V

aledictorian. Editor-in-chief. 
Vice President. President. AP 
Scholar. Lead Role. Part-time 

job and God knows what else. This 
describes high school me, like it does 
for many of us on campus.

I had it all together in high school. 

I put effort into everything I involved 
myself in, certainly, but I always 
received what I wanted: an A in a class, 
a raise, a well-done project or 
an emotional boost. As long as 
I tried, I achieved my desired 
perfection. I did not know my 
high school had been on the 
list of the worst performing 
schools in Michigan until 
I graduated, but even if I 
had, I doubt that would have 
scared my younger self when 
preparing for my transition to 
college.

I came to Michigan knowing 

I would be challenged by 
thousands of great minds, 
many my age. I felt ready, 
and was excited whenever 
I thought about my new 
“Victors 
2021” 
identity 
— 

especially 
inserting 
the 

hashtag into my Twitter and 
Instagram bios. I thought I 
knew what I was getting into, 
and felt extremely ready. “It 
won’t be that bad,” I believed.

I quickly realized that I 

didn’t know what I was doing.

I was challenged beyond 

what I felt my brain capacity 
allowed 
academically, 

mentally 
and 
emotionally. 

Mentally 
and 
physically, 

I 
experienced 
complete 

drainage.

And to make things worse, 

I believed I was the only 
freshman who felt this way. 
My sanity felt as though it had 
been stretched so thin, like 
how a rubber band loses its 
elasticity each time you use it, 
until eventually it just snaps.

Everyone else seemed to 

have 
their 
academic 
and 

social lives together; good 
grades, friend groups, club 
acceptances and everything else I 
couldn’t attain. While my consistent 
lack of self-confidence didn’t aid in 
these 
frustrations 
I 
experienced, 

I couldn’t understand what I was 
doing wrong. I kept my nose in my 
books while maintaining the balance 
of seeing friends, writing for The 
Daily and attending a party when 
I could. I tried to get enough sleep 

because I cannot function without 
my eight hours. I checked every detail 
of my resume as I sent it to clubs or 
companies. I did everything everyone 
else was doing, and perhaps even 
more.

Yet, I was struggling to get where I 

wanted while everyone else seemingly 
zoomed past me.

“Why am I struggling even when I 

put so much time into everything I do? 
Why was I even accepted here?”

Many nights, I cried into my pillow 

with these recurring thoughts. I 
couldn’t understand why I felt I was 
doing so horribly. I felt I was learning 
more in a semester than I felt I had 
learned in four years of high school. 
Yet, when the time came around, I 
became lucky if I earned an average 

grade, even though I had prepared 
more than many people I knew. My 
peers went to me asking for help 
with course material, yet they earned 
higher grades than I did. No matter 
what I did, I was not enough.

But, with this, my soul still felt 

lost. I worked my ass off but wasn’t 
rewarded like I was in high school. I 
read my textbooks, went to class and 

office hours, participated and studied. 
I put the time into my academic 
relationship with school. All of this 
occurring while I slipped further 
into the cracks of lacking self-worth 
and confusion of whether I belonged 
at this school. I loved Michigan but 
thought Michigan didn’t love me.

I remember telling my mom in 

many tearful phone conversations 

that I wanted to drop out. I wasn’t 
good enough for Michigan. I put my 
academics first yet seemed like I 
always finished last. I believed I had 
failed myself. Others had everything 
they could ever want, and I was 
struggling to make it through.

However, after sobbing to three 

friends about my stress when they 
rushed to my room because they saw 

my face soaked with tears 
in the hall, I realized that 
many students felt like I did. 
They were also exhausted, 
lost 
and 
confused. 
They 

experienced insecurity about 
their academic readiness, and 
began to blame themselves for 
it, similarly to me. Even those 
who I perceived to “have it 
all” here at Michigan, came 
forward to me that they felt 
opposite of the image they 
tried to portray.

I suddenly didn’t feel alone 

or susceptible to self-blame.

I also reflected on the 

positive experiences of my 
first semester. Football games, 
study sessions that involved 
more laughing than studying, 
numerous 
Grilledcheezerie 

macaroni sandwiches (I think 
some of the drivers know me by 
name), meeting amazing new 
friends, sledding with laundry 
baskets, having a squirrel in 
my dorm, midnight walks 
through Nichols Arboretum, 
getting lost on North Campus 
while 
walking 
back 
from 

buying Little Caesars and 
other nights that I can’t talk 
about in this article continue 
to be some of many wonderful 
memories.

Through just one semester, 

I learned an important lesson: 
If I’m putting in my best 
effort, then the result that 
comes out of this is all I can 
do, and that’s okay.

We can’t expect ourselves 

to perform more than we are 
capable of. We will not be 
able to solve complex math 

problems when we haven’t learned 
how to solve basic problems. We 
won’t be able to accomplish goals if 
we are not capable of accomplishing 
them yet. It took me 18 years to learn 
this, but thank God I finally did. This 
experience saved my sanity.

My freshman bubble had been 

popped, but with it came a healthier 
and happier me.

Wednesday, January 24, 2018// The Statement 
7B

ILLUSTRATION BY BETSY STUBBS 
 
 
 

Popping the Freshman Bubble

BY RACHEL CUNNINGHAM, DAILY STAFF REPORTER

