On taking our time
Reflections on a semester off, written for 34th Street Magazine . When I first called CAPS last May, I didn’t know that I had an eating disorder, much less understand the extent to which recovering from it would shape the next year of my life. Things came to a head in the middle of a Tuesday night last December. I sat slouched against the concrete walls of Harnwell’s East stairwell on the phone with my mom, paralyzed by indecision. I couldn’t get healthier at Penn, and I couldn’t continue at Penn until I was healthier. It only took one sentence to confirm what I already knew: “I think you should come home.” I bet that, like me, many of you have a plan. It might be painstakingly laid out on a spreadsheet, or it might simply be an idea of where you want to be in a year or five. It involves being “successful,” meaning that you’re great at your job, loved by all, and doing everything effortlessly. When I decided to take a leave of absence, I was afraid to disrupt my plan and to lo