To all the upcoming graduates, from a 2023 grad
What they don't tell you about the "real world", how I embraced growing pains, and facing the unknown beyond college
Content warning: discussions of depression and anxiety.
Five months ago I published an article in the San Diego Union-Tribune detailing the difficult transition I faced from college to career. It was cathartic, candid, and critical of the idealized versions of young adulthood captured by well-off influencers. It was also a bit of a call for help (which was answered tenfold).
Now, existing both physically and mentally on the other side of the all-consuming depressive- and anxiety-induced episodes I had experienced at the time, I’d like to dive beyond my original thoughts.
What can I say? Writers are rarely satisfied with their end product.
Despite counting down graduation’s date — especially since it took six years to complete my degree on account of not knowing where my passions lay and a few health issues — I was not prepared to leave school. Especially after finding the community, interests, friends, and professors at my alma mater, the University of San Diego.
Suffice to say, it was a tough goodbye.
A week after graduation, I’d truthfully thought I was losing my mind. The sense of purpose I woke up with every day in undergrad (which I can now recognize was conditionally dependent on turning in assignments, learning, writing and editing for my college paper, reading, and socially interacting with my peers) was completely gone. In its place, was an uneasiness that hooked its claws into my stomach and chest.
Some days I didn’t get out of bed. Others I was glued to my laptop — writing, job searching, and spiraling into an even deeper depression that put me right back under my covers.
Regardless, it didn’t matter how busy I was. There was always an ever-present voice saying that I wasn’t doing enough compared to peers, social media posts, and personal expectations.
As the weeks following graduation continued to roll by, I spent most of my mornings and afternoons going for long walks. Usually completing upward of five to eight miles. Some could say this was an act of soul-searching but, if I’m being completely candid, it was a physical means to expel the emotions I’d felt, bottled, and tried to process each day.
I was walking (pun intended) a fine line between trying to get out of my head and using movement as a form of punishment — for I had convinced myself that I was failing at my first attempt at existing in the “real world.”
Sure, I had two college degrees, graduated Summa Cum Laude, published hundreds of articles, had an uplifting support system, and about six freelance gigs at the time. But, according to my depressed brain — which was regularly processing posts from influencers on luxury vacations, job announcements on LinkedIn, and videos of peers moving across the country — my one takeaway was that all I had to show for the last six years included a laundry list of shortcomings.
But, it wasn’t just a chemical imbalance that was branding me a failure. It was the nearly 400 jobs, internships, and fellowships I had applied to. Of said jobs, only 15 hiring managers/personnel got back to me. Sure, the rejection stung, but as a writer, hearing “no” was familiar. Showbiz and all that.
Except, the rejection became less of a once in a while occurrence and something I had come to expect prior to ever turning in an application, pitch, or publication.
Despite the job market’s game of cat and mouse, I applied to everything I was qualified for —both in communication and writing fields, as well as those in industries outside my comfort zone. Per my therapists recommendation.
I rode a sense of motivation that usually lasted for a month, until one day, which always rolled around, the friction of all the unanswered applications, emails, and pitches consolidated into a singular force that knocked me completely off balance.
And my head found my pillow once again.
To make matters worse, I wasn’t reading.
Books have always been an outlet I turned to in order to find comfort away from the physical world. Over the past four years, there hasn’t been a day where I wasn’t reading at least a chapter of something. So, to go from finishing two to three books weekly to not being able to open a book altogether was terrifying.
This was the most telling sign that my mental health had plummeted.
However, I broke out of my mental cage sometime in late December and early January. I’d like to say that it was planned or that I saw its approach. But, one day I woke up and life just hurt a bit less. I spent less time reflecting on all that I’d lost and found potential and abundant paths ahead of me.
All I had to do was have the courage to move forward.
The abovementioned depictions may sound dramatic. Perhaps they were. But, for anyone that has experienced an anxious and/or a depressive episode, they are just that. Dramatic, absorbing, and often completely out of your control.
It took close to eight months for the weight of post-grad to lessen. Of course, there are a multitude of things I wish I had done differently. Hindsight and all.
As such, I’d like to share what helped me persevere, as well as my recommendations for upcoming graduates transitioning to the career world.
So, without further ado, below is my ‘how I survived the first 11 months after graduation’ list:
Take a break
Whether it’s an hour, a day, a month, a year, take it. Take it selfishly, whenever, and however you can.
If moving (or staying) home is an emotionally and physically safe option, take it. Despite what I told myself every day, it’s okay to not move to a new city immediately. Save your money. Figure out who you are outside of school before jumping into a brand-new environment that will even further shock your senses. (Especially if you’re someone trying to decide what comes next).
However, if you are presented with an opportunity that excites you, that makes you want to get out of bed in the morning, take it. No questions asked. Just remember to dedicate regular time to yourself.
But, regardless of your living and job situations, taking a break can mean a mountain of things. It could include dedicating time each morning to the NYTimes’ Connections, Spelling Bee, or other games. Taking a break can involve sitting outside with your toes in the grass and your chest puffed out toward the sun hoping for some sort of energetic connection to wipe away lingering dark and murky thoughts. It can mean huddling up in your room and letting loved ones inside to crawl under the covers with you until you’re ready to come out. Hell, taking a break can mean sitting in a therapist’s office explaining that while you don’t know what’s wrong, you know that something is certainly, unequivocally wrong.
My breaks involved reading (shocker) and writing (again, shocker). It involved talking to my friends, who had been experiencing my same feelings of isolation and leaning on one another for comfort. It also involved warning peers approaching graduation of what to expect.
My breaks included, as the word suggests, stepping back from manically applying to jobs every day. The job market was, and still is, horrendous. As my article touched on, entry level jobs now require years of experience. They’re typically marked at an unlivable pay. And to top it all off, there’s often thousands of applications all fighting for one position.
Talent is booming. Pay is decreasing. And life’s price tag is rising.
It’s overwhelming and unfair to young adults eager to start their careers. Which is why taking a step back and not becoming consumed by drafting cover letters and sending LinkedIn messages is so crucial.
Lastly, I found that limiting my time on social media, finding new hobbies, and complaining to friends helps, as well.
Find movement.
I see movement in two formats: emotional and physical. Accessing both were required to find any semblance of personal equilibrium.
Writing and reading (again not altogether shocking) provided the means to emotionally connect with myself and release whatever had been bottled inside. While physical movement increased the release and synthesis of serotonin neurons I’d been lacking.
Doing the emotional work and intentionally moving right afterward proved to be most effective.
However, I stopped walking and running for hours on end. Not only did I no longer have the time (my writing gigs began picking up as well as graduate program applications) I also recognized that I wasn’t using the activities as a healthy practice.
So, I wandered into a barre class mid-June. Barre — which derives its movements from ballet — provided the strength and stability I’d been missing since graduation. It also reconnected me with the discipline, movements, flexibility, and coordination I’d dedicated thirteen years to during my childhood.
Barre classes became a sanctuary and something I looked forward to the more I returned. Working out in a group setting with predominantly female-bodied individuals also felt pretty kick ass.
I don’t think the same effects would have been achieved had I gone to a regular gym or picked up a new fitness pursuit. Intentionally mirroring the practices I had performed in my dance classes as a kid was a subconscious decision to acknowledge and honor my inner child.
Start a gratitude list.
Throughout the week I will ask one of my best friends what three things she is most grateful for, while also sending her my own list.
One week her list read “My therapist. Calabrian chilis. YOU!!” Another week she shared “The rain. Crying. My mom.”
My lists were just as random and meaningful — “My dogs sleeping with me last night. Movies. Audiobooks” and “Dairy-free Greek yogurt. Gold earrings. Reality dating shows.”
Beyond improving both of our moods, this act forced us to slow down physically and mentally. Throughout the day I’d start thinking about what I would include for the next day’s list.
Like the best things in life, simple but effective.
Ask for help.
There’s a myth that you have to have everything figured out as an adult. There’s another myth that you have to have everything figured out as an adult on your own — that asking for help is a sign of weakness or lack of tenacity.
Each myth is just that. A misguided story that has taken root as our society shifts further away from a community-dependent culture and deeper toward an isolated, capitalistic civilization. But, that’s a whole other topic.
After publishing my aforementioned article, I had complete strangers reaching out to me on LinkedIn, Instagram, or via my website to offer help in various capacities.
Some of those individuals were professional coaches while others worked in similar and applicable industries. We brainstormed, looked over my resumes, chatted about life, and talked about potential connections I should reach out to.
I was blown away by their willingness to help.
Despite what we may think, we all like to feel needed. It fulfills an evolutionary and intrinsic part of how we relate to one another. Reaching out to strangers becomes easier with time but, I promise you, it’s much less daunting than you’ve likely made it out to be.
Everything happens for a reason. You just don’t always get to know what those reasons are.
My one persistent mantra throughout this experience has been “what’s meant, will be.”
Is this me self-soothing and trying to distribute control to situations completely out of my authority? Absolutely. Does it help? Without a doubt.
Each job, editor, or fellowship that rejected me or never followed up just simply wasn’t meant for me. Did that still sting? Absolutely. Did it help lessen the pressure I was putting on myself to land every single job I applied for? Without a doubt.
There’s a beautiful simplicity in releasing control of events and experiences. It also helps reduce anxiety. Two birds with one stone, if you will.
Maybe you don’t get the job you’d crossed your fingers for or the move across the country doesn’t pan out. It’s not the end of the world.
As I had to remind myself, rejection is just redirection. Good things will come.
Now, almost a year out of post-grad, I can confidently say that it gets better. There’s no longer a pit in my stomach waking me up. Or a shadow of self-consciousness following my every move.
So, take a breath. Sign up for a dance class. Find gratitude. Seek help (in all ways applicable). And let go.
Sincerely,
A 2023 grad.