“You are so ungrateful!” My parents scolded me as I sat on our living room couch with hot tears streaming down my cheeks into the corners of my mouth. I had just finished a prepared proposal for my parents explaining why they should let me go to the school where I got a half scholarship rather than the one where I got the full scholarship. I didn’t really want to attend the school that offered me a full ride. However, my parents told me I was looking a gift horse in the mouth if I didn’t apply, because I was a shoo-in for the scholarship. While I was grateful for the private school education my parents funded, I hadn’t realized I was expected to cover all my college costs with scholarships. I honestly don’t think that was a condition until they realized it was a possibility. Alas, I decided to follow my parents’ wishes and put on a happy face for my future at Converse College in Spartanburg, South Carolina.
After returning my acceptance of my scholarship offer, the soccer coach didn’t wait long to call me. I had already decided that I didn’t want to play soccer in college. It felt like a big commitment to something that I enjoy, but not something I wanted to take over my life. Although in this case, I wasn’t sure what kinds of social opportunities there would be at this tiny women’s college. Thus, I decided to agree to join the soccer team.
All summer, I tried to psych myself up to go to a college I didn’t want to attend and to play soccer in college, which I hadn’t planned on. I did the whole get your roommate, plan your dorm decorations, and divide up things to bring. I really did try. It was hard, though, to see my friends excitedly preparing for their desired college destinations.
Of course, because of joining the soccer team, I was the first of my high school friends to leave for school. I had to be there for conditioning before any of the other students arrived on campus. I was assigned my temporary roommate for the 2 weeks of training. And well, let’s say that was the first red flag. While she was a nice girl, she had the habit of chewing tobacco, and with that comes the spitting. We can all “we listen, and we don’t judge,” but you better believe this Atlanta premier private high school graduate was judging the girl toting the plastic water bottle with her black spit swishing at the bottom. Where was I?! I found out that chewing tobacco wasn’t a unique habit among the other soccer players. Again, where was I? These girls were kind, so there was no reason to dislike them, and I didn’t. I just felt completely out of place. They were Southern with a capital S. Most of them were small-town Southern. Converse seemed to be a vehicle for them to find a husband, or as some say, their MRS degree at a women’s college that may seem like a tall order. Well, the system had been worked out seamlessly. Go to school during the week, spend weekends at the surrounding colleges to nab yourself a guy. You’d think that wouldn’t have been so bad for me, considering I had a boyfriend of 4 years that I would be happy to visit back in Atlanta, just a 2.5 hr drive away.
While that ended up being my routine after trying a few weekends by myself on campus, it hadn’t been the plan. My boyfriend and I had been together for 4 years, and this was supposed to be us doing the long-distance thing. He had already been in college for 2 years, but he was in the same metro area, so I saw him quite regularly. We had both agreed that I should do my best to stay on campus and do things with new friends instead of making the drive back down to Atlanta routinely for my comfort. I needed to spread my wings a bit.
Back to those first weeks, I trained and played with the soccer team. I felt like I fit in on the field, but I didn’t really have anything else in common with my teammates. I did find a couple of people with whom I connected. It wasn’t so much that we came from similar backgrounds but more that we could be goofy together. There was one girl who, when I saw her for the first time, I was sure we had met before, but I couldn’t place her. I decided we must have played against each other in one of the several tournaments I had done around the country. My friendship with her is what ultimately gave me hope that I could still make Converse work. I was still really fighting the feeling of not wanting soccer to be my life. I stayed on the team for a few games but ultimately decided to go with my gut and quit. Good thing my scholarship wasn’t tied to that, or I’m sure I wouldn’t have been allowed to make a different choice. I was hopeful that I would find other social outlets.
By the time I had quit the team, I had moved in with my new roommate, who was definitely a much better fit, personality-wise and habit-wise. Again, she was a small-town Southern girl who had a very different upbringing than I, but she was as sweet as could be, with a refreshing honesty you don’t often get with Southern girls. We joined a Bible study together, sat with each other in the cafeteria, hung out in our dorm room quoting funny movies, and spent hours increasing our Napster collections. I met some sweet girls through Bible study, including another girl I had sworn I knew before arriving at Converse. I guess what I found so incompatible with my expectations was the level of naïveté and the lack of world experience and ambition among most of these girls. I wouldn’t ever describe myself as ambitious; one who follows her passions, yes. Ambitious? No. Maybe it was actually that. The lack of passion and purpose, aside from being Christ-like examples. At that time in my life, you’d think I’d slide right into that crowd. I did not. I still felt like I didn’t fit. I couldn’t find lasting joy in anything, no matter how often or how hard I prayed, or how many different academic or social activities I tried to immerse myself in.
The school even had sister classes. Juniors would be matched with Freshmen to bring them into the culture and fold of Converse, and they would continue to compete against the other paired classes, Seniors and Sophomores. I can’t even remember what the other cohort was called, but I know I was a pink panther. Alas, I wasn’t pulled in by that either.
I was a mess. I never felt rested, and my stomach was always aching, so I started missing classes. To my unpleasant surprise, my absence was noticed. I received phone calls from my professors asking why I was missing class. And, well, you don’t want to have to say I am deeply depressed, and I have no will to get out of bed. Most of what I had been learning was just a repeat of what I had already learned in high school, so I wasn’t falling behind with work or grades. It was just that every time I walked out of my dorm, I was overcome with sadness, and the tears would begin to flow. What college student wants to go to class with a tear-stained face?
Acknowledging that I was depressed, I went to see the counselor on campus. I did not find her helpful in any sort of way. She basically told me I was having separation anxiety, and I just needed to try more interactions and activities.
I remember walking the aisles of Office Depot with my dad when he came to visit to help me buy and set up a printer. I struggled with whether to tell him how sad I was. When I told him I didn’t want to be there anymore, he told me I needed to suck it up. I told him at the very least I need to find a therapist, again, he told me that I would get over the depression soon and that I needed to stay for the full year. While I understand the transition to a new city, state, and educational level takes time to adjust to, I knew what I was feeling was more than that.
That became an undeniable truth on one of my drives back from Atlanta, where I had been for the weekend with that boyfriend of mine I mentioned above. A Converse friend of mine had a boyfriend at Georgia Tech, so we would drive down there together on Friday and return to Converse on Sunday. On this particular Sunday, I was having a very hard time making myself go back, but it wasn’t a choice; I had my friend with me who needed to get back in time for school on Monday. As I was driving, I looked up at the almost full moon and started having an existential crisis. I tried to tell my brain to be quiet, but I thought, “What if I jerked the wheel and ended my pain?” Thankfully, it was just a thought: a dangerous thought, but just a thought. I started crying and told my friend I needed to pull over. I explained that I wasn’t sure I could go any closer to the campus that night. After calling my boyfriend and settling down, we decided to stay one more night in Atlanta. That was my breaking point. I knew that I needed out.
I related the story to my parents, who told me I hadn’t given it enough time and that I was just homesick and lovesick. They assured me that if I gave it a year, I would realize I loved it. The idea of leaving at the end of the semester was a non-starter. After a few more weeks of depression, I approached my parents again, and I was given an out.
The rules were: I needed a clear plan for how I was going to finish college and, more immediately, how I was going to get into a school for the Spring semester. I was given my assignment, and I made it happen. I would transfer to the community college and live at home. I would then go to an in-state school to take advantage of the HOPE scholarship and find my own living arrangements. I would nanny to earn spending money and finish school, with the goal of becoming a therapist specializing in working with Christian clients. I had it all figured out.
I left Converse in December, and I didn’t look back. I stayed in touch with about five people from that traumatic semester. In the spring semester, I did as I had planned. I attended the local community college. I visited four-year colleges to transfer to, and I made a list of prospects. Things ended up falling into place for me to go to Georgia State, a neighboring school to Georgia Tech. So the whole idea of having independent, unique college experiences didn’t exactly go as planned. I can’t say I would choose to go that route again, but if it’s what it took to get to my current destination, it was worth it.