No one talks about what happens when you can’t afford to fail. When one grade can cost you another semester, another class bill, another setback you can’t pay for. I know this because I am living it. While this is my story, it’s not an original experience. It’s also a reflection of a system that makes education harder to afford, harder to finish, and less rewarding.
I’m not here to say my experience is universal or that college isn’t worth it. In many ways, it’s shaped and challenged me for what comes next in the workforce. I don’t regret choosing to pursue my bachelor’s degree. Still, the version of college we’re often shown leaves out a quieter reality, one where finances can dictate opportunities, limit second or third chances, and turn passing a class into something much heavier than it should be.
counting credits, counting costs
For some context, I graduated high school in 2022, filled with the usual excitement of moving on to the next chapter. For me, that next step was always clear: I had my sights set on Florida State University. No declaration of a major just yet; I just knew I wanted to go to FSU and dance on their dance team, the Florida State Golden Girls.
I remember checking my student portal while in high school and seeing “Spring 2026” listed as my graduation term. It filled me with so much excitement. It might sound small, but everything about it felt right—graduating in my favorite season, at my dream school. At the time, the future felt certain. What could be better?
I remember thinking I had everything figured out. FSU was the plan, the only plan. Spoiler: I didn’t get in. So, when that didn’t happen, I felt completely lost. I think it’s funny how we hold onto these ideas of what we want, convinced they are everything, when sometimes they’re not what we actually need.
I cried over not getting in, felt completely redirected, and then found myself studying abroad my first year of college with a program I found through an Instagram ad. It’s legit, I promise. I started earning my GEP credits while experiencing the world in a way I never expected.
For the first time, I felt like I could just exist and take up space. When I came back to the U.S., I was accepted into the University of Central Florida, entered the journalism program, and got into the electronic track at the Nicholson School of Communication and Media. Just like that, my momentum was back.
With that momentum, I threw myself into the foundational classes I needed that would shape my path in journalism. I focused on doing well and tried to build a portfolio that felt intentional. Even as a commuter, I tried to make the most of my time on campus, knowing every moment counted.
It wasn’t always easy. I didn’t feel immersed in campus life as I had once imagined, and I had come to terms with the fact that my college experience might not look “traditional.” However, I tried my best to remind myself why I was here at UCF. I was investing in my future, even if it didn’t look like the version I once pictured.
Another spoiler, it was so far from the picture I had in my head. The Pell Grant carried me through my first two years, and I am grateful for that. I know not every student gets that kind of support, but it only went so far. I learned quickly that you can’t rely on guidance counselors. You have to keep track of everything yourself and make sure you’re being intentional with your course selections.
The journalism classes I was excited about were only a fraction of what I had to take and pay for. Almost half of my GEPs from studying abroad didn’t even transfer. Some didn’t fulfill state requirements, so I ended up retaking GEPs I thought I had already finished. This took a lot of money from my Pell Grant, which was my only source of financial support for school.
Then came this year, my senior year: my portfolio and capstone. The year that all my work needed to come together, and I had to pay for everything out of pocket. No grants, four classes one semester and six the next. It felt like I was drowning in coursework, actual work, classes, reporting stories, and financially supporting myself throughout the entire process. Still trying to finish and still trying to make it count.
holding onto the finish line
I wish I could end this on a happier note, but the truth is, the ending is exactly why I started writing this in the first place. I’m just a student, and so are you. Right now, I might not be able to officially graduate because of one GEP. A class I had to retake this semester because last semester I was doing too much to just keep up.
All because I fell three points short of a passing grade. All because I’m a student who can’t afford to take a class a third time and pay double the cost. All because instead of being worked with, I’m being talked at. Just another number in a roster of students. Maybe that’s the part no one talks about. Sometimes it’s not about effort or ability, it’s just simply about making it through.
Even after reaching out to an advocacy coach, after getting a “letter of advocacy,” after waiting to hear back for another reply, nothing changed. It wasn’t enough. In a meeting, I was told it would take a “tragic occurrence” to be granted an extension. Otherwise, it’s black and white: you either didn’t do the work, or your situation isn’t rare enough to matter.
I wish I were exaggerating, but this is my reality. I may be walking without a diploma, just to turn around, take the same course again, and pay even more for it.
The education system isn’t for students. If your situation isn’t exactly like mine, but you’re still struggling financially, still realizing that there are requirements no one warned you about, then we are not that different. We’re not behind; the education system keeps moving the finish line.