Life in Style
As the new Lifestyle Director of Coven, I had plans on starting my column with a photographic journal of my up and coming trip to Joshua Tree. Shots of stars in the desert on 56-inch film, sleepy hammock diary entrees and vinyasa yoga on a panelled wooden floor, it was going to be enchanting. Whimsical.
Yet, I owe it to myself—and every woman who purposely choses to read every week—to be raw and real. Even if it’s not about sipping caipirinhas as the sun sets. I am fortunate enough to try bizarre and wacky activities, eat some great food and write about kick-ass, inspiring woman every day. But whilst all of this is entertaining, I am culprit to often neglect the cultures that I don’t want to address.
I am always the woman who has to prove herself to everyone. I must be the most popular person, the fastest on the track team, have the highest GPA, have the edgiest clothes, volunteer extra days a week and be the first-person people come to for travel advice. More importantly, I must be doing all this with ease. The culture of making a good impression has somewhat dictated my adolescent life.
This week, things didn’t turn out the way I planned. I received news that my mother could potentially be very sick. I fought with family about money. I was suspended from the track team whilst battling a potential injury.
I can often pretend that 4 hours’ sleep doesn’t affect me or that a bad sexual experience could be laughed about. But, for the first time in a long time, I felt my world collapse around me. For the a few days, I lied to everyone; myself included. I still arranged too many meetings, I attended every important social event on my calendar and attempted to run our 10-mile-long run with a limp.
After four days of this routine of being the Sophia that lives up to her happy-clappy Instagram, when someone asked me how my day was going, straight after I had spoken to my mom about her operation, I came to blows. For the first time, I came to realise how much things really sucked. I became incontrollable.
The last two days have been some of the hardest of my life. I have cried in front of everyone I know. I have skipped four classes, I stopped going out and I didn’t care that my make-up was smothered all over my face. I have even admitted to my professor in the middle of the class that I needed to puke because I was hyper-ventilating so much.
Yet through this experience I have seen a culture I will happily write about every day. The culture of community and togetherness. This week, I have had an army of people by my side, half of them not knowing what was going on or why I was acting so out of character. I have had guy friends bring my favourite coffee to my desk in the library when they saw me crying. I have had my track girls cuddle me in their towels in the locker room. My friends have dragged me out of my room to force feed me cookies. This was not the way I had intended to have an epiphany, but I realised that the removal of my perfection-clad armour didn’t make anybody care about me less.
This is not a soppy personal essay seeking attention or empathy. It is the first column of a girl who does not have her life together. It is the first column of a girl who loves to travel and loves to brunch, but also a woman who is endeavouring not to be afraid to admit her struggles, even if it means she feels weak. It is the column of a girl who lives for the “I don’t know how you do so much” comment but also the girl who is learning that she’d rather receive the “I’m here for you” instead. This is the column of a girl who wants to be relatable again because she is not the best at everything. This is the column of a girl that hopes she will make you smile, laugh, occasionally cry, try crazy things and most importantly—embrace yourself even if it means letting go of an ego.
‘Til the downward dogs and starry nights,
Sophia
By Sophia Parvizi-Wayne
Duke Student, leader of national campaign on mental health, Cross Country All-ACC, fashion alchemist, Huffington Post writer, and all-around world-runner