Every day magic saved my life
I want to start this post with a disclaimer
This is definitely not an easy story to share, and I do not want you to take it lightly when I tell you that if you are struggling: mentally, emotionally, or physically, it is imperative that you seek help immediately.
Help in the form of a loved one, a trusted friend + mentor, a professional in your area + at your school, or a hotline that can direct you toward the help you need.
The biggest lesson I’d like you to take away from this story is that you are not alone, this is not a weight you have to carry on your own, and even if you think there is no way out of it, there is always someone you can go to. We are not meant to suffer in silence, to hustle ourselves into oblivion, or to feel ashamed when we realize that we cannot handle the suffering any longer. When you are honest, and when you speak up about your struggle, it is no longer something you’ll be carrying on your own.
A few weeks ago, I shared the almost comical but entirely life-changing shift I had to make in order to heal my relationship with food and with my body. In that post, I briefly mentioned a mental breakdown in 2018 that forced me to reassess my spirituality, my wellness, and my overall lifestyle both mentally and physically. The 180 degree turn in my life was not a fitness program, a specific diet, or an eye-opening mental pursuit which gave me that oh-so-coveted wake up call + inspiration to change. The truth is, I was suffering—big time—and I knew without a shadow of a doubt on a sunny Wednesday in October of 2018 that I was going to take my own life during my lunch break.
That Wednesday started like any other. It was the first semester of my senior year in college, and I honestly always dreaded Wednesday. My typical weekly schedule went like this:
Sunday: A double shift waitressing at a local pizza place, 10AM-8PM, then homework.
Monday/Tuesday: Class 9AM to 4PM, homework in the evening.
Wednesday: Class 9am to 4pm, work 5PM-10PM.
Thursday: Class 9am to 4pm, work 5pm-10pm
Friday: Internship 9am to 3pm, work 5pm to 11 or 12.
Saturday: Homework in the day, work 3PM to 11 or 12.
Repeat, every week, excluding Thanksgiving / Christmas break. I’m not sharing this schedule because I think it’ll give me some “hustled through school + paid my way” badge of honor. We all have a level which we feel we can perform, and a pace we can keep up. Truly, every one of my friends and coworkers at that time were barely maintaining or even out-working me at the same weekly grind. Looking back, it’s easier to see that we really were all miserable and just trying our best. I’m sharing this because I knew how to keep this pace for years and this helped me get by… until I couldn’t. That’s the honest truth, I was getting by: emotionally, financially, physically. I was not taking care of myself, I was not working out, I was not eating any semblance of a healthy diet, and I was drinking 3-5 nights a week. All of these circumstances, over the course of a few years, were wearing me down in a way I did not realize until it was almost too late. This was normal, this was college, I didn’t think I had a choice to do anything else, so I just kept crawling through it.
I loved Mondays and Tuesdays because after class I could focus on my schoolwork, actually eat dinner at home or with friends, and not feel too burnt out by bedtime. Wednesdays, on the other hand, felt like the beginning of a marathon, where my days were filled from my morning alarm going off to pass-out-exhaustion by the time I got home—for 5 days straight. The moment my alarm went off, all I could imagine was collapsing back into my bed, only to get a few hours of sleep before starting it all over again the next day. Wednesday morning felt like staring down a long and empty tunnel of passionless autopilot, a feeling I’d learned to live with.
This routine and this dread was not foreign to me, and every semester before then had looked almost identical to it, because I thought I had found the perfect schedule that let me make enough money to pay my way through school, and still have a few nights a week where I could marathon out all of my schoolwork / maintain my GPA. This schedule, however, did not lend for rest excluding holidays, and definitely didn’t leave a lot of room to socialize. But, work hard play hard was the motto, so I compromised sleeping in order to see my friends late after work on Fridays + Saturdays. I’d then dive head first back into the next week, probably hungover, deflated, and hustling to repeat the same schedule over and over again.
In the summertime, I had no idea how to get through a week without that same hustle, so I’d take a few classes and I’d pick up a second job to fill my free time. I didn’t want free time to be alone, because looking back, I was too depressed and scared to take downtime. I knew that the second I allowed myself to sit still, I would not be able to get back up...so I just kept going. There were days where, while walking to class in the morning, clutching a venti double shot espresso nonsense, I would end up actively fighting the urge to plop down cross-legged on the sidewalk and refuse to stand back up.
Disclaimer
the upcoming section of this story has content that is sensitive and could be triggering if you are struggling with your mental health, anxiety, or depression. I’ll be describing feelings + actions that could upset or influence those who are struggling.
If you are struggling or recovering, I do not advise reading the portion of this story within the black lines, please skip ahead to the closing paragraphs.
On that Wednesday, in October of 2018, I finally did it. During a break in my morning, I veered down a hallway into a private courtyard, plopped down on the concrete outside the door, and found myself in the violent wave of a panic attack. My initial instinct was to punish myself. I remember thinking: Samantha, it is only 10AM on Wednesday, we will not get home / have privacy until 11 tonight, and you will have to do this again for the next four days. There is NO time to let yourself feel this right now, we have shit to do: get up get up get up.
So I did, I bullied myself off the pavement and back into the classroom. But this time, the feeling did not go away. It sat on my chest, enabling me from paying attention or getting any work done during my studio time. I can’t even remember what project we were on, or who was around me. But I cannot forget that feeling in my chest, in my gut. I’d gotten into the habit of using my 1 hour lunch break to run home and make myself a grilled cheese. Despite the panic attack I was still fighting off, I was determined to continue the day as scheduled. There was no room for detours, no room for pauses, the entire day was set up to the minute to get as much done as possible.
I carried the worsening anxiety inside with my backpack, prepared + ate a grilled cheese that had no taste, and realized that I was alone. I had 2 roommates at the time, but they were both in class.
In that moment, it dawned on me, the worst thought I think I’ve ever entertained in my life: Skipping class is not an option, it’ll mess up your GPA and you need to save skips for sick days. You cannot call into work, no one will take your shift and if you don’t have a doctor's note to prove you were sick, you will get in trouble. You cannot sit down and not get back up, there is no way out of this. There is only one thing you can do, and that is to end your life.
I thought this so quickly, that I even made myself upset. I couldn’t believe I’d even think something like that, and then I couldn’t believe how much I agreed with it. Knowing how definitive and terrifying it is to realize you’d rather take your own life than skip class is not a feeling I’d ever want a single person to experience.
I chewed on the thought, over and over in my head, as I paced between the kitchen and the bathroom sink. All the while, I was glancing at the clock on the microwave, telling me I had 5 minutes to be back in my car and on the way to class or I’d be late.
I only had 5 more minutes.
Then 3 minutes.
Now, 2 minutes. I stood, heart racing, and stared at myself in our tiny bathroom mirror.
Then and there, a voice in my head said something to me that saved my life:
Call your Dad.
It hit me so clearly, I was almost certain someone had said it out loud and they were hiding behind the shower curtain. The absolute certainty in the voice that gave me the command forced me to want to call my Dad more than I wanted to take my own life. Looking back a few years later, I realize it was my own intuition guiding me. I picked up the phone, I called him, and I finally told the truth.
I laid it all out:
“I live almost every day on a passionless autopilot and I’ve gained 30 pounds since high school and I drink almost every night and I’m sick of the 7 day grind and I don’t know how to escape because I have to get my degree, I have to keep my GPA at a 3.9, I have to pay my bills, I have to pay my rent, I don’t have a choice and I don’t know what to do so I was going to end my life but I called you instead.”
end of possibly triggering content
And that was it, that was all I had to do: I just had to tell someone that I was suffering.
Immediately, even though I was almost 22 years old and had been supporting myself for years, my Dad got me excused from my classes for the rest of the week, excused from work for the rest of the week, and coordinated for my stepmom to make the 1 hour drive to pick me up and bring me back to their house until Sunday. Everything I thought I couldn’t get out of, everything I thought was do or die in my week, was effortlessly and understandably put on hold so that I could go home and make a new plan for my mental health with the help of my parents, something I’ll never be able to repay them for.
It was in that 5 day break that they helped me reassess my work schedule + finances, helped me realize I could work less waitressing and instead pick up more hours at my Internship and have more free time to do my school work + find some down time. I went back to my college town that Sunday with the perspective and the courage to change my schedule, something I thought I didn’t have a choice in, so I never attempted to change it myself. This new schedule gave me Friday nights + Sunday nights off, time that lead to me being able to connect deeper with my best friends, attend events + concerts, learn how to cook, eventually learn how to read tarot, finally start spending time moving my body and going outside, eventually quit my waitressing job to pursue my paid internship part time...things I hadn’t had the time or the energy to do before.
I was not cured in just 5 days, let me be clear about that. But what I did gain was the knowledge that there is always a chance to change, there is always a way out of that struggle, and there are people who are willing to help you if you tell them that you need it.
That Wednesday was the breaking point that propelled me in an entirely new direction: all of my mental health improvements, my decision to go vegetarian, my pursuit of wellness + mindset development, my interest in learning + practicing spiritual rituals, and the slow but steady growth of my own love + compassion for myself all came together over the past two years, like a domino effect, from that breakdown. Of course, plenty of struggle + setbacks have come my way since then, but the version of myself that I am today has the clarity, the confidence, and the support system to handle them and to grow from them.
This is what drove me to begin Into-It and the purpose behind the motto: Everyday Magic. To live mindfully and intentionally, as if every single day is a gift to be experienced and to be shared with others, has transformed my happiness and my health over the past two years. The tips + tricks + research that I share with you all every week are habits + rituals I have picked up since that day in 2018, and have profoundly changed my life. I am so grateful that my intuition told me to call my Dad instead of the alternative. There is so much in my life, getting my degree, moving to a new state, starting my career, meeting new friends + mentors, and a wealth of knowledge gained, that I would have never dreamed would be possible for me if I hadn’t been here to experience it.
Instead of staring down each day and expecting passionless autopilot, I have slowly but surely learned how to love every moment of it, down to something as simple as a slice of peanut butter banana toast. It was not easy, but it has been necessary and it has saved my life. I also had infinite love and support along the way, from my closest friends and from my family—who deserve a massive thank you, and all of my love, if they’re reading this. My mission with this blog and Into-It as a brand is to give you the tools + habits + rituals I’ve learned, and will continue to learn, so that you can find the joy and the energy to not just participate in your life, but to enjoy + celebrate it. I’m also finally tapping into how creativity and my love for design aligns with my purpose to spread that joy to you.
Thank you,
for listening and for understanding, for supporting me, my passion, and my work. I’m so excited to keep glowing and growing with all of you every single day. I’m a badass, and you’re a badass, and we have the ability to change our lives at any given moment.
Do not choose to suffer in silence or to suffer alone, please refer back to my disclaimer at the start of this post.
There is a light within you that is universally gifted and it has limitless potential.
If you are struggling, please tell the truth to someone you trust or a professional who can provide you with the resources you need.
If you feel that you are (on the way to or currently) thriving, please share that energy with everyone you encounter, make lists of what you’re grateful for, and have an amazing week.