You are doing enough.

Maybe this is never a doubt that burns in the back of your brain. Maybe your resume is overflowing with words trying to encapsulate your accolades into a page, and maybe you’ve perfected the subtle art of blocking out everyone and everything else. Or maybe you’re like me, and you need to hear these words; to know the truth. That just by engaging in simple acts of taking care of yourself you are doing enough. That you are enough. 

Admissions officers proudly boast to prospective families that there is no cutthroat competition at Washington University: we’ve fostered a culture of collaboration, a diverse community of bright minds, fueled by teamwork and passion. But it’s not the culture of competition that bothers me, it’s the one of comparison. From conversations about who’s the most stressed to LinkedIn posts showcasing someone’s latest summer internship, WashU’s dense concentration of high-achievers coupled with the University’s emphasis on conventional success at the expense of self-care makes it difficult to avoid falling into a rabbit hole of insecurity and doubt. Free soda during finals week does nothing to allay the mounting pressure of succeeding academically in an extremely challenging environment. 

I feel as if I’m being pulled in every direction, everything begging for my attention, whining for my time. Despite the glaring gaps in my daily academic schedule, I’m often booked for several hours straight, and I know there’s no real space to add anything else. But the interspersed moments of peace I’m granted each week frighten me, along with the question ringing in my ears in these crushing moments of silence: am I doing enough?

I try to grasp how everyone else seems to have more hours in their day by operating on less sleep — with no midday three-hour-nap to make up for it — how everyone else manages to attend every class and complete every assignment, how everyone else seems to be swimming with their arms outstretched and a wide grin on their face while I can hardly stay afloat. This mental image could be far from true, but the environment I’m in certainly cultivates it: WashU touts the importance of conventional accomplishments, rewarding those who check off the right boxes, highlighting those who become Summer Analysts at McKinsey or get accepted to Harvard Medical School. Traditional conceptions of prestige and success are abundant at WashU, and it’s a futile attempt to try and subvert the dominant narratives surrounding them.

So I find myself asking, over and over again, waiting for an answer to sprout miraculously from the murky, bubbling mixture of doubts and insecurities: am I doing enough?

What I, and perhaps a significant portion of my peers, tend to forget in the race to win capitalism is that the act of self-care is work, too. It is time and energy devoted to doing something meaningful, something valuable and definitely worthy of that time and energy. A night spent watching a movie snuggled up with your roommates is just as necessary as a night spent grinding out your organic chemistry homework, and forgoing a club’s executive board applications to make more time for yourself to destress next semester is just as valid as choosing to apply. 

WashU advertises their mental health services fairly frequently, recommending their telehealth service TimelyCare and encouraging students to make counseling appointments through Student Health Services. But when it comes to the prevention of mental health issues, WashU is sorely lacking. A message of prevention is one that encourages self-care, prioritizing wellbeing over academic or career success. That message has proven time and time again to be incompatible with America’s corporate culture.

More and more people ranging from activists to authors, have spoken out against this corporate culture, proposing self-care as a radical alternative, a pushback against societal norms. Grass-roots meditation activist Shelly Tygielski succinctly summarizes this recent perspective on self-care: “Self-care is a movement in and of itself. It’s a movement of love amidst defeat, of kindness in the face of loss as well as victory. It’s declaring yourself as self-deserving of emotional agency. Self-care is an act of resistance.” 

It’s easy to believe that prioritizing self-care can lead to “falling behind,” neglecting the demands of attending a rigorous institution like WashU. But these demands are precisely what requires self-care to become an integral part of everyone’s routines, or we risk burnout. 

Tricia Hersey was an example of one of thousands of college students struggling to juggle responsibilities left and right that ranged from tough classes, an on-campus job, and an internship, all while raising a young son. It took a toll on her health and grades. But when she allowed herself a few moments to rest, she instantly would feel better. She began ensuring that rest, in whatever form it took — whether that was taking a long bath or meditating on the train — became a vital component of her daily schedule.

“I was exhausted physically, mentally, spiritually, and I just didn’t see any other way except to take a radical leap and say: ‘I don’t care, let the chips fall where they may,’” she said during an interview. “If I fail out of school, that’s fine if I don’t finish that grade — because I’m going to bed.”

My question is, can we envision a future where self-care is not an act of resistance, but one that is encouraged by administration, allowed to thrive even in an environment such as WashU’s? What does it look like for WashU to focus efforts on building students’ mental health rather than merely attempting to recover it? Of course, in doing so, something has to give. Maybe the sacrifice of abandoning dominant narratives of conventional success, attached with prioritizing self-care, is one that WashU is not quite ready to undertake. But the current trends, which reflect skyrocketing rates of anxiety and depression on campuses across the country, demand a new approach to mental health, or the crisis will only continue to propagate and worsen. We need more than counseling appointments and telehealth services. We need change.

When I find myself turning off my computer, even with an unfinished essay still open in one tab and a reading open in another, in order to cook a hearty meal for myself or hop in the shower, I have to remind myself to avoid the spiral of negative thoughts associated with fighting back against grind culture. It’s difficult to determine whether I believe myself when I say it, but I’ve started saying it to myself, as an affirmation, a mantra, a tagline to guide myself each day: I am doing enough. I am enough. 

Hopefully, one day WashU’s culture will make this thought one that comes much more naturally. But in the meantime, I hope we can engage in that simple act of resistance each day.