Harini P.
Photography by Jessica Pentel
Since high school my friends have described me as bubbly, extroverted, outgoing and never without a smile on my face. It wasn’t until recently that I realized their perception of who I am was not the person I was becoming.
But what was worse was I had grown fond of their labels for me. The Harini that everyone knew and loved was faultless and effortlessly charismatic. I was comfortable there in that narrative. I had everything anyone could ever want. And the thing is, I was happy. In high school.
So, when I came to UVA, I set out to continue being this best version of myself, the Harini that everyone adored. But in my second year of college, a rising sense of unsettlement pervaded my relationships. I no longer felt genuine. The labels I had worked for years to establish weighed heavy on every waking moment and interaction. I found myself questioning why I would feel sad all the time when I had everything I could have possibly wanted. I had plenty of adoring friends and was crushing school on the weekdays while having a full schedule on the weekends. I felt this pressure that I had to be the happy girl that my friends and family knew me to be. I started to feel frustrated with myself for being so “off” and craving more alone time, distancing and shutting myself out from the world.
The pandemic cemented these feelings. Though I felt alone and away from the people I loved, it was also comforting. It felt good to escape into the stability of my own thoughts and presence without the need to explain my desire for isolation to anyone. Once I came back to school, I was afraid the peaceful solitude I had grown to love would be questioned. Instead of being able to take time for myself as was normal during the pandemic, I felt like I had to explain why I wasn’t “going out” and making time to see my friends. I would go home almost every weekend to just sit in my room and dissociate from reality to avoid facing the fact that I was different. I was frustrated by the fact that the extroverted Harini who made these friends and built this life was now just someone I used to know. I was evolving into someone who did not fit the labels I had worked so hard to fulfill, changing who I was supposed to be.
The fall of fourth year, I was at my lowest point. It felt like I was just going through the motions, existing, and not living. I thought to be happy that each day had to be completely perfect and that a single “bad” event would ruin the entire day. And even though I kept these feelings to myself, I felt even more isolated from my friends and loved ones because little did they know that I started to feel like I did not want to be here anymore. It was crazy to me that I would walk to and from class, go to rehearsals, attend club meetings, and go out on the weekends, yet no one knew that the only thoughts that were consuming my mind were those of ending the constant emotional suffering that enveloped my being. I felt ashamed because I was living the quintessential college experience but was still so unhappy. I was falling out of love with myself as a person, constantly thinking about how much of a burden it was to just live. Even though these thoughts were simply thoughts, I was scared. I felt as if I was a shell of the person I used to and was supposed to be.
One day in November, I was hanging out with a friend on the lawn and she pointed out the leaves changing pretty fall colors, remarking how that was the best part of her day. I was stunned. How can one small thing, totally out of her control and unrelated to her life, make her day? I couldn’t stop thinking about this because for my whole life, I had been striving to make each day perfect. Because to me, perfection is what it meant to have a good day and be happy. I realized that our days are not sums of good and bad. A day filled with 50% of “good” is not what makes us genuinely happy people. Each day is comprised of moments where we decide whether we want to choose happiness and recognize them.
As kids, we go about our days being happy and carefree, our whole bodies fully immersed in the experience of being human. Finger painted hands and scraped knees simply a representation of our innocent commitment to pursuing joy. And the sad moments are rare. But as adults, we’ve become numb to the novelty of commonplace moments. We have to work to recognize and pursue the happiness each day brings. Learning this lesson changed my life. On January 1st, I started a project where I document one moment of happiness from each day. It can be small, like just getting some extra sleep, discovering a new favorite song, or hearing a funny joke. They can also be big, like seeing my family, traveling to Puerto Rico, and even getting into law school. No matter what it is, this project has forced me to seek the good in each day, even if I have to look extra hard.
Choosing to appreciate the small things in each day has shown me how to accept my changing personality with open arms. I am not always extroverted, smiling, and bubbly, and that’s okay. I’ve come to understand myself and people in general as beings who are not confined to the labels we created for ourselves and others perpetuate. We learn, grow, and change, and our unique response to what life throws our way is what makes us who we are.
Now, I know this is easier said than done. Do not get me wrong, some days are still very, very hard. I am still learning to love who I am and accept that we change as we grow and learn. Not every day is perfect, but reminding myself that there will always be a reason to smile, no matter how small, has changed my life. And maybe it can change yours, too.
Harini P., University of Virginia ‘22
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