I often caught myself overthinking. I paused before sending a text, replaying the words in my head. I hesitated in class discussions, wondering if I’m doing too much or if my question is too stupid, risking my peers laughing at me. I compared myself to people on fancy boat trips or those who seemed to have a “much better life” than I, by not showcasing the ugly sides of things I have experienced since being here.Â
For a long time, I thought this meant I was insecure by nature and that everyone else had figured something out that I hadn’t. But eventually, I started to recognize the pattern. These reactions weren’t random. They were learned.
High school created this version of me, where I was forced to monitor myself. I learned when to stay quiet, when to soften my opinions, and when to laugh things off before anyone could laugh at me first. Caring too much wasn’t a flaw — it was how I stayed safe from 4 years of pure embarrassment. Attention could turn into gossip, confidence could turn into embarrassment, and standing out felt risky. So, I learned to shrink, blend, and care deeply about being approved of.
Breaking these habits happened with simple confidence. It showed up in the form of not caring on purpose. I started small. I sent texts without rereading them six times. I spoke in class before rehearsing my thoughts, realizing that asking the question is more important than what people think about it. I wore what I liked without worrying about whether it “fit in.” Each time felt liberating, like loosening a grip I didn’t realize I was holding. I became someone that my high school self would be proud of and look up to.
The art of not caring is realizing everyone else is doing just that. College is all about figuring out your own life and claiming your own voice because, at the end of the day, getting your thoughts out there matters more than caring about what others think of you. And that is the most freeing part of it all, because everyone is also in their own bubble. I healed my inner high school self by claiming my voice in places I used to shrink.
I healed by choosing authenticity over performance. I stopped softening my feelings and my words to make others comfortable. I allow myself to be annoyed, frustrated, and excited without apologizing for it. I stopped pretending that everything is “fine” when it isn’t, and I learned to sit with my emotions without the fear that someone would use them against me.
I healed by letting go of comparison. I stopped measuring my progress with other people’s lives. Instead, I started keeping track of my growth, celebrating the small wins — a good presentation, a hard conversation I had, or a moment I stood up for myself — without needing anyone else to notice.
I healed by setting boundaries, something my high school self never dared to do because I was afraid the few friends I did have would turn on me. I realize that “no” is a sentence in itself. I say no to things that make me uncomfortable when I just am not feeling it that day and want a free moment. I started valuing my mental and personal health over a false version of me that makes people more comfortable. And with each “no” to things I don’t like and “yes” to those I do, I feel a little more like myself.Â
In learning to let go of the rules that once held me back, I’ve discovered the quiet power of simply existing unapologetically.
Some days, the urge to care still creeps back in. I still hesitate. I still compare. But now I notice it for what it is: an old instinct, not a truth. And instead of judging myself for it, I let it pass.
If any of this feels familiar, maybe you’re in the middle of the same process. Maybe not caring isn’t something you’ve mastered, but something you practice, again and again, until it starts to feel lighter. Maybe healing doesn’t look like confidence, but like giving yourself permission — permission to speak, to take up space, to exist without constantly checking how you’re being perceived. Maybe, in choosing that permission for myself, I’m quietly choosing it for the version of me who once believed she had to earn her place.