I had….lets just call it a “moment” this week.

Suddenly all of the stress, and worry, and grumpiness boiled over.

I know because I was sitting in my Culture and Identity class watching a group presentation on Mental Health and the Muslim community and I felt myself tearing up. My mind was doing that unkind thing where it races from negative thought to negative thought like a little emo butterfly.

what comes up when you google "emo butterfly."

what comes up when you google “emo butterfly.”

Anyway, I did what any responsible well adjusted 23 year old does, I called my daddy. And cried like a small child.

I said a bunch of shit I hadn’t yet been willing to really admit out loud.

Like grad school is really fucking hard.

And only being able to work part time is really hard to make work when you have full time type expenses. And you waste money on underwire bathing suits from foreign countries.

I know that I’m almost halfway done with completing my masters.

I know that I’m going to be so proud and happy when its over.

But right now, I want to admit freely that it is REALLY hard.

To the point where, if I hadn’t already gotten this far I may have quit. If I didn’t have such phenomenal supports cheering me on. If it was just me trying to go this alone? I don’t know if I’d last.

It isn’t that the classes are that hard. The work is mostly just tedious and time consuming. I’ve actually met some really interesting and wonderful people in my grad program.

Its just that its hard to be a graduate student and be a self-sufficient adult. Unless you’re somehow independently wealthy. I look at the career changing mothers of elementary aged children in my classes and I wonder how in the ever loving fuck they do it.

Anyway, enough wah wah wah first world problems.

I’ll be fine. I am fine.

Thank you to those who love me, you keep me going.