Picture 20 something 4th graders clustered together on a blacktop. They’re wearing the typical elementary school gym clothes–gray sweatpants, red t-shirts, with screen-printed logos of their Catholic school. These students are about the run the dreaded mile.
In the back of the group is a little girl. Long, brown ponytail in a middle part, kind of on the dorky side, but she’s got an intensity. She’s ready to run; to sail past every student in front of her, to be the first girl –maybe even the first student–to cross that finish line.
The gym teacher counts down. 3, 2, 1! The kids take off, and the girl with the brown pony tail is running for all she’s worth. She’s giving it her all, she’s keeping pace with the fastest of students. She’s full out sprinting. This race is hers.
And then it’s not. Her sides start to ache, the students who were behind her are gaining. And then they pass her, and she’s in the back. She watches them as they round the first corner, and she loses sight of them. She starts walking–the cramps are so bad, and she’s not even halfway done with the first of three laps around the school. She starts to cry as the parents and teachers watching encourage her–“Keep going! You got this! Power through!”
This little girl is me. And running the mile in the fourth grade has been representative of how I have lived my life up until this year.
Ever since I can remember, I have lived my life as a chronic overachiever–particularly when it comes to academics, and the goals I set for myself. I was as straight A student throughout elementary, middle, and high school, and graduated Magna Cum Laude from college. School was easy for me–the excellent grades, the honors, the awards, the scholarships, were all positive by-products of my love of learning. I was in that first leg of the mile, I was in my full on sprint.
Keep going! You got this! Power through!
But you can’t sprint forever. Eventually you start to tire. During my senior year of college, my mental health declined significantly. I was depressed, anxious, not sleeping, and barely had enough energy to meet all my obligations. But I was still sprinting. I was gritting back tears and pushing through the pain. Graduation was almost here–my mile was almost over. The end was in sight.
Keep going! You got this! Power through!
When I graduated in May 2018, I felt such an immense relief that I had finally reached my finish line. I could finally breathe easy again.
But then the finish line got moved back. Moved back so far you can’t even see it. My life would no longer be marked in semesters and grade years and summer breaks–college was over, and I was staring down the entire rest of my life. There wasn’t any end of the semester or any GPA to let you know that I had done enough; that I could finally take a break.
Keep going! You got this! Power through!
So I didn’t take a break. I started working only two weeks after graduation, fully threw myself into my new job. My work had a flexible schedule, so I filled my free time with more activities: I went to networking events and I got involved in my sorority’s alumna group. I even found a personal trainer to push me to my limits during my workouts.
Keep going! You got this! Power through!
But it didn’t feel good. Nothing felt good. Not my job, not my friends, not social events, not even my paycheck. Negative emotions consumed me–depression, anger, sadness, misery, hopelessness. I had so many good things going for me–why weren’t these enough to keep me going, to power through?
I was plagued by what developmental theorist, Karen Horney, calls the “tyranny of the should.” I was chasing all the things I felt I should be doing. I should already have my dream job. I should be making six figures. I should be happy. The shoulds are our pursuit of the ideal, not the real. It’s the race to a non-existent finish line.
I realized the full-on sprint was not sustainable, and I was completely burned out. The finish line would never come. Slowly, I let go of my unrealistic notion that I had to be the best, the fastest, the smartest, the first, to feel good about myself and my life. Success is not equal to surpassing everyone.
So I began to walk.
I ignored the societal pressures to “keep going and power through.” I watched those around me–strangers and friends alike–fly past me in this race of life. It was hard to see my friends get thrilling jobs with the big paychecks, or witness the fulfillment my coworkers got from their jobs. I envied those who did not have to battle their own minds to feel genuine happiness.
As hard as it was to watch others do what I thought I should be doing, I am so grateful I made the decision to slow down. I realized that I was so focused on what everyone else was doing, I was distorting my own worldview and missing out on my own life.
In this year of walking, I started going back to therapy, which has helped me let go of all my shoulds and focus my energy on what I actually want to be doing. I became more confident in myself, and started to feel that deep, genuine happiness that can only come from loving and accepting yourself as you are. I also began to realize that I was not alone in my position in this life race. For every person that passed me, I had the same amount of people walking next to me or behind me. Friends who were taking time off between school and finding a job, or friends who were still unsure of what they wanted to do. There were coworkers who took time away from work to travel, and coworkers who left to pursue other opportunities.
By slowing down over the last several months, I have been able to slowly regain the energy that had previously allowed me to sprint for so long. But this time when I start sprinting again, I won’t be comparing myself to those around me. I won’t be keeping score, or priding myself on how many people I pass. I will not be running the mile to be the best, like 4th grade me did. I’ll be running the mile for me, and my finish line will be the goals I set for myself–not the ones others think I should reach.
I’ll go through life at my own pace, and I’ll be proud of it.
Olivia Vinkler 