I was taking an upper division Rhetoric class at Cal my junior year. Half the time, I was lost as to what we were truly discussing. It was one of those classes where you had to reread the passages over and over, and yet you still didn’t quite understand what in the world the philosopher was saying. I would get so nervous walking into this class, I would literally make myself sick, and it was very very loud. My stomach would make the most awkward sounds. I distinctively remember a classmate leaning over and offering me his protein bar. I didn’t know him, but he must have thought I was starving! The noise would cause me to feel so embarrassed, I would start sweating and undergo severe hot flashes. Everyone had to speak and everyone had to read. No excuses. And as you can imagine, this only amplified my hot mess.

I dreaded this class for 3 1/2 months that Fall semester. I never really knew if it was the language barrier that I allowed to get in my head that made me nervous, or question my understanding, but I ended up with an A in the class and a glowing review of my writing. But I didn’t believe it, and least of all, throughout the semester. I didn’t allow myself to drop the class, but I did change my grading option from a letter grade to pass/no pass. I walked into the office and changed to my letter grading to P/NP, all because I sold myself short.

How often do we allow doubt to take over our thoughts and ambition, preventing us from developing, growing, and learning. I wish I would have had the courage to tell my younger self that I was able and capable, and even if I had to drag my confidence into the classroom, I would show up and not allow fear to physically make me sick. We always have a choice, and I’m glad, sickness and all, I always marched into Morgan Hall, sweated my butt off, and pretended to put my best foot forward.

Xoxo