When I returned to uni after my year abroad, I knew it’d be strange in any case; I hadn’t seen my cohort for over a year and we’d all been on our own adventures. However, my circumstances had been unconventional since I’d forfeited the second half of my placement for mental health reasons. As a result, I was even more nervous about my return and I was scared of *gasp* what everyone would think.
This was strengthened by lack of contact from my department beyond the admin for my extenuating circumstances. I started receiving emails about module selection shortly before final year, and I remember thinking, “It’s really like it never happened.” To be honest, I don’t know would have been ideal at the time. I didn’t like how I was being treated as if my horrible time didn’t matter, but being singled out as the ‘mental one’ would have been equally unpleasant.
All in all, it was a very weird feeling to be back and it wasn’t how I’d expected. I know I’m far from the first person to take a break from studies due to mental health, but I feel as though it isn’t widely discussed. So, I’m writing this post to destigmatise the act of trying again, as well as to inform those who may be preparing for a similar situation.
1. Everything looks strangely the same
When I moved back to Lancaster, I hadn’t been for over a year. I really liked it when I first lived there, but I worried that it’d feel foreign since I was so used to my hometown. Although a few shops had changed since I was last there, my memory was instantly reignited as soon as I re-entered, reminding me of why I first fell in love with it. This reassured me on my quest to tackle final year.
However, this also came with a flipside. It’s difficult to put into words, but I felt a bit annoyed that everything had stayed the same while my life had turned upside down. I guess I felt that I needed justification for my suffering, but it couldn’t be found in Lancaster. Really, it was nestled deep within me, but I hadn’t yet faced it as I habitually told myself that “I shouldn’t be struggling”. After honestly confronting my experience, I learnt that I needed to be kinder to myself after what I’d been through.
2. People assume you’re ‘over it’ now
Whilst in Geneva, I spoke to a few friends from my cohort and they were incredibly supportive. They reassured me that it was normal to feel uncomfortable and that I’d be back home very soon. Though it wasn’t much consolation back then, I felt grateful to speak to others on years abroad as it reminded me that I wasn’t alone.
Upon my return, nobody mentioned the problems I’d told them about; they probably assumed it was a phase. In reality, the experience left a mark on me that took months to confront, and it’s an ongoing process. I’m not blaming these people at all because they’re still my good friends and they aren’t mind-readers. Rather, my point is that people will only know you’re struggling if you tell them.
3. It’s a big deal to nobody except you
As I mentioned in the introduction, I was treated as if nothing had happened. Every seminar in the first week of classes started with “Let’s go around the room and talk about our years abroad”, which made me shudder. When my teachers asked about Geneva, I’d respond with “c’était la pire expérience de ma vie entière” (it was the worst experience of my entire life), which was met with laughter. I didn’t know the correct response; I didn’t want to lie and pretend it was great, nor did I want to treat my teacher and classmates as therapists.
It was blatantly obvious that the admin team hadn’t told my teachers about what had happened. This frankly annoyed me since there seemed to be a generally accepted notion that years abroad are universally amazing and nobody ever struggles. I wasn’t expecting to be wrapped in cotton wool when I arrived on campus, but I just wish the subject was treated a little more sensitively. I’m sure I won’t be the last person to go through such a thing and I don’t want anyone else to feel like I did.
4. You feel like you’ve done it wrong
When I decided against completing my year abroad, I felt ashamed as I’d always assumed my degree would be unremarkably straightforward. I was always revered for my intelligence at school and I’d never struggled like this before (besides the usual teenage angst), so there was no apparent reason for me facing issues. These factors contributed to my feeling of ‘having done it all wrong’.
In the conversations with teachers from point three, the reactions I faced intensified my internalised ‘wrongness’ because I’d question whether I was simply meant to endure another five months of anguish to say that I’d done it. Even now, I do wonder if anyone else suffered like me, but instead succumbed to the pressure to complete their placements. However, the answers to these questions won’t change my bad experience.
5. It doesn’t mean you’re less capable than anyone else
My mental health problems led me to think that “maybe I’m not cracked out for uni after all”. Despite my high grades at school and college, I knew it wasn’t impossible for a degree to be too much; there are plenty of famously smart university dropouts. I believed that I just wasn’t made for a ‘stressful’ life and I should find a menial job that I could forget about come 5pm.
With this being said, I don’t give up easily. I reminded myself that I’d been through too much for my degree to give up, so I worked harder than I ever have in my academic career. I’ll admit that some of it was fuelled by my anxious perfectionism, but I see it as a great example of when anxiety becomes a superpower. The other part was fuelled by the passion for my degree that only truly awoke this year. After eight months of French study, essay writing and endless dissertation research, I recently learnt that I got an A in my dissertation and an overall First Class degree! So, I’m no less capable than anyone else — maybe my resilience made me more capable.
I’m being 100% honest when I say that me from two years ago would be awestruck at what I’ve achieved this year. Pre-Geneva me would spend days lying in bed on my phone, essay deadlines looming over my head, until the last-minute stress would push me to action. I achieved a 2:1 with this tactic, but I’ve since learnt that this limited my potential.
If you’re reading this and you’ve gone through a similar experience, reintegrating into ‘real life’ will be scary. I’ve found that the antidote to this, is doing the scary thing and learning that you can get through it. And don’t fall victim to reducing yourself to your worst moment(s); I learnt the hard way that it invokes self-doubt and ignorance of your many strengths. You can do it, and I’ll be here cheering you on.
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