A day in my life as a fifth grader at Wescosville Elementary School went as follows: School was dismissed at 3:30 p.m. The bus would drop me off at home by 3:45, sharp, giving me just enough time to sit down and plow through a rather advanced, yet manageable volume of schoolwork, gulp down Hamburger Helper (again) and dress for my 4:30 dance class. After dance, I peeled off my leotard and tights in the studio bathroom, put on my t-shirt, shorts, and kneepads and dashed to volleyball practice. After practice, I ran out to my mom’s Honda Odyssey resembling a bat out of Hell, reviewing and inspecting my script on the way to play practice from 7:30-11 p.m., about 30 minutes away from home.
I was cursed with an insatiable need to do it all, a desire to not only have my cake and eat it, but to bake it myself.
I was unaware of the imminent dangers of my lifestyle until my sophomore year of high school, following an a cappella group rehearsal. I was having difficulties sustaining notes, something that normally came so easily. I experienced severe pains in my chest, prohibiting me from taking deep breaths. Finally, I had enough and my mom took me to the emergency room.
I received an EKG that day, and an X-Ray of my chest. The doctor initially asked if my family had any history of heart problems, and I watched as my mother’s face turned white, throwing her head between her legs.
The true cause of my intense, debilitating pain? Stress. I was taking on too much, and it was finally catching up to me. I remember exactly what the doctor said to me, looking me square in the eyes with grandfather-like concern.
“You can’t do everything, sometimes, you need to let other people do things. You’re 16, and tired.”
I left that day with a prescription, and a wake up call.
I was incapable of rejecting new opportunities and denying others of my help, and that would be my tragic flaw.
Recently stress has assumed a leading role in my life, quickly developing into an undertone of my personality, demoting my own emotions to understudy . If you ask me how I’m doing, on any given day, I’ll probably respond with, “Pretty good! Stressed, but good!” I’m not alone in this.
According to the Anxiety and Depression Association of America, 80 percent of college students say they experience stress on a daily basis.
But when does stress become more than just worrying about a test?
After an intense week of interning, working, school work, and submitting a 25-page packet of information to the university for my sorority, I fell asleep feeling satisfied, and at ease knowing the work had been submitted. However, only 20 minutes later, I woke up yelling, crying, gasping for air. It was my body’s cry for help.
I awoke from the worst nightmare I had ever experienced, out of a series of night terrors I had endured over the course of a few months. My dream had placed me in my own bedroom, with strong, unyielding hands around my neck. I struggled to pry them off, but my body was paralyzed, and my efforts were fruitless. I will never forget the sheer terror of that night, waking up with my hands around my neck still, fighting for breath as if I was truly being strangled. It may have been a dream, but it was real for me.
Enough was enough. I finally decided to make the commitment to myself to start managing my stress, and put my mind and body first above all of my other obligations.
The CDC says some healthy ways to manage stress include eating a well-balanced diet, engaging in regular exercise, getting more sleep, and taking a break every so often.
While it’s most likely taboo to admonish the CDC’s ruling, I’d like to think managing stress is not so cut and dry. The life of a college student doesn’t always afford a well-balanced meal, 8-10 solid hours of sleep, or even a fulfilling workout. So many people have told me, “just take it easy.” It is not that simple.
As the world will continue to discourage me from pursuing my interests because of my over programmed schedule, I will continue to search within myself for a true solution to the stress that plagues my daily life.
And maybe then, finally, “stressed” will no longer be a part of what makes me, me.