TO THE COLLEGE STUDENT WHO THINKS THEY CAN DO IT ALL

Written by Amy Shircel, Contributing Writer Illustrated by Channing Smith, Arts Curator

When I first started my four-year undergraduate journey, I thought I could do it all. These high expectations almost ruined me.

What does it mean to “do it all”? It changes from person to person. For me, it meant academic, physical and social perfection—absolutely no room for error. Eventually, my façade came apart at the seams. ically, I created permanent irreparable damage to my body by pushing myself so hard for so long. I recently had a foot/ tendon surgery that put me in a cast for three months and a boot for three more months, mostly as a result of incessant long-distance running. I doubt I will ever run again, at least not the way I used to. I was put on multiple psychiatric holds and spent months in an outpatient psychiatric program in Milwaukee. My doctors told me to take time off of school.

My first few years of college followed a similar pattern. Every semester, I took 18 credits (ask my roommates), had a part-time job (or two), was involved in all of the clubs, maintained a social life, volunteered, etc, etc.

My schedule was rigid. I opted for the morning shifts at work, and as a lifeguard that meant getting yourself out of bed at 4:45 AM, packing your food, packing your books, putting your suit on and biking 13 minutes across campus in 12-degree weather, by streetlight, in time to open the pool at 5:45 AM. Then, go to class all day, run that club meeting, volunteer to cook food for the community, go to office hours, hit the gym and then study at Memorial Library until you cannot keep your eyes open for another minute. Rinse and repeat.

And it was not just the rigid schedule that was the cause of my demise. My expectations for myself were absolutely insane. On the days that I didn’t work early in the morning, I would haul out of bed for an eight-mile run before my 8:50 AM class. It was not good enough to make the Dean’s List—I expected to set the curve on every exam in my 200 person lecture. I expected myself to look a certain way. I trained for half marathons, triathlons, national swim meets. My friends would tell me I was “crazy.” I took it as a compliment.

I would be gone for 15 hours a day on a regular basis during the week. Then I would sleep the entirety of the weekend. I am talking 52 hours of sleep. I saw it as a reasonable sacrifice to maintain my current routine and standards. I would see how long I could go without eating. I needed to be better. There was no room for error.

This day-to-day may seem extreme to some, but, from what I have observed these last three years, it honestly is not that crazy for the typical UW student. It makes me sad to think about how I treated myself, and how I see other UW students treating themselves. The UW-Madison campus has a seemingly ubiquitous culture of hyper over-achievement, which is toxic at best, and harmful at its worst. I had to reshape what I thought was normal. I created a new normal. If you relate to anything I have said in this letter, I encourage you to do the same.

Eventually, I finally got the help I needed for depression, anxiety, disordered eating and disordered sleeping. The McBurney Disability Resource Center saved my academic career. Many students never get this help—the UHS Mental Health Services’ waitlist is three months long.

This tale is not unique, especially not at this university. This story is unfortunately familiar and unsurprising. This campus is full of overachievers and undiagnosed alcoholics; we are known to “work hard, play hard,” priding ourselves on this slogan. So many people could tell this same story, and some of the details would change, but the premise is always the same. I have friends, right now, who hold themselves to the same standards that I describe here. It’s a tragic story that will continue its vicious cycle until we verbalize and internalize the absurdity of it.

I think telling this story is important despite how personal it is to me. We have to change the standards and change the system simultaneously. Students cannot be expected, internally or externally, to spread themselves so incredibly thin.

I want to emphasize that you simply cannot do it all. Trust me, I’ve tried. It isn’t healthy or sustainable. We think we can handle it, we think we can balance it until we can’t anymore.

Love,

What happened after a couple of years of setting the bar so high? I would cry pathetically in my TAs’ office hours. PhysAmy Shircel