As I gradually cross the threshold from adolescence to adulthood, I often hear my peers joke that their prefrontal cortex is developing when they find themselves happily going to bed early on a Friday night or confidently resolving an argument with a friend through conversation rather than the silent treatment. The prefrontal cortex — the part of the brain associated with attention, emotions, self-control and decision-making — continues to change and develop throughout adolescence and early adulthood. No matter how mature I feel at 22 years old, my prefrontal cortex has a few more years to go before it is fully formed. While it seems unrealistic that someone could wake up one day and suddenly be free of their FOMO or fear of confrontation, I believe that these changes can happen so quickly because I have recently experienced signs of my prefrontal cortex developing.
I was a shy kid. My parents told me that when I was a toddler, I would stare intently at every new person I encountered but wouldn’t say a word until I felt comfortable with them. When I was being dropped off for my first day of kindergarten, I clung to my mom for dear life and cried when it was time for her to leave. Starting that day, I went to school with more or less the same 15 people until high school. In my tiny elementary and middle school environment, I formed foundational relationships with my peers and teachers and grew to consider school my second home.
As I grew into a teenager, the label “shy” was replaced with “quiet.” In high school, I always felt just slightly out of the loop when it came to socializing. After nine years surrounded by the same group of peers, you would think that I would struggle to make new friends, but that wasn’t the problem exactly. I quickly formed a group of friends, but it never felt easy or natural to be myself. My social insecurity and anxiety, stemming from the performative nature of some of my friendships, made me worried about the optics of who I surrounded myself with. I was acutely aware of the social dynamics of my 95-person high school class, and I drove myself crazy trying to understand why I felt so unnatural and awkward in many of my friendships. On paper, I fit perfectly in my new friend group: We all wore the same uniform of jeans and a sweater to school every day; some of us lived in the same town; many of us had nearly identical class schedules and often spent our evenings on FaceTime working through our homework together. So why did my relationships with them feel so forced?
By the end of high school, I started to unlearn this way of thinking about friendships. I started to choose my friends based on the way I felt with them, rather than how others would perceive me. Once I allowed myself this freedom, I formed relationships with people who never made me question my sense of self. Being with them was fun rather than anxiety-inducing.
When I arrived at Dartmouth, the idea of a fresh start, a clean slate and an opportunity to reinvent myself made it tempting to approach making friends with the mindset of social optics that had tormented me so much in high school. This tactic didn’t last long, and I quickly surrounded myself with people I could be 100% myself around. After almost four years here, Dartmouth feels very small; I rarely come across someone I don’t recognize. However, as a freshman coming from a background of very small schools, I was initially overwhelmed by the number of people I had to choose from as friends. From clubs to Greek houses to housing assignments, there are endless sub-circles of people that one could affiliate with at Dartmouth, not unlike the social circles I was so aware of in high school.
When I got to college, I experienced one more relabeling: “Quiet” became “reserved.” I still struggle to feel totally comfortable in my own skin in unfamiliar places with unfamiliar people, and I sometimes find myself unable to form a genuine connection with people who, on paper, I appear compatible with. My social battery dies quickly and I find big group chats overwhelming. However, I have developed several friendships in which I never think twice about how I act or what I say because I know that those relationships were built by my truly authentic self. I have begun to really understand the truth in the saying that quality matters over quantity when it comes to friendships because, while I don’t consider myself the most socially outgoing person, I feel more fulfilled than ever with the close circle of friends I have created.
I used to blame feeling left out on other people because I was so convinced that our “on paper” compatibility should translate to reality. However, I have recently had a “my prefrontal cortex is developing” epiphany: The frustration I feel when I struggle to bond with people whose background, experiences and social circles seem to align with mine is not a reflection of my own social capabilities. It is just a sign that we’re not the right match. There are so many people in this world beyond the small communities I have been a part of so far in my life, and it is impossible to be friends with all of them.
With this newfound freedom in accepting and appreciating the fact that I don’t live up to the extreme social standards that I held myself to for so long, I am excited to move to a big city after graduation. In a way, I think I need to expand my circle to make it smaller again.
It is really hard to “be yourself” when you feel as though that version of you doesn’t fit in with anyone else around you. So, it is tempting to continue trying to be someone you’re not just to feel a sense of belonging. Perhaps the only way to figure out who you truly are and feel empowered to be that person is to expand your world and find the people with whom you belong.
