As Boston College students, it can be tempting to hide our true selves. Embracing our individuality can help us to understand ourselves and experience the world around us as genuinely as possible. Authentic Eagles is a series that gives a voice to the people who have experienced firsthand the trials, tribulations, and triumphs of being one’s authentic self at BC. We hope that readers are inspired to have conversations and reflections of their own, working towards being more authentic individuals.
Kristina Rex, A&S ’15
In kindergarten, my guidance counselor told us that every person had a full piece of paper inside of their chest, near their heart. Every time we were mean to someone, we ripped off a piece of that paper, tearing down a part of them. She taught us that it was much easier to tear apart someone’s piece of paper than it was to glue it back together. My freshman year at BC I had my whole piece of paper torn up and left in a pile at the pit of my stomach.
It was February of 2012, and it involved a trip to a party with my best friend and a sip of Citrus Rubinoff from a boy I did not know. I will spare you the details, because to this day, I still don’t know them all myself. I got a ride home from a BCPD officer the next morning. I was missing my jacket, my phone, my ID, and my dignity. My friend had spent the entire night searching for me after I was taken from the party, with no success.
“Confused” is an understatement of the way I felt afterwards. Questions raced through my mind every second. Was this what a college hookup was supposed to be? Or did that boy really see me and decide I was his for the taking without my consent? Was college always going to be this shallow? Was I always going to be looked at like this?
My isolated experience had completely scarred me, ripping the paper inside of me to shreds, and giving me a jaded perspective of college life and BC. I was dejected, I was confused, and I was fairly numb. I didn’t fully accept what had happened to me until my junior year.
My parents have raised me as a strong, independent young woman. My dad always told me that any man I was with had better treat me like a princess–not because I should be spoiled, but because I was a smart girl who was going to do big things, and I deserved nothing but the best. Needless to say, I felt the complete opposite of this after that night in February. I felt so disconnected that I couldn’t even talk with my parents, with whom I had always been incredibly close, about everything that had happened.
So, in my unhappy state freshman year, I put myself to work, trying to prove to myself and to everyone around me that I was smart, special and worth something.
I fully dove into my involvement with my a cappella group, helping at every point I could, spending hours arranging music, and becoming an officer. I picked up shifts at my job at Hillside, working at 7 AM before class. My grades fell despite all of the time I dedicated to work.
This continued in my sophomore year. I thought that if I showed everyone around me all I was able to do, I could find a place for myself in a sea of 9,000 other people swimming around me. I started making some new friends, different from the people I was surrounded by freshman year. I continued to dive into work, into a cappella, and into school. A little piece of my paper was glued back as I got closer to my new friends and met a boy who gave me a little bit of hope for men in college.
My junior fall came, and as if a cappella, school, and work weren’t enough, I decided to audition for a musical as well. I was in rehearsal 25 hours a week in addition to 20 credits of classes, work, and a cappella. I was completely drowning. But I was starting to get the reaction that was making me feel like it was all worth it. People would say, “Wow, Kristina. How do you do so much stuff and keep it all together? It’s amazing.” Externally, I was beginning to establish the woman I wanted to be.
Let me be clear: I was not perpetually unhappy, and I was also not better. I was still my usual bright and bubbly self, going about my day from activity to activity with speed and a good attitude. But my piece of paper was not put back together fully. Something deeper was not fully fixed.
This all began to change in my senior year. I still remained incredibly involved, diving into all activities I could. But I could feel something new and different. My activities were now for my enjoyment. I found comfort in talking to God every night. I truly felt my piece of paper almost wholly glued back together. My relationship with my boyfriend had deepened into something special. I knew he loved me for my mind and my personality and my values. I began spending time with different people–new friends from my dance team and friends from my a cappella group who I hadn’t been as close to. I got closer to my best friends and roommates. I took the time to engage in deep conversation. It felt like a breath of fresh air.
I started to realize that I had found people who truly and wholly cared about me, something that had been missing from my life for about three years. They had always been there, but I hadn’t noticed them in the way I needed to in order to complete myself again.
In my senior year, I have rediscovered conversation. I have rediscovered real conversation with people who care about me. I let them get to the deepest parts of myself, and I in return, I try to be that kind of friend to them. All it takes are a few good talks. My growth, my conversations, my friends, and my faith have made me realize that I have worth. I have always had worth, but one incident was enough to shatter my knowledge of it. Through investing time in conversations over tea, dinner dates, and pillow talk with my friends and loved ones, I have glued back my piece of paper. I feel confident that I can now graduate as that strong, independent, young woman that my parents raised me to be, with my piece of paper fully intact again.
