I Went Back to College 8 Years Later – Was It the Right Choice?

When I first left college in my early twenties, I had no clear vision of what I wanted from life. I wasn’t chasing dreams, and I wasn’t building anything. I was just trying to survive. School had felt like a box I was supposed to check off, a path I was told to follow. I didn’t have financial support, I didn’t have stable housing, and I didn’t have the luxury of being myself. I now realize how closely my experience mirrored that of someone raised in foster care—a sense of being raised well enough to stay out of trouble, but never really prepared for life outside the bubble. No one taught me how to plan. No one showed me how to fight for what I needed.

So when I dropped out, it wasn’t dramatic. It was just another quiet failure. One more decision made under pressure, exhaustion, and a deep sense of disconnection. I went out into the world with nothing solid beneath me. Over the next eight years, I worked odd jobs—a mix of Deaf and hearing environments—doing whatever I could to pay rent, stay alive, and keep my head above water. There was no master plan, no five-year goal. Just survival.

But something changed. I wish I could say there was a lightbulb moment, something neat and tidy. But really, it was a build-up. A slow realization that if I didn’t go back to school, I would keep living the same exhausted, aimless life. The push came partly from seeing people around me move forward. Not in a flashy way, but in ways that made me reflect. I also hit a wall professionally. I had experience but no degree, and I was tired of being overlooked because of it. I was tired of living a life that felt temporary.

So I went back.

Walking back onto campus eight years later was surreal. I was 29, surrounded by 18- and 19-year-olds full of energy, stress, and TikTok references I didn’t get. The first few weeks were tough. I questioned everything. Was this a mistake? Was I too old? Had I waited too long? I felt out of place, like a time traveler who showed up to the wrong year.

COVID-19 made things even more chaotic. The world had changed, and so had the way schools operated. Deadlines came fast, professors were adjusting just as much as students were, and everything felt uncertain. It wasn’t just about showing up to class anymore—it was about navigating systems that were still half-broken from the pandemic. The pressure to perform didn’t ease up. In fact, it doubled.

And yet, this time was different. Not easier, but different.

When I was 18, college was just something I thought I had to do. I didn’t know why I was there. I had no clear goal or passion. I went through the motions, burned out quickly, and quietly faded away. Back then, I thought that was normal. Looking around now, I see how many students still feel that way. The lack of motivation, the vague hope that good grades will lead to a good life, and the absence of real direction. I used to think it was just me.

Now, I know better. I’ve lived a life outside of school. I know what it means to pay bills with less than $10 in your bank account. I know the grind of multiple jobs. I know the pain of being overqualified for entry-level work but underqualified for anything else. So, being in class now? It hits different. I actually want to learn. I want to understand the material, not just pass the test. I want to build something real. And that changes everything.

There are still days when I struggle. I still deal with imposter syndrome, especially when younger students casually rattle off plans for grad school or start-up dreams. I think back to my 18-year-old self and wonder what I could’ve done differently. But I also realize that at 18, I was never given the tools to dream that big. And I’m not mad at that version of me. She did the best she could.

Returning to school hasn’t been some magical solution. Life is still complicated. I still juggle work, school, and trying to have a life. Sometimes I still question if this is really going to change anything. Will the degree open doors? Will it lead to something stable and fulfilling? I don’t know. But I do know that I’m not the same person I was eight years ago.

Back then, I was drifting. Now, I’m choosing. Even when it’s hard, I’m choosing this path. That alone feels like a kind of power.

People love the idea of “finishing what you started.” It sounds noble. Responsible. But not everything you start is worth finishing. Sometimes, finishing something only makes sense if the person you are now still believes in the reason it was started. I didn’t come back to college to redeem my younger self. I came back because I finally had a reason to be here.

And that matters.

I’m grateful for this second chance, even on the hard days. Even when I’m buried in deadlines or questioning everything. Because now, when I sit in a lecture or write a paper, it’s not for anyone else. It’s not to prove anything. It’s because I finally understand what it means to build a future.

Is going back to college after eight years the right choice? I think so. Not because it’s fixed everything. Not because it’s guaranteed anything. But because it’s mine. It’s a decision I made with open eyes and a full heart. And in a life full of chaos, that kind of clarity is rare.

So yeah, it was the right choice. Because this time, I’m not just surviving. I’m trying to live.