One of the most memorable bits of advice I’ve gotten about college is: “the best scholarship you can give yourself is doing as much as you can in four years.” As a triple major student, including a teaching license, I really took this to heart. In addition, as a non-STEM student, I’ve always gotten the impression that if I fail to stand out as an exemplary humanities student, I’ll never be able to get a job in the field that I enjoy. So, naturally, I entered college expecting to work hard—I only have four years to make the most of this experience and set myself up for life. No pressure, right?
Yeah, right. The past three years of my life have been nonstop. There have been wonderful, fun, and unforgettable moments, but there have also been many times where I’ve found myself overwhelmed to the point of tears, cursing myself for my workload, and hoping that I’d be grateful for it later down the road. Throughout my college years, a trend has made itself abundantly clear: I love food. Coming from a small community with maybe three restaurants total, moving to a place with endless varieties of foods available at my fingertips was like entering a whole new world. Not only that, but mealtimes soon became my escape from school: 30-minutes-to-an-hour of just relaxing, enjoying time with my friends, and soaking up that much needed sense of community. Starting with my freshman year dining hall, food took on a whole new meaning for me, representing joy, new experiences, and, ultimately, one of my only breaks from the constant rigor of school and work.
When I moved out of the dorms, I found that buying groceries and cooking took more time, which I just didn’t feel like I had. I started spending my entire paychecks on ordering takeout and Doordash. I had lost the communal dining hall experience, but eating still provided a sense of comfort and rest time.
When all of my roommates moved out and my friends went home for the summer, I stayed in Boulder to complete internships (something I believed was absolutely necessary in order to become the aforementioned stand-out humanities student). During my first summer ever away from home, I was alone, separated from the world, and relying on weekly visits from my parents and boyfriend as my only social interaction outside of my two internships and job. I took five online summer courses spread out over a few months, working to stay on track to finish my degrees before I had to start student teaching, and I spent all of my time at home studying and taking notes. Eventually, I started to realize eating was the only thing I really looked forward to on a day-to-day basis. I was always thinking about my next meal, looking forward to my break and basking in wondering what I would treat myself to next.
This realization brought on a crippling feeling of shame. I was spending all of my money—a mere university-funded stipend and my very small internship salary—on eating out. I felt lazy, and feared that people I went to high school with would see my Instagram photos and judge how much weight I had gained. I felt self-conscious and highly critical about my own body and worthiness, despite working two internships, one job, and taking a full semester’s worth of courses. Overall, it was a recipe for disaster, and still, I just kept turning towards food to give me the brief satisfaction I craved in my fleeting free time each day.
I consider this rock bottom. After a heart-to-heart with someone very close to me, I realized that while I had dug myself into a hole, I could still get out of it. I started making time to take walks and listen to music—a temporary fix, but I found my mental health and endorphins were healing each day. Before long, school started again, and I was no longer living isolated and alone in my house. Having a social life and time away from my work besides eating helped me escape the stress-eating rut that I was in. Through an ongoing practice of mindfulness and self compassion, I continue to remind myself that, just because my appearance has changed from when I was in high school, it doesn’t mean that I am somehow less worthy or more deserving of judgment. After all, I was a literal child then, and my weight gain is just one tangible sign that I’m a grown up now. As my body matures into adulthood, of course it will change—that’s only natural.
While still an ongoing process, I feel that with persistent self compassion and stress-management, my relationship with my mental health, food, and my own body will continue to improve. I know I will continue to have down days— everyone does—but I will keep trying to hold my head high with self love and compassion.
