Dion Hines | Senior Forum Editor

The other night, I was on the phone with a friend from Back Home. It had been a couple weeks since I had reached out — this university consumes my time like it needs the hours to live — so she took it upon herself to call. The past few months or so have been a transitional period for both of us, so we talked about what we usually talk about: being overwhelmed twentysomethings.

“It feels like I just can’t keep with everything happening in my life, you know? With school and family stuff and these dumb*ss boys, like…”

“Right?! It feels like so many things just happen at once, and I’m expected to just know how to handle it all. I’m just expected to know what I’m doing when there are grown folks that don’t know what they’re doing.”

“Dude, we’re so young. Like… I’m practically a baby. I mean, I just don’t know anything.”

To that comment, I could only nod. Though I’m sure she didn’t mean to, she was speaking for both of us. She was right; I just don’t know anything. But there are still times when I expect myself to know everything, despite the fact that it’s okay to not have all of the answers.

My mother fell ill the last couple of weeks I was Back Home. I’ve always known her to be a strong lady, both in physicality and spirit, so it was difficult seeing her bedridden, hearing her groan in pain when she tried to sit up, watching her grit her teeth. I tended to her throughout the day and took over the household duties that usually fell upon her. “I’m gonna miss my nurse when he goes off to school,” she would say genuinely, with eyes so soft I wondered why she ever had to ache. 

She told me not to worry for her — she’s her Father’s child; she is protected. But I am of the flesh, meaning peace doesn’t come so easily. I worried for her when I was Back Home, and I worry for her while I’m here. And I have berated myself over that worry, over that premeditated grief, because I expect myself to know how to navigate this time. I expect myself to know how to cope with these feelings. I expect myself to already have the answers. 

My mother has been doing better, though she still experiences waves of aches. I’ve been calling her a lot, since the semester has already brought its challenges and shifts or whatever else you want to call them. I’ve been calling my sister, too, with her being my best friend and all. Both of them have had the pleasure of hearing my lamentations about being overwhelmed and a twentysomething and far away from home and most of my friends being abroad and feeling alone and experiencing hurt and… and… 

And about how I’m so frustrated with myself for even being hurt. For even being lonely. For even experiencing conflicting emotions. Or worry. Or anger. Or feeling overwhelmed. Because why am I even so worried in the first place? Why am I even so hurt? Why am I so hung up over things in the past? Why can’t I just let go? All of the things I’ve experienced, all of the therapy I’ve had, and here I am just crying and worrying. Have I not learned to process these emotions better? 

“You’re human, D,” my sister stated, “ It’s okay to feel what you’re feeling. You’re not a bad person for having these emotions.”

But the thing is, I know that. Why am I forgetting that? Why am I acting like I don’t know that?

“Stop being so hard on yourself,” said my mother. “Everyone needs a reminder sometimes. You’re bullying yourself for having feelings. You’re hurt and overwhelmed, and that’s OK. Be gracious with yourself.”

From talking with WashU folks, it seems like a lot of students feel the pressure to be perfect. To have all the answers. To understand the reading the first go-’round. To write the perfect essay in the first draft. To know how to effortlessly balance school and family and friends and fun and mess and heartbreak and weird times. I wrote this article to be a reminder — overwhelmed twentysomething to overwhelmed probably-twentysomething — that you don’t have to have all of the answers. You don’t have to be perfect. You won’t have all of the answers; you’ll never be perfect. No one expects you to know it all or to be perfect. None of us know anything, so have that grace — yes, with others, but especially with yourself.