Moving Away, Melting Down
I remember the exact day I moved from Ohio to Texas for college. It was 102 degrees and my mom cried when she hugged me goodbye in front of my dorm. I tried to play it cool, acting like I wasn’t panicking inside. But honestly, I felt like I was being dropped off on another planet and I hated it.
I’d never been away from home before—like really away—and suddenly I was in this massive place where everyone had cowboy boots, said “y’all,” and seemed to already have a million friends. I couldn’t even figure out where the cafeteria was.
At first, I told myself I just needed time to adjust. But the homesickness turned into this constant buzz in my chest. I couldn’t sleep. I’d lie awake thinking about the dumbest stuff—like if my dog missed me or what if I forgot how to drive when I went home for break. Then the schoolwork hit me like a brick wall. I had always been a good student back home, but here? I couldn’t even focus long enough to read a page. I’d sit in the library trying not to cry while everyone else looked like they had it all figured out.
One morning, I skipped class just to breathe. I laid on my dorm bed and stared at the ceiling until my roommate got back and said, “Have you ever thought about checking out the counseling center?”
I rolled my eyes at first. Like, whatever I didn’t need therapy. I wasn’t “broken.” But after another week of avoiding my inbox and eating Pop-Tarts for dinner, I walked myself to the campus mental health center. It smelled like lavender and hand sanitizer, and the lady at the front desk smiled like she wasn’t judging me for my greasy hair and hoodie.
I met with a counselor named Bree. She had this calm energy that made me feel like I could actually exhale for once. I told her about the homesickness, the overwhelming classes, the guilt, and the panic. She nodded and just said, “Yeah, that’s a lot. Let’s figure it out together.”
Over the next few months, I kept showing up. I learned that anxiety wasn’t a personal failure it was just something my brain did.It didn’t fix everything overnight. But slowly, I started to feel like maybe I could do this. Maybe I wasn’t completely alone.
Now, when I think back to those first few months in Texas, I don’t just remember the heat or the loneliness—I remember the turning point. That moment when I realized it was okay to ask for help, and that therapy wasn’t a sign of weakness, but honestly one of the strongest things I’ve ever done.