A Year in Brighter Colors

By Lauren Witt ‘24

Strolling through campus brings up a strange, subtle feeling, like stumbling upon a place you once visited in a dream. On the surface, nothing has really changed, but everything has a distinct, vibrant hue. I’m in the same place walking down the same paths as before; I’m here for the same reasons, but I can’t shake the whispering sensation that I’m in a whole new world. Well, I suppose the feeling has faded now that life has settled into a bustling routine. But back in September, I remember being amazed at how the same campus could give off such a different impression after a single summer.

To be blunt, my freshman year—the year that was supposed to be an exciting new beginning—completely sucked. I pretended to be fine as I always do. I called home and chatted about how I was enjoying classes and how the campus was beautifully transitioning from summer green to autumn reds and yellows. I conveniently forgot to mention how alone I was, constantly holed up in my dorm room. Isolation and I were already well acquainted. I had struggled with ever-worsening social anxiety throughout high school and often chose to be alone as much as possible. As it usually happens, I had to have the possibility of close social contact forcibly snatched away to realize how terribly lonely being alone truly is. My internal self crumpled up into a tighter and tighter ball like a worn out, insignificant piece of paper. The face I portrayed to the world still held that synthetic smile. I functioned because that's how I’m programmed. I get things done. I keep going. I don’t ever want to be a burden. I can never let myself fail. Even when you’re screaming on the inside, always keep it together.

To be honest, I would have appreciated seeing certain issues handled differently last year, and I know I’m not alone in that. I get that everything was unprecedented, unpredictable, and more complicated on an administrative level than I could fully know. But, personally, I needed someone or something that valued my mental health as much as my physical health and, sadly, those resources felt scarce. Luckily, I did keep it together enough to get through the year and make it back to Wellesley this fall. All my memories of last year flash by in varying shades of gray. A quarter of my college experience was lost to the pandemic, and my own personal battles degenerated as they intertwined with this unthinkable, global mess. Granted, in the grand scheme of things, my experience doesn’t come close to what many people have lost and suffered. Last year has more of the appearance of a stint at a dreary boarding school, and I think of college as really having started for me this fall.

The change often startles me when I pause to reflect on how profound it is. Everything that’s gone on in the world recently has taught me so much, and, at the core, I’ve found how to be genuinely grateful for my pain and struggles. I’ve done my best to let go of last year; all of the resentment and depression boiling under the surface of my pleasant facade. The robotic, hold-it-together-at-all-costs shell has fallen away and left in its place a whole, joyful person. Now, I walk around campus and catch myself randomly swelling with inexplicable happiness. I’ll tear up out of the blue just because of how grateful I am to be in a better place, to be on this beautiful campus, to have phenomenal friends who I can now connect with on such a deeper level, and to thankfully have good health and a bright, exciting future. Life still isn’t back to normal, yet mine feels more real than it ever did before.

While I certainly hope I’m not alone in appreciating how much campus life has improved this year, I know not everyone’s world has calmed down. It’s so valid to feel all of the pain that we’ve gone through as a community and as individuals, but I hope you can find that same peace. Even on my own bad days, I feel like I’m starting from a more elevated plane of emotional wellbeing. When the world is slowly overtaken by those dark and gloomy tones, I just shift my perspective and relief breaks over me like the first soft, orange streaks of the morning sunrise. I don’t have to just exist here anymore. This is home. This is where I can truly live and grow.

Lauren Witt ‘24 (lw106) is grateful for a brighter outlook on campus life this year and excited for two more years to come. From the December 2021 issue.