The importance of belonging

In order to experience the true elation of belonging, one must first experience the true isolation of feeling alone. And that I have done. For years. Throughout my collegiate years, and even prior to that, I struggled to feel like I belonged anywhere. In high school, I was what some might call a “floater” – I floated between friend groups; between the “nerds”, the “hip” kids, the “jocks”, and the ESL (English as a second language) students. I always felt different. Looking back I realise I was struggling internally with my sexuality and I had no one who could relate - I didn’t have a mentor; someone who could sense my struggle and offer solace, comfort, an escape. I had soccer though, and that acted as an escape for most of my life. I was surrounded around individuals who were also passionate about soccer and who were predominately oriented in a direction other than “straight”. But even then, I floated between groups at soccer. It was hard to find individuals who not only shared the same passion and drive for soccer, but also for academics. People who had a thirst for knowledge. Who would devote their recess and lunch times, their leisure times, to studying and homework so that they could succeed on the field without distraction. Individuals who had depth. Individuals who yearned to understand people, behaviour, life. Individuals who cared about the world and not who was sleeping with who. Yeah, I have struggled to find those kind of people.

College was worse. I was teamed with individuals who didn’t even share the same drive for soccer let alone academics. These individuals cared about nothing other than themselves. Many of them played collegiate soccer simply because it paid for their education. Meanwhile, I travelled halfway across the world to pursue this dream, this passion and I had no one to share that with. For four years, I was tortured with feelings of loneliness. Of frustration. Of disappointment. I had always been on a team that was actually a team. A family. A family in which each individual cared for their sister. A family in which socialising outside of organised practices was the norm. Sleepovers occurred on the regular. And no not that kind of lezbifriend sleepover. But my college team? The only time we ever hung out voluntarily was if there was food or alcohol involved. Otherwise, we were all just convenient acquaintances.

It’s impossible to excel in an environment like this. Why? For those of you familiar with Maslow’s hierarchy of needs, you might know why. Essentially Maslow’s hierarchy of needs suggests that in order to reach one’s self-actualisation, or excellence as I like to call it, a series of essentials need to be fulfilled and in a specific order too (please refer to the bottom of this paragraph for a diagram reference). So at the base of the pyramid is physiological needs. Individuals need food, water, sleep, and sex to function. Pretty straightforward right? Next is safety – in order to obtain any of the higher categories, an individual needs to feel safe and secure as it pertains to living situations or financial situations. Next is love and belongingness. Evidently an individual can’t really feel like they belong if they don’t initially feel safe. Makes sense right? An individual though, cannot function with confidence and thus is prevented from reaching their excellence if they do not fulfil this sense of belongingness. Belongingness pertains to connecting with others, fulfilling a purpose, and being seen. It’s essentially a feeling of being a part of something greater than oneself and for many, that is fulfilled by their belief in Christ.

For four years, I fought with my coach to alter our team’s culture to create one that fulfilled this requirement. I encouraged my teammates to spend time getting to know one another outside of the realms of practice and travel. To invest in one another like family. To check in with each other, emotionally, on the regular. And I actively implemented many of these suggestions. I would take teammates out for coffee. I would organise care packages for injured teammates. I would write anonymous notes to not just my teammates, but to my trainer too. I acknowledged each individual on the team, particularly the freshmen because I knew the importance of feeling like they belonged. And what did I receive from my teammates? I received nothing. When I was injured and unable to drive, which was quite often, I would frequently reach out to my teammates to ask for a ride. And they would never reply. I stood alone in meetings when I spoke openly about the problems on our team. The problems these individuals had formerly come to me to complain about, but then silenced themselves when I attempted to implement change. Fear. They were scared to lose playing time. This was a team that called themselves a family for four years. A team that thought the mere definition of family was just sharing the same space. A team that was never a family. A team that never reached their potential or excellence because they could never fulfil that essential requirement of making every individual feel like they were loved and belonged. A team that drove me to my darkest days. A team full of individuals. A team that was never really a team.

And from my coach, I was ignored when I shared bullying texts, tweets, and posts, with some even containing threats and an additional death threat, from one of my teammates. I was made to believe that this individual who was threatening me and bullying me was more important to the team than my life. I could never feel like I belonged when my safety wasn’t even guaranteed. So naturally, I don’t think I ever reached my excellence in college. At least not with soccer.

Academically I met some phenomenal people. And that saved me. I met like-minded individuals. Individuals who were as passionate about their education as I was and who empathised with my struggles. Individuals who invested in me. Who saw me. Who challenged me. Individuals who shared that same yearning for depth and understanding. I have been extremely fortunate with some of the beautiful individuals who have crossed my paths over the years, in high school and in college. Individuals who have contributed to a sense of belongingness, who have ultimately contributed to helping me reach my excellence as a student, a player, and as a person.

So why am I sharing this with you at this time? Because recently, I have been overwhelmed with these feelings of belongingness. About a month ago, I joined two indoor soccer teams and two tennis teams, essentially not knowing anyone on any of the teams. I was blindsided as to what to expect. As some of you know, I celebrated my birthday on Thursday. Thursday being lady’s tennis day and lady’s indoor soccer day. I was greeted with a stunningly beautiful birthday cake and a balloon and many happy birthdays. All from ladies I had only met twice before. I was overwhelmed by their generosity. Not only did they remember, but they each went out of their way to actively ensure it was indeed a special day for me. And they succeeded. These ladies have readily welcomed me to their team and are so sweet with their encouragement and support, even when I am hitting every ball into the net or over the fence. I’m sensitive to energies, and I really vibe the energy I receive from all of them. They are all seemingly kind-hearted and generous individuals who just want to have fun and enjoy themselves, drama free. My kind of people.

At night, I experienced similar generosity. When I first met these ladies, “The Lady Bugs”, I anticipated that I would need to “prove” myself to them to earn a spot on the field. After all, they had no idea who I was or how I played so that seemed reasonable to me. But that’s not what happened. When we played in our 11v11 tournament last weekend, I assumed that I would be starting on the bench, again, because I was new. But one of the girls said, “Nicole, what are you doing? You’re on the field let’s go.” Immediately after meeting these girls, I felt a part of their team. There is no cattiness on the team, nor is there any seniority. Just one big family. These individuals trusted me and had confidence in my ability to play without ever seeing me play before. And for my birthday, one of the girls ensured that I enjoyed myself and purchased my “weak” alcoholic beverages. It’s almost ironic because I hardly know these girls, yet I feel a part of a family. I feel like I belong. And that’s all because of the inclusive culture they have consciously created. We’re all united by the same thing – soccer. But more than that, we all share the same passion. Most, if not all, are former collegiate players who cannot ever get enough of this sport. Additionally, they all seemingly share the same love and light-heartedness for life. One individual in particular has such a contagiously positive energy in which she laughs and smiles at everything. Doc as they call her. And another who is an extremely straight-shooter, someone who I look up to despite not even knowing her, an engineer with an evidently high IQ. And the mother of the team – the one who generously purchased my drinks. She goes above and beyond to ensure everyone feels included and is looked after. A real caring, compassionate, considerate soul. A nurturer. And, the heart of the team.

So what is the point of all this ramble? The point is to emphasise the importance of feeling like you belong. If you ever want a teammate, a child, a parent, your players, your employees or even yourself to ever reach your excellence, you must first establish a culture in which the individual feels like they belong. That they are loved and cared for. That they are important merely because they are them which is entirely independent of their abilities. I have suffered significantly over the years because I have lacked this feeling of belongingness. I have felt misunderstood. Frustrated. Irritable. Angry. Alone. And no matter how at peace I was within myself, those feelings never subsided until I removed myself from the environment that evidently failed to serve me. I am now, however, overwhelmed with love and belongingness from a variety of different environments. I am continually having interactions with tables in which I felt seen and heard, I am playing for teams that are not just individuals occupying the same space, but families. I exert confidence in all that I do because my family is larger than my blood-relatives. And I am one step closer to self-actualisation because of it.

What do you want to be when you grow up?

I hate that question. And I also hate any question that pertains to my future or what I’m going to do with my degree. As a server, it’s not uncommon for my tables to ask what I studied in college. The natural progression of questions leads them to ask what I’m going to do with my psychology degree because obviously I can’t do anything with just a bachelor’s degree. Let’s stop right there. Why do I have to do anything with my degree? Why is it that society expects life to occur linearly? It’s as though everyone’s life is programmed to this universal proceeding formula: Go to high school, go to college, go to graduate school, get a job, have a family, die. How many of your friends do you know followed this formula? Who didn’t take a year or five off to travel or to figure out who they are? Now for those that actually did follow this formula, either for personal aspirations or because of succumbing to the pressures of society, how many of those people are happy and can say they have lived a fulfilling life?

Society conditions us to feel dissatisfied with the present by constantly asking questions about our future. What are you going to do when you graduate? What do you want to be when you’re older? When are you getting married? When will you have kids? Although these questions might have the best of intentions, they’re extremely counterproductive for creating peace within the moment. It’s as though we can’t be happy until we’ve accomplished x, y, or z. We can’t be happy until we have our life completely figured out. Let me let you in on a little secret…no one really has life figured out. The only difference between people is their confidence with knowing that they don’t have life figured out and their ability to accept that fact.

I feel as though teenagers and especially young adults experience constant, unnecessary stress. One of the frequent concerns from my friends is, “I don’t know what I’m doing with my life.” Why do we feel obliged to have our entire life figured out? Because society tells us we do. Realistically though, not a lot goes according to plan. So why stress ourselves out by planning our future? I challenge people instead to focus on what they want to do right now. Today. In this moment. Not in 30 years time, not in five years time, heck, not even in six months time. What do you want to do today? I think part of the reason people are so hesitant to commit to graduate school or finding jobs is because they think they are married to that profession. We are conditioned to believe that if I go to graduate school, I HAVE to get a job in something pertaining to that degree. Which means choosing a degree that I want to do for the rest of my life. And that mindset is so destructive. We are changing every second of every day so isn’t it a little naïve to think that our interests and our passions aren’t going to change as we age and mature? As we experience the unpredictability of life? Many people are led into the fields that they are in because of something that has happened to them or to someone else, something they could not account for. Something they couldn’t predict. Something they couldn’t plan for.

I recall watching a fantastic speech by Steve Jobs and I will attach the link to this post. In this commencement speech addressed to Stanford graduates in 2005, Jobs talked about why he went to college. He went to college because his adopted parents promised his biological parents that they would send him to college, and so he went. And he hated it. He fulfilled that requirement and dropped out. He returned as a drop in and decided to only take classes that he was interested in rather than the required classes he wasn’t interested in. He ended up taking a class in calligraphy and loved it. Looking forward, he was probably thinking (much as we all would), what the hell am I going to do with a class in calligraphy? Again, looking forward, you would probably think nothing. At least nothing conventional or practical. Fast forward 10 years and because of that class, he was able to come up with the versatile fonts for Macintosh. Makes sense when you look backwards right? And that was exactly his point. You cannot align the dots moving forward, you can only do that looking backwards. So instead of trying to figure out how you are going to use this present experience in the future, focus instead on investing in things that you enjoy doing in this moment. Even if they are as bizarre as a calligraphy course.

The other fantastic piece of advice that Jobs offers in this speech is based on the fragility of life. When he was confronted with having cancer, he started to question what he was doing every day. Before going to work every morning, he looked in the mirror and asked himself, If today were the last day of my life, would I want to do what I am about to do today? If the answer was no too many days in a row, that is when he knew it was time for a change. Life is precious; too precious to be spent doing things that you do not enjoy. One of my favourite phrases that people use is, “I got myself a big girl job!” Whenever someone says that I immediately envision an office job, lots of money, and a great deal of unhappiness. But that’s because society conditions us into thinking that money is the most important thing in this world. Not our happiness. A part of me dies a little inside whenever I hear that phrase because I invariably think the individual is willingly trading their happiness and sanity for social status and money. Success is not defined by how much money you have. Or what car you drive. Or how many friends you have. Success is defined by your happiness. Because what’s the point of having money if you don’t enjoy what you’re doing? We’re brought into this world with nothing and we leave this world with nothing. So instead of investing all of one’s energy into accumulating lots of material things, I challenge you instead to invest your energy into things that you enjoy. Experiences that will add value to your life. That serve you. Grow you. Change you. Please you.

So when people ask me what I’m doing with my life I tell them that I’m doing it right now. I’m currently working as a server and I thoroughly enjoy it. I’m meeting people who see me, who understand me, and who encourage me to pursue certain inspirations in the future. People who are shaping my passions and interests. I’m also coaching and enjoying influencing the younger generation. I feel strongly about imparting my experiences and insights with this younger generation in hope to reduce the stress they might encounter. To be a mentor to them. And to essentially be the person I wish I had when I was younger. As far as what I want to do next, I don’t know. And I’m perfectly okay with not knowing. I anticipate that coaching will continue to be in my future, as will writing. As far as using my psychology degree, I’m using it every day. I have every intention of going to graduate school and who knows, perhaps I’ll end up getting multiple degrees as my interests change with time and experience. The beautiful thing about life is that it’s unpredictable. Trying to predict unpredictability is a sure way to dissatisfaction and unhappiness. And a path I do not choose to follow.

To those who ask those good intentioned questions about individuals’ futures, I challenge you instead to ask about their present. Ask them what their interests are. Ask them if they enjoy what they’re doing. By placing focus on the future, it increases the likelihood that individuals will feel inadequate with their present situation. We live in a world where we’re constantly being compared to everyone else through Facebook, Instagram, social status etc. It’s time that we change our perspective on success and focus instead on happiness. It’s okay to not have life figured out. It’s okay to not know what you want to do for the rest of your life, or even what you want to do next. Find what you’re interested in now and do that. Don’t be in a rush to “grow up” – life will happen and you will naturally grow with it. Learn to accept what you don’t know and make peace with not knowing what will happen next. Life is a beautiful, unpredictable mess. And that is the best advice I can give.

“The only way to do great work is to love what you do.” (Steve Jobs, 2005).

Missing Christopher

“Most suicidal people are undecided about whether they really want to live or die. Sometimes when they attempt suicide they are gambling with death, and leave it to others to save them.” – David Lester.

I am currently in the process of reading a book that was fittingly recommended to me by my Mum titled “Missing Christopher”. It’s about a mother’s true story of losing one of her sons to suicide and her battle to save her two other sons from the encompassing darkness of mental illness. I have unknowingly and ignorantly ignored some significant repercussions from my personal struggle with suicide last year, but this book is forcing me to confront them. For the past year after shaking Death’s hand, I have selfishly been absorbed with my survival and empowerment to overcome such darkness that I have neglected to consider, let alone ask, those dearest to me how my experiences affected them. A large part of this neglect stems from a failure on my behalf to ask, but also a neglect from others to communicate their own struggle. I suspect their neglect though, was an attempt to prevent me from feeling guilty for my suffering and to avoid making this struggle about them. Instead, many individuals close to me have undoubtedly been suffering in silence.

The individuals I speak of are predominately those who lived with me through this struggle. The individuals who truly grasped how close I was to taking my own life. And not everyone who knew me during this time really comprehended that. My friend Ida and my girlfriend at the time Rachel, both who found my suicide note, definitely grasped the severity of the situation. As did my friend Stephanie, whose house I showed up to that night completely and utterly lifeless. Helpless. Distraught. Both my friend Mel who has been such a significant member of my recovery and my professor of whom I still frequently rock climb with, also grasped the unsettling and confronting reality of my near-suicide. All of these individuals knew how close they came to losing me. Although I was unaware at the time and for a long time after, I have occasionally witnessed how severely my experiences have affected them on a few independent occasions. And then of course, there are my parents. And my brother.

Over the past year, I have frustratingly been unsuccessful at having “that” talk with anyone in my family. I say frustrating because I wanted to talk about it. I felt ready to talk about it and pretty soon after it had happened too. But I was observing the situation with blinders on. I could only see a narrow field of vision. My field of vision. I had glimpses of images from their perspective, but it hasn’t been until reading this book that I have truly been sensitive to the delicacy of my experiences. Ironically then, I haven't actually been ready to talk about it.

The first night that I arrived back in Australia after being in America for two years, we had a family dinner to celebrate the occasion. Given the nature of my family’s passionate and intense personalities, it wasn’t long before discussions became heated. The discussion turned to depression. And then to suicide. I felt attacked by my brothers, misunderstood. I defended myself, my situations, my experiences. All the while upsetting my Oma and parents. Everything was still raw. I was institutionalised only five months prior and had intent to end my life just three months prior. The wounds hadn’t even begun to heal. And I suspect, the wounds had not even begun to feel again. Instead, shock and numbness dominated their realities.

On the 28th of December 2014, my parents received a call (I suspect). Their daughter, their only daughter, who was living in a country entirely by herself, was in the hospital: suicide attempt. That’s all they were told. That’s all anyone knew. That’s what the doctors recorded it as. That’s what I would go in the books under a statistic as. But, with complete clarity I can confirm that it was not a suicide attempt. I had no intentions to end my life that night. It was a cry for help. A severe cry because my former attempts had gone unnoticed. Communicating my struggles weren’t heard. Intentionally and visibly harming myself was ignored. And so I took it to the next step. And it was received. But it undoubtedly traumatised my parents and those closest to me at the time. Imagine receiving that call and knowing that it would be at least 36 hours before you could even reach your child, assuming one could leave immediately? Despite pleading with my Mum not to worry and not to send anyone over, my Dad arrived the next day. He wouldn’t be able to see me for another two days though, given that I was an in-patient at Ridgeview and visiting hours were restricted to Wednesday nights.

On the night I returned home back in Australia, things escalated quickly. My Dad shouted “Enough!” and Robert left feeling blamed. My Mum then stated that she didn’t want to talk about feelings, she just wanted to talk about our favourite colour or something superficial. I got up, teary eyed, and feeling personally attacked with my sense of identity victimised, “That’s one of our problems Mum. You never want to talk about feelings.” I defined my very essence, my very being, by my ability to hold deep, heavy conversations. That’s who I was. At least, that’s who I thought I was. I was, and still am, a sensitive soul. I crave depth. I need feelings. I can’t function on superficiality. And that is something that has isolated me throughout the duration of my life. Fortunately now, I am able to maintain a more balanced conversation, though my soul still yearns for that depth. For that connection.

I felt misunderstood. Hurt. I felt like the black sheep of the family. I felt rejected. I felt like I couldn’t be loved for who I was. I wanted to go “home” – back to America. I hated Australia. Reflecting back now, these reactions by all in my family were completely understandable. My parents almost lost one of their children. My brothers almost lost their only sister. My parents were grieving a life they were so close to enduring. And that was something they did not want to be reminded of, not then, and probably not now either. But they still were. They still are.

Over the years, my Mum has wanted me to come back to Australia. But particularly within the last year. To which I have frequently defied her and felt frustrated because of an overwhelming sense of being misunderstood. I felt like she was not respecting my decision to stay in America, my desire to remain independent. But it wasn’t until today that I finally understood why. Her desire for me to come home has nothing to do with respecting my decision. It has everything to do with her wanting to protect me. My Mum feels responsible. She feels guilty. She has never admitted that though, but I suspect that is why she recommended this book to me. To offer a glimpse into her struggle with what I went through. Albeit she never “lost” me, no, but she almost did. And to me, that guilt is probably just as poignant.

Jayne Newling, the author of Missing Christopher, also discusses her fear of losing Nic, the youngest son. That fear was present before Christopher’s death and intensified after. Jayne was so consumed at the thought of losing her youngest due to the demons in his head and ability to articulate his desire to die, that Jayne overlooked Christopher’s own struggle. The struggle he endured in silence. The struggle that would become so evident in hindsight. Christopher was the middle child. And I see many parallels between Jayne’s family and that of my own. I am the youngest and I struggled with suicide and depression, much like Nic. I doubt my parents ever foresaw my illness escalating as rapidly as it did, but a large part of that was due to me living in a completely different country half way around the world. Before I took a turn for the worse, my parents were worried about Robert, technically the middle child, but as he’s a twin I’m not sure that still applies. After my experience, my parents, especially my Mum, has heightened sensitivity to depression and suicide. It wasn’t until today that I finally understood her concern with Robert. It wasn’t until I read a comparable personal account, articulating the thoughts my Mum has silently endured, that I finally understood.

I suspect Robert took my near-suicide extremely personally too. He alluded to it in a conversation one day, but brushed it aside as though he didn’t feel responsible. Before I was institutionalised, I had reached out to my brother numerous times asking to please skype with him, but he was busy as he himself was going through a few things. When I was at the hospital on the 27th of December, I recall texting him, furious with the world, stating, “If people just listened to me, if people just answered my calls, I wouldn’t fucking be here right now. This is fucking bullshit.” That was a dagger to his heart. He felt responsible. He felt guilty. He knew I had reached out to him and he wasn’t there. Although I didn’t blame him in the text and still don’t to this day, he felt like he failed at protecting his younger sister. And I suspect he still feels that way.

My Mum is worried about my brother. And I am too. But I insensitively keep brushing it off because I know that you can’t help anyone who doesn’t want to help themselves. But now I know that my Mum is really worried. Much like Jayne was worried she too might lose her youngest Nic after losing Christopher, I suspect my Mum worries she might lose my brother. Perhaps she feels like she was given a second chance with me and is using that second chance to prevent a similar outcome coming to fruition with my brother. Perhaps it is through this book that she is articulating her own personal struggle with grief, with guilt, with an almost tragic ending.

My Dad almost lost his little girl. And I know he struggles, too. But much like Phil, the husband of Jayne, he is much better at hiding his struggle and at conveying normalcy within his life. He uses humour, with me and with others, to mask his pain. I see through that though, particularly when he looks at me. His once proud and glowing sparkle in his eyes is now filled with heaviness, sadness, and fortune. He is thankful I am still here. His words may fall silent, but his eyes vocalise his truth.

So to my Mum of whom I know will read this post given her endless support in my openness and willingness to express myself, I owe you an apology. I apologise for my insensitivity and frustration with your inability and seeming reluctance to discuss what happened to me. I ignorantly thought you never grasped the severity of my situation, but I realise now it is quite the opposite. You are fully aware of what I endured and have struggled to accept that potential reality. Struggled to comprehend losing a child to suicide; a death that cruelly appears to be preventable. A death that occupies the residence in one’s soul and disguises itself in the form of guilt. The guilt that consequently kills you. I apologise too, for my nonchalance towards my brother’s situation. I understand, now, why you have been so adamant on helping him and so reluctant to take my emotionally detached advice.

To my brother, if you ever read this, you were never responsible for what happened to me. The only way I was going to be saved was if I saved myself. I gambled with death that day, and I won. I was gifted a second chance and perhaps that second chance is to ensure you never need one.