Is there a way to say "I'm not okay" without terrifying people?

*This is something I wrote about a month ago, during a mini-meltdown inspired by feelings of inadequacy, and the certainty that I would never be good enough to get into the grad schools that I want to attend. Add to that the sadness that I wasn't at Georgetown Homecoming, the acute awareness that I chose to live in Houston, so I had no right to complain that I disliked living here, the somewhat prevailing panic I feel from time to time that I am somehow incapable of making friends, and the desire to write down how I felt at my worst (because, if this is the worst I feel, then I am very, very lucky). When I was still in Peru, a friend of mine called me out for only writing about the easy, happy aspects of life there; he, who heard me complain more than just about anyone else, justifiably accused me of not giving an accurate account of our lives. What he said holds true a year later: if I want to give an honest portrayal of these ten months of transition, I owe it to all volunteers returning home to share the moments when I've felt most helpless and confused. Thanks, Pedro, this one's for you. 

I'm not okay, but that's not the same as saying that life is awful right now. This isn't a cry for help; there's no need to worry about me, to coddle me, or to walk on eggshells around me. It's not meant to be a grim statement.

I'm not okay, but I'm not scared of admitting that anymore. I'm learning to welcome the sense of vulnerability that comes with admitting - to myself more so than to others - that this long period of transition is wearisome. 

I'm not okay, but there is far greater suffering in the world and I'd rather spend my thoughts and prayers on Syrian refugees, victims of mass shootings and police brutality, and innocent bystanders of violence in the Middle East. My concerns and discomfort are so minuscule compared to the anxiety and fear that plague other people each day.  

I'm not okay, and, although others suffer far more than me, I also know that my feelings are legitimate and allowed. I can't feel guilty that I somehow lack solidarity and perspective because I too am having a rough time. 

I'm not okay, which just means that I haven't been my best self much this year. The beauty of that sentiment though, is that it means I've seen myself at my best and I know what I'm capable of when I feel happy and whole. I'm currently learning what I'm capable of when I'm almost happy and just a little roughed up around the edges - and I am still quite capable, which is a gift. 

I'm not okay, but I'm also not alone in feeling overwhelmed and uncertain. The beautiful and peculiar life I led in Peru and the transition back to life in the States is only partly to blame. I suffer from the self-imposed pressure to figure out what I'm doing with my life in order to stop living in 4-month increments, which I understand is shared experience among 20-somethings. 

I'm not okay, but I know I'm the only person responsible for my happiness, and I make choices each day that make me more okay. (And I've discovered there's a critical mass of grad school curriculum I can read each day before turning slightly psychotic.) 

I'm not okay, but I will be. Both a cheesy metaphor for life: "life is a roller coaster," and a famous literary quote: "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times," accurately describe how I feel right now as I try to simultaneously embrace both hope and frustration, gratitude and embarrassment, and confidence and timidity. 

I'm not okay, but I will be. It's not a battle cry, nor a mantra, but it's the best thing I have right now.