When I enrolled in Queen’s in the spring of 2022, I expected to graduate in 2026—exactly 70 years after my late grandmother did. I had already begun packing boxes to move out of my university house when I received an e-mail saying that I wasn’t graduating.

What was supposed to be a simple timetable adjustment turned into a back-and-forth with the English Department over how it didn’t matter that I wouldn’t receive a replacement course because I wasn’t graduating. I was already cramming six courses into the semester so I could graduate, but I was unknowingly missing multiple required credits in both of my degree plans.

The weight of the reality that I wasn’t graduating hit me like a freight train. I was at work trying to count cash tills and kept bursting into tears. I was confused, angry and more than anything, disappointed in myself—a recurring feeling that I thought graduating would free me from.

I went home that night and cried a few more times but took the weekend to sort out my feelings. Four years of university was only one of the expectations I had painted for my life, and adding an extra year threw everything off track.

My whole life I had expected university to be this wonderful experience where I make life-long friends and meet my life partner. As a child, every summer, my family went camping with my parents’ college friends and their own kids. I would listen to the stories they recounted around the fire and dream of the stories I would get to tell one day.

Just this past spring, my brother married his long-term girlfriend, who lived down the hall from him in first-year residence at Carleton University.

When it was my turn to leave for university, I learned very quickly that my experience wouldn’t be the same. I lived in a single room in Leonard Hall, which I needed after spending a whole year in my bedroom during COVID, and my attempts to socialize went unnoticed.

My first night at Queen’s a bunch of the girls on my floor were in the common room talking, and I distinctly remember being somehow cut out of the semi-circle they formed in the kitchen. I was blocked from leaving and could only watch as they ignored me.

I never spoke to any of them again after that.

My remaining years at Queen’s went similarly underwhelmingly in the social field. I had acquaintances in classes but the furthest we went was exchanging Instagrams. I found a consistent sense of not belonging in any conversations I had.

I wasn’t spending my summers in Italy or France, nor did I  spend my winter breaks in Quebec skiing. At the same time, my grades slipped further as my mental health worsened and undiagnosed ADHD consumed my life. Eventually, I stopped talking in classes at all, assuming I was just too dumb to add any meaningful comments to a lecture.

I love Kingston, but I began to resent Queen’s. I needed so desperately to escape, which made not graduating feel ever so devastating.

I had grand plans of working this summer and then moving in with my best friend from home. A best friend that I had known mostly from a distance, because we became friends just before 2020. Years of FaceTimes and hours-long phone calls would come to an end. I could finally have some fun as a young adult.

So much for that.

I’ve always been an idealistic person, imagining a highly unattainable future that I would make a reality. It’s shifted plenty as I grow older, and I unknowingly lost that sense of making the impossible possible.

My best friend recently came to Kingston for a few days, something she hasn’t done in a few years. As she sat at my desk and I on my bed, in a room I’ve lived in for three years—soon to be four, our conversation shifted to our futures. She asked what my goals were—what my dreams were. A question I’ve never been asked, to which the answers I always held so tightly to my chest and never shared. A question I now can’t find an answer to.

I had gotten lost in my low self-esteem, and the dreams in my heart were dismantled by my brain. I couldn’t imagine myself achieving them when all my peers were so much more deserving.

When she went home, I was left to think. And I figured it out.

I sprang into action with a new philosophy. I now have a year and a half left in Kingston, a town I have grown to love so much, and I intend to take advantage of that.

To start, I talked to my doctor and was put on much needed anti-depressants to aid my ADHD medication and filled out disability forms to get accommodations in class. I went from six classes to three, dropping two film production classes that I knew would hinder my attempts to repair my mental health. And most importantly, I received guidance on what exact courses I needed to graduate so I wouldn’t be blindsided again.

With all my spare time, I have more clarity in my brain to think and less guilt to enjoy hobbies. I’ve picked up cross-stitching, and have dedicated more time to embroidery and writing—something I’d pretty much stopped doing because I felt guilty wasting time.

I still spend too much time playing video games, but I can now play without a constant sense of dread.

As a Film major, I’ve never watched so many films in such a short time. Suddenly, I’ve tapped into the four years of analysis and found an actual desire to apply my education to my consumption through a journal of movie and TV show episode reviews.

As an English major, I still hate poetry. But I want to try reading again for enjoyment, not just education or to prepare for an essay.

I don’t need an excess of stories to tell my kids about my time at Queen’s, nor how I met their father here. I think my story of perseverance and refusing to give up would be more meaningful.

I’ll still live with my best friend, but in 2027 instead of 2026. We’ll make it work, just like we can make living four hours apart for five years work.

University is different for everyone, an anecdote I’ve shared before. I’m grateful to have another year in Kingston and at Queen’s to see the changes I intend to make in my life. I look forward to graduating with a mindset that isn’t looking for an escape, but a grounded end to a significant chapter in my life.

Tags

Academics, Postscript, Student life

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