My mom used to joke about how everyone but me cried when I moved into college. She always laughed while she said it and patted my shoulder affectionately, but I think there was some hidden worry beneath it. I think she was afraid I didn’t miss my family as much as they missed me.
Eventually, her jokes dwindled away. Whether it’s because their novelty wore off or because it was clear I was miserable at school, I don’t know. I’m not sure it matters either way.
My whole life, I looked forward to college. Everything I endured in high school was only a means to an end with college at the finish line. All the adults around me insisted, “These will be the best years of your life,” and, foolishly, I believed them.
I should have known that middle-aged parents reliving their glory days might not have the most reliable perspectives, but hindsight is 20/20, isn’t it?
So I wasn’t scared to leave my family or my home. Maybe that makes me calloused or unfeeling; I like to think I was just so full of hope that the loneliness of being on my own for the first time took longer to hit me than most.
My freshman year was a whirlwind of disillusionment. The freedom I had anxiously waited years for felt suffocating, and everyone’s promises of endless opportunities became hollow taunts. When I went home after the spring semester, defeat weighed heavily on my shoulders.
The whole summer, I dreaded returning to Kent. I didn’t cry when I moved as a freshman, but I cried for weeks at the beginning of my sophomore year.
If I could talk to the person I was a year ago, I would tell her that things got better. It’s a cliche, but I needed to hear it.
Chyanne, the random roommate I was assigned, has become one of my closest and most trusted friends. She’s hilarious and strong and so smart that sometimes it’s terrifying, but I trust her more than most people I know.
The day after I moved in, I reconnected with a friend from high school, Loraine. Her gentle demeanor is just as lovely as her mind. My friends and I have affectionately dubbed Loraine an angel, and I’m convinced there’s no more fitting description of her in existence.
During the first week of classes, I sat next to a girl named Isabella, who is radiant in every way – bubbly, beautiful and unerringly kind. She’s made me into a more positive, loving person just by choosing to spend her time with me.
A month into school, a girl named Caitlyn DM-ed me because she had seen me around campus, and her deadpan humor and near-perfect music taste made us instantly click. We are so similar that sometimes it feels like she can see straight into my soul.
Caitlyn introduced me to her best friend, Kelsey, who may be the most compassionate and giggly person to walk the face of the Earth. One laugh from Kelsey and every worry I’ve ever had suddenly flies out the window.
We joined together as a group one night in October and have rarely spent a day apart since. From doing homework to walking downtown to see “Rocky Horror,” every moment spent with them overwhelms me with gratitude.
So, to my past self: it does get better. And to those who may be struggling with similar things: it will get better. I’m not sure how or when, but it will.
Despite the loneliness of my first year, I wouldn’t trade it for anything. Because of that time, I pushed myself out of my comfort zone and met incredible people who have changed me in immeasurably profound ways. They made my miserable freshman year into something valuable.
Grace Claxon is an opinion writer. Contact her at [email protected].
