I joined to write. That’s all I ever wanted—to string together words that meant something, that reached someone. I never imagined that in the process of writing stories, I’d live one. One I would hold so close, even when it’s time to let go.
It started quietly. No grand expectations, no dreams of titles or legacies. Just a girl with a heart full of words, stepping into something unknown. HerCampus was new to me, but it felt familiar in a way that’s hard to explain. Like a warm room with the lights already on. Like being welcomed without needing to earn it. I walked in as a writer, just a name on a Core Committee list, nervous but hopeful—hopeful that this would be something. I didn’t know what. I just knew I wanted in. And now, two years later, I don’t know how to walk out.
I look back and see a girl who grew up here—between article deadlines and team calls, Canva chaos and pitch meetings, celebrations and breakdowns. Between typos we laughed about and decisions that kept us up at night. Between long messages that poured from our hearts and short ones that simply said, “I’m here if you need.” HerCampus was never just a club. It was my place. My people. My purpose. It was the softest part of a very busy, often overwhelming college life. The place I went to feel seen. The place I stayed because I felt loved.
There was something magical about being surrounded by people who understood what it meant to care too much. About words. About stories. About each other. It was a space where vulnerability wasn’t just accepted—it was celebrated. Where we didn’t have to shrink ourselves or quiet our emotions. Where ambition and anxiety could coexist. Where we knew that even if the world outside didn’t always get it, we had each other.
Somewhere along the way, I stopped being just a writer. I became the one making the call, sending the reminders, writing the side notes. I became the President. That title didn’t come with a crown. It came with responsibility. With worry. With the invisible weight of wanting to do right by the people who trusted you. I remember wondering if I was ready. If I could lead the way others had led before me. If I could give even a fraction of what HerCampus had already given me.
What I didn’t realize then is that leadership, at its heart, is love in action. It’s not about knowing all the answers—it’s about showing up anyway. It’s about believing in your team so fiercely that they start believing in themselves. It’s about holding space for others, while still learning how to take up space yourself. And that’s what I did. Not perfectly. Not without mistakes. But with everything I had.
It feels impossible to put this journey into words, and yet here I am trying. Because how do you say goodbye to something that made you who you are? How do you thank a place that turned you from a girl with ideas into a woman with conviction? How do you let go of something that never really let go of you?
There were late nights that felt endless. Messages that made me cry. Victories that made me proud. Failures that taught me. Friends that became constants. A team that became home. And somewhere in between all that—growth that felt like healing. I walk away today not just with a heavier heart, but a fuller one. I walk away with memories tucked into every word I write. I walk away as someone who knows what it means to lead with empathy, to build something that lasts, and to love without fear.
This farewell isn’t just a goodbye. It’s a love letter. To everyone I met through HerCampus. To every piece I wrote. To every moment I shared. To a chapter of my life that was so much more than I ever thought it would be. So here I am—for the last time, with all my heart—writing not just a story, but my story.
The one HerCampus gave me.
The one I will carry, always.
the growth no one sees
What people often see are the posts, the events, the accolades. What they don’t see are the insecurities, the last-minute edits, the anxious drafts never sent, the meetings that went off track, the fear of disappointing someone you admire. Growth isn’t loud. It’s quiet. It happens in the unnoticed moments—when you stay kind even when you’re tired, when you speak up though your voice shakes, when you forgive yourself after a bad day. My growth happened in between the spotlight and the silence. And somehow, through it all, I grew into someone I recognize. Someone I’m proud of.
Leadership is not about being in charge. It is about taking care of those in your charge.
Simon Sinek
And part of that growth came from watching those before me. Vyjayanthi di, Sonali di, Harika di—names that weren’t just in the roster but etched in our chapter’s story. They held the reins with strength, grace, and a love so fierce it made you want to do better, be better. I saw them lead with purpose and softness, and I told myself, if I ever held this chapter in my hands, I would never let their efforts go in vain. I would take it one step forward—not for applause, but for them. For everything they poured into this space. And that promise kept me going, even on days I didn’t believe in myself. I didn’t want to disappoint them. I wanted to build on what they started. And I hope, in my own way, I did.
And I can’t talk about beginnings without thanking Srivaishnavi di—my very first interaction with HerCampus. She was the first to make me feel like I belonged, like I had something to offer. Her warmth and encouragement in that first conversation were the reason I stayed. I didn’t know it then, but her kindness became the spark that lit everything that followed. If it wasn’t for her, I might have never stepped into this journey at all.
the team that became my heart
To my team—my constants, my chaos, my calm. You were not just names on a spreadsheet or roles on a hierarchy. You were the laughter on hard days, the comfort on uncertain ones. You made HerCampus what it was. From our writers who poured their hearts out in every piece, to the designers who brought our vision to life, to the editors who refined every voice without dulling its soul—each of you mattered. You reminded me why I loved doing this. You made me better. You were the reason I stayed up late with a smile. You were my people. My heart.
And to some of the core team who held me up more times than they know—Niamat, thank you for being the one ready to hard-carry everything when it began to topple. Divyanshu, my steady writer from the very beginning—you’ve been there through it all, always showing up, always writing from the heart. Shreeya, your quiet and steady presence was like fresh air in a stuffy room—constant, comforting, grounding. Drishti, your smile alone could brighten the darkest day and make the hardest weeks bearable. Aditya, thank you for trusting me—not just with your words, but with your worries.
And to the junior team—you guys were honestly the heartbeat of this chapter. It felt like HerCampus came alive all over again with you in it. Your energy, your worries, your late-night chaos, and that unfiltered excitement? It reminded me why I fell in love with this space in the first place. You didn’t just join us—you made it your own. And watching that happen was something special.
You can’t do it alone. None of us can.
Michelle Obama
And to my fellow executives—Yastika, who was already my everything outside the chapter, and the EIC who stepped in when everything was in pieces and somehow stitched it all back together without flinching. You carried me through more than just meetings. Tisha, who took every notesheet rejection as a personal challenge and came back stronger each time with a “aise kaise approve nahi hoga”—your fire lit up this team. And Priyanshi, the one always backing us up whether we were ranting about members or roasting faculty—thank you for being the emotional support and comic relief all at once.
You were the rhythm beneath every heartbeat of this chapter. And I couldn’t have done this without you.
The Hardest Parts, the Deepest Lessons
Not every moment was picture-perfect. There were things that didn’t go as planned—ideas that felt like our entire hearts but never made it past the pitch. Event proposals we stayed up polishing till 3 a.m. only to see them get rejected without a second glance. Approvals that came too late, or not at all. Plans that shifted an hour before launch. Rooms booked that got canceled. Team members who left. Budgets that vanished. It felt, at times, like building a sandcastle against the tide—pouring everything in, only to watch it slip away.
But oh, how we learned.
We learned how to pivot, how to reimagine, how to find magic even in plan B—or plan C. We learned how to sit with disappointment without letting it consume us. We learned that success isn’t always measured in audience turnout or perfect posters. Sometimes it’s measured in the message we leave behind, the resilience we discover in ourselves, and the memories we make while problem-solving at the last minute, barely holding it together—but still managing to laugh.
I learned patience when things fell through. I learned responsibility—how to own my mistakes, even when they stung. I learned how to trust my team, even when everything felt uncertain. I learned how to keep showing up—tired, scared, unsure—because showing up for each other mattered more than showing off for anyone else.
Most of all, I learned that vulnerability is not weakness. It’s strength. The kind that lets you admit when you need help. The kind that makes space for others to rise with you. The kind that keeps your heart soft in a world that demands hardness. And that lesson, above all, shaped me not just as a leader, but as a person.
So yes, there were hard days. But they were also the most honest, the most humbling, the most human. And I would live through them again in a heartbeat—because they brought me here. To a place of quiet confidence. To a heart that’s learned to hold space for failure without fear. To a self I’m finally proud to recognize.
The Goodbye That Isn’t One
This may be the end of my tenure, but it’s not the end of my connection—not even close. HerCampus was never just a role I held. It was a heartbeat I carried. It was a rhythm that danced quietly beneath everything I did in college. It gave me more than a title. It gave me a story. A safe place to unravel and rebuild. A family that celebrated the loud wins and held space for the quiet breakdowns. A purpose that made even the most exhausting weeks feel worth it.
I may no longer be the one steering the ship, but a part of me will always be on deck—whispering encouragement, smiling at every success, remembering how it felt to first fall in love with this space. My name might shift from present tense to past, but my love doesn’t. That stays. That lingers.
Every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end
Seneca
HerCampus was not a chapter I wrote and closed—it was one that wrote me. And while my role might change, the love doesn’t have an expiration date. I’ll still cheer the loudest from wherever I am. I’ll still beam with pride when I see what the next team builds. I’ll still quietly hope that the legacy we left becomes someone else’s starting point, the way I once looked at those before me and thought, I hope I can make it matter too.
This isn’t a goodbye. It’s a soft, full-hearted “see you around.” It’s a comma before the next beautiful clause. It’s a reminder that some stories don’t end—they echo. And HerCampus will always echo in the kindest corners of my heart.
with all my heart, always
When I first joined HerCampus, no one around me even knew what it was. It was just this tiny, unknown dot on campus—a small circle of 10 to 15 people figuring things out as we went. There were no banners, no mass meetings, no spotlight. Just heart. Just intention. Just the hope that we could build something meaningful. And we did. Slowly, quietly, passionately.
In just a year, we grew to a team of nearly 50. Writers, designers, editors, marketers, event planners—people who saw something in this little space and poured themselves into it. We didn’t just grow in numbers. We grew in strength. In community. In vision. In soul. HerCampus at MUJ became something people recognized, something people wanted to be part of—because it felt good in the heart.
And now, as I hand over the chapter to the next team, I feel nothing but peace. Because I know the hands it’s going into. I’ve seen the passion, the hunger, the care. I’ve watched the next leaders rise—not just with ambition, but with empathy. Not just with plans, but with purpose. I’m not worried in the slightest. In fact, I’m excited. Because if we’ve come this far in two years, I can only imagine how far they’ll take it. I hope the growth multiplies tenfold. I hope HerCampus becomes a space that continues to catch people off guard—in the best way. Quietly at first, then all at once.
So here’s to HerCampus—my greatest college chapter.
Thank you for letting me write my story in your pages.
Thank you for being the story I didn’t know I was writing all along.
Thank you for being mine, even just for a little while.
With all my heart, always.
For more content, check out Her Campus at MUJ.
And if you’d like to explore more of my world, visit my corner at HCMUJ — Aditi Thakur