Princeton's mental health obligation
“So what exactly did you do on your year off?”
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“So what exactly did you do on your year off?”
You, as well as I, have probably grown tired of hearing the same critiques of the matchmakerly advice given by Susan Patton ’77 — that she entrenches antifeminist ideas or is closed-mindedly elitist and gender normative. So, as a change of pace, rather than dealing with any of her points specifically, I’d like to offer a different argument: that, on the macro level, Patton is simply missing the point. In the question of marital satisfaction, she focuses entirely upon the who and not the how of lifelong relationships.
Since I took a year off, I openly tell my friends that I struggle with anxiety and depression, and talk without shame about my regular sessions with a therapist. The number of people who have approached and opened up to me as a result is astounding. I’ve now heard countless tales of struggles with obsessive fears and mood swings; of mental health issues hidden from family and close friends who might not understand; of wanting help but feeling afraid, cautious or skeptical of the options offered by the University.
“But lo! Men have become the tools of their tools.”
In middle school in England, my friends and I used to entertain ourselves by exchanging overdrawn imitations of the stereotypical American valley girl: “Let’s, like, go to the mall!” “OMG, I like, love, like, that shirt!” Feeling smug, I sniggered and mocked, certain I’d never actually talk that way.
A few weeks ago, I got a C. The letter, scrawled in the corner and circled for emphasis, burned into my retinas the moment I flipped over the paper at the end of precept. A cocktail of emotions sizzled silently in the pit of my stomach as I packed my bag — frustration, anger, incredulity, insecurity — and I practically stomped out of the door like a two-year-old, mid-tantrum. Like most Princetonians, my self-worth remains a little too closely entwined with my GPA, despite my efforts to consciously pull the two apart. Receiving a bad grade still provokes a visceral response.
“Until you conquer the fear of being an outsider, an outsider you will remain.”-C.S. Lewis, “The Inner Ring”
During many mornings this past summer, I wandered into the kitchen to see my father, a retired investment banker, hunched intentlyover his laptop, headphones on and scribbling notes. As I fumbled with the coffee machine, he talked excitedly in my direction about the expansion of the universe or the relative nature of time. I doubt I’d have understood him even if I had been fully awake, but his enthusiasm for his “Massive Open Online Course," or MOOC, about Einstein reminded me fondly of my freshman self. As an experiment both he and my mother decided to enroll in courses through Coursera, a website that pools online course offerings from top universities, including Princeton.
My grandmother, as she sips on her 5 p.m. gin and tonic, frequently dispenses the following piece of wisdom: “If you have as many friends as you do fingers on one hand, you’re incredibly lucky.” This is a woman who has been happily married for 50 years now and has reached the melancholic, yet inevitable, stage of life when friends begin to pass away, leaving more empty seats at her dinner parties every year. If you want a well-rounded perspective on matters of friendship, she’s as good a source as there is.
Having just re-entered the world of academia after a year off from Princeton, I reckon now is a good time to think more deeply about what I’m getting from my formal education. It’s been 12 months since I’ve last had to strain my ears to comprehend a waffling professor or stare with a sense of impending doom at the first of 250 pages of a reading assignment. Yet, in this past year of struggling with physical health issues and existential crises, I’ve learned more than I could have in any classroom.