Diary of a Gen Z Student: I hope childbirth is less emotionally draining than my thesis

Crying in the library became somewhat cathartic. Maybe it was all the caffeine I was consuming, but after reading about how some writers descend into madness as part of their process, I felt I was maybe doing something right. File picture

So, I’ve spent the past year planning, writing, and editing my final year thesis for college. My peers have spent the past year doing the same thing. It’s meant many late nights and early mornings in the library. Emotional breakdowns, as you think you need to scrap all of your work and start again.

Daydreaming about how peaceful life might have been if, instead of English Literature, we had decided to do one of those fake degrees, like Business. Unfortunately, by the time I started to have those musings, I had invested far too much time and energy in my English degree. And I had developed a sort of Stockholm syndrome about it.

Crying in the library became somewhat cathartic. Maybe it was all the caffeine I was consuming, but after reading about how some writers descend into madness as part of their process, I felt I was maybe doing something right.

On Monday, I finally submitted my final year thesis. It was a collection of short stories. And the relief I felt when I shut my laptop after submission is now what I imagine childbirth would be.

Though I do hope childbirth would be less emotionally draining, because right now, I don’t feel like I could experience a thesis submission again. Really. I was sweating as I submitted it, imagining that I was accidentally uploading a picture of my feet somewhere in that monstrosity of a Word document. 

This thesis has haunted my dreams for months. I’ve often woken up in the night, my heart racing, thinking about how I would prove my innocence if I were accused of using AI to write the bloody thing.

But now that I am one thesis lighter, I just have all of the other things that go along with final year of college to worry about: the essays that I still have to write, the readings I have to do for class, and the looming pressure to come up with a good answer to the dreaded question, ‘What are your plans for after college?’ 

Because yes, I’ve loved my degree. But no, I’m not exactly jumping at the chance to spend 10 grand on a master’s right now. And I’m not planning on moving to Australia to start a run club on Bondi Beach. So, I guess I’m going to have to do the scary adult thing and work full-time. Gross, I know.

My first experience of freedom

It’s a weird position to find yourself in. Equal parts exciting and terrifying. Because I basically just have to decide what I want to do with myself and start doing it. It’s the first time in my life that I’ve really experienced that kind of freedom.

The freedom of having no well-defined, correct next step to take. In school, the closest I got to that was choosing between studying history and physics for the Leaving Cert. Coming into college, it was choosing my degree.

Now, I could well decide I want to be a trad wife and start popping out babies at any moment. And that would be my decision.

I think the terrifying part of the equation comes from the fact that all of my peers have plans to do different things. And that’s brilliant. 

But of course, it can be difficult to measure your own career aspirations against your peers and come away feeling certain that you’re making the right choices. 

I know, comparing my career choices to those of my peers isn’t a particularly productive use of my time, particularly when those peers’ interests are vastly different to my own. But it’s a hard habit to shake.

Jane Cowan: 'The freedom of having no well-defined, correct next step to take. In school, the closest I got to that was choosing between studying history and physics for the Leaving Cert. Coming into college, it was choosing my degree.' Picture: Moya Nolan.

You see, I’ve spent so much of my education being fed career advice from every angle. In school, I was repeatedly told not to pursue anything related to the humanities. But now that I’ll soon have a humanities degree under my belt — one that I’ve enjoyed more than I thought possible — I’m really coming to understand how careful I should be about the advice I’m taking.

To combat my feelings of trepidation for the future, I’m rebranding this season of my life: postgrad limbo. Because branding truly is everything. And I think that’s got a ring to it. 

Surely, giving this era a catchy name and allowing it to be defined by its inherent messiness will rectify any anxiety. If I were too certain about the next phase of my life, I would be doing postgrad limbo wrong; I think I’m better than that.