Whether I’ve always known this or not, my grandmother, Nicole, is my why for much of my life choices.
It’s not always easy to think about her. A beautiful woman who experienced more suffering than any one human being should ever have to.
For the entirety of her adult life, she battled a mysterious mental illness. Unfortunately, because she was born on the wrong side of the globe, her illness was misdiagnosed as a supernatural condition rather than a chemical imbalance. She experienced a lifetime of misery.
I was sitting in my favorite spaghetti spot in Ghana when I read the news of her passing. I felt a complex mix of sadness and relief. In life, she was perpetually ill, abused, and ostracized. She spent all her days in the small community where she was born and raised as a prisoner of her own mind. Her death was the end of her earthly suffering.
As for me, I have a favorite spaghetti spot in Ghana. I have a favorite pizza spot in Guatemala. I have a favorite jollof spot in New York. I have a favorite udon spot in Montreal. These places are special to me. Not because they are markers on the roadmap of my foodie journey but because they represent the vibrant life I’ve committed to living in honor of my grandmother.
I spent much of my late teen years and early 20s in a nearly losing battle with my own mental health struggles. I sometimes feel like I missed out on so much due to my battle with depression and anxiety. But I know none of that compares to the losses that my grandmother experienced.
At this point in my life, it’s become excruciatingly clear that the burden of mental illness is one that I will have to carry as well. But unlike my grandmother, I’m fortunate to have resources to help alleviate its impact on my life. So, I owe it to her to live a beautiful life full of joy and adventure.