Looking back at pictures from my time in college, I see smiles and laughter from football games, sorority date nights, Dance Marathons, and even late nights in the library. From the outside, it seems like I was doing everything right. I worked really hard in school and made sacrifices to get the grades I wanted; I got involved in organizations I was passionate about; I had friends who I always had fun with whenever we were together. But what I remember more vividly are all the moments that aren’t captured in those photos. I remember the emptiness I’d feel coming home after a day of classes and meetings. I remember the guilt and anxiety I’d wake up with after a night out. I remember the sadness behind every smile I put on to face the day. And I especially remember the frustration that came with that. In high school I had been so successful and so happy: I graduated at the top of my class, was a Varsity athlete, held leadership positions in multiple organizations, was voted Prom Queen and “Most Involved.” I was able to balance all of these roles with confidence and I felt fulfilled upon my graduation; now I was doing the same things in college, so why didn’t I feel the same way?
I looked around me and it seemed like everyone else was really loving their time here, had found their “people,” and were truly becoming their best selves. But when I looked in the mirror, I didn’t see the same. I felt like I didn’t belong. I felt like my friendships were temporary and my contributions insignificant. I felt like I wasn’t good enough. I also felt like I wasn’t allowed to feel this way; I knew other people had bigger, more serious problems than me, so who was I to be unhappy when I had a supportive family and friends? And how was I supposed to tell people how I was feeling when I had no reasons to back it up?
I wanted so badly to create and hold onto this perfect image I had for myself. I wanted to be the girl who was smart and involved but still able to have a good time with her friends and make other people happy. For longer than I’d like to admit, I repressed these negative feelings in my head. But the funny thing is that the longer I ignored my unhappiness, the worse it got, and these feelings culminated into a very low self-confidence and negative body image. It got to the point that I would stay up late studying to ace a test, then yell at myself in the mirror for not working harder for that missed point. I’d come home from an exciting date night and cry myself to sleep for not being more outgoing and fun. I’d purge after a meal when no one else was there so that I’d look better and maybe like myself a little more. None of it worked.
I remember one morning I was alone in my room and for no reason at all I felt like the world was coming down on me. Crying, I called my mom and could barely choke out any words other than that I was unhappy. That was the first time I had actually admitted to it, had listened to my feelings, and I honestly felt a huge weight come off my shoulders. I was reassured that it was okay to feel that way, that I was not alone in those struggles and that no one was expecting such big things of me as I was of myself. Having that one conversation changed my entire perspective. I realized how important it was for me to listen to my feelings and to open up about them, no matter how hard it may be. I learned that I had to make the conscious decision to speak kindly to myself, to actively choose to be happy. To just cut myself some slack and accept that it’s okay to not be at my best all the time. It’s not that everything has been smooth sailing since then; I still have days that I doubt myself, but I know now how to address these feelings constructively and to voice them rather than trying to silence them.
If you’re reading this, know that there is no perfect mold to fit. You don’t need a reason to be unhappy or anxious. It is okay to not be okay, and it is okay to be honest about it. You’re not alone. Be kind to yourself. Your feelings and your problems matter.
Jenna H., Georgia Tech ‘22
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