From Harvard to Home and Back Again

One year ago, Brian S. Gillis ’07-’08 was struggling. “I would just walk around Boston for hours,” he says. “I don’t want to call it depression not because I’m afraid of calling it depression. I’ve realized it wasn’t depression. It was an existential, spiritual thing.” Gillis’ wanderings left him with a head full of questions and notebooks full of low grades. By December he was faced with a choice: he could take the next semester off, thereby saving his transcript from a ruined semester and hopefully finding new direction for the future. Or he could stay at Harvard.

Before Christmas break, he met with Stephen H. Kargere, Cabot House’s Allston Burr Senior Tutor. Together, they reached a decision. “After talking to Stephen, it became clear that taking time off was the best answer to deal with these questions,” says Gillis. “I could have stayed, but it would have been very difficult for me academically.” Outside of his schoolwork, “I was having a tough time. Aside from my roommates, I didn’t hang out with anybody. Because of my troubles, I wrongly felt I couldn’t be a perfect friend. I wasn’t happy.”

Gillis went home to California for Christmas break in 2004. He returned in September 2005 as a second semester sophomore, and hoped everything would be okay.

TIME OUT OR BURN OUT?

Harvard has lots of resources for troubled students. Undergraduates have access to free cognitive therapy, counseling, group therapy, and even meditation tapes. When all else fails, senior tutors as well as senior administrators at the helm of Harvard’s mental health addendum offer another possibility: taking time off.

“No one’s ever told me encourage students to take time off. The goal is for every Harvard student to be as happy as they can be—maximizing the Harvard experience,” says Kargere.

Harvard may not explicitly endorse time off as a treatment, but the practice is glorified in Harvard’s administrative halls. In 2000, William Fitzsimmons, dean of admissions and financial aid, Marlyn McGrath Lewis, director of admissions, and Charles Ducey, then-director of the Bureau of Study Counsel, co-authored “Time Out or Burn Out For the Next Generation.”

In the paper, linked from the admissions office website, Fitzsimmons, Lewis, and Ducey diagnose what they call the “burnout” phenomenon. “Faced with the fast pace of growing up today, some students are clearly distressed,” they write. “Professionals in their thirties and forties—physicians, lawyers, academics, business people and others—sometimes give the impression that they are dazed survivors of some bewildering life-long boot-camp…Often they say they missed their youth entirely, never living in the present, always pursuing some ill-defined future goal.”

Then they ask, dramatically: “What can we do to help?” The paper’s unequivocal answer is time off. According to the paper, roughly 20 percent of Harvard students take time off at some point before they graduate, either before coming to college or once they’ve already enrolled, and most of them benefit. “Harvard’s overall graduation rate of 97% is among the highest in the nation, perhaps in part because so many students take time off,” they write.

Reasons for leaving can vary from traveling abroad to conducting research to taking a break from the Harvard grind. (Full disclosure: I received a letter along the same lines as “Time Out or Burn Out” when I got into Harvard. It was enclosed with the letter which told me I was off of Harvard’s wait list—with the caveat that I take a year off before attending. I was thrilled and grateful at the prospect of taking a year off before school, and I’m glad I did.)

The “Time Out Or Burn Out” essay doesn’t just recommend gap years like mine; it also encourages students to take time off during their enrollment, a sentiment echoed throughout the College.

“We have not had the experience of students not having successful time away (at least no one has reported that it was bad),” John “Jay” Ellison, assistant dean of the College and secretary of the Administrative Board, writes in an e-mail.

Frank McNamara, a counselor at the Bureau of Study Counsel, agreed. “Our individual and collective experience with students clearly supports the notion that time away can significantly contribute to a student’s growth and development,” he writes in an e-mail.

The administrators cannot be accused of basing these conclusions on a lack of evidence. In order to return to Harvard after a leave of absence, students are required to submit a petition to the Ad Board explaining why they are ready to come back. If they have been screened by University Health Services (UHS), they are also required to interview with staff from the health services before reentering. In addition, senior tutors and counselors have personal relationships with the students who choose to take time off.

Paul Barreira, director of behavioral health and academic counseling at UHS, agrees that time off can be beneficial, but he wonders whether it is universally good for every student. Perhaps some, when talking to administrators, or petitioning the Ad Board for readmission, feel pressure to paint their experience in a rosy light. “Do students even tell us the honest truth when they come back?” he asks. “I mean, I don’t even know, do they just tell us what we want to hear?”

SOLUTION OR ESCAPE

Gillis’ time off was not easy, or particularly productive. “I went in saying, ‘Okay, I’ll go home and figure it out.’ I didn’t have a plan, a plan of action,” he says.

Upon his return, Gillis’ parents were supportive, but firm: he needed to get a job, and start paying rent. Gillis began as a food-runner in a “four-diamond” restaurant in his hometown, and worked his way up the chain to become a waiter. “I made a lot of money, spent a lot of time with the family, read a lot, tried to figure out things, looked for new inspiration in my life, and honestly I wasn’t that successful because I didn’t have a plan,” he says.

John P. Kiernan ’06-’07 returned from his leave of absence with a bad taste in his mouth. After he stopped going to classes in the fall of his junior year, he finally took time off, an idea he had toyed with since he had graduated from high school. Though his experience—spending time with his family and working at a non-profit near his home—was a positive one, the ramifications left him confused about his place at Harvard.

“I might be reaching on this,” Kiernan says, “but I think it all ties back in with the admission mistake. There’s a lot of self doubt, all the time, about whether you belong at Harvard. And taking time off is an example that you can’t hack it.”

Romina Garber ’06 spent last summer writing a book for Rabbit’s Foot Press called “Life Has No Rewind Button, But You Can Hit Pause.” In her research, Garber learned that time off’s effectiveness varies widely depending on how it is used.

“It’s an issue of whether it’s an escape, or a way to fix things,” Garber says. “So if you’re doing it just to get out of the situation and to not even think about it, then it’s never going to be effective. The people who take time off, effectively and successfully, are the ones who are disciplined enough to know how to use it,” says Garber.

But that discipline can be hard to come by, especially when the root cause of the problem is not exactly clear.

NOT A PANACEA

Habits which were no big deal in high school—like perpetually turning in papers late—began to plague Annie Bolotin ’08-’10 in the fall of her freshman year. “My first semester my grades were great, but during the semester I ran into a lot of anxiety problems,” Bolotin says.

By the next semester, it was too much to handle. “I was sitting in the library reading poetry, and I decided, ‘I really, really, don’t want to be here.’” Her freshman dean suggested time off was an option. “The feeling I got from her was, I could, I should really come back at a time when I could enjoy it and not slave at my work,’” she says.

For Bolotin, though, that time has yet to come. During her semester off, she returned home to Washington, D.C., and worked at the Museum of Natural History. Though far away, Harvard—and her petition to come back—were never far from her mind. “It kind of helped, but on the other hand it’s like you never leave Harvard because you always have to go back,” she says. “I was worried about bringing my petition to go back.”

She came back to Cambridge for summer school, and lived in the Co-op. The summer was “great.” Then the bubble burst.

“As soon as I got back to my room, I knew it wasn’t going to work,” she says of her return to the House system this September. “In retrospect I realized it was a terrible idea to go back into dorms—I wish I’d thought more.” Reconnecting with blockmates and returning to the college environment was stressful. “I’m a vegan, so the dining hall is terrible—there are only so many bean burritos you can eat in a week.” School once again started to overwhelm her—she realizes now that she was taking a course-load that was very similar to that of her freshman fall. Bad memories resurfaced, and about a month into this semester, she said good-bye to Harvard once again.

Bolotin now lives in an apartment in Cambridge. She’s glad she’s near the school, although she’s worn out, both from the stressors that led up to her time off and the break itself. “I’ve lived in, like, seven different places in the past year, which is really hard on me. I think staying in Cambridge was a better idea,” she says. Away from Harvard, she couldn’t take advantage of its safety nets, but being near her senior tutor has proved comforting this fall.

In some cases, the separation from Harvard’s resources becomes a serious concern for administrators. Some required withdrawals, mandated by the Ad Board when students break disciplinary codes or fail to meet minimum academic standards, leave members of the Board concerned, says Kargere. “Every year there are heart-wrenching cases where we’re aware, as a board, of the very difficult circumstances students have at home,” says Kargere, who has served on the Ad Board for the past four years. “Those are tough cases.” Sometimes, he adds, students asked to leave even lack the money or parental support to pay for mental health services at home.

Barreira confirmed that observation. He said some students, when strongly recommended to leave, decline because they worry they won’t receive mental health treatment away from Harvard.

In addition to being a voting member of the Ad Board, as a senior tutor, Kargere serves as a liaison between students in his house and the Ad Board, a representative advocating for their welfare. He emphasizes, however, that at the end of the Board’s Tuesday night meetings, Harvard is a school, not a caregiver. “This is an academic institution—there’s only so much that an academic institution can be expected to do,” he says. “We have to base our decision on the infraction.”

Though Bolotin thrives on the support of her senior tutor, her rapport with UHS is less than stellar. “I sort of don’t believe in the way they try to treat anxiety and depression—I’m sure it works for plenty of people; for me, I need a lot more restructuring in my life,” she says. A step away provided that restructuring. But Harvard still lingers.

“Sometimes it’s hard to understand where is the problem Harvard and where is the problem me,” Bolotin says. At her high school, a small private school in D.C., “I could turn in papers late all the time. All of the sudden at Harvard it’s not an academic quirk, it’s an anxiety problem.”

Today, Bolotin spends her time volunteering, meditating, and trying to make sense of what UHS labeled her “anxiety problem.” Though she has made some plans to ease the transition once she returns to Harvard the next time—for one thing, she’ll live off campus—reintegration remains a problematic reality.

LEFT BEHIND

During his semester off, the prospect of reintegrating into Harvard worried Gillis. “In the back of my head I was always scared of coming back,” he says. He wondered whether his friends would still like him, and what it would be like to be in another class. “It was on my mind all the time, but I actively tried to disengage myself.” He stopped corresponding with college friends, hoping to focus on self-improvement.

His return to Cambridge this fall was triumphant. “The very first thing I did was drop my bags and kiss the John Harvard statue on the cheek. I was just so excited to be back.”

Gillis’ reflections on his time off, however, still possess a twinge of regret. He is torn between labeling his experience a success or a failure. “It was an amazing experience, it was good for me,” he says, continuing in the same breath: “I missed a lot last year. I missed a lot of friendships; I missed a lot of opportunities to get things done.”

He adds, “I did not enjoy my time off. I missed my friends. I wondered what I was doing.”

“It hurts your pride,” he says. “You feel like, I’ve made some mistakes.”

Despite his misgivings and confusion about the time he spent away from school, Gillis’ grades and outlook have improved as a result. “I’ve learned so many things by going to Bureau of Study Counsel about who I am and how I learn. I wouldn’t have done that if I hadn’t taken time off. I would have been too proud.” One of the greatest achievements of taking time off, for Gillis, it seems, is this newfound ability to ask for help.

“A problem with Harvard,” Gillis says, “is that there is this culture that you have to be perfect.”

WHEN IT'S NOT A CHOICE

Although Gillis, Bolotin, and Kiernan were all encouraged to consider a leave of absence by administrators, in the end, the choice was their own. Other students don’t have that luxury. They compose another segment: those the Ad Board requires to withdraw.

“RWD,” reads the 2004-2005 Guide for Students to the Administrative Board’s definition. “Used in both disciplinary and academic cases where the Board believes (and the standard response suggests) that the student needs to be separated from the College in order to address and resolve his or her difficulties.” Some just do poorly in a few classes, or get too drunk, too destructively, too many times. For others, though, the college-mandated need to take time off comes as a desperately needed respite.

Unlike students like Gellis and Bolotin, students whom the school requires to withdraw are not allowed to remain “in good standing” with the college, or do what they please with their year off. They must follow Ad Board protocol and hold down a full-time job for six months. After that, they are allowed to petition the Ad Board for re-entrance.

“After sophomore spring, I was kindly requested to vacate the premises,” says Eric ’06-’07, who requested to use a pseudonym for this story, with a rueful smile.

“I failed my classes in a rather spectacular way,” reflects Eric. “It takes some effort to fail three classes.” Eric’s descent into depression was at the root of his difficulties. “Beyond a certain point, it’s just numbness, nothingness, not being able to think of a reason to get out of bed, to eat something.” Harvard’s environment didn’t help.

“It was a combination of a lot of things. I don’t think I was ever comfortable here. I think I always felt a little out of place. I was the first person in a bazillion years from my high school to ever come here. I definitely clawed my way in here,” he says. Eric’s moral apprehensions not class distinctions, made him feel like an outsider. “You get here and you kind of set yourself up for disappointment,” he says.

After Eric failed three-fourths of his course-load, falling short of the College’s minimum academic requirements, the Ad Board required him to withdraw.

“So I went home, back to L.A. My parents were thrilled to see me,” Eric says, his voice saturated with sarcasm. “I had to get that job, so in a stroke of creativity I went to the local Home Depot and signed up for the lowest-rung position they had.” The work Eric undertook was anything but glamorous. “When the toilet overflowed in the bathroom, they’d send me to mop up the shit.”

In Eric’s quest to “address and resolve” his academic difficulties, he came upon another solution to his problems. “At the risk of sounding trite—here’s the part where I make you really uncomfortable—I found religion.” Eric’s time off did not change his opinion about Harvard’s shortcomings, but it did change his outlook on life. “I still don’t like [Harvard] on a lot of levels, but it’s also not who I am—it’s what I do on weekdays.”

Eric’s time in the aisles of Home Depot translated to a huge impact on his current Harvard lifestyle. “There’s a really condescending tendency among Harvard students to kind of deify the working class, but there was a certain genuine-ness that I found. Eventually it got out that I went to Harvard, and within the store I had a dozen mothers—‘when you going back to school?’ a guy who would stop me and talk to me about Shakespeare in the break room, not because he wanted to be an investment banker and go to grad school, but because he had read Othello and it moved him. These are people who are earning $12 an hour if they’re lucky, but there’s gratitude there, and there’s genuine-ness, and I think that’s what’s too often missing here.”

While Eric’s friends and blockmates head into recruiting and other pressures of senior fall, he is getting along fine, heading to bed at 10 p.m., and spending two hours a day praying. The day before Thanksgiving, almost everyone had blown off their last classes to head home, but Eric had been in class all day, hard at work in the five courses he is now juggling with ease.

Although his time off and what led up to it was not easy, Eric is grateful that he had the chance to step back, and is convinced that it significantly changed his life for the better. “I’m glad for that option, as opposed to them just kicking me to the curb. From my own standpoint it is good.”

He doesn’t dwell too much in the past. “When you have a major depressive episode, it really doesn’t make sense to talk about it—beyond a certain point you just do yourself a disservice to try to make sense of it and find reasons for it,” he says.

Though Eric’s story is a painful one, it is a successful example of time off well-spent. His time off did just what it was supposed to: it helped Eric evaluate his time here, refocus, heal himself, and return. Harvard’s environment had turned venomous, and no amount of counseling or services could have helped him back onto the path to graduation. He needed an exit, and the leave of absence he was required to take provided that for him.

HARD CHOICES

Garber shares a story about her inspiration for her book about time off. Her freshman year, a close friend decided to take time off from Harvard two months into school, leaving her friends upset and bewildered. “When you see someone so close to you crumble, and you didn’t even see the symptoms or anything, it’s very scary because you realize that that person is a part of you, the part that maybe you’ve been suppressing until now,” says Garber.

Taking time off for any type of reason removes the veneer of perfection and normalcy of Harvard. Taking time off for academic or emotional reasons, in particular, shakes the notion that everyone at Harvard can handle the stress the College dishes out. Admitting and accepting defeat, even failure, is a brave act, especially at success-saturated Harvard. “To some degree, taking time off is as courageous as staying here. Staying here is the default,” says Kargere.

Taking the leap of faith of a semester or a year off can be a perfect change. Eric’s year off had all the right conditions for a productive and life-changing experience. But other situations are not as clear-cut, and these experiences should be considered, too. “Taking time off does have its consequences,” Gillis says. “And I wish I had measured those consequences more.”