Isabelle G.
Photography by Hannah Facenda
If you’re reading this, you will feel okay again.
In 2021, I was so excited to begin my freshman year at BC. I stepped onto campus full of hope and enthusiasm for the things I would learn and the new relationships I would form. However, adjusting to my new environment proved harder than I had hoped. I struggled to manage the balancing act of a rigorous academic schedule, new social relationships, and adjusting to life away from home. The novelty of college life had a fading allure.
I soon began to experience a level of anxiety that I never knew to be possible. I have always had some anxiety – mostly surrounding academics. However, this was different. This anxiety came about intensely and all at once. I can’t describe exactly how it felt other than all-consuming. Rounded edges felt sharp and quiet sounds were loud. My brain and body were constantly on high alert and I struggled to regulate my emotions. Everything felt big, and I felt so incredibly small.
Before this, I had always been able to control my anxiety. But nobody could have convinced me in these moments that I would ever feel better. I began to isolate myself because being alone felt better than burdening others with my struggles. I worried that my anxiety made me unlikeable. I worried that I would lose more friendships if the monster I thought existed inside of me showed herself.
Over winter break, I cried to my mom and screamed that I hated my brain. What once felt like my strongest asset became my enemy. I didn’t have the capacity to employ my rational brain and no amount of learned coping skills and regulation strategies could have helped at that time. I didn’t recognize that I was sinking until I was drowning. Medication was the only thing that helped me in that moment. I never wanted to manage my anxiety with medication, but it helped fix my brain so I could heal my mind.
Eventually, I found myself again. I was still in there. It took time, sunshine, and willpower to pull me out of a dark winter spent feeling like a shell of myself. Springtime felt lighter and I gained the energy to take the small steps toward feeling better. I made new connections and found friends who loved me through it all.
When I think back on this time, my body remembers exactly what it was like. I feel tense and my heart begins to race. But my brain is so different at 22 than it was at 18. I’m more rational and slower to jump to catastrophe. I’ve broken the anxious pathways that once felt so ingrained. I recognize that I was never a bad friend and I was always just trying my best. I have learned to love myself through my anxiety, and I no longer see my brain as the enemy.
If you are looking for a sign that things get better, here it is. You will find yourself again and those who love you will see you through.
If you’re reading this, I’m rooting for you.
Isabelle G., Boston College
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