“You shouldn’t feel this way” - Coping with post-graduation anxiety & depression as a twenty-something female
I have a confession to make: I’m 25 and I don’t have my sh*t together. Like, at all.
When I was in high school, I had this vision of me acting like this ultimate boss lady, you know, the kind that rocks a pair of high heels on a Monday morning, who just simply radiates divine positivity and who is totally in control. Instead, here I am, curled up on the sofa with a hoodie on my head and a cuppa anti-anxiety lavender tea chilling right next to me, blogging about my mental health problems.
Oh yeah, and I don’t know how to walk in heels.
Up until the age of 23, I was simply unstoppable. Absolving two First Class Hons Degrees, completing tens of internships and working at the same time. Commuting 3 hours a day to be able to study in the capital and simultaneously pursue my dance career in another city, 80 miles away. Writing essays at 10pm on the train back home. Constantly hustling. Never taking a break. It was wild.
Coming from Eastern Europe, doing my Masters in London was the most inspiring, eye-opening and uplifting experience I could ever imagine. I remember entering the Media & Arts campus with a cheeky smile on my face and instantly going “this is it”. You know that inexplicable moment when you look around and the entire atmosphere just gives you the chills? That was it.
In that one year, I had the chance to meet and bond with the most creative and weird (in a good way!) souls on Earth. In order for you to understand the importance of this, Dear Reader, I need to let you know that I’ve always had difficulties with making friends - well, I was never officially diagnosed, but looking back, I’m pretty sure I had social anxiety. In kindergarten, I used to stand in the corner with my fluffy teddy in one hand and wouldn’t play with anyone, even when the nannies tried to bribe me with chocolate, haha.
To this day, sometimes I just think, “eww, people”. I’m socially awkward a little, but that’s okay.
Cutting long story short, for me, it’s ridiculously rare that I’m able to connect with someone on the intellectual / mental level. I honestly think there’s nothing more precious (or sexy, depending on the situ) than two minds vibing. I loved that after 22 years, I finally found “my” tribe. I loved that I was able learn more about myself in 13 months, than in 22 years. I loved, in fact, was obsessed with the creative freedom that 1 year at uni gave me.
I fell in love, for the very first time in my life.
For these reasons, losing it all was very traumatising. I vividly remember waking up the day after submitting my dissertation - suddenly, the overwhelming uncertainty hit me like a storm. Okay, I did it, but now what? I don’t have classes to attend any more, now what? My friends are moving back home, now what? Soon I’ll have nothing rock solid I can hold on to. Now what?
Processing the “loss” of friends, purpose, structure and certainty at the same time was nothing less than excruciating. It was an indescribably painful transition and I simply wasn’t ready for it. No-one ever said anything about post-graduation blues, ever, including my uni. How should I’ve known?
I was grieving and in the next couple of months, I went through all its 5 stages.
Denial and isolation 😫
“This can’t be happening, this can’t be it, it can’t end this quickly”, I kept telling myself, for weeks.
Anger 😠
Soon, I started to feel this rage inside; I was angry with my 23-year-old self for falling in love with something so fragile, for opening up to people I knew I’d eventually lose, for letting myself feel happy and loved just once.
Bargaining😳
Then, the next phase followed. The “if onlys”. It was bargain time, and I bargained like a queen. “I’d go back to uni tomorrow if I could, just take all my money, I don’t care”. As an alumni, I kept going back to the campus only to chill in the library. Like who does that?
Depression😔
Things ran out of control quickly after however, Dear Reader.
I expected the job-hunting process to take a while, but I seriously underestimated the difficulty of being a fresh international graduate in the capital. I spent long hours every single day for months, sending out hundreds of CVs. Most of the roles I applied for turned out to be completely different to what was advertised, disguising sales as marketing - if you know, you know. I remember going on Reed for the 15th time on a Friday night, with a vodka coke in my hand (yep, certified Eastern European here) and thinking ‘Why am I even doing this?’. It was mentally, emotionally and physically exhausting.
Then one day, I landed this decent, well-paying grad job as an Assistant Content Creator in the private sector. It was a typical 9-5, the one you see in movies. You walk in, all staff already at their desks at 8.30am in meticulously ironed white shirts, phones ringing, but otherwise, dead silence. No-ones talking to each other, no-ones asking how you’re night’s been, what you had for dinner, or how your doggo is doing (proud Frenchie owner here).
A few weeks in, I realised this is so not for me. I did admin instead of content creation for 90% of my day, there wasn’t any teamwork at all and it simply required zero creativity - things I enjoy most in life. All I wanted was a meaningful role with colleagues that I get along with - was that too much to ask?
This job was some other graduate’s dream, not mine.
It turned into my worst nightmare, Dear Reader. Two months in, I developed panic attacks. By that time, I was constantly low - in the morning, during the day, in the evening. On Monday, on Friday, on Sunday. There were moments when I couldn’t leave my flat without having an anxiety attack first. I had to cover my wrist with one of these medical clothes so that I wouldn’t hurt myself.
I sat on our sofa each day after work and just cried. Cried for hours, days and weeks.
I’m not sure how to describe it all, other than saying I felt painfully empty. It was like having a dark cloud over my head, 24/7. And it was just the question of time for that dark cloud to swallow and destroy me.
I decided to ask for help and one day I booked a doctor’s appointment. What started as a routine check turned into one of the most significant moments of my life. When I explained the guy about the dark cloud, the emptiness and all that, he took a couple seconds, glanced at my medical records, then looked me in the eye and…
…burst out laughing. “You have a loving partner, a job, a dog and a place to live, you really shouldn’t feel this way”, he said, confused.
For real? I shouldn’t feel the way I do? You can do better than that, mate.
And at the age of 24, despite having a loving partner, a job, a dog and a place to live, Blanka was diagnosed with anxiety & depression and walked out with a prescription for one of the strongest anti-depressants in her hand.
Acceptance 🤔
Medication saved my life. It didn’t turn out to be the long-term solution (I’m still on them, enjoying all its nasty side effects, including sweating like a pregnant horse), but I needed them to be where I am now.
I took a leap of faith and on a Monday morning, I impulsively quit my job without having a plan B. I know what you’re thinking, Dear Reader. “Who does that?”, you ask yourself. “Who does that?”, I asked myself at the age of 24. Well, someone, who understands that mental health is way more important than work, reputation or money. Now I get it.
It was extremely frightening, but weirdly liberating. The world was my oyster, I felt. I learnt so much from these 6 months of calvary, both personally and professionally.
I found my post-graduation self and simultaneously, buried and let my pre-graduation self go forever. I realised what I wanted to do. I wasn’t afraid of failure anymore, knowing that I’ve seen me at my worst (okay, cheesy, but you get me).
Today, I work at a company whose mission I truly believe in and I’m lucky enough to have the opportunity to collaborate with the most ambitious and kindhearted individuals. I’m still on anti-depressants, I’m still searching for that long-term solution, but I can safely say that I’m getting better.
I’m in love, for the second time in my life.
About the Author:
Blanka is a 25 year-old Hungarian marketer & content creator based in London. She works full-time in marketing but owns a creative small business too, where she does digital art & illustrations.
Blanka originally started illustrating and designing to look after her mental health after being diagnosed with anxiety & depression at the age of 23. Her creations are inspired by young adulthood, female empowerment and mental health to a great extent.
She’s always up for connecting with fellow creative, artistic or entrepreneurial minds - feel free to drop her a message on social media anytime. :)
IG: @blankazsanna
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