Season 4 of the Sparkle Photo Series
"My name is Christopher Missimo. My story began during my childhood years when I was diagnosed with ADHD, Bi-Polar, Conduct Disorder, and Oppositional Defiance Disorder. The summarized version includes 10 years of therapy between ages 5-15, 13 years of medication (at one time over 10 pills per day) between ages 5-18, and multiple inpatient hospital stays between ages 5-11. The longest hospital stay was 3 months in an institution in Austin, Texas. This hospital hosted children and adolescents with severe mental illness. For example, my roommate was a positive schizophrenic, meaning he had vivid hallucinations, of which I would rather not describe here. During this time, the state of Texas was also attempting to take me away from my mother who was a single parent of 2 boys. They failed in this attempt, due in large part to a team of mental health experts that fought on my behalf. Back then I was not expected to attend college, hold a successful job, or engage in a healthy intimate relationship. I went on to obtain my degree in Psychology with a minor in Rhetoric & Argumentation from Baylor University a year early with a major GPA of 3.95 and a minor GPA of 4.0, followed by a Masters in Clinical Mental Health Counseling from Sam Houston State where I also graduated a year early with a GPA of 4.0. Unfortunately, those degrees came at a cost. While I did receive scholarships for both, it was never enough to cover everything entailed. Without financial support from my immediate family, I had to supplement my income with additional loans. While the awards and achievements I have received are beyond the scope of this summary, I think it's important to note that I have accomplished much more than anyone imagined. I am currently a therapist/marketing director for my private practice and I'm seeking admittance into some of the most competitive doctoral programs in the field of Counseling Psychology. My future goals include continuing work in private practice, specializing and advocating for athlete mental health and performance, teaching undergraduate psychology as an adjunct professor, and working to give back to others.
I believe you can't fully accept something unless you're ultimately willing to acknowledge it. The most potent way to do that is to speak about it to others. Using your story to impact others positively is the most powerful form of acceptance that I can think of. Men need to see that sharing your emotions and negative experiences is healthy and acceptable. They also need see that you can have both masculine and feminine characteristics. I'm a bodybuilder, a strength & conditioning coach, and a mental health therapist. I try to epitomize having a balance between "hard" and "soft" characteristic traits. Sparkle is trying to bring to light the stories and experiences of others to show that it's OKAY to share. In fact, it's a necessity because we are not properly equipped to travel through the darkness alone. " Written by Christopher Missimo
To learn more about Chris and Missimo Motivation please visit www.missimomotivation.com
I believe you can't fully accept something unless you're ultimately willing to acknowledge it. The most potent way to do that is to speak about it to others. Using your story to impact others positively is the most powerful form of acceptance that I can think of. Men need to see that sharing your emotions and negative experiences is healthy and acceptable. They also need see that you can have both masculine and feminine characteristics. I'm a bodybuilder, a strength & conditioning coach, and a mental health therapist. I try to epitomize having a balance between "hard" and "soft" characteristic traits. Sparkle is trying to bring to light the stories and experiences of others to show that it's OKAY to share. In fact, it's a necessity because we are not properly equipped to travel through the darkness alone. " Written by Christopher Missimo
To learn more about Chris and Missimo Motivation please visit www.missimomotivation.com
“You’re a beautiful person in a beautiful place. Your mind is so beautiful to me that it makes you the most gorgeous person I’ve ever met.”
Somebody very dear to my heart texted me that out of the blue one day. The sad part is that I didn't have the courage to tell this person that my mind was slowing killing me. My depression was pulling at my feet and sinking me deeper into a hole that I could no longer claw out of.
My story is one I’m sure we’ve all heard before - My parents got divorced when I was 14 years old. I had everyone feeling for me; the anger, the sadness, the feeling of being singled out at school because I had more to worry about than fun, boys, and fitting in. I come from a culture that isn’t well educated on mental health, I come from a family were I was a first generation college student, and at one point my resources were little to choose from. Along the way I created a habit of suppressing issues and the emotions that came with it, and that’s what led to my anxiety and panic attacks.
When I started High school, I wasn’t sure what I was going through. My dad offered for me to go talk to someone, but I wanted to be strong. I wanted to be strong for myself and for my family. I started reading self help books, then psychology books. And next thing I knew, I had slowly educated myself on something that was inevitable. Depression trickled down my family tree and ta-da, popped up in my genetic makeup. Little did I know that when it was triggered, it would never go away. I isolated myself, I missed lots of school because I didn’t want to get out of bed and I continued to try and “get out” as fast as I could. I wanted to graduate early and leave because I thought what I needed to get out of was the life I had at home. But what I was running from lived inside of me. Another episode came when it was finals week in college. I had gone through a breakup with a long term boyfriend, stress with school, and trying to balance out my social life. I finally had a chance to breathe and the next thing I remember; I was coming to on the floor of my room. I was sobbing and laid there starring at my ceiling for 2 hours in a daze. I got up to take a bath and I was looking around at all my things and thinking of my friends and my family and I remember wishing none of it existed.
After college I made a lot of shifts in my life. I focused on my well-being, physically and mentally. I got myself on a regime of therapy, reiki (energy/chakra healing), and massages to help with the physical side effects of mental illnesses. But because I spent so many years suppressing and shoving emotions in a box while trying to run, the box finally started to overflow. And with my constant self-care, the box opened. It’s like I took 50 steps back and found myself at square one. I started having panic attacks everywhere I went. Places that were familiar with familiar people. I couldn’t even stand in line at the grocery store. I ran out of a coffee shop once while working and I found myself in my car crying to myself and asking how I got to such a low place. I wouldn’t even go inside my house when I got home from work because I knew what would happen; I would walk in, say hi to my roommates, try and act normal, panic, and then trap myself in my room to cry myself to sleep. Every time my mind wasn’t occupied with work, friends, and my social life, I would feel weak. And I felt like I was the only one around. The only way to describe it is when you go snorkeling in the ocean; When your head is in the water, all you can hear is the echo of your own heavy breathing, all you can see is endless water, and when your head is out from underneath the surface, in the distance you can see the shore. But it seems so far away. You didn’t even realize how far away you were from the shore because your head was down in the water, not paying attention to what was above you.
I didn’t want to go on medication, but when I couldn’t do something simple like sit on the couch in my own house without feeling like I was going to panic, I decided that it would be what is best for me. The day I was diagnosed with chronic depression and anxiety, I went to the pharmacy to get the medication prescribed to me. I sat in my car staring at the bottle mournfully. I felt broken. I felt like I was stuck. I felt weak. If I wanted to get off this medication I would have to go through withdrawals, I would have to put more compounded medications in my body so I could function in life properly. I felt lost and scared. The next few weeks were hard on my body because my body had to get use to the medication. I was throwing up, not sleeping, having hot flashes, not able to focus, and I couldn’t eat. But I though to myself, “to get better, I have to always get worse.” And one day, I finally snapped back to being functional and “normal” again.
And now for the scary part, the real part, the part nobody wants to talk about until it’s too late. In February of 2017, I hit rock bottom. I was “being weird” to everyone around me, my job was going downhill because I didn’t care about getting out of bed, my thoughts were racing with not existing and how much I didn’t care for anything around me. I filled my schedule with everything possible to keep from being alone. I did anything to feel something - I ran until my legs couldn’t move, I got a handful of tattoos within weeks, I was sedating myself with my sleeping pills as soon as I got home, etc. I was hurting and I was doing what I did before, suppressing. Then one day the depression unmasked itself like it always had, but this time, it did it with a vengeance.
I had just arrived home from a full day with my Mom, Brother, and Niece. I decided to take a shower and as soon as I got in, the same overwhelming feeling came over me. The heavy breathing and the echoes of each breath I took surrounded me. I sat down with the water running over me and started sobbing. The difference between what was leading up to this point was that this time I was crying for my life. I wanted to scream for someone to help me because I felt like I wasn’t going to be able to survive. Everything blurred out and I could only see and feel the water falling from the shower. I couldn’t get up and I started debating whether or not my life was worth living. I didn’t see a future for myself anymore because there was no coming back from what was holding me down, the shore was too far. I never picked up my head to see where I was headed to look at where I was headed and I started feeling sorry myself and hating myself because how pitiful and selfish of me to be so weak. I just got home from spending time with people who love me more than themselves and being around my niece who I love more than anybody on this earth. I want her to be a strong individual and to see the beauty in the life we each have, but yet I’m laying on the floor of my shower questioning whether or not to end my life.
How is it that I could get to a point of being so lost in my own thoughts to only have them turn against me? All my control was gone and ending my life seemed to be the easiest way out. A year and a half later, I’m still here. So is the depression and anxiety. Some days are harder than others. Some days I don’t want to “do life”, but I’m okay with that. I’ve weened off medication with the help of good therapy and a support system and I’m no longer ashamed of what exists inside of me. I’ve chose to tell this story because this is the very first time anyone will hear about this, other than the two individuals that helped me along the way. I no longer victimize myself or put blame on others for what I struggle with. The last thing I want from anyone is to “feel” something for me. For the first time in a long time I know the difference between my feelings. And the biggest mistake I ever made was letting people feel for me. My perspective of life has changed in many ways. I realize the importance of the simplest of things, how we treat one another, and how I can make my time here worth while for myself and those around me.
We are everything and everything is us; Every time you walk outside, everything that you see exists inside you, and you inside it. We may come from all different walks of life, but we will always be in this together. You never know what someone is going through and you never know what path your life will take you on.
I chose Ashley and Sparkle to share my story because I see someone prioritizing mental health and PEOPLE for the first time, simply out of the righteousness of one person’s heart and the journey that got her here. The more we can come together to have conversations about HOW WE ARE FEELING and normalizing it without criticism, the more comfortable others will be to talk about it and feel it all for what it is.
We need to continue to guide one another with our words and our hearts, because after all, we are only here for a short amount of time. And when we leave to go “home”, we only take what we have in our hearts and what our hearts leave behind. These conversations will save many people from the dark places they’re stuck in, no matter how simple or complex the story is. I’m here because my conversation helped save MY life.
Somebody very dear to my heart texted me that out of the blue one day. The sad part is that I didn't have the courage to tell this person that my mind was slowing killing me. My depression was pulling at my feet and sinking me deeper into a hole that I could no longer claw out of.
My story is one I’m sure we’ve all heard before - My parents got divorced when I was 14 years old. I had everyone feeling for me; the anger, the sadness, the feeling of being singled out at school because I had more to worry about than fun, boys, and fitting in. I come from a culture that isn’t well educated on mental health, I come from a family were I was a first generation college student, and at one point my resources were little to choose from. Along the way I created a habit of suppressing issues and the emotions that came with it, and that’s what led to my anxiety and panic attacks.
When I started High school, I wasn’t sure what I was going through. My dad offered for me to go talk to someone, but I wanted to be strong. I wanted to be strong for myself and for my family. I started reading self help books, then psychology books. And next thing I knew, I had slowly educated myself on something that was inevitable. Depression trickled down my family tree and ta-da, popped up in my genetic makeup. Little did I know that when it was triggered, it would never go away. I isolated myself, I missed lots of school because I didn’t want to get out of bed and I continued to try and “get out” as fast as I could. I wanted to graduate early and leave because I thought what I needed to get out of was the life I had at home. But what I was running from lived inside of me. Another episode came when it was finals week in college. I had gone through a breakup with a long term boyfriend, stress with school, and trying to balance out my social life. I finally had a chance to breathe and the next thing I remember; I was coming to on the floor of my room. I was sobbing and laid there starring at my ceiling for 2 hours in a daze. I got up to take a bath and I was looking around at all my things and thinking of my friends and my family and I remember wishing none of it existed.
After college I made a lot of shifts in my life. I focused on my well-being, physically and mentally. I got myself on a regime of therapy, reiki (energy/chakra healing), and massages to help with the physical side effects of mental illnesses. But because I spent so many years suppressing and shoving emotions in a box while trying to run, the box finally started to overflow. And with my constant self-care, the box opened. It’s like I took 50 steps back and found myself at square one. I started having panic attacks everywhere I went. Places that were familiar with familiar people. I couldn’t even stand in line at the grocery store. I ran out of a coffee shop once while working and I found myself in my car crying to myself and asking how I got to such a low place. I wouldn’t even go inside my house when I got home from work because I knew what would happen; I would walk in, say hi to my roommates, try and act normal, panic, and then trap myself in my room to cry myself to sleep. Every time my mind wasn’t occupied with work, friends, and my social life, I would feel weak. And I felt like I was the only one around. The only way to describe it is when you go snorkeling in the ocean; When your head is in the water, all you can hear is the echo of your own heavy breathing, all you can see is endless water, and when your head is out from underneath the surface, in the distance you can see the shore. But it seems so far away. You didn’t even realize how far away you were from the shore because your head was down in the water, not paying attention to what was above you.
I didn’t want to go on medication, but when I couldn’t do something simple like sit on the couch in my own house without feeling like I was going to panic, I decided that it would be what is best for me. The day I was diagnosed with chronic depression and anxiety, I went to the pharmacy to get the medication prescribed to me. I sat in my car staring at the bottle mournfully. I felt broken. I felt like I was stuck. I felt weak. If I wanted to get off this medication I would have to go through withdrawals, I would have to put more compounded medications in my body so I could function in life properly. I felt lost and scared. The next few weeks were hard on my body because my body had to get use to the medication. I was throwing up, not sleeping, having hot flashes, not able to focus, and I couldn’t eat. But I though to myself, “to get better, I have to always get worse.” And one day, I finally snapped back to being functional and “normal” again.
And now for the scary part, the real part, the part nobody wants to talk about until it’s too late. In February of 2017, I hit rock bottom. I was “being weird” to everyone around me, my job was going downhill because I didn’t care about getting out of bed, my thoughts were racing with not existing and how much I didn’t care for anything around me. I filled my schedule with everything possible to keep from being alone. I did anything to feel something - I ran until my legs couldn’t move, I got a handful of tattoos within weeks, I was sedating myself with my sleeping pills as soon as I got home, etc. I was hurting and I was doing what I did before, suppressing. Then one day the depression unmasked itself like it always had, but this time, it did it with a vengeance.
I had just arrived home from a full day with my Mom, Brother, and Niece. I decided to take a shower and as soon as I got in, the same overwhelming feeling came over me. The heavy breathing and the echoes of each breath I took surrounded me. I sat down with the water running over me and started sobbing. The difference between what was leading up to this point was that this time I was crying for my life. I wanted to scream for someone to help me because I felt like I wasn’t going to be able to survive. Everything blurred out and I could only see and feel the water falling from the shower. I couldn’t get up and I started debating whether or not my life was worth living. I didn’t see a future for myself anymore because there was no coming back from what was holding me down, the shore was too far. I never picked up my head to see where I was headed to look at where I was headed and I started feeling sorry myself and hating myself because how pitiful and selfish of me to be so weak. I just got home from spending time with people who love me more than themselves and being around my niece who I love more than anybody on this earth. I want her to be a strong individual and to see the beauty in the life we each have, but yet I’m laying on the floor of my shower questioning whether or not to end my life.
How is it that I could get to a point of being so lost in my own thoughts to only have them turn against me? All my control was gone and ending my life seemed to be the easiest way out. A year and a half later, I’m still here. So is the depression and anxiety. Some days are harder than others. Some days I don’t want to “do life”, but I’m okay with that. I’ve weened off medication with the help of good therapy and a support system and I’m no longer ashamed of what exists inside of me. I’ve chose to tell this story because this is the very first time anyone will hear about this, other than the two individuals that helped me along the way. I no longer victimize myself or put blame on others for what I struggle with. The last thing I want from anyone is to “feel” something for me. For the first time in a long time I know the difference between my feelings. And the biggest mistake I ever made was letting people feel for me. My perspective of life has changed in many ways. I realize the importance of the simplest of things, how we treat one another, and how I can make my time here worth while for myself and those around me.
We are everything and everything is us; Every time you walk outside, everything that you see exists inside you, and you inside it. We may come from all different walks of life, but we will always be in this together. You never know what someone is going through and you never know what path your life will take you on.
I chose Ashley and Sparkle to share my story because I see someone prioritizing mental health and PEOPLE for the first time, simply out of the righteousness of one person’s heart and the journey that got her here. The more we can come together to have conversations about HOW WE ARE FEELING and normalizing it without criticism, the more comfortable others will be to talk about it and feel it all for what it is.
We need to continue to guide one another with our words and our hearts, because after all, we are only here for a short amount of time. And when we leave to go “home”, we only take what we have in our hearts and what our hearts leave behind. These conversations will save many people from the dark places they’re stuck in, no matter how simple or complex the story is. I’m here because my conversation helped save MY life.
“Hmm… where to start? When someone asks me to share my story or I seek out places to share it, it’s really hard to find the words because it’s such an important part of my life that I want to articulate well. Describing it well is what leads to understanding me as a person and mental health as a normalized part of society, which most of us know that isn’t reality at the moment. But that’s why we do this right? To share stories, connect us around the world, encourage our fellow warriors, and begin to educate those around us. While it is not my full responsibility to help everyone understand, I have begun to see it as a passion and calling of mine. So, why do this? Because it’s vital for the world to hear stories of the people behind the diagnosis. That’s what makes it unavoidingly human, and that’s how others begin to see us as people just like them. I’ve slowly began to love writing. Whether that’s blogging, short stories, or spoken word, it’s a medium that catches people’s eyes… to drag them along wanting more. That’s what Sparkle does. In the best way possible, they drag us along to want more, to hear more, and listen more to the stories around us. That’s why I needed, not wanted, to do this, because I’m honored to share my story. I’ve found that it’s slowly becoming more and more necessary to share it if I want anything to change. Stories connect us, and they tug on our empathetic nature. It’s my goal to use my story to both educate and bring awareness to mental health, so what better way to do that than through this photo series. As I said, it’s an honor to be a part of a mission that’s been so close to my heart for so long – it just so happens that Ashley beat me to it all =].
Anyways, for me it started back in high school when I experienced great amounts of grief in the form or losing friendships and losing loved ones to death. Well, that actually started when I was 5, but the mental health truly kicked in in my teens. What great timing right? Nothing like experiencing depression, anxiety, and suicidal thoughts on top of “normal” teenage drama. But hey, that was my reality… that is my reality, because it all continues now and has evolved in many different ways. Anyways, the interesting part was that my outside life seemingly looked perfect to others. Loving family, accomplished athlete, and straight A student at a private school. I wasn’t supposed to feel all that stuff…. But I did, and I know that’s okay now, but I didn’t then.
I felt so isolated in this pain that I didn’t really know how to handle it, and that lead to putting on a mask every day at school. Some people knew what was going on but they didn’t seem to care, and I always wondered “Would anybody miss me?” Then it happened that I attended two funerals of people that lost their lives to suicide, and that was painful to watch and feel. I saw the devestation it resulted in, and though it deterred me a little, the thoughts didn’t really go away. They even linger in the back on my head now and come out of hiding at random times. The difference now is that I am able to reach out to others. I will say that that is one of the scariest parts of all of this – the fact that they can show themselves at any moment even when I know I don’t want to end my life anymore. But I got through high school. There was a counselor at school that actually listened and helped me work towards a healthier place. However, depression reared it’s dark head again in college and I had to start meds again.
Fast forward to the past two years. I started grad school for counseling oddly enough, and within the first two months my counselor rediagnosed me with Bipolar II disorder. Holy crap, that was hard. I had gotten good at being the “depressed and anxious girl;” now you’re telling me that that was a misdiagnosis, I was medicated wrongly, and now I have this new thing. Accepting this change was a long route, and I still don’t always accept it. Enter the hypomania. For those of you that don’t know, this typically includes 3-4 days where I can function off of 6 hours or less of sleep while being extremely productive, sometimes impulsive, restless, and unfortunately quite irritable and angry. The anger and depression that came together is called a mixed episode and it still confuses me to this day. I now tend to be fearful of myself and anger in general; it scared me because I’ve never been an angry person.
But the hypomania resulted in A papers in grad school … now doesn’t that suck haha. You’re telling me this is unhealthy while it benefits me and is sometimes fun. There was one time I walked to a grocery store at 4 am and stayed til 7am talking to an overnight food stocker. I look back on it now and realize how dangerous that could have been in the middle of downtown. Anyways, once we realized this was a different beast, I got to board the medication express and try them all out. Without cussing here, it was horrible. Side effects sucked. I hated being tired to the point of almost falling asleep at the wheel, but I hated it more when I didn’t know if it was a side effect or just the stress of life. And on top of that I had to start learning how to manage my emotions all over again. Everything was new. Everything. And it was exhausting.
It's still exhausting sometimes. Going through the cycle that seems to come out of nowhere sometimes. However, I’ve reached a point where I am ready to use my story, even though it’s still a huge battle. The stigma is paralyzing for many people, and sharing stories helps us begin to shatter it. What’s funny though is that I sometimes hold a stronger stigma for myself, as I think I should be better and not struggle at all. With all of that being said, I recently started a project called Mountains for Mental Health. I’ve begun a journey to work towards climbing a mountain in the Himalayas and sharing my story to connect others. The outdoors have changed my life, both physically and mentally, and it’s shown me what I’m capable despite what other’s think of those with mental illnesses. That’s the thing. We’re all capable, guys, even when it doesn’t feel like it. You best believe I’m going to struggle up that mountain and probably want to quit, but hopefully when I reach my summit, no matter if it’s the actualy summit or not, I’ll feel it all over again – that accomplishment, that thankfulness, and that feeling of “I can.”
Anyways, for me it started back in high school when I experienced great amounts of grief in the form or losing friendships and losing loved ones to death. Well, that actually started when I was 5, but the mental health truly kicked in in my teens. What great timing right? Nothing like experiencing depression, anxiety, and suicidal thoughts on top of “normal” teenage drama. But hey, that was my reality… that is my reality, because it all continues now and has evolved in many different ways. Anyways, the interesting part was that my outside life seemingly looked perfect to others. Loving family, accomplished athlete, and straight A student at a private school. I wasn’t supposed to feel all that stuff…. But I did, and I know that’s okay now, but I didn’t then.
I felt so isolated in this pain that I didn’t really know how to handle it, and that lead to putting on a mask every day at school. Some people knew what was going on but they didn’t seem to care, and I always wondered “Would anybody miss me?” Then it happened that I attended two funerals of people that lost their lives to suicide, and that was painful to watch and feel. I saw the devestation it resulted in, and though it deterred me a little, the thoughts didn’t really go away. They even linger in the back on my head now and come out of hiding at random times. The difference now is that I am able to reach out to others. I will say that that is one of the scariest parts of all of this – the fact that they can show themselves at any moment even when I know I don’t want to end my life anymore. But I got through high school. There was a counselor at school that actually listened and helped me work towards a healthier place. However, depression reared it’s dark head again in college and I had to start meds again.
Fast forward to the past two years. I started grad school for counseling oddly enough, and within the first two months my counselor rediagnosed me with Bipolar II disorder. Holy crap, that was hard. I had gotten good at being the “depressed and anxious girl;” now you’re telling me that that was a misdiagnosis, I was medicated wrongly, and now I have this new thing. Accepting this change was a long route, and I still don’t always accept it. Enter the hypomania. For those of you that don’t know, this typically includes 3-4 days where I can function off of 6 hours or less of sleep while being extremely productive, sometimes impulsive, restless, and unfortunately quite irritable and angry. The anger and depression that came together is called a mixed episode and it still confuses me to this day. I now tend to be fearful of myself and anger in general; it scared me because I’ve never been an angry person.
But the hypomania resulted in A papers in grad school … now doesn’t that suck haha. You’re telling me this is unhealthy while it benefits me and is sometimes fun. There was one time I walked to a grocery store at 4 am and stayed til 7am talking to an overnight food stocker. I look back on it now and realize how dangerous that could have been in the middle of downtown. Anyways, once we realized this was a different beast, I got to board the medication express and try them all out. Without cussing here, it was horrible. Side effects sucked. I hated being tired to the point of almost falling asleep at the wheel, but I hated it more when I didn’t know if it was a side effect or just the stress of life. And on top of that I had to start learning how to manage my emotions all over again. Everything was new. Everything. And it was exhausting.
It's still exhausting sometimes. Going through the cycle that seems to come out of nowhere sometimes. However, I’ve reached a point where I am ready to use my story, even though it’s still a huge battle. The stigma is paralyzing for many people, and sharing stories helps us begin to shatter it. What’s funny though is that I sometimes hold a stronger stigma for myself, as I think I should be better and not struggle at all. With all of that being said, I recently started a project called Mountains for Mental Health. I’ve begun a journey to work towards climbing a mountain in the Himalayas and sharing my story to connect others. The outdoors have changed my life, both physically and mentally, and it’s shown me what I’m capable despite what other’s think of those with mental illnesses. That’s the thing. We’re all capable, guys, even when it doesn’t feel like it. You best believe I’m going to struggle up that mountain and probably want to quit, but hopefully when I reach my summit, no matter if it’s the actualy summit or not, I’ll feel it all over again – that accomplishment, that thankfulness, and that feeling of “I can.”