Learning to be me

People often say that college was the best time of their lives. My family, older friends and teachers all said high school was terrible. “All you have to do is make it through,” they would say. “After high school, you can go to college and find your place in the world.”

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I never understood what they meant. My high school experience was honestly fantastic. I had good grades, a close friend group, leadership roles in many of my extracurriculars, and was one of the stars of our drama club. How could my life possibly get better?

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When I accepted my offer to Miami University, I was ready to begin that new life of adventure everyone had told me about.

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The truth is, that wasn’t the case.

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When I moved into my residence hall my first year, I was scared out of my mind. I dreaded when my parents would leave and I’d be on my own. As an only child, I had never been far from them. When the moment finally came and I was left standing outside my dorm, I had never felt more alone in my life.

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Circumstances did not get much better in the days that followed. Earlier that summer, I signed up for one of Miami’s pre-semester programs. It allowed me to move in a week early, which I had thought would be a great way to meet people. That dream quickly turned into a nightmare.

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The students in the program only wanted to talk about drinking and partying. As someone who is not big on the partying scene, I felt like an outsider.

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As if that wasn’t enough, I had to hear all the girls wax sonnets on missing their long-term boyfriends. Meanwhile, all I could add was that I dated a guy for a month during my freshman year of high school and had been single ever since. Based on the looks they gave me, I can only assume that being single for more than four years was alien to them.

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After a painful week of small talk and trying to get used to my new life, classes finally started. Fortunately, I didn’t have to keep these new “friends” and used my coursework as a scapegoat to not talk with them anymore.

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Homework kept me company on the weekends; textbooks were what I hung out with.

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Then, I only had one close friend. We met through our Learning Living Community class, and we both trauma-bonded over how awful it was. We always grabbed dinner together and had weekly movie nights.

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Although I had a friend, I still kept to myself. I never went anywhere besides my club meetings. It took a long time for me to connect with people there. I would excuse myself from going to parties; instead, I’d stay up late, ensuring my homework was done perfectly.

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After some time, I made a few friends through the clubs I joined, but some part of me always felt alone or disconnected. I found it difficult to connect with people in my classes, and I found myself looking down to avoid eye contact with people.

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I kept this pattern up for the rest of my first year, bouncing between socializing with the handful of friends I managed to make and dealing with the crippling sense of being alone.

When I went home for summer break, all my high school friends talked about how much they missed college. Meanwhile, I was questioning whether I had made the right call to not transfer to a different school.

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Then, inexplicably, as the summer days dragged on and I celebrated my 20th birthday, I suddenly got the feeling that everything would be okay.

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That summer, I focused on building up my confidence. I performed in my local community theater’s production of “Beauty and the Beast.” I was Silly Girl #5 and spent a whole summer fawning over the guy playing Gaston. Although my best friend from high school and I did the show together, I made a concerted effort to branch out and make new friends from the cast. Doing this made me realize that being authentic helps me figure out who truly appreciates and respects me as a friend.

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Once I figured this out, and the closer I got to my move-in date for sophomore year, the more content I felt. I knew what I needed to do to make myself more comfortable. So much so that the only person in my family that was calm on move-in day was me.

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Even though branching out and making new friends wasn’t the only thing that changed me this summer, I still didn’t fully understand why I suddenly felt okay with returning to school. Was it that I had become closer to my college friends over break? I spent a lot of time texting with friends I had made my first year, checking in and catching up. I even went on a shopping trip with one of them before school started.

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Or was it my newfound confidence, knowing that I could be my authentic self and make friends? After reflecting on my experiences over the summer and talking to my friends and family, I realized that at a university of nearly 20,000 students, I didn’t have to try hard to impress everyone I met.

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When sophomore year began, I immediately noticed I was acting differently.

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One day in class, I realized I was actually having a conversation with my seat neighbor.

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I never used to do that. I always tried to get through class as undetected as possible. I only socialized with my classmates if I was forced through a group project or class discussion. Yet, this year seemed different.

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Within the first few weeks, I made two new friends in my world politics class. I even advised a first-year student, telling them that the professor wouldn’t mind if they went to the bathroom during our 200-person lecture and gave them directions on how to get there.

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For the first time since I arrived at Miami, I felt like I would be okay here. I had my friend group and the activities I liked. I didn’t miss my family as much or feel the need to go home as frequently. I finally felt like I had found my place in the world, and that I truly belonged here.

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I now walk down the street with newfound confidence. In fact, I have so much confidence that not only do I make eye contact with the people I pass, but I give a little smile as well. (And the crazy thing is, most people smile back!)

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I don’t worry so much about how I look or what clothes I’m wearing. It doesn’t matter that my hair looks nice or if I have an acne spot the size of Mt. Vesuvius. What really matters is that, for once, I feel comfortable with who I am.

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I no longer need to hide that I wear my old theater shirts or that my hair hates Oxford’s humidity. I’ve let go of the fear of missing out on parties or events I never really wanted to attend in the first place.

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I can sit in my room and do homework, read a book or catch up on the mountain of TV shows on my “to watch” list. People may think I’m odd, but quite frankly, I don’t care.

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It’s not that my personality drastically changed or anything. I’m still me in the sense that I’m still the happiest, nicest, most opinionated person you will ever meet. It’s just that I’m more comfortable letting my true personality shine through.

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I’ve realized that in a sea of 20,000 students, I shouldn't have to worry about fitting in or conforming to everyone else – doing that only made me miserable.

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Last summer, I realized that embracing my quirks and doing what truly makes me happy is what defines me. There’s no point in hiding who I am just to impress others.

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Miami students probably don’t care what I look like or what my habits are, so why should I?

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I can now be unapologetically myself, confident that everything else will be okay.

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