Photo Courtesy of Creative Commons
The date is Sunday, May 3, 2020. It’s nearly 80 degrees outside and I find myself sitting on a picnic blanket in the broken shade of a park tree. Six feet to my left, ahead of me and to my right sit three of my hometown friends, all masked and basking in the sunlight of the first warm day in months. How strange it is to be so close and yet so far apart.
Each of us confined to the small square of our own blanket, we chat and catch up on all the things we’ve missed while being away at college. For a moment, nothing has changed. Nothing seems different except for the two yards of empty air that now separate us.
Some days, like today, that distance feels like inches. Other days it feels like miles.
Adjusting to the way the world has become has been strange. Every day the reality of our situation hits a little harder, digs a little deeper into the heart, until what once seemed like a distant mystery becomes a nightmare taking place in your own backyard. It’s so unnerving to so suddenly feel so helpless.
Change is an awfully fickle thing. Sometimes it comes in an instant, but other times it creeps up on you ever so slowly, and you only realize what has happened after the change has come and gone, and something forces you to look back on it. I never truly realized how much I had changed this year until I returned back home.
I grew up in a suburban town in Massachusetts, walking the line between shyness and confidence for most of my life. I take great pride in being a storyteller; I often joke with my hometown friends that it’s because I never really told stories until my sophomore year of high school, and then once I started talking, I just couldn’t get myself to stop. It took me a long time to come out of my shell, but I never want to return to it.
When I tell my college friends about my shyness, it’s often really hard for them to imagine me as the quiet girl that I once was. I’m incredibly loud and outgoing now, and a lot of that only came to be once I got to college. Taking that final step out of my shell and moving so far from home allowed me to flourish in ways that I could have only dreamed of when I was still in high school.
It wasn’t just my confidence that has strengthened during college. In the past year, I’ve found myself on the Dean’s list and joined lots of student-run organizations. I even joined the Hofstra women’s rugby team. In high school, I had a lot more academic struggles and never would have considered myself to be an athlete. I have never been prouder to say that the things I’ve managed to accomplish in college so far would have blown my own mind even just a year ago.
Coming back home after classes were cancelled, I found myself sinking deeper and deeper into my old ways. There’s something about being home that just makes you want to do nothing at all. It became significantly harder to keep up with all of the organizations I had happily connected myself with back on campus. My work ethic dwindled, and I felt my inner 16-year-old coming out again, ready to ignore my homework and hide in my room watching YouTube. Where was the girl I had worked so hard to become?
The answer is: she’s still here. She just got a little lost in the shuffle. One of the most unexpected parts of all of this is having to find myself once again and be okay that the pieces I recover may not make a full puzzle quite yet. I started this journey of isolation almost afraid to try to live my life normally again, out of fear that I wouldn’t thrive as well as I did on campus. But that kind of fear only made me lose myself more. Sure, I may not have the strength to last through a whole rugby tournament right now, but if I can get myself out of the house to jog around the neighborhood, that’s certainly a good start. Progress is slow, but even slowly putting the pieces of myself back together is better than leaving them scattered across the floor. The more pieces you pick up, the more the puzzle becomes recognizable again, and everything becomes more bearable.
I know my story is by no means unique. College can be a safe haven and a place to flourish for people who struggled in their hometowns, and having that environment ripped away from you can be devastating. If you, out there reading this right now, are struggling with finding yourself again, know that I see you. You are not alone. See if you can find just one puzzle piece of yourself and hold it close, even if that means something as simple as brushing your teeth before bed. It doesn’t have to be big, it doesn’t have to be extravagant, as long as it’s a part of you. More pieces will slowly find their way to you from there. You will find yourself again, trust me.
