The one who reminded you it’s okay to not be okay.
THE ONE WHO REMINDED YOU IT’S OKAY TO NOT BE OKAY.
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We arrived on these hallowed grounds, programmed for success, taught to always have the answers, to push past every challenge with unwavering resolve. The pressure wasn't just external; it was internal, a relentless hum telling us that anything less than perfection was failure. We built carefully curated facades, mastering the art of looking 'fine,' even when the weight of expectation felt crushing.
Then there was Professor [X]. Not the charismatic lecturer or the groundbreaking researcher everyone talked about. Perhaps they were the quiet one in the corner, or the one whose office was a delightful mess of forgotten papers and half-eaten snacks. They probably taught a subject far removed from your main focus, or maybe it was an elective you took on a whim.
The moment wasn't in a lecture hall. It was in a fleeting conversation, maybe after a particularly rough presentation, or when you were visibly struggling in office hours. It wasn't a grand speech; it was a simple, profound observation. A look that saw past the practiced smile. A gentle, "It seems you're carrying a lot right now. It's alright, you know, to just... be." Or, "The most brilliant minds often feel the most overwhelmed. Don't mistake vulnerability for weakness." It was a permission slip we didn't know we desperately needed, a quiet affirmation that the human experience, even at this level, includes moments of profound struggle and doubt.
That single interaction, so unacademic, so human, cut through all the noise. It reminded us that our worth wasn't solely tied to our GPA, our internships, or our polished presentations. It was a lifeline in a sea of relentless ambition, a quiet anchor in the storm. It allowed us to breathe, to acknowledge the cracks, and paradoxically, to find a deeper strength. Who was that professor for you?