3 years into my degree, I changed my major.
This was not a sudden realization, in fact, I wish I had just woken up one day with the revelation that this degree was not right for me anymore, but unfortunately, it did not happen that way. Instead, it started as a passing thought, just a simple, “what if?” then a lingering feeling, which turned into crippling doubt extending over several months.
Over the course of a semester, I finally realized I could no longer stomach the idea of going through with my original degree plan, even though the thought of starting over and spending three more years in school made my blood run cold.
I felt like a complete failure; it was as if everything I had accomplished up until that point was for nothing. All I could think of was the money I had spent to get this far; all the hours I worked waiting tables to pay for tuition and books just wasted away, and I could not handle it.
Although it was the middle of the semester, I withdrew from every course I was currently taking and essentially dropped out of university. I can recall stepping into the chilly, dimly lit registrar's office, with a shaky hand clutching a tattered folder containing my signed withdrawal forms, which I viewed as documentation of my failure.
This choice went against everything I had learned growing up; I was not supposed to quit and failure was never an option. I felt like I could not reach out to my parents, out of fear of severing their faith in me, and I did not reach out to friends due to sheer embarrassment.
I had no one to confide in, and I ultimately felt completely alone. I did not know that the majority of undergraduates are 25 years of age and older, and I had no idea that 75% of undergraduates change their major at least once before graduation.
After a summer break filled with self-pity, something in me snapped; I needed to go back to school. Once I decided I was really going to do this, I was faced with another hurdle: choosing my new major, my new identity. My family came to mind at this point; what would I say when it was my turn to speak at the dinner table over the holidays.
What would they say, or rather how exactly would they react? Do they pay attention enough to realize that I should have graduated by now? Will they notice? This was my chance to start over, to choose something that would seriously impress them.
Too afraid to go to an adviser, I took matters into my own hands and mapped out my new graduation plan. I finally felt like I had some sort of control in my life, and I was excited to go to classes again. While graduation day seemed closer to a fever dream than reality, I learned to just take what comes one semester at a time instead of dwelling on the big picture. Unfortunately, lying beyond the horizon of the big picture was a hurdle I did not foresee.
Last year, I faced my worst financial woe to date. Excessive hours. According to my university’s policy, students may not “exceed more than 30 hours of the number of hours required for completion of the degree plan in which they are enrolled”, and doing so may result in additional tuition charges which are fairly close to the out-of-state tuition rate.
I had four semesters left, and while my school allows an appeal, the likelihood of a multi-semester appeal was grim. Upon learning about this new financial hurdle, I knew there was no feasible way for me to come up with so much money in so little time, even given the full year I had to prepare. Once again, I was forced to go back to the start. I had to change my major. Again.
This was a year ago, I am now in my final semester, I made it to the other side. Of course, now that I have the ability to reflect back on my time as a student, I can see how these hurdles benefited me.
In a time where I was struggling to come up for air, I learned that it is okay to let yourself fall apart a little bit. Though some can, I believe we are not built to heroically be brave through the storm and come out on top 100% of the time. It is okay to fail, and it is okay to not be okay. I failed, but the cuts on my ego healed to scars that will always serve as a reminder that I overcame.
