Recently, on two different occasions, I saw a comment on my Instagram picture that read “YOU ARE THRIVING”. When I saw the initial comment, I chuckled to myself (in a sad and ironic way) because that statement couldn’t have been further from the truth. Okay, it could have been further, I suppose, depending on how one defines the words “truth” and “thrive”. Are there degrees to which thriving occurs? And if one is not thriving, can she be further from thriving than another person who is also not thriving? Either way, in the moment I read the comment, thriving, by any definition, was simply not something I was doing.

What do you mean, dear Cassidy? Your superior writing skills and story telling abilities have depicted an adventurous semester filled with new experiences, entertaining tidbits, and (unlike the majority of basic white girl bloggers) elements of normalcy that acknowledge that studying abroad isn’t simply a magical adventure filled with whimsical trips and witty Instagram captions and luxurious food. And, by the way, in the picture you posted, you were smiling from ear to ear, suggesting nothing less than thriving.

Well, dear reader, all of the things you have brought to attention are true. I have had some incredible experiences that have filled me with joy. I have met some really cool people that have taught me about the world and new cultures. And, in that moment, I was thriving. I wouldn’t have written about those things if they hadn’t happened: this is the Internet; you can’t lie!!!!!

However, those are all things that make for interesting (I hope so anyway) reading material and aesthetically pleasing Instagram feeds for my less worldly friends and peers who have been keeping up with my travels via social media. Those moments, looking down at a new city with a new friend, climbing to the top of a mountain right as the sun starts to set, staring breathlessly into the overwhelming power of a beautiful waterfall, are exciting and exotic and enticing and make for entertaining “sharing” material via social media or a blog. There’s a reason “reality” TV shows are scripted and movies are dramatized stories that are “based on true events”; the reality of day-to-day can be rather boring and, in some cases, downright undesirable.

Okay, you may retort, so you are still living a normal day-to-day life, but, via the Internet, it looks like that normalcy is frequently interrupted by opportunities for incredible adventures and other situations in which the phrase “you are thriving” would be applicable. Alas, herein, I believe, lies the problem.

I, as a hypocritical and broken human being, frequently criticize my generation, and society in general, for projecting inauthentic versions of reality via social media, all while I actively participate in this exact phenomenon that so frustrates me. When comparing my social media accounts to those of my peers (and thereby most likely robbing myself of some joy) however, I have always felt justified that I portray my life without too much deviation from reality. I tend to take pride in the fact that my Instagram isn’t “basic”. (How silly a thing to take pride in) So, upon reading this comment about my apparent thriving, I took a step back and realized I had greatly failed my followers.

Scrolling through my Instagram, one can see that the pictures I have posted from my semester have been from times of great joy: exciting adventures, reunions with friends, celebration of family. And why wouldn’t they be? They are great pictures of joyful experiences that I want to recognize, share, and remember.

However, as I scroll through the Internet, I don’t see any pictures of me laying in my bed crying in the fetal position or wandering around campus late at night listening to my “existential crisis” playlist or hyperventilating on Facetime as I lock myself in my room and count down the days until I fly home because I can’t bring myself to interact with people. These are all things that have happened too, do they deserve a place on my Instagram account? Or do they deserve to be hidden simply because I don’t want to recognize, share, and remember these darker times of weakness?

Here is my answer to these questions: First of all, the idea that pictures (or the concept of pictures – I unfortunately was too focused on my teeming bladder during the above-mentioned Facetime lock-in to remember to document it with a selfie or two) would deserve anything is a silly one. Second of all, in an equally-dangerous manner, I think posting pictures or statuses of our worst moments can contribute to unhealthy oversharing and result in what has been referred to as a vulnerability hangover. So how do we manage this balance? How do we relate to one another in a way to communicate the communal challenges in our lives and portray ourselves authentically without turning social media into a cry for help or attention?

I don’t think many people know the answers to these questions, which is what makes social media so lethal at times. We spend time posing and editing and filtering our lives in an attempt to promote a certain image of ourselves, whether that image is one of flawless beauty or perceived authenticity. However, no matter how perfectly we can create a particular image, it can never fully encapsulate the reality of who we are: our experiences, our fears, our thoughts, our failures.

This summer, because I am a trendy millennial, I read the book The Handmaid’s Tale by Margaret Atwood. At one point, Atwood writes, “When we think of the past it’s the beautiful things we pick out. We want to believe it was all like that”. As human beings, we tend to glorify our lives, pick out the shiny highlights and shake off the rest. And why wouldn’t we? The neutral mundane parts of our lives can be boring and the less-than-shiny parts can be downright painful. However, acknowledging the bad and the intermediate and fully experiencing and sharing those parts of our lives greatly enriches the highlights; to experience the good, we’ve gotta have the bad.

All of this to say, I constantly strive for authenticity and, as evidenced by my apparent thriving, I constantly fail at said goal. I’m not typically one for vulnerability, but I have come to learn that it is necessary for true, real, messy authenticity. And it is also necessary for true, real, unrelenting joy.

So here is my attempt at creating that balance between a shiny façade pretending everything is grand and a melodramatic display of “realness” that is, in reality, simply a cry for attention. This semester has been really hard. There have been times of loneliness, anxiety, selfishness, disillusionment, and frustration. There have been times when all I have wanted was to go home. There have been days when I have woken up and immediately become sad because I was awake. But there has not been a single moment when I have regretted making the decision to come to Ireland.

Yes, there have been hard times, but there have also been the magical times that Instagram is so good at exaggerating. I have met new people and been exposed to the world in new ways. It’s easy to look at only those parts of my experience (the “Instagramable” parts) and think “well of course you don’t have regrets!” But I must emphasize that there is nothing I regret about the bad parts either. In August, had you told me what my semester would look like, I would have been apprehensive, but I would have said “bring it on”. (Maybe that comes from the innate need to prove myself I tend to brush under the rug, which is a whole other issue entirely. We can deal with my personal psychoanalysis at a later point in time.)

Whilst in Ireland, I have learned a lot about myself and my straight up brokenness as a human being. (Aren’t we homosapiens just the gosh darn worst?) But more importantly, through this brokenness, I have experienced God’s grace and love in new and deep ways. He is powerful and has blessed me with such a wonderful collection of friends and family members that love and care for me in ways I am so undeserving (and, at most times, extremely unaware) of. God’s power is kind of like an iceberg: you can easily and objectively see it and even experience it at any point, but it’s not until you’re wrecked underwater that you start to realize how unimaginably massive and incomprehensible it truly is. (Can you tell I went to the Titanic museum a few weeks ago?)

This semester, I have been forced to ask for help, be vulnerable, and, at times, admit that I’m not okay. And, slowly but surely, I’ve been learning that that’s okay. We’re not supposed to thrive all the time and we’re not supposed to be able to do it all on our own. In his song “Maybe IDK”, Jon Bellion croons, “I guess if I never fell I guess I wouldn’t need grace \ I guess if I knew his plans, I guess he wouldn’t be God”. We desperately need God and we desperately need his grace and I have been learning that when I try to control my circumstances and my life, I do a pretty bad job.

And the learning has only just begun. Redemption is not a one-time shot. Surrender is not a singular event. Healing and growth are processes that are never completed, no matter how wise or free or attuned to the ways of the world one is. This semester I’ve learned how stupid lucky I am to have the friends and family I have and how truly amazing the people in my life are, an incredible testament to my Heavenly Father who is continually pursuing me with open arms.

Returning to the original issue at hand: although I have failed to portray them via social media, there have been many, many moments this semester when I have not been thriving. And that’s okay. These experiences, coupled with the incredible adventures and encounters I have had, have laid the foundation for a season of life full of growth, healing and love. I’m super thankful for the experiences, both new and familiar, that have defined this semester thus far, the ones that have been filled with joy and the ones that have been filled with pain.

So, in order to be more authentic and transparent, I have decided to reenact some of my low moments and show you that not every minute abroad is a mountaintop experience!!! Please enjoy.

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