“Simply put I picked a place that was wrong for me. It took a long time for me to come to terms with the fact that I had to transfer. I knew that *** was wrong for me before I even stepped onto campus and everyone around me knew it. But I actually really really really tried to make it work. I tried everything to make myself like it but there came a point where I wasn’t willing to sacrifice who I was to fit a mold that was the exact opposite of the person I wanted to be.”
The college process for me was definitely unorthodox. I applied to two schools, one early decision and one early action. All of my eggs were in one, stressful, tear-ridden basket. Within the months and eventual weeks leading up to my potential acceptance, I would cry when my parents even said the name of the school. Get a grip Megan. The best are the Snapchat memories I see of me with tears streaming down my face, saying I HAVE to get into this school. My god, could I be more dramatic?
One thing that people don’t realize is that you truly don’t know until you get there. You can have this extreme fairytale going on in your head of what your college years are going to be and look like, apply to two schools, get in, be beyond thrilled and excited to carry on the legacy in the family, get there and have it all go to shit.
This week’s College Confession post is all about transferring. I want to break apart this submission line by line because it says something that I wish I had realized and could’ve said myself earlier on.
Simply put I picked a place that was wrong for me. It took a long time for me to come to terms with the fact that I had to transfer.
That second line really struck me, because it also took me a really long time to come to terms with the fact that I had to transfer - emphasis on the word had. I think about what it would have been like for me to stay at my old school and realized that that wouldn’t have been beneficial in any way, shape or form.
Let’s take a stroll down memory lane, shall we? It was a few months into my freshman year, first semester. I remember I called my dad one day crying. He said to me something along the lines of, “Maybe it’s time to consider going elsewhere for school next year...”
I got so mad. So defensive. How dare you even say that to me? I thought. How could you even think that this isn’t the place for me? That this place isn’t the place for us? Us meaning me and my dad - he went there too. I hung up.
He was right. And I hated that he was right. So I didn’t allow myself to conjure up the thought of me transferring again until right before I left for second semester.
I knew that *** was wrong for me before I even stepped onto campus and everyone around me knew it.
I beat myself up when I think about why I even went to that school in the first place. I absolutely hated it the first time I went. I was in 8th grade and the school was hosting an EDP soccer camp. Obviously, the fact that the dorms were 93 degrees - not kidding - and the soccer part could’ve killed the vibe. But I knew. Everybody knew! My sister knew. My mom knew. I have friends who said to me after I transferred that they never saw me going to a place like that anyways. WHY DIDN’T ANYONE SAY ANYTHING TO ME?! I then realized that it wouldn’t have been their place to. I had to figure it out all by myself, and I did. Eventually.
But I actually really really really tried to make it work.
I did try. I was on club soccer. I was a writer one semester and an editor the next for the paper. I hung out with a bunch of different people. I went to sports games, comedy shows, lectures. But nothing was working.
I tried everything to make myself like it but there came a point where I wasn’t willing to sacrifice who I was to fit a mold that was the exact opposite of the person I wanted to be.
Whenever I look back on last year, I think of all of the decisions I made that are just the opposite of any Megan decision ever made. I was doing things I would never normally do, but found myself becoming comfortable with. I barely recognized myself by the end of first semester and it was a very unsettling feeling.
I feel like this is the 100th time I have spoken about transferring, but it’s okay. It’s okay because ever since I started openly talking about my year, I’ve had people reach out to me to confide in me about something they were going through, to ask if it was normal, to ask for my advice. If I could help one person get out of a situation that they know they don’t want to stay in, so be it.