Last week, I decided to drop a class. In general, dropping before midterms isn’t a big deal. You don’t get a “W” on your transcript. The worst part usually is having done some work that now doesn’t count for anything. Dropping this class, however, threw me in a way I still can’t fully explain. It was my fifth class, it was a lot of work, and I honestly wasn’t that interested in the material. I didn’t need it for the credit, I didn’t need it for my major, and I didn’t even need it because it gave me some knowledge that made me a more well-rounded person. But I had this burning feel that I should be taking it. I should be pushing myself, and testing myself, and taking full advantage of my academic opportunities while I am here. It was a history class, and as a history major, I should be interested in and excited by the material it covered. But I wasn’t. I had some bizarre, visceral reaction to the class – I didn’t want to do the readings, I dreaded writing the papers, and the thought of going to class stressed me out. It got to the point where I was near tears just thinking about the class. So, after a week, of stressing and rereading opening sentences of its required reading, I decided to go talk to my dean. I sat down and immediately felt my lip start to quiver. She didn’t give me the advice I had expected. She didn’t tell me to instead drop one of the non-major writing classes I am taking for fun, and she didn’t tell me that this class was an amazing opportunity. She simply asked me what I wanted to do. I surprised myself, blurting out “drop it.” “So, just drop it,” she replied. It took me another few days of spinning and stressing over what was the right choice, and when I had made myself sufficiently miserable, I emailed my professor and told her I was dropping the course.
I didn’t feel any better. Had I made the right choice? Was I being lazy? Immature? But the decision was made, and I needed to get over it. This Friday, when I should have been doing my readings and writing my next paper for the now dropped class, I decided to go and get art supplies. I painted the entire day – something I hadn’t done in years. It wasn’t until I looked at my phone and it was almost 5:00 pm that I realized just how relaxed I felt. Obviously, it is good to be self-motivated and driven, but sometimes it is also really important to learn how to take a breath. I am someone who always thinks “yes” is the right answer. I hate missing opportunities and letting people down, and so I convince myself that it is better to always do more. But that can also mean I don’t put myself in a position where I can do what I sign up for well, or even enjoy it. I love my other classes this semester, and I don’t want to miss the chance to give my all in them because I convinced myself that taking that fifth class was the right thing to do. It was hard for me to drop that class, and I made myself miserable for a week, drawing out the decision when I should have trusted the fact that if a class that I didn’t need to take made me feel that unhappy, it was a no-brainer. Sometimes you need to put your mental health first. If it takes completing one fewer classes and making some shitty art, so be it.