I Dropped Out of School for a Semester. Here’s Why
The most difficult choice I’ve ever had to make to this day
The first full day I spent in the hospital I was confronted with the fact that I wasn’t going to get to go home any time soon. I knew that even if I was only there a week, I would have to go through outpatient therapy before being able to return to “normal” life.
I was a full time student in my final semester. I was also working thirty hours a week and volunteering in my little free time. I was burnt out to the nth degree.
That first evening inpatient, my parents came to visiting hours and said we had to make a decision: Was I going back to school this semester?
It was March 2018 and I was on track to graduate that May. I had already applied for graduation, I was in the middle of taking my last requirements for my degree; I was ready to graduate. At least, I thought I was.
Just three weeks prior I had skipped class to get a tattoo because my artist had an opening. I was speeding like a mad woman every time I got in the car so I could feel something. I was in debt and spending money like I was a millionaire. I was on the track to finish school, but I was by no means ready to graduate.
It’s been three years now since I was in the hospital, which makes it three years since I had to ask my father to call the school and tell them I wasn’t going to be going back; something that I thought would surely break his heart.
Higher education has always been of massive importance in my family. It was not just assumed that I would go to college, it was expected. Even considering taking the remainder of the semester off seemed out of the question.
My breathing stopped when my mom asked what I thought about dropping for the semester.
I spent the entire two hours of visiting that night staring into space, not knowing what to make of this choice. What if I went back and everyone wondered where I’d been? What if I went back and couldn’t catch up? What if I had to stay in hospital for more than a week?
Intrusive thoughts flooded my brain and made it impossible to eat the dinner that my mom had brought me. My turkey sub suddenly tasted bitter and I felt a lump in my throat so big that I couldn’t have swallowed my meal even if I had wanted to.
I was in the hospital because I was at the brink of exhaustion. I was self harming and thinking very seriously about taking my own life; how was I supposed to also make this life-altering decision at the same time?
Upon admission, the doctors and staff made it pretty clear right off the bat that the minimum amount of time that I would be inpatient was a week. Seven days minimum. After the days inpatient, it was discussed that I would continue in a partial outpatient program, which would last anywhere from three to six weeks.
Seeing as a minimum of a week off from my five college classes with projects and assignments was basically impossible without accommodations, I came to the decision to request medical exemption.
It was my father who called the Bursar’s office at my university and asked how to go about this request. I was medically unable to continue the semester and needed to drop out entirely.
I’m not sure what this entire process looked like or what had to be done on our end since I was not part of the phone calls. All I knew was the guilt that paralleled the absolute relief that came with saying the words “I’m not going back.”
Not only did I leave my classes for the semester and choose to not graduate in May, I also had to leave my job. At the time I was working in a nonprofit office as a junior grant writer on the road to a promotion. There was work to be done and I wasn’t there to do it.
I don’t believe in regret. I would not be where I am today, nor would I be the person that I am without the decisions that I have made. I do not regret leveling my mental health and taking control of my health and valuing that above finishing my education.
That’s not to say that it wasn’t the hardest choice I’ve ever had to make. It was not easy and it took a lot of time to come to the conclusion that I did. It’s something I still think about to this day.
I did go on to graduate the following semester in December. Hindsight is always 2020: My last semester in school was the best one I had. My GPA was higher than it had ever been, I was writing articles for the student-run newspaper, and I wrote some of the best poetry I ever have as part of my last workshop course. If I hadn’t left school when I did, none of that may have happened.
I wouldn’t have moved back in with my parents to get out of debt. I wouldn’t have my teaching job that I do now. I wouldn’t have had the confidence to start losing weight and taking control of my body neutrality. I wouldn’t have realized that I have ADHD and I definitely wouldn’t have sought out a proper diagnosis.
On the outside, dropping out of school seems like a last resort. If I hadn’t left when I did, I may not be here today.
That’s reason enough.
Your health — mental OR physical — is far more important than any timeline you have set for yourself. You can’t abide by any time line if you aren’t okay.
