You know that meme with the dog holding a cup of tea in a room on fire?
Oh yeah. I know you do.
Because it feels like at Williams, we’re all constantly telling ourselves that we’re okay. Don’t get me wrong, there’s a truth and a comfort in that form of rationalization because ultimately, we will be okay. Hills become valleys, fish keep swimming, and any motivational quote that has ever made a Midwestern mom’s Pinterest boards confirms that life does go on. But knowing that, believing it, and actually applying it when it’s 2 AM, and Spotify’s cycled to your private melancholy playlist from 2013, because you’re up to your eyeballs in piles of work are all three very different things.
After getting sufficiently sautéed by midterms a couple weeks ago, I realized that I was not doing fine, or at the very least, I was not where I wanted to be. I needed to get help, specifically from the people who are literally here to help me – my professors. But I couldn’t even fathom writing out the email asking to set up an appointment, let alone following through.
Emails stress me out to an unreasonable degree, especially when it comes to emailing teachers. I type out a sentence then backspace a paragraph at a solid pace of negative three words per minute. I found myself blocking myself at every turn, flooding my brain with questions of, “What if I sound too incompetent? Or what if this cements their nonexistent but most definitely negative impression of me? What if I sound stupid? What if I am stupid?”
Fast forward a week later, I am sitting in my professor’s office after having barreled in late and declared, “I’m a fish,” without giving any further explanation. But you know what? While I was mentally kicking myself for spilling my mess of a self all over my prof’s floor, she was completely taking it in stride. She said, “I see,” and fluidly eased us into a conversation about what I’ve been struggling with in class. I had kept postponing this meeting because I didn’t know specifically what to ask per se, I just knew I needed help. Because I hadn’t pinpointed the specific gaps in my understanding of the class’s subject material, I was too embarrassed to go in and ask anything generally. Twenty minutes into the conversation with my professor whoever, I realized that that was what they were here for. They’ve seen it all before; they know how to help a student who doesn’t even know where to begin.
I thought I had to go in with at least some semblance of knowledge, something to show that I was at least vaguely on top of things. But as my professor asked questions about what I did or didn’t understand conceptually, worked through problems with me, and gauged my general grasp of the material, I learned something. Well, two things:
One: I really don’t know what I’m doing in computer science.
And two: It’s completely okay to be clueless in front of your professors.
We all feel varying degrees of pressure to perform well, appear competent, and look as though we are living confidently. It can be terrifying to let down the walls in front of even peers sometimes, let alone the pillars of knowledge that both teach and test you. But I’ve found at Williams that so many of the professors here are understanding of whatever situation you’ve found yourself in. No matter how guilty or ashamed you feel, they are considerate, reasonable, and above all, kind.
There came a point the conversation where I outright admitted, “I feel so stupid in class sometimes.” She thought for a moment, nodded, and said that every student had something worthwhile to bring to the table and that she’s had the same conversation with dozens of students over the years. I think we all have a worst-case-scenario generator in our heads, where the prospect of being vulnerable triggers this generator to start churning out the most daunting what-ifs. But I was vulnerable to a teacher about my own insecurities, and she didn’t slam her door in my face. She validated my fears while minimizing my paranoia. She encouraged, reassured, and helped me find a footing from which I could try to move forward.
After leaving her office, I knew that there was still a hefty climb ahead of me, but at least, a door had been opened.