For a long time, I was embarrassed to admit that I had attended four different colleges and universities without earning a degree. It wasn’t until I attended Bidwell Training Center for culinary school that I finally graduated with honors—a 4.0 student, no less. But years ago, I wouldn’t have celebrated that. Instead, I saw my college history as a series of failures.
Growing up, my mother was the embodiment of academic excellence. A lifelong educator who earned her doctorate, she made pursuing education seem effortless. In contrast, my own path was anything but smooth. College wasn’t just difficult—it was something I struggled to complete, and for a long time, I suppressed the emotions tied to that experience.
It took a recent conversation with my therapist to admit the truth: I had self-sabotaged my academic journey. And until now, I had never really allowed myself to grieve that.
Geneva College: A Step I Wasn’t Ready For
I started at Geneva College right out of high school, but not because I wanted to. In fact, my first real interest in a university came from an unexpected conversation. At a wedding, I happened to sit next to Angelo Armenti, the President of California University of Pennsylvania (CALU). He sold me on the school’s amenities, invited me for a private visit, and even offered financial support—possibly even a full ride, though my memory is foggy.
CALU felt exciting, fresh, and full of opportunity. But ultimately, I ended up at Geneva, my mother’s alma mater. It was a Christian liberal arts school, predominately white, and a stark contrast to the HBCUs I had toured (where, admittedly, my only interest was the food). But more than anything, Geneva felt like someone else’s choice for me, not my own.
I wasn’t prepared for college life. The sudden freedom, the lack of structure—it was overwhelming. Public school hadn’t fully prepared me for the academic rigor, and I certainly wasn’t disciplined enough to manage it on my own. I failed classes in subjects I once excelled in, and the support I expected wasn’t there. On paper, my GPA was sinking. In reality, I was living for the experience—parties, late-night trips, endless distractions.
By the end of my second semester, my GPA had fallen below 2.0, and I couldn’t afford to return. My mom understood the academic struggle, but she never knew how little I actually wanted to be there in the first place.
CCAC: The In-Between Years
Back home, I enrolled in the Community College of Allegheny County (CCAC) on and off, bouncing between campuses. I was working full-time, mostly taking night classes, and battling a deep sense of anxiety every time I stepped into a classroom. It was during this time, that I experienced one of the most traumatic events of my life—something I’ll share in another post. The weight of that experience, combined with my unresolved struggles with school, made it impossible to focus.
But in the midst of all that darkness, I met my husband. A simple Facebook connection turned into something life-changing, and before I knew it, my focus started shifting. Mario was my breath of fresh air.
Clarion University: Finding My Passion, Losing My Momentum
At one point, I believed education would always be part of my life. I spent so much time in the schools where my mother worked, and I loved being around books, kids, and learning environments. That’s when I found an interest in Library Science and applied to Clarion University. Mario, my now-husband, applied with me.
Clarion was different. I finally had something I was passionate about. I got a job in the library and was known as “the library girl.” I made the Dean’s List, joined a library science sorority, and built a life I enjoyed. Mario and I immersed ourselves in college life—student activity nights, bingo, skating, and late-night talks. It was a time of growth, learning, and balance between personal and academic life.
But that balance was fragile. Mario was struggling with being away from home, and when life started pulling us in different directions, our relationship cracked. One particular night changed everything, leading me to call the police. The next day, my mom and sister arrived for a visit, and Mario was gone. My “perfect” college life shattered in an instant.
I stayed at Clarion, but my motivation died with that breakup. My parents still visited often, but their attention was mostly on my sister, who had just started school there too. My experience started feeling like an afterthought, and before long, I was back home again.
Returning to Clarion, Then Choosing a Different Path
I made one last attempt at Clarion, this time living in a brand-new dorm with my sister. But something about that experience felt too close to home. My motivation wasn’t there, and deep down, I knew I wasn’t moving forward. I still managed to have fun but that fun has nothing to do with moving forward with my degree.
Then, life pivoted. Quietly, without much fanfare, I moved to Georgia to be with Mario.
Georgia: Learning Outside the Classroom
Georgia was my reset button. It wasn’t about college anymore—it was about life. I worked at Georgia Southern University and briefly attended East Georgia State College for Fire and Emergency Services, but by then, I had already built a career that felt more valuable than a degree. I realized that my desire to go to college had never truly been my own—it was something I was told I needed to be successful. But I was already proving that wasn’t true.
Mario and I built a good life together, and even when challenges arose—like our apartment catching fire—my desire to stay with him outweighed any thoughts of returning home. We eventually got married, and while the journey wasn’t perfect, it was mine.
Redefining Success
For years, I thought a degree was the key to my future. And for years, I carried the weight of not finishing, believing that my story was one of failure. But today, I see it differently, gleaming with the successes of my family and my own business.
My education didn’t just come from a classroom. It came from the experiences that shaped me, the resilience I built, the lessons I learned in love, loss, and self-discovery. And when I finally did complete a program—culinary school—it was because I had found something that aligned with me.
Would I go back and finish a degree? Maybe. But I know now that it won’t make or break me. My life, my success, and my happiness have never depended on a piece of paper. And that, in itself, is a lesson worth learning.
