Diary of a Uni Student
What they don't tell you about moving away from home: mental health, body image and individuality
I’ve been in university for four years. You know when they tell you that you really find yourself when you leave high-school; your woes and worries fly over the rainbow and you find yourself in Dorothy’s red glittered shoes gawking at overbearing buildings and obnoxiously loud people. It should have happened surely, by now.
Can I be the student who excels at everything, academically and socially? Can I be the student who goes on a year abroad to find her thing, a glorious enlightenment of tacky youth hostels and lastminuteflights.coms, and shove it in everyone’s faces? (I’m not bitter, I just observe and overhear SU Bar conversations.) She is a vegan on weekdays, she has her next job lined up already, she has 14k followers on TikTok.
Everyone has a personal indicator for growth, but how do I finish the race when I have weights on my feet and everyone else has Nike Invincible 3’s. Get off social media and stop comparing yourself to others is what you’re thinking, I guarantee. I spend significantly less time on social media than other people my age: I love reading, I dabble in games, I hate the Instagram façade people my age are sucked into like some ominous black-hole or aggressive vacuum cleaner. The latest Ariana Grande scandal or Kylie Jenner’s lip size does not concern me, I could care less about the Met Gala or someone’s pet dog passing (or which one of my former high-school classmates is now pregnant).
Between year two and three of university I gained weight. Not an extortionate amount, but enough to make me look at pictures from a year or two prior and sigh. In a perpetual state of judgement from no one but my own demeaning gaze, I realised the pandemic tore a rift in the space time continuum of my life. Before covid, I was outgoing, socialised more and was wholly a completely different person. My body image meant nothing to me. Moving away gave me the liberty, but also burden, of choosing what I ate everyday, how much I went outside, how much I hydrated & took care of myself. Having access to a plethora of fast food outlets, combined with the nauseating anxiety of being more or less alone was a combination that went south very quickly.
Soon I found my crowd - my people. Despite finding a new (metaphorical) home with them, I had changed irrevocably. They don’t tell you this when you’re young, but the early twenties is like a second puberty. I am twenty-one now and I miss my teenage leanness; I sometimes feel like my mind was frozen at the age I was during the pandemic, while my body continues to violently project itself further into womanhood.
This is not meant to be a body positivity rant, or some means for me to pretend I’m on the other side where the grass is greener. It is, however, a statement. An extended, awful, messy “me too” to all the girls out there that are not quite girls anymore but do not feel like women. My face is too round and freckled to seem mature, and I am quite confident I will get ID’d until I am 30. Clothes I adored two years ago do not fit so my Depop is full.
What I have learned - alongside the degree - is that being surrounded by people who appear to have everything figured out does not mean the standard is set. It is easy to compare yourself to a passing stranger on campus, but it is harder to step out of your own head.