Apricity

I wanted to be a princess when I was 4.I wanted to rule over people, in a bright green castle, where it was the royal decree to wear neon everyday. That's what I would say I would study in college. It was my dream. But somewhere along the way, that dream turned into a monster. College stopped being the goal and became the battle—a fight to be the best, to be perfect, to fit into a box that keeps shrinking.

We’re told we’re lucky to even have this chance. Lucky to stay up until 3 a.m., rewriting essays that don’t feel like us. Lucky to spend weekends memorizing equations instead of making memories. Lucky to carry the weight of expectations that no one talks about but everyone feels.

We smile at dinner tables when relatives ask, “Where are you applying?” We laugh when someone makes a joke about rejection, even though we’ve been thinking about it all day. We turn in papers on time, show up for practice, lead clubs, ace exams. And then, when no one’s looking, we fall apart.

I’ve seen it in my friends and in myself. The girl who said she just “needed a minute” but came back with tear-streaked cheeks. The boy who said he was “fine” but cracked a little more every time he opened his inbox and saw another rejection. The quiet conversations where we admit, in whispers, that we’re exhausted—mentally, emotionally, completely.

It’s ironic, isn’t it? College is supposed to help us build a future, but instead, it tears us apart in the present. We’re told to chase passions, but only if they fit the mold. We’re told to stand out, but not too much. We’re told to be ourselves, but only the version of ourselves that admissions officers will like.

And the worst part? We think it’s normal. The stress, the breakdowns, the feeling like you’re running a race you can’t win. It’s just what it takes, right?

But it shouldn’t be.

It shouldn’t feel like you have to trade your happiness for a shot at a future. It shouldn’t feel like crying in the bathroom over a test grade or hating yourself for not being “enough” is part of the process. It shouldn’t feel like you have to shrink, to lose pieces of yourself, just to fit into a college brochure.

The truth is, college pressure doesn’t just steal sleep or time—--It steals the things that make us, us. And no acceptance letter, no name on a fancy piece of paper, is worth losing that.

So maybe it’s time to stop. To take a breath. To remind ourselves—and each other—that we are more than our GPAs, our essays, our extracurriculars. We are more than the schools we get into or don’t.

Because at the end of the day, the point of college isn’t to prove anything. It’s to grow, to learn, to become the person you want to be. And you can’t do that if the process breaks you before you even get there. When I close my eyes and let the pressure slip away, I can still see that little girl in her neon crown, and she’s in there, waiting for me to find her again.