When I applied for transfer after completing two and a half years at Moorpark College, all I could think about was moving to Northern California. I wanted to be independent and spend time away from my family. Sounds relatable enough. I mean, it’s what every young person desires in his or her life at some point, right? Well, for me, it was a much bigger risk.
You see, I have a neurological condition known as Cerebral Palsy (CP). It affects my fine motor skills, my entire right side of my body is weaker than my left, I have a tendency to become fatigued easily, and I use a wheelchair to get around (you might see a bedazzled motor scooter on campus, though). I always knew I’d have challenges in my daily life, but I never let that stop me from achieving the goals that I set for myself, and the goal of going to a four-year university was no exception. So when I accepted UC Davis’s offer of admission in the fall of 2015, I was ready to go full speed ahead into a new adventure; one that would put 400 miles between me and everything that I have ever known.
Growing up, I never really considered myself limited in any way, or at least I wasn’t raised to focus on my limitations, so I never believed I had any. That all changed on September 21, 2015 when I moved in to my apartment at UC Davis. When I entered my apartment on that first day, none of the accommodations I requested almost 2 months prior to matriculation were in my apartment. There was not one grab bar (like the kind you see in public restrooms), I couldn’t get in any of the doors without help, and as I looked around at the space, I was terrified. My grandparents were equally shocked and we all immediately went to talk to administration about our concerns. I subtly reminded them that they had told me that all of my accommodations were in the apartment already, and that I didn’t have to worry about anything. The housing administration apologized and said that they would have the situation rectified in a timely manner, but when my family and I discovered that I had classes in three days, my family immediately went into action mode, and purchased our own equipment to outfit my apartment properly so that I would be able to live in it, somewhat comfortably, until housing could set everything up.
I stayed with my grandparents in the hotel on campus for the first two days at UC Davis. I missed every Welcome Week event and I immediately felt really out of place. Of course, the time came and went, and before I knew it, it was time for my grandparents to go. The day before my classes were sent to start, they headed off back to Southern California. Eight hours away from me. Looking back on it now, or at least to those first few days, I know that I didn’t want to be terrified or to feel terrified, or helpless even. But I did.
That first week alone was the most tumultuous time period. Not only was my apartment a complete disaster, but I had gotten the wrong textbooks and my scooter broke down the day of my first classes. I remember being at my breaking point then, but I knew I had to stick it out. I had to see it through. So I stuck it out for as long as I could until finally, everything came crashing down at once. Or at least that’s how it felt being that it was my first time away from home.
Housing finally came through with the accommodations I requested, but after a few weeks I noticed persistent issues: there were times the automatic doors wouldn’t open, especially the ones to my room. The bar in the shower of the bathroom would always come loose, which caused me to become fearful of the shower. I went months, going back and forth with housing, asking them if there was anything that could be done to help me because I feared the worst. I went from getting constant excuses to little to no contact. The only reaction? “Well, if you weren’t in a wheelchair, we’d tell you to find a different place to live.” I was shocked. I felt helpless. I felt cast aside. I felt like nothing. I slipped into depression a month and a half before I made the decision to withdraw. I became a shell of a person. I didn’t recognize myself. I looked dead. In February of 2016, I booked a one-way flight back to Southern California. I knew I wouldn’t and more importantly, that I couldn’t, come back to Davis again. It’s been about a year since I withdrew, and even though it was one of the hardest decisions I have ever had to make, somehow it makes CLU a much bigger blessing than I ever thought possible. A year ago, I felt so small. I felt broken. But here at CLU, there’s magic everywhere. I feel like I’m meant to be here, and even though I originally was so against being so close to everything that I’ve known my whole life, I am finding that I’m learning something new every day. I’m growing, I’m meeting new people, and I’m living. I feel accepted and I feel like I belong. I have finally found the place that I am happy to call home, and I couldn’t be happier. CLU has changed everything about me, and I’m so thankful.
So while our lives may take many detours and while it may seem like there’s no way out or that things will get better, my story and my journey to CLU is here to remind all of you that it does get better, it will get better, and you will be able to build yourself up again.