As my first year at Stanford came to a close, I heard countless warnings from wise, all-knowing upperclassmen: beware of the Sophomore Slump. The Sophomore Slump became a looming, mysterious presence that I could feel sneaking up on me -- a shadow of a figure that I could never quite catch a glimpse of. It was the best kept secret at Stanford: the knowing smile, the shrug, the “Just wait, you’ll see.” I spent the weeks before my second year planning for every catastrophe I could imagine. And when the year got underway, I was pleasantly surprised to find that I was enjoying my classes, getting better grades than ever, and even leaving my candle-scented room every now and then to pretend to be social. Just when I thought my hours of arduous planning had averted whatever disaster the Slump entailed, the bomb dropped.

The thing about my Sophomore Slump was that it wasn’t my own. It was the collective stress of my classmates that made the year more difficult than I could have ever imagined. It was watching some of the happiest, most well-adjusted people I had ever met flail while I stood by, unsure how to help. It was visiting the psychiatric ward in the Stanford Hospital and seeing familiar faces that I could hardly recognize anymore. Sophomore year was the year I realized something needed to change. Naturally, I spent my spring quarter trying to figure out just what that something was. Through a variety of insightful interviews, long debates in the dining hall, and whispered confessions over sleepless nights, I think I found a starting point. At the very least, Stanford should work to streamline the path toward mental and emotional wellness.

Course: Lie Detection and the Social Functions of Deception
Instructor: Sigrid Streit

Watch Monica's Presentation
Learn More About The Lunsford Award for Oral Presentation of Research