Go Bears!
Today is my first day of school. I'm a little bit nervous; I haven't taken a strenuous academic class since before the cancer/chemo/medically-induced menopause thing, and I know I don't think as well as I did before all of that happened. (On the other hand, 3-1/2 years down--which is incredibly optimistic--and 1-1/2 to go until I can say "I beat this thing!")
I am used to community college campuses, where there is a broad range of ages in every classroom. Berkeley won't be like that. There will be other older students on campus, but not in the numbers I'm used to, and my fat*, 55-year-old self is going to stick out like a sore thumb. This is going to be especially true this semester, because three of the classes I'm taking are lower-division 'Intro to' classes (they're prereqs for upper-division classes I want to take, and too specialized to have been offered at the community college level), so most of my classmates will be straight out of high school.
I'm also excited. It's Berkeley, and it's going to be full of smart, interesting people and smart, interesting discussions, and I get to be part of it. Amazing.
*This is not me beating myself up or exhibiting body dysmorphia. It's as true a descriptor as 'I have blue eyes and brown hair.' Some of it's genetics, some of it's personal history, some of it's meds (four rounds of prednisone this last year; god, I hate prednisone). Most of the time I'm so aware of how lucky I am to still be breathing that the idea of worrying about my weight is laughable. In a few minutes, though, I'm going to be on a campus full of young women, most of whom will have very strong negative feelings about fatness, and who will judge, and that ratchets my anxiety levels way up. But not enough to keep me from going.
Go Bears!
This entry was crossposted from Dreamwidth.
I am used to community college campuses, where there is a broad range of ages in every classroom. Berkeley won't be like that. There will be other older students on campus, but not in the numbers I'm used to, and my fat*, 55-year-old self is going to stick out like a sore thumb. This is going to be especially true this semester, because three of the classes I'm taking are lower-division 'Intro to' classes (they're prereqs for upper-division classes I want to take, and too specialized to have been offered at the community college level), so most of my classmates will be straight out of high school.
I'm also excited. It's Berkeley, and it's going to be full of smart, interesting people and smart, interesting discussions, and I get to be part of it. Amazing.
*This is not me beating myself up or exhibiting body dysmorphia. It's as true a descriptor as 'I have blue eyes and brown hair.' Some of it's genetics, some of it's personal history, some of it's meds (four rounds of prednisone this last year; god, I hate prednisone). Most of the time I'm so aware of how lucky I am to still be breathing that the idea of worrying about my weight is laughable. In a few minutes, though, I'm going to be on a campus full of young women, most of whom will have very strong negative feelings about fatness, and who will judge, and that ratchets my anxiety levels way up. But not enough to keep me from going.
Go Bears!
This entry was crossposted from Dreamwidth.