On October 5, 2015, I realized that I am not, in fact, Superwoman. I do not have superhuman powers of scheduling and time management. I do not have the ability to pull a successive week-long string of all-nighters. I also do not have a badass cape in my closet (although I wish I did).
On October 5, 2015, I realized that the schedule of classes and extracurricular activities I had undertaken was far too much for me to handle. I realized that I was in way over my head, and that if I didn't make some changes soon, I would be headed for a nervous breakdown.
On October 5, 2015, I broke down crying in my dorm room. I sat down at my desk at around 7:30 pm, took one glance at my overfilled Lilly Pulitzer agenda, and completely lost it. Staring at my agenda had never felt so reminiscent of impending doom. In front of me loomed reminders of hundreds of pages of reading for each of my five academic classes; two essays due later in the week, neither of which I had had the time to give even a moment's thought to; a test on Wednesday that I had not had time to begin studying for; and a writing assignment due Wednesday, a summary for a particularly lengthy and scholarly article that I hadn't even begun to read.
I had never felt so distinctly trapped in my entire life. I felt as though I was bound in chains by my schedule and all my homework. I felt like there was no way out of this deep, dark hole that I had dug myself into.
My gut response was to call my older brother. He was almost always available to talk, and since he had been through college, I knew that he would have the wisdom I needed. When he answered the phone, I spilled everything to him. I told him about how I felt completely overwhelmed, like I was trapped in a cage underwater. I told him about how I was never able to start my mountains of homework before 10 at night, because I never had substantive free time in my day to do homework before then. I told him about how I felt like my schoolwork was controlling my life, and how I rarely went out on the weekends because I simply didn't have the time to spare from doing homework. I told him that I felt like everyone around me was flourishing, while I was floundering just to barely stay afloat. I told him that I was miserable, that I felt stuck in this situation that I was not content being in. I needed a way out, but it had gotten to the point where I didn't even know how to begin to help myself.
With my brother's advice, support, and love (sidenote: Paul, you are the best brother I could ever ask for - I don't know what I would do without you!), I decided to drop two of my six classes: one of my academic classes (my least favorite class, which also happened to be the one that was giving me the most homework and that didn't count toward my major) and one of my two choir classes. My brother helped me realize that there simply weren't enough free hours in the day for me to do all the homework for all of my classes, and that if I didn't drop some classes, things would never get better. My brother helped me put into action what I had realized via an extremely rude awakening: it wasn't simply "a bad week" or "an unusually heavy workload" as I had justified it. This was a continuously overloaded schedule that was never going to get better - if anything, it was only going to get worse.
Dropping two of my classes has been only positive; I feel exponentially less stressed, I'm able to devote the necessary time to all of my classes, and perhaps most importantly, I have time to have fun! But even though I knew that dropping two classes was the right choice to make, one of the hardest parts about admitting that I was over-scheduled was the accompanying feeling of failure. I felt like I was failing at the whole college thing, like I was struggling where everyone else was thriving. Going into college, I certainly never expected to have to drop two classes just so I would have time to do homework and sleep, and because of that, it felt like this issue was an example of my life not going as I had planned it to. It felt like this setback was ruining the college experience that I had hoped to be able to look back upon fondly.
I will admit that it took a little while before I stopped feeling this way. It took a little while before I could stop beating myself up about staying in to do homework while it seemed like everyone else was out having fun. It took some time for me to truly let myself mess up . But I finally realized that I had nothing to be ashamed about. Yes, I was that overly ambitious freshman who seriously thought that I could take six classes and have time to do all my homework and have fun...and sleep...and eat. Yes, I was that overachieving freshman who thought that I could pack my college schedule as much as I had packed my high school schedule and still remain sane. Yes, I was that naïve freshman who thought that taking five academic classes (already exceeding the recommended four classes per semester) plus two choir classes "wouldn't be that bad, since choir isn't technically a class." HA. Before I actually started living my schedule, I didn't realize how much time I would be spending in class , and that time spent in class is time taken away from doing homework (and sleeping...and eating) - and that was without extracurriculars!
Sure, my first few weeks at college didn't go as planned. I slept much less than I should have. I went out less than I wanted to. I certainly cried more than I wanted to. But what's important is that I learned from my mistake , and that I've made changes for the better. Life isn't perfect, and I am most definitely not perfect, and it is for those reasons that it's okay that my first few weeks at college weren't as perfect as I had imagined them to be. I wear my typical-overachieving-freshman status with pride, knowing that my mistake lends character to my college memories. I know that with my lightened schedule, I'm on my way to truly enjoying my freshman year in both academics and leisure, and I have my rookie mistake to thank for that.
