In the nonstop tornado that defines life at Hopkins, stress quickly becomes part of our everyday routine. It all starts from the very beginning of freshman year, making it hard to consistently set time aside for our mental health. Syllabus week does not exist at Hopkins. Instead, it is syllabus "ten minutes," where, in a matter of moments, every freshman is thrust under a mountain of assignments and expected to navigate what is quite literally a whole new universe independently.
For me, at least at first, the transition from high school's structured environment to Hopkins' sink-or-swim mentality felt like a breath of fresh air. Pretty soon though, it hit me like a tsunami. When I first arrived at the chaos, I wasn't sure how to deal with it. I missed the small comforting routines I had at home: waking up to my Disney princess alarm clock at 6:15 a.m., being able to put mozzarella sticks in the air fryer whenever I wanted and my dog darting toward me whenever I walked through the front door. At college, something as simple as making a good cup of coffee suddenly feels impossible when you're trying to create an Introductory Chemistry Quizlet with one hand while trying not to forget to grab your laundry in exactly nine minutes. Otherwise, someone will dump out your clothes, and you can kiss your last matching pairs of socks goodbye.
This constant rush overwhelmed me. I realized that this way of living simply wasn't sustainable. I needed to find a way to pause.
It was in that search for stillness that I found my anchor: a plain white dining hall mug that I accidentally carried out of FFC during my second week on campus. It started out as an absent-minded mistake. I was walking out with my coffee still in hand while rushing to my 9 a.m. lecture. Since then, though, it has become an unexpected blessing.
My mug is more than just a vessel for drinks. I've used it as a pencil holder during late-night study sessions, a container for hair ties on my dresser, a spoon stand while eating Lucky Charms in my dorm and even as a temporary herb garden for the random mint plant I found at the 32nd Street Farmers Market.
Most importantly, though, my mug holds the coffee that starts each day. Making coffee in it has become my morning ritual. I carefully fill it with hot water from my electric kettle and measure out the coffee granules, creamer and sugar. I'll admit my coffee combinations are a hit or miss, but I value the agency I have over creating them. During those few minutes, I'm not a student worrying about my GPA or a freshman trying to find friends. I'm just a person enjoying the rich aroma of Nescafé and the warmth lingering on my fingertips. This ritual forces me to slow down, become aware of the present moment and breathe before stepping into another day at Hopkins.
My mug doesn't make Hopkins any less demanding, nor does it magically reduce my workload. What it gives me is five uninterrupted minutes every morning that belong entirely to me. Once I realized how much those five minutes mattered, I started noticing that everyone around me seemed to have their own version of a mug: their own ritual that made Hopkins feel just a little more manageable.
Every undergraduate here faces similar pressures: jargon-filled exams where you need a dictionary just to understand the questions, endless tasks that pile up faster than we can complete them and expectations to excel with ease in one of the nation's most rigorous academic environments. We all search for ways to make college feel less overwhelming. We all seek our own anchors in the tornado.
For my friend Leah, it's her afternoon journaling near Mudd Hall after her classes. She says the feeling of putting pen to paper after being stressed all day is what she looks forward to. For my friend Sophie, it's eating takeout from Lao Sze Chuan every Saturday. She says the taste of food that isn't Hopkins affiliated allows her to decompress and reenergize.
These rituals, though, extend beyond individual practices. I've noticed how groups of students form their own anchoring traditions: the AMR II students who dress up and go out every Friday night, matcha lovers making their way to KANOM Cafe, and acapella groups gathering in the Bloomberg Student Center to sing their favorite tunes. These are rituals that have become their anchors. They don't make Hopkins any less demanding, but they remind us that even in the middle of the tornado, we can choose moments that bring us back to ourselves.
Practicing mental health as a freshman isn't some niche idea, even though it's often treated that way. A quick Google search will tell you that "good" mental health means consistent sleep (7–9 hours), a nutritious diet and regular exercise. But let's be honest — that's not realistic for most freshmen at Hopkins. Many of us rely on Hopkins Cafe for most of our meals, our sleep gets squeezed by coursework and other commitments and, personally, I used to live two minutes away from the Ralph S. O’Connor Recreation Center and went a grand total of three times this year, all during the first week of school.
What actually matters is this: taking care of your mental health as a freshman means deciding to set aside time for yourself, not feeling guilty about it and recognizing that it doesn't have to be big or perfect. Sometimes, it's as simple as a cup of coffee in a plain white dining hall mug. It won't make your exams easier or your workload lighter, but it can remind you that before you're a Hopkins student, you're a person.
Rhea Makkuni is a sophomore from Chicago, Ill. majoring in Molecular and Cellular Biology. She is a Science & Technology Editor for The News-Letter.
