If She Could See Me Now

I recently visited The University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill with my husband and youngest child who is a junior in high school. Both my husband and I attended UNC from 1986–1990. Our youngest child has visited many times before but only as a tag along. He’s heard about Carolina since he was a baby. He wears Carolina Blue and cheers for the Heels. He’s only heard good things about Carolina. This was his first visit with the lens of a prospective student — a chance to think about whether he could see himself there.

We had tickets to a basketball game at the Dean Dome which is on South Campus. The campus has changed significantly since 1990. South Campus is now alive and bustling with activity and many new buildings. When I was a freshman in 1986, I lived on South Campus. Morrison was the preferred place to live if you were on the football team, not if you were an 18-year-old freshman girl from Boston. When we passed Morrison on our way to the Dean Dome, I asked my husband to take a photo of me. As I stood there with a huge smile on my face, I thought about 18-year-old me. If she could see 54-year-old me she would never believe how things turned out. I recalled those first months in that building and how unhappy I had been. I realized I never shared those feelings with my children and perhaps it would be good for them to know that it had been rough, but I had persevered.

Even though I was exactly where I wanted to be, those first months at Carolina were incredibly difficult. I chose Carolina not because of my major but because it was a big school far away from home — a place where I could be anyone I wanted to be. When I got there, I quickly regretted my choice. I didn’t know anyone, and it seemed that everyone else did, Afterall 85% of the student body was from NC. My father was ill at home and all I wanted was to go back there. I called my parents every Sunday night begging them to let me come home, a different person than the overly confident one who left just a short time ago.

Morrison was a 7-story building filled with football players who were much bigger than anyone on my high school football team. My suite had four two person rooms and one shared bathroom. I could barely understand my roommate, who was from a small town in eastern North Carolina. The one person I connected with was Marsie, who was from nearby Durham. If it weren’t for Marsie, I honestly don’t know if I would have stayed.

Those first weeks I spent lots of time on the phone with my parents. I studied a lot but told my parents I didn’t think I was doing well. I was incredibly anxious and homesick. My parents didn’t want me coming home before Thanksgiving but did agree to meet me in VA for a long weekend. Despite my unhappiness, Marsie seemed to like me and started taking me to her house in Durham. Her parents were kind and full of true southern charm. They welcomed me into their home and helped me feel a little less homesick. Marsie convinced me to participate in sorority rush and introduced me to her childhood neighbor Bristol who was also rushing. To this day I’m not quite sure how I made it through that crazy process, but I ended up in the same sorority as Bristol. Bristol’s family became my family in the coming years. Bristol and Marsie were my roommate sophomore year and thirty-six years later we are still friends.

The first weeks after pledging were still full of anxiety and unhappiness. I find it hard to comprehend that those who met me in those first few months became and remained my friends. I am dumbfounded that a boy I met in French that semester even spoke with me, let alone was interested in me. He later became a romantic interest and remains a good friend to this day, but honestly, I wouldn’t have been friends with me then. Despite spending the bulk of my time studying and worrying, I started to come around. The homesick days lessened and my shattered confidence slowly reemerged. I look back at old journals and simultaneously cringe and smile as I can vividly recall the feelings I had at the time. I had the best GPA of my college career that semester. Once I returned in January I quickly settled in and didn’t go home again until long after the semester ended. My grades didn’t plummet, but I spent less time in the library. I spent a week or so at Wrightsville Beach with a group of friends at the end of the semester and came home well over the 95 pounds I weighed in October of 86.

The truth of those first months is in my journals from that time and in the memory of those who knew me well. It was hard for a bit but it past and I cried the day I left Chapel Hill. Since those days at Carolina, I’ve had lots of great days, lots of crappy days, and lots of days. I share this story because despite popular belief, not all students have the best days of their life in college- and not every day of your life is supposed to be the best day of your life. Some days/weeks/years are difficult. Some days/weeks/years are just average — not good or bad — just a day. We do get through all our days — some with a little help from our friends and some with a nap. Just know that when you’re in one of those tough periods, your older self is out there calling you to the future saying “if you could see me now!!”