We spent a lot of freshman year crying alone in our dorm rooms

There was this girl in my poetry class during my freshman year. She was a senior. She was sophisticated and cool and unlike me in every way, except she also had brown hair. She wrote poems about things I didn’t understand like pink Gucci mules and buckets of beers at CJ’s and postgames at Crossings. But she also wrote about things I did understand like the first snowfall of the year, the way the snowflakes catch the light from the golden dome and twinkle like stars or like glitter (or both). 

And I — 18, unsophisticated, uncool and unlike her in every way — swore: Someday, I’ll look at the Golden Dome the way she does in all its glory, with the snow glimmering like confetti, and I’ll feel everything. All the good. All the bad. And someday, I’ll love this college experience too. 

Freshman year sucked sometimes, especially the beginning. I remember being young and desperate and rarely knowing what I was doing. Every Friday, I’d refresh YikYak until some mediocre dorm party information was released, pull up to said dorm party in an ill-fitting crop top and jeans and chat nervously with the other college freshmen who were either extraordinarily drunk or stone-cold sober with no in-between. Although I liked meeting people (and guessing their SAT scores), I often left the party feeling slightly more stupid and awkward than when I entered.

But in the daylight, outside of the sweaty, sticky dorm party environment, I also felt stupid and awkward and, at times, quite lonely to the point where my lovely Moreau professor did send me a “Just checking in” email after she read my Week 9 assignment.

Unfortunately, loneliness is something that wasn’t on my freshman-year bingo card. So the moment I felt it, I went on a YikYak-ing spree where I begged upperclassmen to tell me their tragic freshman year stories and assure me that it got better. Many did, and they told me that I would eventually find my people, figure out academics (I still haven’t) and perhaps if I’m lucky, lock down a respectable boy (ring by spring, anyone?).

However, even the kind messages from anonymous users on YikYak (Blue Chicken and Purple Pepper) would not be enough to squash my internal feelings of isolation. So I continued to cry my guts out in my freshman year dorm room in the middle of the day when I knew my roommate was in class. And I continued to put on a brave face around campus, despite usually looking like I’d just rolled out of bed (I probably had).

I was shamelessly rotting away, feeling like a misfit toy with no friends, someone who had no choice but to be on her own. I thought perhaps I was bound to be alone forever, eating dinner in South Dining Hall in the back corner, catching up on my YouTube videos instead of socializing. 

And in some dark moments, I thought perhaps I didn’t deserve that core group of friends I was so convinced I needed as soon as possible. I thought perhaps I didn’t deserve people to consistently grab meals with or study with in the wee hours of the night when everyone else was asleep. 

So when I returned home for fall break, I flipped open my laptop and recorded a 20-minute video in which I talked through my feelings. And it was in this video that I finally admitted: “Lately, I’ve been experiencing a lot of loneliness.”

I remember feeling embarrassed — even though I was alone in my room — but still, I continued: “Loneliness feels like never having a plan. It feels like eating alone in the dining hall, not because you want to, but because no one wants to come sit with you. It feels like showing up places and feeling uninvited even when you were invited. It feels like shutting yourself in your room and supplementing dining hall meals with granola bars because you’re too afraid to be lonely in front of people.” 

I spent so much of my fall freshman year feeling like I was the only one, feeling like perhaps what I was experiencing wasn't normal. I was so worried that people thought I was uncool or undesirable just because I was still finding a core group of people I liked and trusted. But now, I realize as an upperclassman how insanely normal it is to struggle in your first year (or any year, really).

As I’ve gained more distance from my freshman year experience, I’ve had more and more conversations with friends about the tough parts of freshman year and the things we were so ashamed to admit we experienced. So now, we sit outside of reasonably-priced Italian restaurants and recount the group chats we were left out of, the SYR dates who did us dirty, the so-called “friends” who called the Uber without us, the meals we ate alone, and, of course, the time spent crying alone in our dorm rooms.

But we also recount the moments of triumph, those rare and beautiful moments when we extended ourselves, instead of wallowing in our loneliness and fear.

Of course, it got better (just like Blue Chicken and Purple Pepper promised). I made some incredible friends in the most random places and I started reaching out to people to do things (like that redheaded girl I met at the last home football game who became one of my best friends for life).

And while most of my memories were not related to pink Gucci mules or CJ’s beer buckets, I did make it out to Crossings once or twice. 

Now, I’m in Rome. And I'm still just as lost and confused as that 18-year-old girl in her first few months of college, but every day feels a little less terrifying. And I promise I try to look at that Colosseum the same way the girl in my poetry class looked at the Golden Dome during the first snowfall — with wide eyes, admiration and the utmost gratitude for this experience, even when it totally sucks (because everything sucks sometimes, right?). 

Kate Casper (aka, Casper, Underdog or Jasmine) is from Northern Virginia, currently residing in Rome. She strives to be the best waste of your time. You can contact her at kcasper@nd.edu.

Editor's note: This column was edited and updated Oct. 30, 2023.