Maybe You’re Not Behind

There was a period of my life when I was convinced I was falling behind.

People I went to high school with were graduating from college, getting married, buying houses, having children, and starting careers. Meanwhile, I was working part-time jobs at three different places, supporting my mom and younger sisters, and trying to navigate a life that looked nothing like the one I had imagined for myself.

I didn't have a car. I couldn't drive. And I wasn't in school.

For a while, it was hard not to compare my life to everyone else's.

There was a lot of FOMO, but underneath that was something deeper: fear. I was afraid that if I eventually went back to school, I would be behind everyone else. I had been away from a classroom for so long that I worried I wouldn't remember how to be a student anymore. I worried I wouldn't be smart enough.

But eventually, I went back.

And I did well.

In fact, my first semester back taught me something important: I hadn't fallen behind. I had simply taken a different path.

When I decided to return to college, getting a degree was part of the reason. But it wasn't the only reason.

I wanted a fresh start.

I wanted freedom. I wanted to discover who I was when I wasn't trying to fit into someone else's expectations. I wanted to be able to exist in every space as myself instead of feeling like I had to pretend to be someone I wasn't.

I didn't know exactly what that new life would look like.

And honestly, I'm glad I didn't.

Because some of the most important parts of my life happened during the years when I didn't have a plan.

I often tell people that 2023 was a year I will always look back on.

At the time, I probably wouldn't have described it that way. I wasn't in school. I was figuring out life at home. I was working and trying to support my family. From the outside, it may not have looked like I was moving toward anything.

But internally, I was changing.

I started writing again.

I became more aware of my mental health. I learned how to forgive myself and other people. I began learning what self-worth actually meant. I learned how to love myself. I navigated the process of leaving unhealthy long-term relationships and started discovering parts of myself that I didn't realize were still there.

I thought I was taking time away from my future.

Instead, I was building the person who would eventually walk into it.

When I returned to college, I initially chose English Education. English had always been something I loved, but eventually I realized I wanted to explore writing more deeply. I chose Creative Writing because I wanted to become a better writer and find out just how far I could take that part of myself.

I wanted to become a published author someday.

Then I discovered Women's and Gender Studies.

I didn't even know the field existed when I first returned to school.

I took a class during my first semester and loved it enough to take another. Then I added it as a minor. Eventually, I added it as another major.

It felt like I had stumbled into something I had been looking for without knowing what to call it.

I had spent years having questions about the world around me that I didn't know how to articulate. Why did certain things happen to women? Why were some experiences treated differently depending on who you were? Why did society accept certain things as normal? Why did some people have access to opportunities while others had to fight to be heard?

Women's and Gender Studies gave me language for questions I had been carrying for years.

It opened an entirely new world to me.

And it changed the kind of writer I wanted to become.

I started thinking about writers like Toni Morrison, who demonstrated that storytelling can be more than entertainment. Writing can make people uncomfortable. It can ask difficult questions. It can expose things society would rather ignore. It can give a voice to experiences that are too often overlooked.

I realized I didn't just want to write.

I wanted my writing to mean something.

I wanted to use creativity to advocate for people, explore social issues, and make people think about the world differently.

Eventually, I found myself working in prevention and education, where those different parts of me began to come together in ways I never could have planned.

English taught me how to communicate.

Creative writing taught me how to tell stories.

Women's and Gender Studies taught me how to question systems, understand advocacy, and recognize the experiences behind the issues we talk about.

My path wasn't straight.

But maybe it wasn't supposed to be.

We put so much pressure on ourselves to have a five-year plan. We compare timelines. We look at someone else's life and convince ourselves that because they reached a milestone before we did, we're somehow behind.

But life isn't a race with everyone running toward the same finish line.

Sometimes the thing you think is delaying you is actually giving you something you need.

My time away from school gave me experiences I couldn't have learned in a classroom. It gave me space to rediscover writing. It gave me time to understand myself. It forced me to navigate difficult relationships, family responsibilities, mental health, and self-worth.

And when I eventually returned to school, I brought all of that with me.

I didn't return as the same person who had left.

That's something I wish I could tell the younger version of myself who was afraid she wasn't smart enough or that she had somehow missed her chance.

You haven't missed your chance.

Keep trying.

Keep asking questions.

Keep creating.

Keep learning about yourself.

And don't let anyone convince you that you're not smart enough to build the life you want.

Your path might look different from everyone else's.

That doesn't mean you're behind.

Sometimes, the detour is where you become yourself.

And sometimes, you have to stop looking at everyone else's timeline long enough to realize that you're already moving forward.