Courtesy of Trevor Mercer
In high school, I knew college would be an important step toward success and a career. Nonetheless, my deeper desires involved finding "the one" — friends-to-lovers style.
I had a full scholarship to the college of my dreams, but I quickly shifted focus from my studies to my personal development. I wanted to know more about myself than my classes.
And that's what I did. I created a podcast with my friends. I fell in love with my best friend and got my friends-to-lovers romance. We even got married in college. I also discovered my passion for mental health.
But by the end of my senior year, reality started to set in. I became so fearful of graduation because I had no job prospects or future plans. I suddenly realized I would become a stay-at-home wife, and that terrified me even more.
To avoid that, I desperately searched for a career and enrolled in a graduate program I wasn't interested in.
I was among a small number of students who were able to get into a Ph.D. program directly from undergrad.
I was an academic in training, which meant having two part-time jobs, doing side research projects, and attending class. I saw my husband less, but he supported the sacrifice as long as I got what I wanted. I started working at 8 a.m. and finished around 7 p.m. I worked on the weekends, too.
The Pinterest-inspired home I hoped to have would have required my creativity and time, both of which are limited resources when you're running the career race. So, we kept the white walls, with no time to hang the framed pictures of our wedding day.
I started therapy during this time, and I was forced to address the fear and anxiety that had pushed me to jump head-first into a career I wasn't sure about. Toward the end of my first semester, I knew this career was not for me. I wasn't able to invest in my marriage. I wasn't able to write creatively on topics that mattered. I wasn't becoming who I wanted to be.
So, I left the program, prompting everyone in my life to wonder why I would leave a school that would earn me the highest degree you can get in academics.
After leaving my program, I felt relief, then sadness, and then relief again. Undergrad was about becoming myself, but graduate school showed me the realities of unbecoming — unbecoming a perfectionist, unbecoming a planner, and unbecoming a high-achiever. The pain of unbecoming had given me the freedom to change.
When I let go of grinding toward a career, I learned about my desire to be a mother. I wanted to share the beauties of the world with someone else, someone I created. Now, I'm pregnant.
When I let go of the negative connotations of being a stay-at-home wife, I realized my desire to make my home into a creative and comfortable space. So, I created it. When I let go of the fear of being a wife, I saw my husband as a compassionate, servant, and loving person who needed it in return. Now, I give love freely. When I let go of the fear of people seeing me as wasted potential, I found writing again. So, I write.
This is not what I expected for my post-graduation life, but my life is both better and different than my expectations.
In the year after graduation, I've learned that becoming's shadow is unbecoming. They exist together. The becoming is full of excitement and hope. The unbecoming is full of pain, truth, and even fear. But there's hope on the horizon.
