hey, it's Madi: this is the real me.

Have you ever pretended to be something you aren't?

You know, laughed at a joke that you didn't fully understand, or nodded your head in agreement at something you didn't actually believe to be true?

I did.

The events that have unfolded in the past 24 hours are proof at how fast life can happen and make you stop and say, "holy shit" out loud.

If you know me personally or even if you've just been following my blog, you probably know that this semester with journalism has been tough. I think there's the tough that you can tolerate and the tough that, well, you can't.

Three nights in a row I had woken up feeling anxious. I was on edge, worrying, my heart was racing and overall, I was in a very anticipatory state. I was worried about the Missourian, if I would have enough articles by the end of the semester to pass, the professional people I needed to call for interviews and so on.

Yesterday was my GA shift at the Missourian. This happens every other week, where we're required to go and be on shift, ready to report whatever is happening that day. I dreaded it. I always dreaded it. Yesterday morning I woke up (before my early alarm) anxious again and with an unsettling feeling. I pushed the thoughts back. I went in to the Missourian and all day these thoughts of doubt and unsettlement kept resurfacing. Again, I pushed them back.

Then it kind of all unfolded at once.

My classmates starting talking about what they wanted to do when they graduated, what classes they were taking next semester, how many articles they've published and some were even doing phone interviews. It was in that moment that I got this overwhelming realization that this is not what I want to do. It wasn't a temporary feeling of panic that would fade at the end of the semester, but it was a feeling that I was applying to the rest of my life. I had been using this class as a stepping stone to magazine. But here's the thing: I don't see myself working for a magazine. I'm not passionate about magazines. I can't name five magazines and tell you why I think they are great or why I would want to work for them. I think because I love writing I put myself in a box and in my mind thought, "You love writing so do magazine writing. Yeah, that makes sense." In all reality, there are other opportunities that allow me to use my passions without simultaneously wanting to pull my hair out. So if I didn't want to do news reporting (which we knew already) and I didn't want to work for a magazine, which was why I was enduring the class in the first place, what the hell was I doing?

So instead of pushing those feelings back once again, I let myself feel them. This came in the form of many, many tears. I left the Missourian and went outside for a walk. I immediately called my mom and cried to her. I explained what I had been feeling, how it had been building up for so long and that it wasn't worth it to me. Because it wasn't. I don't think it's fair to say that this class is the sole reason why I was feeling so anxious and down, but it has played a significant role in it. That among questioning what it was that I did want to do, day by day convincing myself that I'll one day fully love it and faking passion that wasn't there. Breaking. Point.

Let me be clear: I still love journalism, story-telling and reading stories. None of that has went away. I still plan to do journalism, just in a different light. I have just realized that I love getting to know people and their own personal stories. I love non-profit organizations that are working to make a small difference even if it's communicating in the smallest way that people matter. I care more about someone's favorite childhood memory versus calling someone to get the population number of downtown Columbia. I have a new gained respect for people that do the intense reporting for newspapers and magazines and are good at it. And that's not me.

I then called my brother and told him what I had told my mom. He joked and said that he doesn't want me to show up at his doorstep in Illinois telling him I've dropped out of college, but jokes aside, that I need to do whatever it takes to do something I'm passionate about. So after I talked with him, I knew there was one more person I needed to talk to.

So I gathered myself, patted my puffy eyeballs and walked back into the newsroom.

My editor knew something was wrong as I approached her so at about the same time I was saying, "I need to talk to you," she was saying, "Come on, let's go talk."

I had no fear like usual. Katherine, if you're reading this, you intimidate me on a daily basis. I had no fear because I didn't feel like I had anything to lose. For the first time in so long, I just wanted to say how I felt and be heard. And I definitely was. Again, I reiterated that I was unhappy, it wasn't worth my mental health and that I wasn't willing to make the sacrifices that others were. The more and more times I said it, the more relieving it felt.

My editor was completely understanding and supportive and I can't express how much I appreciated that.

I also want to add that I don't regret my time at the Missourian. I don't want to walk away and say I learned nothing because without a doubt, I did. I might not have improved my interviewing skills or discovered the top five magazines I love the most, but I learned things from this experience that I wouldn't have gotten doing anything else.

So, I left.

There are no hard feelings anywhere, at least I hope not. This is more about me taking my life into my own hands.

It's weird, though. I decided to drop the class and quit, yet somehow I still feel like I won.