Patrick C.
Photography by Dominick Fini
If you’re reading this, you deserve to feel like you belong.
I entered this university during the height of the Covid-19 Pandemic. I thought I was ready for some semblance of normalcy as it was time for me to begin the next chapter of my life. There were so many firsts I was ready to experience in college: living away from home for the first time, being fully out in my sexuality and gender expression, and getting to choose my own schedule. But I ended up being bombarded by many firsts I never wished for.
Before I even set foot on Grounds, something was wrong. I was nearly paralyzed with fear every time it was my turn to speak in class. I remember the first time I had to introduce myself to my French class, my hand shook over my mouse in my room at home. I was terrified any time I had to speak because everything felt more important now. I’m in college now, I thought. You can’t mess up like you did in high school. As each class passed by, I mentally berated myself for not understanding what the professor said quickly enough. I put more and more pressure on myself to perform above any standard I had set in high school, and as a result, I only became more stressed.
When it was time for me to move in, I had an idea that my life would be a movie. I moved into my dorm on my 18th birthday, and UVA would be the setting of a new stage of my life. The rose tint and vignette immediately stopped once I got on Grounds. To be candid, I had never seen so many white people in my life. I walked past O-Hill field littered with people playing spike ball and people in high-priced athleisure. I suppressed my initial shock and carried on to finish moving in. I walked to the dining hall and was immediately overwhelmed by the droves of people who all seemed to know where they were going. They walked with a sense of excitement and entitlement that I had never felt before. I hadn’t seen this many people in the same space in six months so I didn’t know what to do with myself. Eventually, I got some food and sat at a table by myself. Within the first five minutes, I saw two people from my former high school. They were polite and said hi to me, but I was afraid to continue a conversation past quick pleasantries since they were with two other girls I hadn’t met before. As the semester went on, and I saw these people from my high school in passing, I was convinced that our college trajectories had been set: they belonged at UVA, and I had no business waving to them anymore.
Time went on and I felt odd being seen walking in public on the way to the dining hall or even to my hall bathroom. In the wake of the social justice movements of 2020, I had this recurring thought that the world I lived in and the university I attended weren’t made for me. I began to notice more and more signs that my health was declining. I became nauseous very often, and it was difficult for me to eat. I would zone out anytime I had to walk past someone on the sidewalk because the thoughts in my head were yelling that I was out of place.
If it hadn’t been for one of my friends that first semester, I don’t know if I would still be at UVA, let alone be alive. She listened to all of the struggles that I was going through, and she gently encouraged me to embrace those feelings. After some time, I realized I had signs of anxiety, so we talked about how I would take care of myself when I got home. She checked in on me over winter break, and I was lucky to get the professional mental health support that I needed. I was informed that my diagnosis also included depression. This was a turning point in my life because I decided I would no longer run from my mental health status.
In the second semester, I took a different approach to being at UVA. So much of what dictated my first semester was anxiety over being in the minority. I was afraid to be seen walking to get food, walking to shower in my building, and participating in class. Fear tainted my first experience because I couldn’t imagine what being a visible part of UVA would look like for me. But I asked myself why I was afraid to perform the most basic tasks of being a college student. Where did this pressure come from? During the first few weeks of second semester, I decided to shamelessly embrace being seen for who I was.
This is not to say that it happened instantly. It took months of affirmations and talking to myself on the sidewalk as I walked past groups of people who I felt were staring at me. I wondered what it was about my existence that drew their attention. There were nights when I cried in my bed and skipped class, so I could come more prepared and be in a healthier headspace. I started to embrace that I could never live up to the image of an idealized UVA student. Imperfection became my idea of perfection, and I saw beauty in the ways I reflected that imperfection and messiness. This became my biggest shield and a constant reminder that helped me understand how I fit into the landscape of UVA.
In a state where the Black population is ~19%, I deserve to feel like I belong at my public institution. I deserve to take up my space knowing that I along with my Black peers represent only 5% of UVA’s population. The voices, stories, and identities of the people this university marginalizes deserve to feel like they belong. To those who hold marginalized identities, if you’re reading this, you deserve to feel like you belong. You are loved, and this is our school.
Patrick C. (they/them), University of Virginia
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