Alexandria H.
Photography by Julia Thompson
If you’re reading this, you do not have to prove to this world that you deserve to take up space. Deny the urge to make yourself small. You have a right to fill every room that you walk in.
From a young age, I believed that I had to prove myself to earn my spot at any table I sat at. I had a very disillusioned perception of myself, feeling as if I was inferior to those around me. I refused to sit in this feeling, so I decided it was necessary to overcompensate by attempting to be what I deemed the “best” version of myself. This idea of the “best” manifested in various, seemingly harmless, forms. In high school, this desire appeared by turning down social invites to pull all-nighters, maintain executive positions in every club I could join, and sacrifice my peace for the validation that would come. I never found any fault with this routine, it was all I had ever known. I was praised for my hard work and determination by others who said that I would surely be rewarded in the “long-run,” but I had been in the “long-run” for ages, and I had nothing to show for it but my shimmering accolades and a looming emptiness deep within me.
When I began college, the real awakening came. I was a control freak in its purest form, and I had decided I needed control over every aspect of my life. Within weeks of beginning freshman year, I met with an academic coach to help me adjust to the college workload. While my goal for this meeting was to learn how to efficiently manage my time, I ended up leaving with a more valuable lesson. She removed the mask that I was fooled into believing was my true self, leaving me with a difficult pill to swallow: the illusion of perfection. The first time we met I explained everything I needed to do and before I could finish my first couple sentences she stopped me, pushed the papers between us aside, and asked me one of the most valuable questions I have been asked: “Can we stop for a minute? Are you okay?” My immediate response was to smile brightly and say, “Yes!” She followed up with an unconvinced, “Really?” I had to stop and ponder the question. I went to the bathroom for a moment to collect myself. When I returned, we had a very honest conversation about how I was feeling and the heaviness I was carrying with me. She introduced me to a method of budgeting time throughout the day to each task. She encouraged me to budget time in the day as “open,” which was when I had to force myself to take a break. I thought it was comical, really. I didn’t need a break. Looking back, I realize that it had gotten to the point that when I didn’t have something scheduled for me to be doing at a certain point in the day I was overcome with anxious thoughts; this was my way of having control, but in these “open” periods I lost that. On my first attempt, I set a timer, and was unable to sit and watch a TV show for the 30-minute span I had set. Within mere weeks, I experienced burnout and found myself struggling to build an identity outside of my desire for perfection. My loved ones expressed their concern on multiple occasions as my years in college went by, which I pushed off as them not understanding that I can balance everything the way I always have. The issue was that the way I had always conducted myself was quite flawed, because I had abandoned regard for how I truly felt.
One day I read a quote that said, “I can’t celebrate my achievements because, in my mind, it was my obligation to achieve them.” I immediately resonated with the words as I considered the things in my life that most people would consider worthy of praise, and the way I viewed them as just another task checked off of the neverending checklist. I began to consider these same tasks: high assessment scores, next rounds of interviews, job offers, merit scholarships, etc. Each of these milestones are achievements that I would offer praise and empathy to others for achieving with such grace, yet I had none for myself. This variation in perspective was a testament to the destructive mindset I needed to reverse. I had never been taught to show myself gentleness, love, or compassion. You can imagine the difficulty that came with my attempts to rewire the way I thought after nearly two decades of thinking this way.
As time went on, I reminded myself daily that I did not have to prove that I deserved to be here; I could simply be here. I needed to ground myself in the thought that there was not an audience that I was constantly performing for, there was only me. And after enough time went on I began to believe it.
Alexandria H., University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill
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