If you had told my guidance counselors and teachers in high school that I would be a college dropout, they wouldn’t have believed you. In high school, I was in the top 10 of my class with a 3.8 GPA, 7 AP classes, lettered in multiple varsity sports, named mvp while competing at the state level in tennis and served as student body president. I also held a part-time job at McDonald’s and volunteered at my local hospital and police department. But where did I go wrong?

Being the first in my family to attend college, I had no idea what I was doing. I applied to colleges and just rolled with it, but I didn’t have the finances or the guidance that was needed. I wasn’t aware of scholarships or grants beyond the Pell Grant. I set my sights on Utah in the fall after I graduated. It felt far enough away for me to grow but still close enough to home if I needed to return.

The reality hit me, I was in for a rude awakening, a child, over 300 miles away from her hometown, with $1,000 saved from her part-time job. On my first day, I felt lost, out of place as a kid of color in a predominantly white area, who knew nobody. I lived off-campus, and I wasn’t in sync with my roommates yet. I got a part-time job at Jamba Juice and used my first paycheck to buy a bike to get around the city. 

As my work hours increased, my grades began to slip. I started feeling depressed, sleeping in, and struggling to focus on classes. I could barely afford to talk to my family because I had to buy prepaid minutes for my phone. By the end of two months, the sadness had fully settled in, missed classes and late assignments piled up, and I eventually dropped out.

I couldn’t bring myself to tell my family I had failed. I stayed in Utah until December, then packed my bags and rode a 10-hours Greyhound bus back to my hometown, ashamed and silent about my struggles. Back home, I worked full-time as a janitor. My older co-workers saw potential in me and encouraged me to return to school, puzzled that someone my age was choosing to scrub toilets. So, I took a chance and enrolled in my local community college.

My first semester back, I was cautiously optimistic. I worked full-time as a cashier and took a full load of classes as a General Studies major, not quite sure of my path. I earned straight A’s that semester and thought, “Okay, maybe I can do this.” Then. . . COVID hit, and everything went online. Taking lab-heavy classes like Biology and Microbiology online was rough, but I pulled through.

I applied to the University of Arizona for the following spring. With classes limited at my community college due to COVID, I decided to work full-time and save up for an apartment in Tucson. By November, it was move-in day. I signed a year-long lease, transferred my job, and took on a full load of classes, determined to do better this time.

But life had other plans. My long-term boyfriend at the time cheated on me, leaving me to handle all the bills on my own. I picked up a second job as a barista, but the weight of it all became overwhelming. I dropped my classes, hoping to start fresh in the fall. Alone in a new city, hundreds of miles from my family, I struggled to make friends and kept the breakup to myself, feeling both embarrassed and ashamed. 

By the time school started in August, I was determined to push through. But then, my grandfather passed away suddenly. I went home to see my family. After the funeral, I returned to Tucson, holding on to my responsibilities and grief. A week later, I received a dreaded text: my grandmother was in a coma. Everything spiraled. I was juggling two jobs, averaging two hours of sleep, taking seven classes, and feeling helpless watching my family fall apart.

I decided to go home and packed up what I could, quitting my job. I moved back with only a suitcase, sleeping on my cousin’s couch while still paying rent for an apartment I no longer lived in. Once I cut my ties to Tucson, a wave of shame washed over me. I felt like I had failed again. No matter how hard I tried, I kept ending up back home.

When my grandmother passed away, I made a promise to her and to myself that I would keep going. I thought about my grandparents, immigrants, dirt poor, looking for a better life, and yet no matter the challenges they faced, they always persevered. I couldn’t let their legacy be one of giving up. So, I reenrolled in community college, determined to change my story.