Graduation is supposed to be one of the most emotional, celebratory moments of college. Caps fly in the air, families cheer from the crowd, and suddenly four years of memories flash before your eyes. But when my graduation from Emerson College approached, I realized something that felt almost taboo to admit: I didn’t want that moment. And, it turns out, choosing not to walk graduation was one of the best decisions I made for my mental health.Â
When I started college, I enrolled in the Media Arts Production program because I loved storytelling, filmmaking, and creating visual work. Like many freshmen, I entered school with this romanticized vision of what college would look like: a tight-knit group of friends, creative collaboration, and memories I’d talk about forever. But my experience didn’t turn out that way.Â
My freshman year, I fell hard into the pressure to drink and fit in. I made decisions I still regret, and I surrounded myself with people who I believed were my friends but ultimately didn’t have my best interests in mind. Instead of feeling supported, I often felt lost in an environment that didn’t bring out the best in me.Â
As time went on, I started questioning whether the path I was on actually aligned with the kind of impact I wanted to have on others. While I love being creative, I realized that simply being a creator wasn’t enough for me. I wanted to change the industry itself. I wanted to advocate for people and create systemic change. That realization completely shifted my trajectory.
During my sophomore year, I added a pre-law and sports communication minor. The more I explored those fields, the more I realized that law school felt far more aligned with my long-term goals. Instead of just participating in media spaces, I wanted to help shape them. I wanted to be in rooms where decisions were made to benefit and help creatives.Â
I felt something I didn’t expect: dread.
Even as my goals became clearer, my overall college experience never really felt like the one people talk about nostalgically. I’m grateful for the professors I learned from, the classes that challenged me, and the projects and internships that helped me grow professionally. In fact, I completed five internships during my time at Emerson, which gave me valuable experience and perspective. But emotionally, college wasn’t a chapter I felt deeply attached to.
So when graduation season came around and people started asking about caps, gowns, and ceremony tickets, I felt something I didn’t expect: dread. Family members and friends encouraged me to walk. They wanted to celebrate me, and I understand why. Finishing college is a huge milestone, and they were proud of me. But I didn’t feel celebratory. It felt like I blinked and suddenly had a degree in my hand. I didn’t feel nostalgic. I didn’t have the kinds of “college stories” people reminisce about. Even with my academic and internship accomplishments, I didn’t feel the pride everyone expected me to feel. For a while, I felt guilty about that.
Not walking at graduation doesn’t mean I’m not grateful for what I learned.
Graduation ceremonies are treated as something you’re supposed to want. Opting out can feel like you’re disappointing people or diminishing your own achievements. But I eventually realized something important: Protecting my mental health mattered more than meeting other people’s expectations of how I should celebrate. Instead of forcing myself into a moment that didn’t feel authentic, I chose to quietly close the chapter in a way that felt right for me. On the day of my graduation, my partner and I spent the whole day together. He took me to an adults-only mini-golf arcade in Boston (called Swingers), then we went to dinner and had such great food and drinks. It was simple, but it was exactly what I needed for the day. And I don’t regret missing my ceremony at all.
Not walking at graduation doesn’t mean I’m not grateful for what I learned at Emerson. It doesn’t erase the hard work I put in to finish my degree a semester early, earning my B.A. in Visual Media Arts Production in just three and a half years. What it does mean is that I honored how I actually felt, and that matters. College doesn’t look the same for everyone. Some people leave with lifelong friendships and endless memories. Others leave with lessons, clarity, and a new direction. And sometimes, the most empowering decision you can make at the end of it all is choosing what kind of closure you truly need.