I Failed a Semester in Grad School

I had always been a low-to-mid three-point-something GPA type, enough to be smart, but not enough to stress over an B versus a A. That didn't change as I graduated from a hodgepodge of colleges and entered into my Masters of Public Health program. Things were relatively easy at first, it was clear what was expected, and I actually enjoyed the faster pace and increased writing requirements in the beginning. It wasn't until 2 years in that I began to fall apart.

I knew the stress had been building, in my flailing marriage, my worsening finances as student loan debt piled on and I paid bills on credit cards, my little kids transitioning from toddlers to school-age, and the military increasing our drill weekends and requirements, but it all crept slowly over the course of two years. It had never occurred to me to slow down in the things I could control (my course-load) while the rest was steamrolling over me.

I had it calculated perfectly to graduate on time. I needed to take three intense courses I had been avoiding for months before I could move on to capstone and internship projects. Two involved writing a lot of papers (I love writing, but they definitely take time) and the third was bio-statistics (I hate math, therefore it would take A LOT of time). Funny how when you're IN it, graduating even 6 months later seemed disastrous, but looking back, this whole manufactured stress could have been avoided...

The defining moment of failure was a breakdown in the Metro State University alumni library. I often went there to study, so I had blocked a weekend to catch up on all the work I had already been avoiding for a fortnight. I had been granted extensions, been offered help by the professor, and admitted to other students that I was stuck. I don't know why I thought just staring at it in a library would help, but I stared anyways, until the screen started to blur, my throat began to close, and the hot, tiny stinging pangs of tears started to form around my eyes. My frustration tears seamlessly flowed into embarrassment tears and I couldn't get myself to stop, so before too many people noticed, I quickly packed my laptop and rushed out to my car on a gray and rainy day that matched my mood, to cry only to myself and Radiohead.

As the tears subsided and the song stopped, I made a decision to not let this affect me anymore. Not by becoming an optimist or working harder, I just decided to quit. I didn't notify anyone that I had quit, I just stopped showing up. And not just that class, I stopped the other two I loved where I was doing well, too. The logic was, if I went in to work on one of the other assignments, I might see the neon red "F" by all the statistics assignments I was avoiding and cry again.

So instead, I disappeared. 

Emails were being sent (to the university address I had stopped checking) from all three teachers and one concerned friend. For all they knew, I had just dropped dead and disappeared. It was weeks of blissful ignorance having pushed the entire thing from my mind before the administration emailed my personal account to remind me that the drop deadline had passed and I would not be refunded for any classes dropped after this date. $900 per class times 3 classes. I was out $2,700 just to ruin my GPA. All of the sadness of the library rushed back and multiplied and I would spent the last week of the semester crying and sleeping and hiding from this expensive and stupid problem.

That was how I failed.

How I overcame was by giving myself space and time. I took the next semester off and admitted to myself that I wouldn't graduate in the manufactured air-tight deadline I gave myself at the start of the program. I owned up to the failure and explained honestly and clearly to professors and asked if I could retake their classes eventually. Of course, they all said yes and those Fs were eventually replaced with As and Bs. I slowed my pace down and didn't take all three at once, but just 1 or 2 while I caught up on the rest of my life. I graduated two semesters later than I wanted to, but I graduated. I made it out the other side and today, school feels so far away, like such a short season of my life. Today, the student loans are repaid, the GPA ended at a low-three-point-something, but literally no one cares. My degree opened doors and none of the employers have asked about my GPA.

If you're in it - still in college, going back to college, really FEELING these finals - remember that it's a season and your job is just to push through it in the healthiest way. Stop comparing yourself to others who are doing it faster or with better grades. Ten years from now, the details won't matter. Take a breath, step back, and give yourself time to feel the stress, cope with it, and keep going. You got this!

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