I spent the entirety of my junior year living alone. August through November 2023, my days were spent the same; wake up in my shoebox apartment, doom scroll for an hour, filling my hollow concrete walls with the sounds of other people’s friends. Before having any time to think, I’d be in the shower listening to music, a podcast, anything to fill the silence. Then, I’d be out the door, not returning until late at night, after my shift.

On the rare occasion I hadn’t filled my time with work, I was left with what seemed like the worst possible scenario, a night alone. I could either force my mom to sit on the phone with me for three hours, force my friends to FaceTime or watch endless movies to ignore my aversion to my own company. The options were limited and the inability to sit in silence quickly became exhausting. My eyes were rimmed with dark circles I couldn’t shake, I skipped meals — underestimating the importance of lunch — and found the two melatonin I was taking were no longer cutting it.

It wasn’t that I was upset about living alone; I was excited to try something new, to escape the odd roommate situation I had the year prior. However, I felt like a different person was living in my body. I dyed my hair red before I cut 10 inches off, thinking a change in my appearance might bring me back to my typical fun-loving self. Still, I was a shell. Then suddenly, one morning, I looked in the mirror and did not recognize who I saw. 

The blonde, eager, extroverted girl that came into college two years prior was gone, wiped away from existence with three years of a failed relationship, newly separated parents and a battle with depression and anxiety I couldn’t have anticipated.

I felt disgustingly alone, sobbing so hard I could feel it in my skin, as though the cells in my body were weeping with me. I cried until I ran out of tears and my body heaved with dry sobs. 

What had happened to me? 

Why was I like this? 

When did I change into this new person I couldn’t find a way to love?

As I sat in a puddle of despair on my wine-stained floor, I forced myself to reflect on my support network. Where is the root of this issue and how can I fix it? A question easier to ask than answer.

Quickly, it became evident that I wasn’t letting the reflections of myself seen in my friends’ eyes be seen in my own mirror. It wasn’t that I had no friends, it was that I saw myself as so low, so embarrassing to be around that I closed myself off to any new connection. More importantly, I had no clue how to live with myself — physically and metaphorically.

Thus began my road to self-discovery, a weird and awkward phase of growing up I would go through again in a heartbeat. Weeks of forcing myself to converse with class friends and inviting them out, ending my unceasing loyalty to a man who wasn’t showing me love and lots and lots of calls with my mom brought pieces of myself back, but this time they were in a new arrangement. I started to feel more comfortable in my skin — literally and figuratively — while talking to strangers became fun again. The embarrassment of asking friends to hang out slowly started to dwindle as I got more comfortable with the idea of rejection. I found new friends, people who have reached directly into my soul and picked out the best qualities. They taught me love again, even in the midst of what felt like a loveless world.

More importantly though, I learned to like myself again. I took care of myself; I danced in my room and I listened to whatever music I wanted, I cooked and ate so much good food, I called my mom and I talked to random people at parties. I was ME, more so than ever before.

My routine became much more Ellie; I would wake up, listen to music, talk with friends at school, call my friends from home, call my mom, and read. I slowly began to build myself back together: a mosaic of the people I love, the lessons I’ve learned and the bits of myself I just can’t quite let slip through my fingers.

Growing up means growing away, a lesson that still makes me sick to my stomach, but I am managing. I’ve learned to sit in this uncomfortableness, and I do my best to embrace it. However, I’ve quickly learned it’s time to let pieces of myself stay in the past and now, rather than tear my past-self down, I look to her in times of need.

The new me isn’t a whole new person: she’s all of the Ellies I’ve been. She’s the four-year-old who decided soccer wasn’t for her because of the running, and the girl who played a Rhino in a middle school production of The Lion King. She’s also the Ellie who struggled to get out of bed, who couldn’t find the strength to love herself. She is all of those girls, all of whom deserve the same love and care I spend on myself today.

As I move into my final quarter of school for the foreseeable future, I have begun to find the fun in living with myself. For the first time, maybe ever, I am starting to understand exactly who Ellie is, and frankly, I can’t wait to see who she becomes.

Life won’t stop, the world keeps turning, I will continue to change and that’s really okay. I don’t have all the answers, I don’t even really have most of them; but I have myself — and for the first time in a while, that seems to be enough.

Header by Sofi Martinez