I’m still trying to find closure after my university experience was ruined by coronavirus

Two years ago, my hopeful vision of postgraduate life slipped through my fingers. On a random weekend in March 2020, nights out with friends turned into four-walled confinement and I soon realised that the coming years would not contain the carefree fun I’d been looking forward to.

I had no idea that the beginning of lockdown signified the end of my university experience. I didn’t get to say goodbye to many of my friends and two years later, I still haven’t. We had to immediately adapt to online learning with limited resources (including a closed library) and I completed my dissertation during lockdown.

While we had a “safety net” grade policy for reassurance, like many others I found online learning difficult and struggled to motivate myself. Compared to everything else going on in the world, my degree felt futile. It was hard to shake off the feeling that what was supposed to be one of the most precious years of my life would be erased forever.

Life after university looked bleak and uncertain too. Graduation is the finishing line at the end of a marathon of highs and lows and is a rite of passage but the thought of it filled me with dread rather than excitement. While efforts were made, online graduation and makeshift caps and gowns were never going to replace the collective relief and the student body being physically together.

Nearly two years later, my fellow classmates and l are scattered across the country doing different things, and I still haven’t had closure. I’m struggling to accept that those years aren’t coming back. I should be proud of achieving a first-class degree during a pandemic, and this should be a time for celebration and possibility, but I’m exhausted.

I’ve filled the existential void with new hobbies and focused on trying to gain employment – but the market is more competitive than ever. Some graduate schemes, jobs and avenues that existed before have vanished. Seeing my peers and seniors mirror my vulnerability has been disorientating. When people older than you, such as parents and employers, are also shaken and unsure, everything feels volatile.

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My mental health has suffered in the uncertainty. Whoever said that your 20s are the “best years of your life” clearly didn’t account for pandemics. I’d always had an image of what I would be doing post-graduation, and it didn’t include working from my childhood bedroom.

I’ve also been shielding to protect a family member, which means I have had anxieties and have been reluctant to socialise as restrictions have been lifted. Between the incessant doom-scrolling, climate change anxiety, politics and Covid uncertainty, it has been an incredibly turbulent time to even begin figuring out who I am. My friends and I do our best to offer one another support, but we’re all mentally burnt out and Zoom calls have their limitations.

This constant frustration of having skipped the “fun part” of my life has trickled into relationships too. Dating has been replaced with domesticity. Adulthood has imposed itself upon me before I was ready for it.

Nearly two years on from the start of the pandemic, things are improving and we are finally able to embrace our independence. I’m considering moving cities and tentatively making travel plans.

But the pandemic has created a generation of young people forever changed by the loss of their formative years. We may not have had the chance to live out our last few carefree years, but at least we’re fully armed for adulthood. We have strength and resilience and will overcome whatever life throws at us next.