

I’m not hurt by those that unfollow me on Facebook. But I am hurt when people unfriend me. I admit it.

I have two FB accounts. This is strictly forbidden by FB, and if I get caught, FB will delete one of the accounts. But because of my work, this is how it must be. What a shame that Facebook doesn't make adding friends to different lists, and posting only to certain lists, as easy as GooglePlus.

I’ve unfollowed a LOT of my Facebook friends on my personal account, for various reasons: I don't like their constant posting of prayer requests, petitions, memes, right-wing politics... if you post more of these than posts about your family, what you're doing, or what you've done, I'll probably unfollow you. But I won't unfriend you. These folks are still my friends, on FB and off. By unfollowing, while I don’t get their updates in my newsfeed anymore, I can still go look at their FB pages and see what they’re up to if I’m so inclined.

I’m also not offended by those that chose to follow me on my milquetoast, never-controversial “pro” FB account, rather than what I consider my "real me" one - that pro account is for professional colleagues and those that I think are too wimpy for the real me. At least, if you choose that account to friend instead of the real me, you still want to be connected in some way.

I know I can be overwhelming on my personal FB. But it's the real “me” most people never get to see. This very real “me” is reserved for people who I like or, at least, used to like at some point in my life. When you unfriend me, without a word of why, it hurts. And it makes me not want to be around you offline.

So, yeah, if I'm overwhelming you, unfollow me. If you unfriend me, I'll take it as a statement you don't want to be offline either. And if that's what you intend, well, okay then.

Oh, and if I do unfriend you - yeah, I’m PISSED OFF. And have probably told you explicitly why. Unfriending isn't a casual thing with me - it's quite deliberate.

Celebrate Ukrainian Independence - because it's awesome!

Two posts in one day! I know... I've been busy...

I think I'm always going to celebrate Ukrainian Independence Day Weekend for the rest of my life. Because the first one I've celebrated has been amazing. One of the best times I've had all year - and I've had a rather amazing year...

On Friday night, we went again to hear "Ivan Blues" - Ivan Denisenko - a Kyiv musical legend, this time at Porter Pub on Lunachars'koho on the Left Bank - my first visit to this part of Kyiv, on the other side of the river. We met up with a group of people young enough to be our GROWN children - we kept joking, "Isn't it nice that they like to hang out with their moms?" These young people are involved in various initiatives to help their country become stable, prosperous and peaceful, and my host bursts with pride in talking about them. One has even started his own NGO. Being around them and their energy… it's so hard to put into words how awesome they are. However, they kept us out until 2:30 in the morning. I was dead - not from drinking too much, but because my body NEEDS SLEEP. I think they went on for another few hours. Damn kids. 

Saturday, we slept late (whew!), then walked through the solemn, homemade remembrances and memorials for those killed in the Maydan uprising of several weeks ago, and my host explained several key moments in the conflict. Because it was THE patriotic holiday, entire families were out, walking up or down the street, to pay their respects. Everyone was wearing lovely embroidered shirts - except me. I look awful in white.

We arrived in Maydan, had a delicious lunch at a Crimean Tatar restaurant, and then headed up another hill to the artisan fair on Andriyivskyy Descent, a historic, cobblestone descent that winds steeply down a HUGE hill. It was much larger than usual, because it was the weekend of the Ukraine Independence celebration. It took us HOURS to walk through entirely. Some of the stuff was nice - some of it was crap. Just like at any artisan fair anywhere in the world. One of the first artists we encountered - the man who created a lovely piece my host brought to me in Oregon back in December. He rarely comes to Kyiv, and yet, here he was. I almost cried. I bought two more paintings for gifts and had to get my photo with him - which completely embarrassed him. He's a very humble man.

After eight hours of walking - EIGHT HOURS - we were back at the apartment for yet another amazing meal prepared by my host's husband. I AM SO SPOILED HERE. 

On Sunday, I went with my host and a work colleague out to a small village about 40 kilometers outside of Kyiv. We got off the main highway, onto tiny single lane roads full of pot holes, first to a new, beautiful monastery chapel out in the middle of no where, and then to a mutual friend's family dacha (summer home) nearby. I met Artem through my host, and he is a force to be reckoned with, although, if you didn't know who he was, you would think he was just a really polite, mild-mannered person - which he is, but he's so much more. He runs an NGO that first helped people that were permanently wounded in the Maydan conflict, and now is also helping Ukrainian soldiers wounded in the war in the East. We have had long talks about volunteer management and nonprofit management, about mission drift, and on and on. He invited us all for coffee, and it turned out to actually be coffee, barbecue, vegetables, champagne, Scotch, singing, a tour of home made wood work sculpture, walking barefoot on the grounds, talking about motorcycle touring (his father is a champion motorcyclist from way back when), and on and on and on and on. Hell, I even made a toast! I walked out of that place floating to the car in the rain and feeling like I never wanted to leave Ukraine. How in the world do I find myself in these beautiful places, surrounded by lovely people I don't know, great food I didn't cook, languages I don't speak, and laughter? I haven't felt so welcomed in a long while - but I cannot say it isn't the first time I've been so lucky. What a tremendous day. 

Then, today, Monday, a holiday off work, my host and I invited another co-worker, from Barcelona, to join us for a tour of the microminiature museum and the folk art museum at the Upper Lavra, and then back to her place for the rest of the day, for when the people from Mimoza Mobile Spa  treated us to a spa day right here in the apartment where I'm staying! One of us would have a mani and pedi from Oksana while another would be in the guest room being treated to a massage to die for by Nikolai (who is also to die for), and the third waited for her turn at either. They brought *everything*, were on time, did a tremendous job, were really nice, and found my host's cat terribly amusing. The prices were fantastic - you won't believe me if I tell you what we paid.

And after a supper of good European bread and cheese (sorry, Stefan!), I published two blogs in one day...

Three weeks in Ukraine. Six weeks to go. Oh, how will I make it… 

Say anything

And following up to my blog yesterday about supposedly "annoying" questions...

As many of you know, in 1996, my father died. In fact, he killed himself. It remains the deepest, darkest chasm in the landscape of my family's life, amid a lot of other vast, dark spaces.

A lot of friends and colleagues said a lot of things to me during that experience. And I don't consider any of the comments wrong or inappropriate, even the ones that made me uncomfortable. And there were a LOT that made me uncomfortable. But I also know that every one of those comments came from a place of love or caring, or the speakers' own fears and insecurity. To reach out to someone that's going through a traumatic time can be a very scary thing, and I would never punish anyone who put his or her own fears or sadness or discomfort aside in order to saying something - anything - to me in such a time. I cherish anyone who cares, even if they don't show it in a way I would like.

The next time you cringe at someone who asks you a question or makes a comment about something happening in your life, particularly something very personal and/or traumatic, try to think about where the person is coming from. Is it truly from a place of criticism or mockery? Then, by all means, speak out. But if it's from a place of caring, of love, or even of fear or ignorance, consider not lashing out or cringing - consider appreciating it as a gift.