When I was young,  my mother believed in the power of optimism. She would repeat over and over again, “If you wake up claiming it will be an awful day, chances are it will be.” I grew accustomed to the idea that my attitude determined who I was, and the potential of who I could be. This idea often skimmed my mind every morning, as I contemplated whether the glass was half empty or half full.

I was raised amongst a family of nomads; it was not unusual for me to be starting a new school every few years. My parents claimed it was a fresh start, and to think of it as a good thing. A new school, new home, new friends. I never understood the tears filling my sister’s eyes as she watched the moving truck fill with boxes. Being handed a blank slate was exciting, until it wasn’t.

My attitude seemed to have shifted significantly in the past couple years. When my mother came into my room and excitedly announced our next destination, I felt nothing but devastation. How could she do this to me? Ever since the year long collapse of my parents’ marriage, I had been left in the ruins. I had spent months building a life for myself, growing attached to the relationships I had created, only for it all to be torn down. I soon discovered how simple it was to allow negativity to seep into me rather than fight it off with a better outlook. Waking up and going on with my life throughout the following weeks was torture, only because I allowed it to be. With every move, I saw all I was losing instead of opening my eyes and discovering the opportunities I was gaining.

Inevitably, I despised my new school. I longed for my old friends, and the atmosphere of feeling at home instead of feeling like an over stayed guest at my new house. Detaching myself from everything I was passionate about, I felt myself slipping away. I thought, what was the point in creating a new life for myself if it will all be for naught, anyway? Dread over school seeped into my core, which made the hours tick by slower. This was not me.

My mother’s patience with me was running low, which triggered an argument between the two of us. I remember her stating, “I know you aren’t happy here. But this is our life now, and this is how it is going to be.” With tears shedding from my eyes at the time, I saw this as her fighting against me rather than her being on my side. However, as I walked into school the next day, it seemed much brighter than I had noticed before. I caught smiles from passing strangers and managed to whisper a few hello’s. It was time to unravel myself from the burdens I had been carrying the past weeks.  This was my life now, and it’s destiny was determined by me. An amazing feeling it is, to finally feel content with the reflection in the mirror staring back at me.

This experience, I decided, could destroy my heart or allow it to manifest into something beautiful. No more feeling sorry for myself. No more wallowing in the depths of my depression. Hiding away in frustration was not going to give me the satisfaction I craved, and this was my time to take advantage of the clean slate I’ve been offered. My mother raised me to believe not only in optimism, but in myself. The power of positive thinking doesn’t change the unavoidable bad days that will occur, but it will give me the courage to stand back up after falling and allow myself to move on.