dear 2015 Elise,

As I sit here thinking about you, my heart aches a little bit. Kind of in the way when a friend is hurting and you can’t make it go away—all you can do is sit there, hoping that your quiet presence eases even a bit of their pain. Also kind of like the moment in a horror movie when you know the monster is about to pop out, and you’re yelling in vain at the screen for the protagonist to watch out.

My heart aches for your overflowing excitement as you piled your life into the back of a dark blue Prius. You were so impatient to escape into this new, bigger life that you moved yourself in completely alone—mini fridge and all—before Mom got back from parking the car. I ache for that fierce hope and determination.

I want to share some rambling nuggets of wisdom with you, even though I know that you can’t understand them right now. It sucks, but you have to go through all of the things that have made you into me. Even if I could mail this letter to you on August 20, 2015, you wouldn’t be able to really hear what I’m saying before you live it.

These next few years are going to be so fucking hard (I swear more than you do, and our mom isn’t thrilled about it). I honestly don’t know how else to say it, how to cloak it in softer words. Really Fucking Hard. These years will challenge you to your core, and it isn’t until you’ve lost yourself, found yourself, and lost yourself all over again that you’ll be able to find your way back.

But you will be ok. Stick it out, and I promise you that you’ll be ok. Not all the time and not completely. I still have lots of work to do. In some ways, I’m more sad and anxious and lonely than you are. But you need to make space for these negative emotions, even when it’s really hard. They’re necessary in order to experience those pure and perfect moments where your heart breaks wide open, unable to contain the sheer magnitude of your joy.

You have to like you. You know how you feel anxious in every single social situation these days? It’s because you don’t even recognize, let alone like, the person you’re trying to be. I’m not going to tell you to “be yourself,” because I know you’re still figuring that out—I am, too. Good or bad, nothing is static, least of all your mood and your identity. You will cycle back and forth between anxiety and depression (note: if you find yourself spending an inordinate amount of time playing iPhone games, you’re probably depressed). And you’ll have really good days, too, days where the light outside matches the lightness in your body.

A lot of people here are different from back home, and the sooner you put your finger on it, the happier you’ll be. Find the ones who are down to earth, the ones who look at you with deep understanding in their eyes. They’ll keep you grounded and in touch with yourself. Don’t be afraid to distance yourself from people who don’t feel quite right.

Through a lot of lonely days and nights, you’ll learn how to keep yourself company. You'll cook yourself meals over podcasts and wine, you'll venture North and South, East and West. You’ll slouch down in bed solving crossword puzzles and watching Parks and Rec. Pay attention to when this alone time is recharging and when it enters the territory of isolation.

You will fall in love with Philadelphia—so much so that you’ll slowly make your way from Biochemistry to Urban Studies. URBS will teach you a lot about the world and your place in it, about oppression and privilege, justice and equity. (It also will teach you that capitalism sucks.) This is so important, because it will help contextualize your day-to-day stresses and deconstruct the isolation of Penn. It will teach you how very lucky you are to be here, and how little of your being here has to do with your particular merit. It will teach you to be critical, but to stay grateful. This is all great, but don’t let your knowledge of your privilege invalidate your pain. You’re going to dig up absolutely devastating experiences from your past, and it’s going to hurt. Your pain is valid. Feel it, sit with it, let it out in the open. This is the only way to heal.

One day freshman spring, you’ll be sitting at work entering data and listening to a podcast about women’s relationships to their bodies. This podcast is really important. Listen. At this moment, you’ll realize that no amount of shrinking your body will ever lead you to love it. You’ll call CAPS that day, and six months later, will take a leave of absence to deal with your eating disorder. This is the best decision you will ever make. Period. It won’t solve everything—I’m still messy and complicated and emotional and struggle to feel comfortable in my body—but it will allow you to be freer than you ever knew was possible. And you deserve this. You deserve this. You deserve to be free, not because you’re special, but simply because you are. Because I am.

Working through your eating disorder will open up deeper, more challenging work lying underneath, work rooted in trauma and pain. Don’t be afraid to dive into that work headfirst, even though you’re a busy student. I know that it feels like you don’t have the time or mental space, but there will never be an easy time to do hard things. Once you know that there are things you need to do to free yourself, there is no better time than the present. Even when it really fucking sucks.

Take an art class ASAP. Don’t be like me and wait until senior spring. You’ll come to learn how centering creativity and self expression are to you, and this gives you a designated space to do this important work that you often put off.

Get a bike. I mean, I know you will, but you should’ve done it sooner. It’ll give you the freedom to explore every corner of this special city.

Please, please ask for help, both personal and professional. Penn has lots of resources at your disposal, but you have to advocate for yourself. I know you think you’re tough—and you are! But you can’t shoulder everything you’re going through alone. You are so good at supporting the people in your life, and you can ask for support in return. When you can’t get what you need from friends and family, turn to professionals. There is always someone to lean on.

Stay kind. This is one of my favorite things about you—about myself. Don’t underestimate the power you have to impact someone, simply by being kind. Don’t get sucked into the blasé “cooler than you” ethos. You are kind, and this is wonderful! Wave or smile at everyone you recognize walking around campus, even if you just had one class with them two semesters ago. It will make this place seem a little friendlier. (Note: when you’re having a bad day and don’t want to do this, just avoid Locust and choose Walnut or Spruce instead.) Ask “How are you?” and mean it, and say something more complex than “Good” when others ask you.

I wish I could take you under my wing and shelter you from what’s to come. But I can’t, and I think that’s for the better. Because you wouldn’t have become me without everything in between.

I love you so much, and I’m even beginning to love myself.

With warmth and love,
2019 Elise

Originally published on Dear Penn Freshman.