The Pressure To Club At University: Musings Of An Insecure Introvert

We’ve spoken in detail on The Insecure Girls’ Club about university and the ups and downs that come with such a pressurised and hyped coming of age period before, but the varied experiences and insecurities that come with studying as an adult mean the conversation is always an ongoing one. We’re sure so many insecure or anxious girls around the world will relate with today’s submission: what can feel like the dreaded going ‘out’ out …

“You’re walking home from a lecture, wrapped up from the cold and picturing the bowl of filled pasta you’re going to have for tea, when your phone buzzes.

Already, you feel a pang of dread. It’s Friday night. You know what’s going to happen. Sure enough, you pull your phone out and there is it – the dreaded message:

‘Who wants a night out ??? need to get drunk !!! [dancing girl emoji] [dancing girl emoji].’

You stare at it, fear already overwhelming you. Your heart starts pounding, your chest is clenching, your breath is falling short.

Replies are already rolling in, thick and fast. People are excitedly discussing what they’re going to wear as you stay frozen in panic.

‘Why can’t you be like them? You’re meant to go out! This is what being a student is all about!’, you berate yourself internally.

You summon some strength and type, ‘yasssss can’t wait’. You feel yourself give in, resigning yourself to another night out of struggling not to look as out-of-place and anxious as you really feel.

‘At least there’s still the filled pasta’, you think as you start walking again.

That’s what happened every time I went ‘out-out’ at uni. I’d fill with a dread that only grew throughout the night.

I hated clubbing.

I already knew I didn’t enjoy it from months of sneaking out with a fake ID in sixth form. It wasn’t for me. I am an introvert. I don’t thrive in crowds. I find clubs too loud, too busy - in all ways, just too much.

It was made worse by my low self-esteem. Going out would compound all my insecurities. I felt ugly and uncool and out-of-place. I felt like the crowds were either there to judge me or taunt me, enjoying themselves as every minute dragged for me.

I could have just said no to clubbing. I would have if I hadn’t been going to uni.

See, I knew that clubbing was a prerequisite for uni. Freshers was about getting drunk and going out. It was ingrained into the stereotype of a student, one who was constantly hungover yet revving up to do it all again. It was everywhere. Friends, family, even my grandad - everyone reinforced it, laughing about how my blood alcohol wouldn’t fall below .3 for the duration of my first year.

This may have been a joke but, like all stereotypes, it left little room to manoeuvre. I felt like I couldn’t say no to clubbing because I’d be saying no being a proper student. I wouldn’t fit into the expectations. I wouldn’t be doing uni right.

If I’d been in a better emotional state, I could have still said no. I could have risked being left out or appearing like a loser, if I felt better in myself.

But I didn’t.

My self-esteem was already crumbling when I started uni. I didn’t have the strength to do anything that could lead to me isolating myself. I didn’t have the resilience to say no to something that would help me fit it.

So, I said yes to clubbing. I squashed my internal protests. I ignored my anxiety, telling myself it was worth it. It would help me change who I was. I forced myself to go out, trying desperately to look like I enjoyed myself despite the fact that I was usually on the verge of a panic attack.

I kept doing it, despite the impact it had. Despite how depleted I felt from forcing myself through something that went against my nature. Despite how exhausted I felt from the constant anxiety and worry. I forced myself to go, ignoring the impacts that lasted longer than any hangover ever did.

I couldn’t say no because of my own insecurities and mental health issues. But I wasn’t just fighting these. I was also struggling against social expectations that didn’t include me or my personality. I had to squeeze into the ideal student stereotype, morphing and erasing parts of myself to do so. No wonder my mental health worsened as a result.

Like any, this expectation didn’t offer any easy route to say no. ‘No’ came with the risk of isolating yourself at a time when fitting in seems the most important.

I learnt to say no as I went through uni, but it wasn’t easy. I felt weird and constantly made excuses to hide the fact that I simply just didn’t want to go out. I still do it, mostly because the pressure to conform to the student stereotype remains.

I wanted to write this piece for any insecure or introverted people who have also dreaded and continue to struggle with the expectations that come with university. They’re real, they can make you feel like shit, but you can navigate them. You can do what is best for you and I guarantee that you will find your space, your identity, and your support group.

And for everyone else, perhaps people who have never seen clubbing or freshers like this, take this as a reminder. Not everyone can - or wants to - participate. Give people options. Don’t force a stereotype on them. Expectations can be punishing, especially for those of us already struggling with other issues.

Dismantling the pressure for students to go clubbing is just one way to make uni a place where us insecure girls can thrive.”

You can find Lucy’s previous post on The Insecure Girls’ Club titled ‘Depressions of a Shopaholic’ here, or browse her own blog thoughtsandthat.com!