I Chose the Wrong College

Everyone knows that the college decision is pretty much the first major life decision that a kid makes in the transition to adulthood. Of course, this is a privilege only those who can afford it/otherwise have the means of making it happen have to think about, and I think it’s important to recognize that before having any sort of conversation about higher education. It is an extreme privilege to have access to higher education, and in addition to that, it’s not the right course of action for everyone (trade schools, apprenticeships, entering the workforce right away, gap years, volunteering, etc are all equally viable, valuable, and important courses of action post-high school). That being said, for me, I am privileged/lucky enough to have access to higher education and I knew it was the right thing for me to do after high school given what my goals were at the time.

College apps came and went, and I wanted so much to be done with them that I finished them pretty early in my senior year. I went to an extremely high-pressure high school, and the constant pressure to succeed, do more, and be more that had been present throughout my time there was only magnified by the college application and decision process. I got accepted to 8 of 10 schools I applied to, waitlisted at one, and rejected by one. Throughout the process of applying to and visiting schools, I knew a couple things for sure: I wanted a small-ish school and I wanted to be close to home, among other things. The last acceptance I received was to one of my “stretch schools” — I wasn’t expecting to get in at all, and I was pretty sure that even if I did, I wouldn’t really want to go there. But I did get in, and once I realized that a school as prestigious as that one actually wanted me, I started to rethink things. I went to visit, and though it was over halfway across the country from my home and in a very small town, I liked the time I spent on campus while visiting. I was only there for a day and a half, but I felt like it was a community I could see myself in, and on the plane ride home I knew I had some serious thinking to do. I liked the campus and overall feel of the school enough that I was hesitant but thought I might be willing to overlook the fact that it was over 3,000 miles from home. But if I’m being honest with myself, which I now feel like I can do since hindsight is 20/20, I think what I liked more than the campus and feel of the school was the reputation and prestige of it all. It had an acceptance rate around 29% and had an extremely good national reputation. It was by far the “best” (read: most difficult to get into, most widely known, etc) school that I got into, and in the time I had to think on the plane ride back home, I started to think that maybe those things meant I should go there. I was very uncomfortable with the distance from home and the size of the town — having grown up for the most part in a suburb of Seattle, I was used to city life and had grown really fond of it — but how could I not go to the “best” school that I got into? What would my peers think if I turned down a spot at a school that selective? What would everyone in my life think if I didn’t go there because it was too far from home? Why was I so uncomfortable with going far from home? What was wrong with me that I wasn’t jumping at the chance to go to the “best” school I got into? Now, I want to make it clear that nobody in my family or friend circles were pressuring me to go somewhere I wasn’t sure I wanted to go — this was almost entirely brought on by my tendency to be too hard on myself and the pressures (real or imagined) of society and its expectations.

So, after a lot of thinking, stress crying/stress eating, and long discussions with my family, I decided to go there. To clarify, I’m being intentionally vague and not mentioning the name of “The School” because though it wasn’t the place for me, it’s a fine place and I don’t mean to change anyone’s opinions of the school itself, rather, I aim to share my personal experiences with the college decision process. Anyways, I decided to go to The School, committed, and started getting ready to start a new life there after graduating from high school. When it came time to leave home and move in, I was absolutely, one hundred percent, completely terrified. I was a little excited but mostly terrified, and I felt a pit in my stomach that came and went depending on the day. It wasn’t for lack of independence — throughout my life I’ve been lucky enough to have traveled with only my younger sister to developing nations and generally had strong parents who raised me to be a strong, confident woman. I had no doubt in my mind that I was capable of leaving home and handling life at college in a place far from home, I just wasn’t sure of the whole situation. I couldn’t quite put my finger on what it was, but I was just really uncomfortable and nervous and wasn’t nearly as excited for the future as my peers were to start their journeys. My dad and I drove all the way from the Seattle area to The School over 3,000 miles away, and the pit in my stomach only got more consuming the closer we got. The night before I moved in, I was a nervous wreck. I barely slept, couldn’t eat anything, and wasn’t myself at all. The next day after helping me move in, my parents and sister had to head back to school and work at home, and when they left, I had never felt more alone or sad in my entire life.

I know it sounds ridiculous — it felt ridiculous, and I couldn’t figure out what was wrong with me. I was supposed to be happy and excited like everyone else, so why couldn’t I shake the feeling of complete isolation even in the presence of my roommates and other people? I thought things would get better once classes started, but sure enough, the more people I met, the more I got to know the school, and the deeper into the semester we got, the worse I felt. I hated the way I felt around my peers. I hated the culture/“vibe” of the campus when I was on campus for more than a day and a half. I hated the tiny town. I hated the size of the school — even though I had wanted a small school, the campus felt claustrophobic and the small town made that even worse. I don’t want to dwell on the negatives, but I think you get the point: I hated it there. At first I thought it was just normal transitional difficulty — a lot of big life changes were happening, so I thought that if I gave it time, it would get better. After my first two months there, I realized that what I was feeling wasn’t going anywhere, and worse yet, it was becoming a part of who I was. Before leaving home, I always had a smile on my face, was always excited to start the day, and could laugh about pretty much anything. But at some point in late October before I went home for the first time since moving in, I realized that the thought of being at home was the first thing that had made me smile in days. Even though I’d been a college student for all of two months, I was already starting to feel burned out and dreaded almost every part of my daily routine. I didn’t feel like myself, and I was worried that I was starting to lose the parts of myself that used to define me.

I don’t know exactly when it happened, but at some point I started to realize that maybe this wasn’t normal, that this wasn’t how you’re supposed to feel upon starting college. I started entertaining the idea of transferring, but that felt like a cop-out, or worse, a failure. I talked to my parents about potentially transferring, and as always, they were supportive of me doing whatever I needed to do to help myself be the best version of me. They knew I wasn’t happy and could tell that I wasn’t myself anymore. As they started to talk to their friends about my experience and the fact that I was thinking about transferring, they discovered that many of their friends had experienced something similar. As I started to talk to my friends about my experience and the fact that I was thinking about transferring, I realized that I knew a lot of people who had experienced something similar as well. Before long, the thought of transferring wasn’t so scary, and I realized that it was probably the best thing for me to do at the time.

After exploring all my options and playing out every possible scenario in my head, I decided to withdraw at the end of the semester and move back home. It was one of the hardest decisions I’ve ever had to make — I felt so incapable and stupid because the college decision was my first major adult decision and I messed it up. I ended up finishing my first year of college at a commuter college near my home, and to be really honest, it was one of the best things I ever did for myself. Upon moving back home, I got therapy for a while to try to figure out what on earth had gone wrong while I was there and why I slipped so quickly into a very dark place. It helped immensely, and I am extremely grateful that I was able to get the help I needed to sort through everything. And while at the commuter college, I met some of my best friends, got back on my feet, took some amazing classes, and had the time I needed to process my experiences during the first half of the year and get myself ready once again for the future. I realized where I really wanted to spend my college years and though it was one of the schools I applied to and was accepted to in my first round of college apps, I had to apply again, and I got in again. I go there now, and I am very happy — who knew that college was actually pretty fun when you like your school? But throughout my time being back at home, I had so many people come to me and tell me that they had experienced something similar when they started college. Some of them stayed and regretted it, and some of them left and didn’t. Overall, I was overwhelmed (in a good way) by all the support I received from those around me upon making the decision to leave the school I started at and reevaluate things. I also realized that it wasn’t a failure, because though I was deeply unhappy, I learned a lot about myself while at The School. I learned that I actually really do want to be close to home, and that doesn’t make me weak or any less independent, it just means that my parents and sister are some of my absolute favorite people on the planet and I like being able to see them on a regular basis. I learned that I don’t ever want to live in a town that small or be at a school that small again. I also learned that I didn’t want to be pre-med, but that’s a different story. Anyways, the bottom line is that leaving The School, coming back home, and starting again at a new place was one of the best things I’ve ever done for myself. It enabled me to reflect on my experiences and process them in a meaningful way that yielded a lot of important life lessons and new knowledge about myself, which I am very grateful for even though the time I spent at The School was probably the most difficult few months of my life.

I guess the point of this small novel is that sometimes you just make the wrong decision and it (usually) isn’t the end of the world, and it’s definitely not a failure. A setback? Maybe. But it’s possible to come back from making the wrong decision, and even in a situation that feels horrible, there’s likely something there to learn once you’re ready and able to do so.