I wasn’t going to write about this. I really, really wasn’t. I still don’t want to write about this, but the words are vibrating inside me, retaining all of their power while they knock around inside my head. Putting them here somehow renders them powerless, a process I won’t pretend to understand. In an attempt to avoid writing this, I did some drawing this afternoon. I don’t draw. It didn’t help. So seeing as how I want nothing more than to be released from the grasp of these words, I will put them here.
As I wrote about a few weeks ago, I was to start grad school at the end of August. Going back for a second masters degree 18 years after completing my first. I was nervous but excited. After 14 months of sitting on the sidelines while getting my health issues straightened out, I felt ready to get back out in the world. I relished the opportunity to learn some new stuff and take my career in a different direction. I expected to feel uncomfortable and out-of-sorts the first week, as the “how” of learning has changed dramatically since I last took classes, and there’s no getting around the age difference between me and most of my fellow students. I knew I’d feel itchy and uncomfortable, my task would be to ensure it didn’t snowball. I felt prepared to keep my brain on task, and to not think too much.
Orientation went fine. I met a few incoming students, learned how navigate the library’s website. Observed a few of the students freaking out, listened to several of the faculty tell us how to be good scholars. First day of class arrives and I’m nervous. Nervous is fine, nervous is normal. It felt weird to be on campus, but after thinking about it for months, it was good to finally be “doing the thing”. I took each day as it came, careful not to think too far down the road, or to worry about things I didn’t need to worry about yet. At 42, I’m intimately aware of my own landmines, and felt I’d done a solid job of covering the bases. I thoroughly enjoyed being “Erin’s sister”, as being the oldest I didn’t get to be someone’s sister going through school. As each day wore on though, I found myself ignoring a growing sense of dread. I told myself it was nothing, it was simply insecurity and fear. My professors were kind, engaging academics. My classmates curious and inquisitive. WHY AM I UNCOMFORTABLE?
On Friday afternoon of the first week of classes, I sat down at my computer to get started on assignments for the second week. Already assigned a crap-ton of reading, I also had two papers to write. I opened my computer to see an email from one of my professors with an update for Tuesday’s class. For some reason, it cracks me wide open. With a rush, all that I’d been hiding from throughout the week came to the surface. I spent a good ninety minutes feeling like I was losing my mind. For someone who is rather even-keeled and not prone to dramatic displays of emotion, it felt like someone else had taken over my body. I was angry, sad, frustrated and embarrassed. I realized that I was so focused on getting through the week, that I’d missed some pretty big signals my head was trying to send me. In all of my efforts to “be present”, I never once glanced up and asked myself how it was going. If I had, Friday afternoon likely wouldn’t have happened. I was so invested in making this happen, that I never once considered the possibility that it might not be a good fit. So when the whisper that I ignored all week long finally became a roar on Friday afternoon, it knocked me on my ass. I have a horrible habit of overthinking everything, but the advantage of it is that I’m rarely surprised. Not much happens that I haven’t already thought about, already considered. But I didn’t do that this time. I didn’t let myself consider the hundred directions this could go. So when confronted with thoughts that I don’t want, thoughts that don’t fit in with how I constructed this, I’m paralyzed.
I spent most of that weekend zoned out on the couch watching terrible TV. (Side note – I recently read a book that broke my habit of watching tasteless reality shows on Bravo, but seeing as how I still don’t enjoy getting sucked into a scripted series, I moved on to some paranormal stuff on the Travel Channel. So now rather than chuckling at rich people being ridiculous, I go to bed each night hoping my house isn’t infested with demons. Whether or not this is progress is debatable.) The main goal being to quiet the noise in my head enough to get to the root of what going. Seeing as how I’m not yet fit enough to go out for a 15-20 mile run, which used to be the best way of silencing the noise, for now I settle for terrible TV. Many wasted hours later, I realize that the graduate program isn’t a good fit for me. In all of my efforts to “be present and not think too much”, I missed some red flags. I accidentally severed the connection between my intuition and my thinking brain. Left with no other way to get my attention, my intuition screamed loud enough it caused a physical reaction.
So on the Monday of the second week of classes, I withdrew. I felt terrible about it, realizing I took a spot from someone else, and realizing that something I’d been REALLY looking forward to wasn’t going to happen. I knew that withdrawing was without a doubt the right decision, but I still felt a loss. I liked my fellow students, I liked my professors. I would’ve enjoyed getting to know these people better. And even though I only attended one week of classes, I had quite a bit of reading to do that first week. I enjoyed what I was learning. After the dust settled, I realized that I was on the right path, I just had the wrong program. In earnest, I began researching online programs. I never considered that I might be better off in an online program, as I’ve always been someone who really enjoyed being in the classroom. And with my sister having recently completed this same program, it seemed natural that with this being a shared interest, that I would enjoy it too.
I’m grateful for my intuition screaming loud enough to get my attention, as uncomfortable as it was. Even though I’m in my 40s, this experience taught me that I need to trust myself more. That when I’m really uncomfortable, something is up. I think for someone like me, who’s just generally uncomfortable in new situations, even when they are wonderful situations, it can be hard to distinguish between the two. What’s good uncomfortable and what’s bad uncomfortable? But this little episode taught me the dangers of disconnecting from one’s self. Fortunately, the remedy in this situation was pretty simple. Withdrawing from the program this early in the semester comes with no penalties, financial or otherwise. Had I waited longer, that certainly wouldn’t have been the case. Not to mention, the consequences to my mental and physical health would have likely been significant. And I can still go back to school, get a second masters. Only the “how” will be different than I envisioned.
Oh, and I’m going back to making numerous contingency plans. I will gleefully plan for every possibility, the hundred different ways it could go. I’m already in the process of applying to one program, with two others on the back-burner. I’ve even got my eye open for interesting work. I’m reminded that happiness in life doesn’t come from walking away from who we are, it comes when we most embody our truest selves.
It is not worth the while to let our imperfections disturb us always. ~Henry David Thoreau
