Alexa K.
Photography by Alexa Karet
If you’re reading this, the world can stop for you.
The summer before I left for college, my uncle was diagnosed with glioblastoma at the age of 49. From the moment of his diagnosis until he went into hospice care a year and a half later, I told myself that he was going to be fine. I refused to acknowledge what it meant for an illness to be “terminal”. My uncle was just such a force of nature that it was hard to believe there was anything he couldn’t survive.
Plus, being a freshman at Vanderbilt, I had enough on my plate to worry about. When I got to school, I was immediately overcome with a sense of not being good enough. Compared to everyone else, I didn’t feel smart. I didn’t feel involved or passionate, or pretty enough. Somehow, it seemed like everyone except me could join a million extracurriculars, maintain a 4.0 GPA, interview with a million finance internships, and still have time for a packed social calendar. Weren’t these people overwhelmed and tired? At least from my perspective it didn’t seem like it at the time. I felt like the world was spinning, and I was constantly playing catch up. There was no room for mistakes. It felt like there was barely even room to breathe.
When I went home for winter break freshman year, I was informed that my uncle was having his 50th birthday party; but we all knew it wasn’t really a birthday party. It was a celebration of his life, a life that was coming to an end. However, the party was supposed to take place the same weekend as sorority rush, and once again, I didn’t want to be left behind. The world was spinning, and so I had to spin with it. And when I told my uncle about my dilemma, he “disinvited” me from his party and told me to rush. So, I did.
For a while, it was easy to pretend that nothing was wrong, but midway through my sophomore fall semester, my grandma was diagnosed with lung cancer. A few weeks later, she was going into hospice care. And then, a few days after that, so was my uncle.
Suddenly, it all became real. They were dying. And I was hundreds of miles away. I had hoped that my uncle would hold out until Thanksgiving break so that I could say goodbye without missing school and getting behind. But he didn’t. I was devastated when I got the call, but I felt like there was no time to have a breakdown. My uncle had just died, but I still had assignments to finish and an exam to study for.
Two weeks after his funeral, I booked a flight to say goodbye to my grandma. I held her hand and talked to her as if it were any other conversation. But when it was time to go, I knew it would be the last time I ever saw her. I said goodbye, and then in the car on the way to the airport I pulled out my laptop. I couldn’t let my feelings take up time and energy that I didn’t have.
Those two semesters, and really my entire first two years at Vanderbilt, were the hardest of my life. But from an outside perspective, you would never know. I was maintaining a 4.0 GPA, going out, joining a sorority, laughing all the time, and behind the scenes, I was losing two of the most important people in my life. Looking back, I had this mentality that the world can’t stop just for me. No matter what I had going on personally, I had to maintain perfection. If I didn’t, then I would never be good enough.
But having this mentality truly got me nowhere. In retrospect, I would gladly give up my 4.0 and my sorority spot if it meant that I could go back in time and attend my uncle’s party or spend two extra days with my grandma in hospice. There’s always going to be another opportunity: another interview, another exam, another award. But the people you love aren’t always going to be there, and you can’t get that time back. So, if you’re reading this, I want you to know that the world actually can stop for you. If you’re struggling or grieving, you get to decide when your world stops spinning. Let go of the notion that you need to maintain a certain image or prove your worth by spinning along with the rest of the world. You get to breakdown and be messy and miss a few assignments. You get to ask for help, time, and understanding. Trying to maintain perfection in the face of your struggles isn’t grace. Moving through challenges with grace means allowing yourself to stop time, even if the rest of the world won’t stop with you.
Alexa K., Vanderbilt University
Vanderbilt University Chapter Co-President
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