“You should really consider all your options,” my guidance counselor cautioned as we stared at the Common Application website. I had applied to seven schools with seven different majors. The only thing I really knew was that I wanted to play volleyball and live in the Northeast. The University of New England was the only school I had applied to that checked both boxes. When I was accepted, I deposited without a second thought.
That fall, I packed my parents’ car and we drove up to Maine. UNE was a small school, but it was beautiful. Some days, it was exactly what I expected college to be: football games, late-night studying, dorm parties and bad dining hall food. Other days brought experiences I had not anticipated: loneliness, feeling overwhelmed, calling my mom and crying in the stairwell.
My first year of college made me feel like I was always missing out. I could not stop comparing myself to my friends from home, my friends at school and — worst of all — strangers on the internet posting about what college is supposed to look like. I couldn’t escape the endless stream of pictures on my phone, each seemingly portraying an experience completely different from mine.
I quickly became very unhappy with my classes, my campus and my college. I called my parents in tears, second-guessing every decision that had led me there: Did I pick the wrong major? Why do I hate playing volleyball here? Was I naive to choose this school? Is something wrong with me because I’m not loving college like everyone else?
My mom didn’t have answers, nor did my friends, though they tried. There were four of us girls: Shiloh, Kelsely, Payton and me. We often sat on the floor of someone’s dorm room trying to answer these questions. Sometimes one of us would cry; sometimes we all would. Sometimes we laughed so hard we made ourselves cry. We clung to each other like holdfasts through the chaos. Four years later, I can confidently say three things are true. First, that was completely normal freshman-in-college behavior. Second, even as a senior, I still make those teary-eyed phone calls to my mom. Third, I will always be grateful for the rare, unwavering friendships I made that year.
After freshman year, I transferred to Northeastern University to try again. I wanted more opportunities and a bigger campus. I wanted to be a Boston girl and a prestigious academic — things UNE simply could not offer me. My excitement blew out like a flame when I moved to Boston. Sophomore year was hard. I felt numb to the world around me. I barely tried to make friends. My classes were unfamiliar and difficult, and I spent a lot of time alone. The worst part was that I had chosen to be here. This was the direct result of my decision to move to Boston. I lied to my friends back home and said I loved the city. I was nervous to be transparent with my parents, who had made sacrifices for me to attend this school. My boyfriend was already a student at Northeastern and tried to help, but I didn’t want to drag down his fun sophomore year with my wallowing. The only person who made any of this feel normal was a girl I met at transfer orientation: Lila.
Lila had transferred from the University of Maryland and we instantly became friends. That year, she was another lifeline for me. We had different friend groups and schedules, but every week we found time to watch a movie, bake cookies or make spaghetti together. We would sit on the couch under a shared blanket, comparing notes on our transfer experiences. I cherished every moment I spent with her because it was the only time that year I didn’t feel like an outsider at my new school.
During my second semester at Northeastern, I started therapy, which helped a lot. One of the most valuable lessons I’ve learned at Northeastern is knowing when to ask for help. I used to believe I could do everything independently with unrelenting effort, but when I moved here, something felt wrong. I was paralyzed by fear — fear of failing a class, fear of not making friends, fear of wasting time and money by choosing a school I couldn’t handle. I had no energy to fight these feelings. I could only sit and let fear steal months away from me. My therapist did not push me to find new hobbies or rebuild the energy I once had; she merely listened to every frightful thought that hung in the air like fog, blurring my vision. She gave me the space to be sad and angry and nervous, so that I could eventually walk through the fog and find light on the other side.
In my junior year, I moved in with a girl named Ella, whom I had met through my boyfriend. That semester with Ella was full of late nights watching TV, singing wildly as we got ready to go out and hosting holidays for our friends in the living room. For the first time, I truly felt like a college student. It was only at that point that I realized I was good enough to go to Northeastern. I would be crying in my room, and Ella would knock, asking if we could watch our show. Then I’d join her on the couch and realize I wasn’t alone. Living with Ella was fun. She didn’t have to be a lifeline — instead, she was a shining disco ball, spinning and covering the apartment with glitter.
Later in junior year, I started my first and only co-op working in a Labor and Delivery Unit at a hospital. This experience felt like the ultimate symbol of the journey I had taken throughout my time in college. Working the overnight shift on this unit made me feel like I belonged in a world that had otherwise seemed daunting and overwhelming. Medicine is an intimidating career, but being a part of it, both working with and caring for unbelievably strong women, has inspired me to attend nursing school after graduation.
During my senior year, I moved into an apartment with Lila and another friend, Emi. Emi quickly became another source of laughter and companionship. She is one of the smartest people I know, and she always listens patiently when Lila and I second-guess our decisions.
My mom always tells me I zoom out too far. I try to look at the big picture all the time, but the picture is only complete once you put all the pieces together. There were many days of college when I cried on the phone, convinced that I was going to fail and that I wasn’t smart enough to be successful. She reminded me that the only thing I can control is what I’m doing right now, today. She would tell me that by the time I accomplished one goal, I would already be chasing the next. She once said, “That’s life, just keep finding what makes you feel alive.”
What makes me feel alive is being with my girlfriends. While I cherish every relationship I have built in college, my female friendships have been both my liferaft in the storm and my party boat in the harbor. When I reflect on my college experience, I can’t help but think of the women who carried me through the past four years. The women who let me cry on their shoulders, the women who baked my birthday cakes, the women who answered my calls in the middle of the night and the women who danced around the living room with me. After graduation, as we head out into the real world, I am prepared for any disasters I might face because I have these women to ride out the storm with me. So, here’s to the girls! I couldn’t live without you.