In college, I made it a routine to take as many credits as possible every semester. On top of working and volunteering, I was consistently burdened with a schedule fit for two students because, well, I’m Asian and that’s what Asians are supposed to do. I was never complacent and I never allowed myself to live in the moment to stop to enjoy my achievements and successes. I was crazy obsessed with productivity and always looking towards the next rung in the academic/professional ladder to climb — often at the expense of a ‘normal’ social life.
It’s not a surprise that, even though I made it a priority to take care of my physical health, by the second semester of my junior year, my health collapsed — unbeknownst to anyone else. I still managed to achieve all of my goals, pushing through the pain the entire way, and at the same time managing to keep all of my options open for life after college.
Yet, I knew I had done irreversible damage to myself. I think I was too ashamed and embarrassed to share what I was going through with anyone else. This wasn’t supposed to happen to me — after all, I was the person who had it all figured out. Personality and behavioral changes were the most distressing symptoms I experienced, and continued to experience in graduate school. Bouts of anxiety began to strike, alongside indigestion, insomnia, and crippling tension headaches. Worst of all, I was nearly emotionless. I was well informed on physiology and pathophysiology back then and I’d even hazard to say that I offered sound advice to friends who came to me with nondescript health issues. But the only person I couldn’t help was myself, and this thought would make me even worse.