There’s a certain type of guilt that accompanies relief. When you receive an offer for your dream job, then listen as your best friend frantically second-guesses her decision to pursue the career she’s revered since she was seven. When you take pride in knowing you are one of the “happiest students” in the country, despite the fact that many of your classmates struggle with the stigma of seeking support. Or, on days like today, when you finally feel like you deserve to be here, like all your hard work has finally paid off, only to learn that someone you’d known since your first semester at Vanderbilt had completed suicide.

I naively expect such news to become easier to bear. After all, suicide is the second leading cause of death among persons aged 15 to 34, and close to one in three college students have said they seriously considered suicide at some point in their lives. Last semester, during the first week of final exams alone, Vanderbilt lost yet another student to suicide.

But this one was different. I knew this person. We’d had several classes together, shared several mutual friends, and helped each other prepare for job interviews. When I spoke with him last fall, he seemed relaxed, grateful to have landed one of the most sought-after jobs among Vanderbilt students and looking forward to a low-stress senior year. We graduated on a picture-perfect day in May (no filter necessary, as some members of our generation would say), both with honors, both believing we had done everything right. So what went wrong?

I don’t know whether he ever woke up at 4 a.m. so stressed out that he was hyperventilating and called the PCC, only to reach their voicemail, or whether he ever considered transferring his freshman year because he felt like a fraud, anxious that his friends would not simply abandon him should he open up, but worse — that they would not understand him once he did. What I do know is that he was, to his peers and professors alike, one of Vanderbilt’s most promising graduates. 

Self-worth is being able to wake up each and every day and honestly say that you, [insert name here], believe you have something meaningful to contribute, regardless of others’ expectations and assessments.

I’d like to take a moment to state upfront that I do not know the facts surrounding his passing. It might have been related to his experience at Vanderbilt; it might not. Regardless, I am reminded that Vanderbilt is more similar to “the real world” than we sometimes care to admit. The purpose of this piece, therefore, is not to critique the faults of Vanderbilt’s overachiever culture, though such criticisms are certainly valid and should be openly discussed. I also do not intend to draw any inspirational life lessons from this individual’s tragic and all-too-familiar struggle. Rather, I’d like to consider an overlooked objective of a Vanderbilt education. This trait cannot be found in the Community Creed, nor is it listed under the course objectives on any of your syllabi, yet it is the key to fulfilling both. It is also, somewhat ironically, tested — and, in the right balance, reinforced — by Vanderbilt’s overachiever culture.

This quality is best described as self-worth, and I would contend it is the single most valuable product of one’s schooling. A potent combination of perseverance, compassion and vulnerability, it is, in essence, learning not only to live but to thrive in an environment in which the greatest threat to your happiness is yourself. It is being able to wake up each and every day and honestly say that you, [insert name here], believe you have something meaningful to contribute, regardless of others’ expectations and assessments.

I’ve inhabited “the real world” for only four months, and I can already tell you that this pressure of perfection does not dissipate; it merely manifests in new forms. Your grades are replaced by performance evaluations (and, notably, attendance is no longer rewarded but simply expected), while your handpicked friend group disperses in order to make way for a complex, predetermined network of professional relationships. As you gain more experience, the number of jobs you qualify for decreases, limiting your ability to change careers and leaving you wondering whether the field you’re in truly represents your greatest passion.

Individuals’ expectations of happiness and success are continually shifting; attempt to keep up with others’, and you’ll be left behind.

Thus, when we talk about serious issues like mental health in the context of college campuses such as Vanderbilt, it’s a bit misleading. The feelings of self-doubt you may be experiencing now are not going to magically disappear upon graduation. Simply telling yourself that life would be better if you only received “X” opportunity or reached “Y” point sets unrealistic standards that will inevitably result in disappointment, regardless of your age or situation. The question we all must face is deceivingly simple: What will be enough? If you’re repeatedly basing your judgment on some source of external motivation, the fact is you will never discern a satisfactory answer. Individuals’ expectations of happiness and success are continually shifting; attempt to keep up with others’, and you’ll be left behind.

To be clear, I am not trying to demoralize those individuals who currently feel oppressed by the stigma of admitting — much less displaying — one’s imperfections. Similarly, I am not advocating self-worth as a panacea for such sentiments. I fully recognize that depression and anxiety are very real and debilitating disorders. Instead, I aim to propose a first step toward gaining a sense of self-control over one’s choices, reactions, and, above all, one’s identity.

These days, colleges and universities are hesitant to advance the notion that there is a single right way of living for which they must prepare their students. I disagree. Educational institutions not only have the resources but also the responsibility to equip students with the skills and knowledge necessary to confront an ever-changing world filled with unexpected delights and unavoidable regrets. In other words, students must understand their own merits and fallibilities — on their own terms. The poet T. S. Eliot said it best:

We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.

We may never know whether the graduate we lost ever felt like he truly knew himself, or whether his self-constructed identity aligned with the one he projected publicly. What I do know is the perception I hold of him. I know that when I first heard the news of his passing, I was rendered speechless. I know that my initial thought was “not him” — because what reason could he have? I know that in that moment, I perpetuated the toxic, self-destructive conviction that we are who others believe us to be. And I know, most importantly, that I am the only one capable of severing the expectations that bind me and determining for myself who I will become.

Leslie Bruce graduated in 2016 from the College of Arts and Science. She can be reached at [email protected].

Editor’s note: A previous version of this article stated incorrectly that two Vanderbilt students completed suicide last semester. One of the deaths was a drug-related overdose, not a suicide. Some wording has also been changed to reflect the sensitivity of the topic.