Heavy Is the Mind That Wears the Mask by Ngonde

Heavy Is the Mind That Wears the Mask by Ngonde - July 2025 Scholarship Essay

If I could whisper one thing to the girl I used to be, it would be this:
Take your mental health seriously.

Not when it’s convenient. Not just when everything falls apart. But every day.
Because you deserve to feel light. To feel safe in your own skin. To feel like breathing isn’t a battle.

Back then, I thought strength meant silence. I thought I had to carry everything, grief, stress, disappointment, without complaint. I wore my exhaustion like armor. I let anxiety build a home inside me, convincing myself that rest was weakness and asking for help was failure.

I didn’t know that unchecked sadness can seep into your bones, that ignoring your needs slowly unravels the threads holding you together. I told myself I was just tired. Just busy. Just fine.

But I wasn’t fine.
And I didn’t have the words to admit that.

Looking back, I wish I had seen the signs sooner. The nights I couldn’t sleep. The days I couldn’t eat. The moments I cried without knowing why. I wish I knew then that mental health is not something you earn after success or prove through suffering. It is a need, like water. Like breath.

There’s a version of my story that didn’t have to include a full collapse. Maybe if I had taken my mental health seriously, I wouldn’t have hit the point where I couldn’t breathe anymore. Where school, once a place of growth, became too loud, too heavy, too much. Maybe I wouldn’t have needed to take that leave just to protect what little of me was left. But I did. And in that stillness, I finally heard myself.

Since then, I’ve been learning to listen. To slow down. To treat my mind with the same care I give my body. I’ve found therapy. I’ve found words. I’ve found peace in quiet mornings, in deep breaths, in community. I’ve realized that healing isn’t a destination, it’s a rhythm. Some days soft. Some days sharp. But always moving.

Now, I speak up when I’m not okay. I rest before I break. I offer myself grace without earning it. And in doing so, I’ve become more than just someone who survives. I’ve become someone who lives.

So if I could go back and give my past self just one piece of advice, I’d wrap her in a long hug and say:
Your mind matters.
Your peace matters.
You matter.

Not when you achieve. Not when you’re strong. Always.
Because taking care of yourself is not a detour, it is a crucial part of this journey called life.