For the first 24 years of my life, school was the centre of my universe. First it was primary, then settling (somewhat) into high school, working hard to get into uni, and being set free upon Dunedin as a fresh-faced 18-year-old. Well, as free as St Marg’s allowed anyway. My entire life had led up to becoming a university student. It felt as if my sense of self was wrapped around the pursuit of that coveted degree. I could clearly split my life into Pre-University Me and University Me – and I was loving the latter.
Don’t get me wrong, my first four years at Otago had their fair-share of ups and downs (not to mention an Honours degree that was probably the worst period of my life). But central to my time in undergrad was a secure vision of who I was: I studied Microbiology, I was good at studying Microbiology, and those around me knew I was good at studying Microbiology. Staring down the barrel of the end of my Honours year, however, I quickly realised that moving into the so-called ‘real world’ – adulting, joining the workforce, and (most crucially) leaving university behind – was not something I was ready to do. I still craved the security of the academic schedule and the identity it brought me. I wasn’t ready to be Post-University Me at 22. Not yet.
Spurred on by this ‘post-uni aversion’, I decided to enrol in a completely different post-grad course. Eeny-meeny-miny-mo, and I landed on a Masters in Science Communication (RIP, you will be missed). Looking back, this choice fits all the criteria of the ‘panic Masters’. If I had been wiser, I should really have spent some time to ponder why I was so desperate to re-commit to university over the ‘real world’. But there was no need to think about that then. I was busy being a postgrad student (part two) with classes to keep me busy and a new degree to hang my identity on. I was in my early twenties and on my way to obtaining a Masters (*cue shiny, flashing lights*). I was a Science Communication student. I was doing life right.
Inevitably, as all good things do, this haze of academia-based euphoria was to come to an end. I am currently in the last semester of my Masters and, at least for now, my last semester of university forever. The thought alone terrifies me. It sometimes paralyses me. When it feels like your whole life has been building towards being a university student, it doesn’t leave much hope for your life once those years are over. As students, we’re constantly told about how uni days are the prime years of your life; ripe with opportunity, freedom, and youthful spirit. Were these six years of my life really the best I was going to get? Does that mean it's now time to commit myself to the workforce, trudging towards my biological end, forever looking back on Otago with rose-coloured glasses? Did I spend six years and thousands of dollars just to feel depressed at the end, questioning my new life’s purpose? I could have done that on my own, thanks.
I was surprised to learn that these fears are relatively common when I turned to friends. Yet, it seems they’re seldom talked about publicly. It feels embarrassing to admit that you’ve cried over leaving Otago; that you’re apprehensive about starting the next stage of life. Make no mistake, I realise how privileged my position is. Many people my age don’t have the luxury of putting off working for a few more years in lieu of postgraduate study. Many enter the workforce under less ideal circumstances than having a Master’s degree to fall back on. University isn’t even an option for a lot of people. You all have my respect; I don’t think I could have done it. Frustratingly, though, postgrad depression doesn’t dissipate with a simple acknowledgement of your own privilege. At least for me, it hangs around. It looms over your head as you hide under the bed covers.
Annoyingly, you can’t block it out forever – so what to do? To my fellow students struggling to come to terms with the end of your time as a student, know you’re not alone. Reach out if you’re struggling. Otago doesn’t seem to pay its postgrads as much attention as its undergrads (the hand-holding expires after you learn how to cite in first-year) so it’s largely on us to support each other. I’d wager a lot of your friends in a similar position feel the same way and may be too scared or embarrassed to admit how they feel. Name me one situation that hasn’t at least marginally improved upon discussion with friends. I’ll wait. Professional help is also never a waste. I’m considering going back to therapy to discuss my concerns with life after uni if my finances allow (in the meantime, I’ve found searching “post-grad depression” on YouTube helpful as it reveals hundreds of videos from people in the same boat getting through it together).
I feel this should end on a positive note. I owe it to all of you who relate to my situation to offer some hope. While I do get scared by confronting the next stage of my life, it also excites me. Mainly, I cannot wait to watch the fruits of my labour pay off in some form of employment and finally watch that number in my bank account rise (here’s hoping) rather than fall. I cannot wait to be a twenty-something reinventing myself again without university as the foundation. I cannot wait to move somewhere new, meet new people, and chat shit about my six years at Otago. Change is difficult, overwhelming, and scary – but it also forces us to grow. I choose to embrace that challenge. Besides, who’d willingly choose a seventh year chained to the Otago machine? Not me.