It's been a rough summer. I'm sure if you've been following my articles, then you're tired of reading that. It's true though. You've followed along with my summer woes, but I don't think that I ever really got down to the root of the problem.

I was supposed to graduate this past May. If I had graduated college, taken my 18 hours each semester and stayed with my original major of Photojournalism, then I would most likely be gearing up to intern at a newspaper or begin grad school. I wouldn't have at least a semester and a half left, I wouldn't feel like everyone I ever knew was leaving me in their dust and I wouldn't feel the need to overcompensate in almost every area of my life.

As a freshman, college was so invigorating and scary. I went to a boarding school for art students, Mississippi School of the Arts, during the last two years of my high school career, so I was used to not having anyone around everyday to tell me what to do and what not to do. However, there were freedoms that I had never experienced before college.

I didn't go over the deep end partying or skipping class, but I took shortcuts because I thought I could. I had federal and state financial aid, and their only requirement was that I kept a 2.5 GPA and kept a schedule of at least 12 credit hours each semester. I knew that I could keep the GPA because I had always had above a C average, even when I wasn't doing my best.

I sold myself short, and I figured out that any more than 12 hours a semester would be too much for me to handle. If I took more than 12 hours, then I would end up crashing into a pile of disappointment and rage from the expectations that had been put upon me. I thought I couldn't do it. So, for my first semester, I took the bare minimum to be considered a full time student.

Thankfully, my freshman brain grew two sizes by the time that sophomore year reared its head, and I increased my workload to 15 hours a semester. I was still nervous, so I eased myself into the increased workload. Then, my grandmother died and all hell broke loose. I ended the lease on my apartment early, left the closest friends and my roommates behind and moved home.

No one could understand how I went home for a few weeks only to come back and pack up all of my things. I left the photojournalism program that I loved because I had lost the confidence that I had once had in my future with the career. Everyone I saw that first summer that I moved home, whether it be at the local grocery store or at family gatherings, must have thought that I had lost my mind for moving home.

So, I chose to go into elementary education. I love children, and I always had the thought of becoming a teacher in the back of my mind. I don't know how to explain the change other than I felt drawn to make this change. It's like I had been on this path, and all of a sudden small events made me realize that it wasn't right for me.

I love my education program and the people, children and adults, that I've had the chance to meet through my studies. I value the work ethic that I've developed and the strength that I've been able to build in the face of failure.

However, it's hard to see all of the people that I went to high school with moving on to the next stage in their lives. This has caused a large amount of conflict in me. I know that they have each worked hard for their accomplishments. They paid their dues, got their diplomas and deserve their spot in the working force. I am so proud for each and every one of them.

I smile at their engagement, wedding and pregnancy announcements. I'm excited for their new endeavors. However, there's a part of me that goes to this place where I wonder what if that had been me. Thoughts overcome me about the future that would be my present if I had believed in my ability as a student in the beginning.

However, I bring myself back from the envy and disappointment with reason. If I hadn't been so self-deprecating and jaded four years ago, would I find myself wit the appreciation of my own abilities now? I think about the memories and people that I wouldn't have found if I had stayed at my first university. I think about the time that I would've missed with my niece as she's grown over the past two years.

You see, there's always going to be a path that will be seen as the right one. There will always be someone telling you that you're doing something wrong in your life. There will always be choices to make. I made a choice two years ago, and I think that it has changed me for the better. I don't have a crystal ball to show me which path would have leaded to the best result, but I have intuition that the past two years have instilled in me.

I know I'm not the only college student that didn't graduate in four years. Logically, I know that it takes as long as it takes and that differs with each person individually. So, I find pride in my fellow students for their accomplishments. I'm excited for them.

But, I'm excited for me, too. I'm excited to finish my degree. I can't wait to see what the future holds for me after graduation and the future. And, while it's taken a long time for me to say it, I'm proud of me.

I think that it's custom for those who struggle to find shame in themselves more often than not. That shouldn't happen. Our generation should raise a glass to each other more often. We shouldn't be jealous for what we don't have or what we have not accomplished. Instead, we should lift up those who have with celebration, and find strength in their accomplishments. We should use that strength to work harder until we reach that diploma.

This is my own opinion. I'm not saying that there won't be days where I feel like I'm not going to make it across the finish line. There are moments, I'm sure, that I will find myself dwelling in the past. Those are moments. They are flickers. However, it will not define me. I will not let it overcome me. I will not be defined by the number of years that I took me to graduate. Instead, I will conquer and move on with the satisfaction that I fought harder than I thought I could.