Dear Professor T,
This probably sounds a little absurd, coming from a student who writes for an extremely large professional platform based on creative ideas and writing, but for the majority of my adult life, I hated writing. Yes, it can sound quite shocking, but due to circumstances, I always assumed my writing was crummy and not worth a darn.
In all honesty, I do not recall ever making anything but a "B" in my high school English classes. I came from an extremely competitive school that sorted out the dumb, the average, and the smart from the very smart (and do not even get me started on the Albert Einstein kind of smart students that go to Yale and Ivy Leagues like that), and you just do not cross those lines. I, not realizing my full potential in those years, fell into the plain-Jane smart category because it was comfortable.
In fact, I almost laughed out loud when one of those phenomenal, Albert Einstein smart students who sat next to me in AP Statistics asked me questions about solving math problems; If she could not get the answer, how in the world would I ever?
Though I had incredible teachers throughout those four years, my focus and intentions never brought me to where I could comprehend the value of writing. I seemed to be too busy to grasp the knowledge and potential just beyond the bubble I kept myself in and chose to believe that I was a horrendous writer.
My triplet sister, on the other hand, could write an essay with an analysis so mesmerizingly elaborate that when I would give her feedback, I would let her know that it was beautifully written but I could not understand a word she said (even though I was sure it was great). My writing always shriveled in the overbearing shadow of the expectation before me, yet in reality, I only had to find my own voice.
I alway assumed if I could just write as flowery and deep as my sister, if I could just pinpoint that writing style and speak what I thought others wanted to hear, that I could then create an essay worth reading. Yet, I always fell short. My own writing felt foreign and fake, and if I could not believe the essay I had just written, how in the world would my teacher or peers believe it also?
Although, this all changed when I stepped foot into the Peterson Building where my writing and mindset on academics would be changed forever.
I'm realizing more and more that in high school, I was thrown into a whirlwind from day one that expected me to have the foundation of creating a scholarly journal worthy thesis and be able to identify that rhetoric between articles, novels, and other literature. I am not sure where I missed the mark, but that foundation was not built for me until I stepped foot into your class. Although it was 8:00 a.m. in the morning, you were always filled with an energy and passion for expanding our ideas, finding our voice, and building off of the "yes but's" and "what if's." Thank you for the grace and mercy you gave to me when I was battling against a two-month ear infection and giving me an extension on my Comparative Analysis Essay that I did not deserve. Thank you for reminding me that a warm bubble bath and a little lavender and chamomile tea is probably needed if I want to not face any more mental breakdowns, and that rest is indeed a good thing.
Thank you for supporting my writing when I nervously turned in my first essay after your speech on receiving a "C" on your first college essay despite your extreme academic success as a student and reminding me as well that it is okay to mess up. Your class helped me believe in myself, believe in my writing, believe that my words and ideas have incredible value and power to touch others deeply.
Thank you for touching my life and most of all, thank you for helping me find my voice.
Sincerely,
An Aggie who can now reach the world the way you did for me.
