Although I love my school from the bottom of my heart, my college experience has been pretty bad. Between the countless night shifts, uncertainties with safe housing, and financial woes, there were few things motivating me to keep advancing year after year to a degree that I have constantly questioned if I even want. Every failed assignment, every failed class, every relapse in bad habits, and every mini tragedy was a constant reminder that my performance was less than average. For the majority of time, I looked in the mirror and convinced myself that the person staring back at me was wasting time, space, and unworthy of an education. Even with the emotional support of my sister and WPI, I still felt alone, and being in my own company was painful and humiliating.
The world that I knew prior to my attendance at WPI was quickly falling apart, and becoming an unfamiliar pile of rubble that I missed, but knew wasn’t good for me. My grades were falling, my apathy was rising, and I woke up every day asking the universe to give me a reason why my existence was vital when time would undoubtedly go on without me.
The tears never left, and I was no stranger to crying in the bathroom at my shifts, and biting my lip in class to force back tears. I was a wreck, just yearning to hear one of the most beautiful sentences in the world. “I am proud of you.”
Time was passing me by, as I’d stare into those empty bottles, wishing that the spinning room would rock me to sleep. My assignments were piling up, and the seats where I sat during lectures were unfilled for days on end. How can I study when tossing in my bed is the biggest chore I can accomplish in a day? How can I attend class with an open mind and heavy heart?
But, in the midst of this chaos, was a signal. It was hunger: that disruptive howl that causes the weakest of souls to fight and cling for survival. It’s that ceaselessly tapping on a shoulder that reminds the most broken of hearts that the mind might be blank, but the body is still alive. I was still alive: barely motivated, but still alive, like a small, starving mouse hiding under the sink. There was a small part of me that was still determined, like that small rodent that is aware of its size, but still scurrys across the floor to timidly devour the smallest of crumbs under the fridge. The traps are out and the chances of survival are slim, as the lights come on, and hiding spots grow scarce. This may be its last meal, but it would rather have a second to wrap its claws around that miniscule prize, than starve, unseen, in the depths of the walls.
I was then reminded of that poor, black girl, from a volatile single parent household in an unfair neighborhood in Detroit. She was ambitious, shackled by the chains of poverty, storing school work on cardboard shelves, sleeping on rags on a worn mattress, or stuffed animals and blankets, still dreaming of studying on the very campus I was so ready to leave forever. She never knew that she would be gifted a chance to travel over 600 miles from her home and fulfill her dream of becoming an engineer at her dream school.
Then, I could remember submitting that withdrawal letter during sophomore year, the immediate regret I had after submitting the letter, and relief I experienced after reversing the withdrawal. At the time, I told myself, “I won’t leave this school until they kick me out, and if they kick me out I will know that I fought as hard as I could to keep my spot.”
Each day since then has been a fight: a conflict between working and attending classes, and an internal battle of mourning an unfortunate childhood and celebrating the life I hope to create for myself. I’m battling senioritis and burnout. It feels as if I am single handedly pushing a car on four flats and no gas to a gas station five miles down the road. I’m at the intersection of fear and perseverance. I’m too close to quit, but too far to throw in the towel. I’m too exhausted to put 50% effort in, yet too motivated to give up completely. But, there is something so special about that ceaseless, howling hunger within me that reminds me that things may not be as good as they could be at present, but they are much better than they were.
It’s difficult to force happiness, and sometimes finding that happiness takes daydreaming about overcoming an obstacle, listening to a playlist that makes me feel like I’m on top of the world, or looking at pictures that remind me of sweeter times. Sometimes I still resent the people and circumstances that put me in the predicament that I am in now, and I often ask why couldn’t things have been easier? But, it is that hunger that reminds me that these unfortunate situations have carved me into the person I am today: a tenacious dreamer.
I have realized that acknowledging the pains and the pleasures have pushed me closer to wholeheartedly accepting myself as a person who fails and makes mistakes, but is still deserving of the treasures my heart longs for. These mishaps and misfortunes have crafted this crooked, haphazard painting which is my life, and I’m proud of it. The people I have become closer to on this journey would have never been in my life if things had gone more smoothly. My college experience has been unpredictable and wild: filled with spontaneity and tears, and racing thoughts and exhaustion. This mess of a college experience is mine and I own it. I was with myself the entire time as both a reckless driver and a concerned passenger, and I am still here today to mourn the unpleasantries and celebrate the victories. Now, I proudly stand before myself as the tenacious, first-generation college student, who is weeks away from claiming the token, that has been the prime motivator of this relentless hunger for nearly four years.
For all of my fellow prospective and current college students who have seen more darkness than light, experienced more lows than highs, and have received more losses than wins, I encourage you to release those intrusive thoughts that convince you that you are unworthy of your own praise. Even if the light is dimmer than you imagined, it’s still enough to keep you from stumbling in the dark. Even if that path is too narrow, it’s still enough to keep you from wandering aimlessly in the depths of the forest.
Being the first student in one’s family to attend college is sometimes an incredibly difficult journey, especially if finances, and/or familial problems are the first setbacks students encounter before even reaching the classroom. It’s difficult to find motivation to attend classes if it seems like all you’re doing is failing at everything you attempt. It can also be difficult to feel as if you’re part of your college community, when it feels as if all of your peers are academically passing you by. In college, our main identities are connected with our statuses as students, and our academic performance can influence our self-worth. So, if our academic performance is subpar, our self-worth may drop as well.
Although aspirations alone aren’t necessarily the only tool that can help with self-acceptance, they can be the first step in re-creating a growth mindset. One of the aspirations that helped get me through a lot of tough times is:
I only knew what I knew at the time. I am more than the summation of my accomplishments and failures. I am not my grades nor my future degree. I am a human being, desperately trying to make the little time I am gifted on Earth as enjoyable as I can. My purpose on earth goes beyond finding my passion, changing the world, or fulfilling a dream. That purpose is to experience everything I can – good and bad, and accept that this journey is mine to carve in whatever way I want.
Accepting yourself is a process, and I encourage you to find things that make it easier for you to be kinder to yourself. Try to look in the mirror and repeat one of the sweetest sentences in the universe: a sentence that can sometimes silence the roar of apathy.
“I’m proud of you.”