Grace Y.
Photography by Hannah Facenda.
If you’re reading this, it’s okay if your college timeline looks different than you expected it to.
There was a period of time where I never thought I would be comfortable speaking openly about my year of medical leave with anyone beyond my closest friends and family. How times have changed.
I, like many others, used to think that there was one track to professional success: graduate at the top of my high school, get accepted to and attend a prestigious college, and either continue on to a higher level of education or enter the workforce. This uncompromising, inflexible path left no room for deviation. The phrase “leave of absence” seemed synonymous with failure. I never thought that I would be “one of those people” who was “unable” to complete college in four successive years.
Going into the fall of 2023, I had just completed my first round of research shadowing a postdoc at a non-solid tumor lab at Dana Farber. I was preparing for the MCAT, applying for clinical undergraduate positions for the following summer, and preparing for my second fall season of rowing. Everything was going according to plan. Until it wasn’t.
That year, my family had suffered 2 consecutive tragedies, one resulting in the death of someone I was incredibly close to. I then went through a particularly painful breakup, simultaneously losing my partner and my best friend in a way that left me riddled with self-doubt and insecurity. I started to question all of my friendships, self-isolate, and genuinely began to believe that while the world wouldn’t be a better place without me, it wouldn’t necessarily be a worse one either. Two weeks into classes, I had barely managed to attend two lectures, I wasn’t going to practice, and I spent days upon days alone in my room. My parents eventually became concerned, and decided that it would be best for me to fly home for a few days and try to help me find a therapist who could work on a plan to get me back to “normal”.
Without going into detail, I did not end up returning to school that semester. Or the following one. I was hospitalized, and needed a lot of time to physically and mentally recover. I am privileged enough to have access to some incredible healthcare professionals, programs, and treatment options; for this, I am eternally grateful. It was an arduous process, and simplifying it into a few sentences feels both impossible and inaccurate, but my mental health journey is not the only point of this story.
You see, during that time, I was exclusively focused on recovery. It was all-consuming, leaving little room to ponder much else. I was no longer thinking about college, career plans, friends, or relationships. For the first time in my life, I was solely focused on myself. Until one day, months later, something amazing happened: I began to feel better! While this is a gross simplification, it still felt like a relatively quick turnaround in many ways. My elation, however, was quickly overshadowed when a horrifying thought dawned on me: I have to go back to school now.
My first instinct was to flee. To transfer, to start over and never have to deal with the discomfort and embarrassment of explaining where I had been. But that was both impractical and unreasonable: I love Boston College. I love my friends, my team, my professors, the city, the one specific desk on 4th floor O’Neill that gets just enough sunlight. I wasn’t ready to throw all that away for the sake of my own pride. But this doesn’t mean it was easy. Honestly, coming back felt almost as hard (if not, in some ways, harder) than my recovery. My close friends and family tried to ease my worries– telling me that everyone is more focused on themselves than they are on me, that many people would hardly notice, that it would blow over after a week. How nice that would have been.
To be frank, it was exactly as difficult as I had imagined it to be. I tried to ease myself in by coming back to Boston during the spring– hoping to desensitize people to my presence– but I knew this would take time. I was soon barraged with what felt like hundreds of painfully unnerving situations. It felt mortifying. I found myself apologizing constantly for my presence, for surprising people with my return, for not explaining where I had been. I ran into people who informed me that they had been sent pictures of me on campus. I was shown text threads where people speculated about what had happened. I got told I looked “sick”, “frail”, “unhealthy”. I had the exact same painstakingly long and uncomfortable conversation about my year with at least a dozen people. I had to figure out where I was going to live, if I was going to return to the team, what I was going to do about my dropped classes.
There was no cheat code to making this all neatly resolve itself. No button to press that would force everyone to move on or take away my overwhelming shame. People were curious, and truly I can’t blame them for that. I probably would have been curious too (one of my biggest takeaways from all this has been to gossip less- you really never know what is going on with someone, and it can be harmful to speculate. After all, who am I to judge?).
While I would most likely not choose to go through this again, I can confidently say that it was one of the most valuable experiences of my life. Once I learned how to lean into the discomfort, it became my superpower. Because, when I led with authenticity and honesty, I realized that the rest was out of my control. People could think about my situation what they would. All I could do was be as transparent as I was comfortable. I began to learn how to unapologetically exist in a world where it had initially felt like I needed to apologize for the inconvenience that my personal drama had caused.
It wasn’t perfect, it wasn’t linear, and it definitely didn’t fly by. But somehow, the fall of 2024 rolled around, and I walked back on campus with a newfound confidence that I had never had, even before I had taken the year off. Sure, I may be one of the oldest juniors any of you will encounter at BC (22 is the new 21, is it not?). But I would so much rather be here as the geriatric upperclassman than not be here (whether it be at this school or on this planet) at all.
This year has been my favorite yet. Not just of college, but of my life in general (except maybe for 2008- man, I would love to do kindergarten one more time). And yes, much of that has had to do with my compassionate friends, my supportive teammates, my loving family, and this amazing school. But beyond that, it has to do with me finally accepting myself even when others may not. And that lesson was worth every difficult encounter, every awkward moment, every tear (and there were many!), and everything to me.
If you ever find yourself returning from time off, for whatever reason, know this: you are not alone. Some of the best years could be ahead of you. And isn’t that worth it, regardless of how different your path may be from anyone else? And hey, if it ever feels like too much, never hesitate to reach out. While I know you can do it alone, sometimes it can be a bit more manageable with the support of others to fall back on. It may be scary at times, but one thing is inarguably true: You deserve to come back, and this campus will be better if you are here.
Grace Y., Boston College
CONNECT WITH US
To follow IfYoureReadingThis at Boston College on Instagram, get in touch with our chapter, and learn about more resources available to Boston College students, visit our chapter’s homepage.
Author COntact
This author has opted to allow readers who resonate with their story to contact them. If you would like to speak to the author of this letter about their experience, please use the form below.
