Everyone Sees the Accomplishments, But Not the Struggle

When this semester began, I thought I was here to study. To attend classes, submit assignments, learn theories, and somehow find my footing in a new country. I did not realize that alongside all of that, something quieter—and heavier—was happening beneath the surface. This semester did not just teach me answers. It taught me strength. Not the loud kind. The kind that shows up when it has no choice.

When people look at my life now, they see accomplishments. They see that I moved to a new country, that I survived a difficult semester, which I am still standing. What they do not see is what it took to get here. They do not see what it means to leave everything familiar behind and start your life again from zero. They do not see the effort it takes to stay hopeful when every cell in your body is telling you that you are going to fail. They do not see the moments when you are standing on the edge of a mental breakdown—but you cannot afford one. Because it is inconvenient. Because there is still work to finish. Because stopping is not an option. They do not see the mornings when getting out of bed feels like the hardest task of the day. When all you want is to lie there and dream about your old, stable life—even if, back then, you thought it was not good enough. They do not see the constant fight: every second of every day, pushing forward until you finally “make it.” Nevertheless, the biggest struggle of all is believing in yourself. Believing that you can do it. Believing that you will. Somewhere along the way, I realized I was not just learning how to communicate with others—I was learning how to speak to myself.

Studying Communication Management this semester gave me language for something I was already living. Especially through intercultural communication, I learned that nothing is truly black and white. Everything exists in shades of grey. Something that feels right in one culture can be wrong in another. Meaning shifts. Context matters. Perspective changes everything. In addition, slowly, I realized this applies to people too.

For as long as I can remember, I have lived with doubt. A quiet ache. A whisper that followed me everywhere, telling me I was not enough. Not a good enough daughter.  Not a good enough sister. Not a good enough person. No matter what I achieved, no matter how high I climbed, there was always a voice inside me saying, you do not belong here. Every time I stood before something new, I thought, I could not do this. Yet—every time—I did. Achievement after achievement, and still, the doubt stayed. I often wonder where it all began. This habit of shrinking myself. Maybe it was never truly mine. Maybe the voices around me slowly became my own. Maybe I learned to measure myself through standards that were never meant for me.

Still… I did it.  I kept going. I survived. Now I have done something that once felt impossible. Something everything depended on. It feels unreal—like I am waiting for the other shoe to drop, as if this cannot really be me. However, it is I. When you finally make it through something like this, you do not just see the success—you see the cost. You notice the scars it left behind. You realize how much it took out of you. Nevertheless, you also understand something else: it made you stronger. Everyone can see the accomplishments. They just do not see the struggle behind them. If they did, they would understand this: life is a battle. Moreover, I learned to survive it the hard way.

What comes next is not about proving anything anymore. I will continue studying, working, and building whatever comes next—but more importantly, I will continue learning to love myself. To stop shrinking. To stop apologizing. To accept that growth does not always look loud or confident. Sometimes it looks like choosing yourself quietly. This moment is not the end of a difficult chapter. It is the beginning of a kinder one. A gentler truth. A brighter future. In addition, for the first time, I am ready to meet it— unapologetically me.