Graduate School after Gap Years: Going at the Pace of the Limbic System

By Chhiring Sherpa UA’23 and Jim Stellar (really written by CS and lightly edited by JS)

When we meet, we talk honestly. Jim (JS) tends to nudge students toward taking gap years, not because he wants them to delay their goals, but because he believes meaningful decisions require space. He also reminds me that in any mentoring relationship, the mentee sets the pace. In our last meeting, I, Chhiring (CS), did exactly that. That conversation also inspired the subtitle of this blog: going at the pace of the limbic system.

The Early Twenties: A Pressure Cooker for Life Decisions

Think back to when you were in your early twenties when you experienced the first real taste of adulthood. You are juggling academics, internships, jobs, and the pressure to choose a career path that supposedly determines your entire future. After graduating with my BA in Psychology, this pressure became all-consuming. 

During my third year at SUNY Albany, also my senior year, I found myself spiraling through questions: Am I sure I want to work in mental health? Did I waste three years on a degree I’m not confident about? Is it too late to switch? How many years would my graduation be delayed if I switched to a dual major in business? And the biggest: Why don’t I have my entire life figured out already?

Looking back, I wish I had listened to the advice people gave me: take your time. It wasn’t until later after years of operating in survival mode that I finally tried it and the results were astonishing. This blog is about how the limbic system became my guide in slowing down, becoming intentional, and ultimately finding clarity—especially in my professional life.

What the Limbic System Has to Do With Any of This

We feel the limbic system every day, even if we don’t name it. Your heart pounds during a scary movie, your stomach drops during tough news, or a certain smell pulls you into a memory you forgot you had. That’s the limbic system at work.

Located between the neocortex (thinking) and the brainstem (survival), it shapes our initial emotional reactions such as fear, desire, stress and supports memory and motivation. It includes structures like:

• Amygdala: triggers emotional and stress responses
• Hippocampus: forms and organizes memories
• Hypothalamus: maintains internal balance and regulates the body
• Thalamus: filters and routes sensory information
• Cingulate gyrus: helps process emotions, detect mistakes, and connect feeling with memory

These structures don’t operate alone; they interact constantly to shape how we think, respond, and make decisions. So when one part becomes overactive, it doesn’t just create emotional turbulence. It sends signals through the body: racing heart, tight chest, intrusive thoughts. And I was getting all those signals—loudly.

When You Ignore the Signals

For a long time, I ignored my limbic system. I had a job to go to, relationships to maintain, and a life to keep moving. I pushed through the stress because slowing down felt like falling behind. But ignoring the signals came at a cost and eventually, everything collapsed into a familiar set of questions about meaning, purpose, and future direction. That’s when I finally decided to stop forcing myself forward and instead turn inward—to listen, regulate, and rebuild.

Learning to Regulate the Amygdala and the Urge to Rush

One of the biggest realizations came from understanding the amygdala. Its job is to detect danger however it doesn’t always distinguish real danger from perceived danger. Amygdala regulation was a big goal of mine since I realized my body was constantly in fight-or-flight 24/7. My amygdala had been stuck in overdrive and the effects were obvious:

• extreme fatigue
• digestive issues
• constant tension
• racing thoughts
• difficulty making decisions

Professionally, I felt stuck. Should I stay in the mental health field? Go into business or tech? Find a career with guaranteed security? I was trying to force clarity, but my limbic system kept signaling that I wasn’t ready to make big decisions yet.

“Taking It Slow” Became a Practice

My mindfulness practice started in the smallest ways:

• being fully present while
• noticing the fall of the water as I poured a glass
• slowing down while folding laundry
• washing dishes without rushing to finish

These tiny moments became training for my brain. My new rule was simple: do things with intention, not urgency. I wanted to bring this into my professional life too. So I created a small daily goal: research graduate programs in Mental Health Counseling, Public Health, or Social Work. Some days that meant reading one article. Other days it meant watching one YouTube video about professionals who were once in my shoes.

After a few weeks of research, conversations, and informational interviews with MSW students, I realized social work aligned most with the work I hope to do—trauma-informed, community-focused, and flexible between clinical and advocacy pathways.

I then took slow, intentional steps:

• researching trauma-focused or domestic/sexual-violence organizations
• finding places to volunteer once a week in NYC
• researching different social work programs and their specializations
• connecting with current MSW students and social workers through LinkedIn
• looking up other ways I can gain more hands-on experience in the field

And it worked. I’ve met with numerous graduate students and social workers to discuss their experiences in the field where they gave me advice on what organizations to reach out to and I interviewed with two organizations, Urban Justice Center and Womankind, both located in NYC where I was offered a volunteer position. 

What Awareness Has Taught Me

Even now, taking it slow is not easy for me. I came from a place of constant anxiety and reactivity, where speed felt like safety and mindfulness felt unnatural at first. But starting small changed everything. I learned that big transformations don’t come from dramatic life overhauls rather they come from the tiny, consistent choices we repeat every day. By listening to my body and the signals my limbic system sends, I’ve gained a kind of clarity and calm I never had before. Clarity in my career, in my decisions, and in how I treat myself. And perhaps most importantly: I no longer expect myself to have my whole life figured out. I only expect myself to listen.