It's Okay to be Proud of Yourself (No, My Dad isn't Dead)

I would like to preface this article by saying yes, Mom, I love you too and no, Mom, I'm not picking favorites and yes, Mom, I'm doing okay.

I don't know why I'm fully across the world writing an article about my dad. I don't think the point is truly about him, but mainly just growing up in general. Growing up is hard. Nothing is the same. When I first came to Sorrento, I was severely homesick. I wanted to go home, curl up in my familiar bed, and never leave again. I missed the familiarity of it all. I missed being a kid. As I write this, I'm sitting on top of a mountain listening to the waves of the Tyrrhenian Sea crash against rocks. I'm thinking about everything I've learned about the world and myself these past couple of months. I'm thinking about how much I still have to learn in my adult life.

I am doing tremendously better than I was, but one thing has stayed the same: I miss my dad . He’s not dead, but it’s times like these when I just wish I could show him how I’m doing. What I’m up to. how I’ve grown and changed. I wish he could follow me along through all walks of life. And I'm not sure why it’s just him. I call him once every few weeks and always send him updates. I think it’s because I never thought I would make it this far.

When I was at one of my lowest points, my dad would come into my room in the middle of the night, lay on the floor, and not speak. He didn’t say anything, he just slept adjacent to me. As a teenager who didn’t have the greatest relationship with my parents, this broke me. I had gotten surgery, been through enormous depression battles I never thought I would come out of, relearned how to walk numerous times, and felt that the whole world should pity me and pity where I was at because I couldn’t make a name for myself. Then, I thought about my dad, who had come to sit on the floor with me. who knew presumably nothing about what I was going through because we never spoke about it. We never hugged, we didn’t really tell each other we loved one another, and we didn’t confide in each other. But here he was, laying on my floor in silence. I think back to that as a now twenty year-old and think that at fifteen, I should’ve cherished that more. I assumed that I would never be close to home. I wanted to go to college far, FAR away and never come back. But it was moments like those that made me want to stay. I wanted to stay to go see live music put on in the area while eating pizza under fairy lights. I wanted to stay so I could meet my parents' friends and hear about their experiences in our town that was once bustling with life. I didn't want to leave home for college. I didn't want to leave home for a foreign country. But, like all things, life goes on.

Sitting here now, five years later, I’ve made it further than I ever thought I would. I didn’t even think I would be alive past seventeen. But I'm sitting here, on top of a mountain, listening to waves crash against rocks. Parents are talking to their kids, teenagers are taking pictures of each other in front of the small Italian town I now live in, different languages and cultures are flying around, and maybe life is worth living. When things get hard, I have to remind myself that at least I’m still alive.

At least I wanted to wake up today, something that seemed like a far away idea a few years ago. So yeah, I’m proud of myself. I'm proud that I stepped foot into O’Hare and got on two flights to a foreign country (I hate flying and I hate airports and I hate being suspended in the air). But I did it. I'm proud that I continue to fly around the world. I'm proud that I'm learning how to enjoy the small, slow moments. I'm proud that I put myself out in the open, small and vulnerable, and now have the greatest friends I could ever imagine to fill my cup. I'm proud that my apartment is the “cooking with the windows open dinner party” apartment. I'm proud I continue to expand my knowledge. I'm proud that i can sit here at the top of a mountain and be honest about my emotions. I can cry, I can breathe, I can feel. Fifteen year-old me would’ve never seen this coming. My dad sleeping on fifteen year-old me’s floor would probably be gobsmacked at my life now. I know the silence we shared during those nights were periods of waiting, wishing, wanting to be something better and bigger. But I'm proud that I’ve realized it’s okay to be small. I'm a small girl traveling this huge world alone, and I’m proud of how far I’ve come. And I know my dad is too.

I regularly listen to a playlist on Spotify I made called “dad.” Simple, but effective. I created it because I was scared my music taste on the drive to school was appallingly awful to my dad, and I wanted to impress him. A song that comes up a lot on my five minute walk to school through a narrow cobblestone alley is one of my dad's favorites, “Elderly Woman Behind the Counter in a Small Town.” The lyrics seem to fit perfectly now than they ever did before. I went through a breakup recently and everything shifted. My whole adult life basically changed. I've always hated change, but I'm coming to terms with it. One of the lyrics is “I changed by not changing at all; small town predicts my fate.” I have changed. My thoughts on the world have changed. My mannerisms have changed. But I'm still me. I'm still that fifteen year-old longing to get out. And now I want to look at her and scream “HELLO! I DID IT! HOLD ON! YOU’RE GOING TO MAKE IT!” Dad if you’re reading this (I’m not sure if you are, you never were the sappy type lol), I hope you’re proud of me.

I'm writing this as a reminder to everyone but mainly myself. Everything will change. Live in the moment. Call your parents. Scream and cry. Connect with nature. Connect with your inner child. Be honest about your emotions. Love yourself. Love God. But mainly, and most importantly, be proud of yourself sometimes. You’re still alive and breathing, that’s challenging enough.

Sophie