I think we can all agree that college application season is the worst — especially for someone who has hyper-fixated on her dream school for as long as she can remember (it’s me, hi). Ever since I saw Gabriella Montez get accepted to Stanford and Rory Gilmore living her dream at Yale, I knew that getting into my dream college was my ultimate goal, and the sweet escape from all my problems (unhealthy, I know, but that’s a story for another time). The idea of getting into my university of choice was romanticized, an almost magical portal to a future life, but the reality was a bit different.
This hyper-romanticization of college grew to consume every aspect of my life, to the point where by the time I reached the August preceding my senior year, I was utterly burnt out. I could barely get out of bed, and I was going through a depressive episode. During my four years of high school I had gotten into the habit of people-pleasing, and the concept of saying “no” was utterly foreign to me. Taking on extra-credit work that my teachers offered felt like a silent pact I had to uphold.
I felt myself disintegrate into floating parts, as if I was slowly breaking into pieces — my identity was being fragmented by the weight of my own expectations. I willingly dove into the labyrinth of equations and essays whenever my friends needed help with their homework, my desperate need for approval shining through. But perhaps the most detrimental form of people-pleasing was the one I subjected myself to. I set standards of perfection so high for my work that they felt more like a tightrope than an achievable goal. I was breaking myself into pieces, willingly giving the fragment away to satisfy the insatiable expectations of others. And it was working. I felt worthy. I felt enough, maybe even good enough to apply to my dream school.
This endless pursuit of validation was undoubtedly wearing on my mental health, transforming it into a battleground where my own self-worth was constantly on the line.
But there was always a need for more: the validation seemed harder to attain, and there was constantly more to do, and higher expectations to fulfill. This endless pursuit of validation was undoubtedly wearing on my mental health, transforming it into a battleground where my own self-worth was constantly on the line. A vicious cycle was set in motion: The more I pleased others, the more I felt validated, yet the more impossible it became to step off the treadmill.
But in an almost miraculous way, the very cause of my debilitating anxiety became an unexpected savior for my mental health: college applications. In the summer preceding my senior year in high school, I began brainstorming for my college application essay. In a blank bullet journal, I began plotting out my life, relentlessly searching for the aspect of my lived experience that would render me most interesting to an admissions committee.
Yet, my inspiration came in an interesting way. Almost subconsciously, I found myself stitching the floating pieces of my identity together, and in the quiet confines of the page, I was rediscovering myself. I characteristically remember myself writing, “The calligraphic curves of the letters filling my diaries are the spikes in my lifeline,” and to this day, I consider this the most true statement about myself. For as long as I can remember, writing has operated as my means of understanding myself and my place in this world: There was something about the sensation of my thoughts becoming material, the idea that they exist on a piece of paper outside the cluster of my mind, that always gave me peace. Writing became the lifeline that connected the fractured pieces of my identity. Each word, each sentence, was a step toward self-discovery and healing.
The act of writing became a mirror, reflecting my experiences, values, and ambitions. Through this introspective process, I was able to piece myself back together, but this time, with a deeper understanding of who I was and what I aspired to be.
As I navigated the maze of college applications, amidst the plethora of advice, lists of dos and don’ts found on the internet, and guidance from college counselors, one piece of advice stood out and became my guiding star — just introduce yourself, it was as simple as that. The very essence of what I was asked to do in college essays was an extension of what I had been practicing for years; I just had to stitch the pieces together with words. And so I did: With every word I was writing, editing, pondering on, and sometimes deleting, I was not only a step closer to my dream school but I was also well on my way to self-discovery.
It was a journey of introspection, a process of unearthing the narratives that defined my life and piecing them together with the delicate threads of language. Each sentence was a bridge that connected different facets of my identity. The process was not about fabricating a perfect persona to impress an admissions committee; it was about excavating the genuine me and allowing that person to shine through the pages of my application.
In the end, it wasn’t only about getting into my dream college. It was about emerging from the application process with a much better understanding of myself. As I crafted my essays, I not only answered the questions posed but I also delved deep into my own psyche, uncovering layers of my own identity that I had never fully appreciated before. The act of writing became a mirror, reflecting my experiences, values, and ambitions. Through this introspective process, I was able to piece myself back together, but this time, with a deeper understanding of who I was and what I aspired to be.
The college application process, which had initially felt like a perilous obstacle course, became a transformative journey of self-discovery. The essays, the interviews, and the introspective moments spent putting pen to paper were more than just a means to an end. They were a pathway to personal growth and resilience. I emerged from the process not only with the hope of pursuing higher education but with a newfound appreciation for the power of self-expression and self-discovery. In the end, I realized that the college application process, for all its challenges and tribulations, had not broken me; it had forged me into a more self-assured and introspective version of myself. It was, unexpectedly, an experience that not only propelled me toward my academic dreams but also nurtured my mental well-being.
If you or someone you know is seeking help for mental health concerns, visit the National Alliance on Mental Illness (NAMI) website, or call 1-800-950-NAMI(6264). For confidential treatment referrals, visit the Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration (SAMHSA) website, or call the National Helpline at 1-800-662-HELP(4357). In an emergency, contact the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-TALK(8255) or call 911.