A Letter to My Freshman Year Self

Dear Freshman Year Lexi,

Since the beginning of this sophomore year, I have wanted to write this letter, but I did not know how. I have been trying to find the right words to talk to you, to give you some pieces of wisdom that I have learned, but every time that I try, I am afraid that I will come off as basic, cliché, and just like everyone else. Considering the fact though that I am probably a little bit basic, a little bit cliché, and a little bit just like everyone else, I do not think that I am going to be able to avoid that in this letter. But I just want you to know that every word I write, I mean, and every lesson that I teach, I have learned.

First: beauty. During my first year of college, I took out a flat iron and accidentally burned half my hair off. Back during my freshman year, everyone around me had perfectly straight hair, and though people always said something different, the way that they acted showed me that this was what was accepted as beautiful. So, being the idiot that I was, I wanted to be like everyone else. Standing in front of a mirror in the grimy dorm bathroom one Friday night, I took out a bright purple flat iron, set up a couple notches too high on the heat, and burned my hair off. I do not know exactly all that I would say to this little girl, but the first thing I would say is that you are beautiful. Your hair is beautiful and there is no need to question it. Even though I sound like a mix between a broken record and a Dove commercial at this point, I want to make it crystal clear: you are beautiful. It’s that simple and that complicated.

Second: kind of beauty, kind of not. During my second semester of my freshman year, I spent each morning squirming around in my seat during math class, hoping that no one could hear my stomach grumble. I refused to get up in the morning to eat breakfast because I thought that this would take time away from me sleeping, which would take time away from me studying, which would take time away from me doing well in my classes. I refused to spend time actually braiding my hair, dressing nicely, or even just spending a Friday night painting my nails. I saw everything in terms of whether it helped me to do well in my classes – if it did not help me to do well in my classes, it was not worth my time. If I could tell my younger self anything here, I would say: taking time for yourself does not mean that you care less about your work. It just means that you care about yourself. So, paint your nails and eat breakfast, braid your hair and brush your teeth. I promise, taking care of yourself is well worth it. 

Third: community. I don’t think that I can do this one justice, but it’s the most important of them all. During freshman orientation, I remember sitting down at a lunch table in the middle of Paresky with some other frosh. As a peer and I talked about pre-med classes at Williams, I explained to him that I had been in the summer science program (SSP) at Williams, a program that grants pre-frosh an experience in the sciences at Williams, and afterward, I had been placed in the lowest level for introductory chemistry classes at Williams. Raising his eyebrows, he asked, “Even after SSP, you were still placed in the lowest level?” After that talk, I went into the bathroom and cried my eyes out for about a half hour. Fun times. Look, Lexi, when you first came to Williams, I think we can both agree that you did not fit in and that there were people who looked down on you. Being fed up with this, the summer before your sophomore year, you decided to push yourself outside of your comfort zone. You decided that you wanted to fit in by getting to know the community. You wanted to yell people’s names when walking down Spring Street and actually talk to people, getting to know the stories behind the faces. And it worked. You now feel part of this Williams community. 

But the thing is that just because you feel like you belong in this community now does not mean that everybody else does. And so here’s my advice, or maybe more of a responsibility, or maybe even more of a goal. Because you felt like you did not belong in this community, the responsibility that you now have is to make others feel like they do. I truly believe that the greatest thing you can do in these last few years is try to create a Williams community where all students feel like they belong, because you know what it once felt like to not.

Look, this is probably not enough advice to guide you on your way, but my fingers hurt from typing, and I am definitely going above an acceptable word count here. I just want this letter to be a reminder to me, to us, that I am proud of the woman that you were and the woman that you are still becoming. You’ve grown a lot these past few years and because of that, you’ve made me so proud. 

Your older and wiser sophomore year self,

                    Lexi