To the school that became my second home—thank you.
In the fall of 2019, I arrived at West Chester University with a suitcase, a schedule, and a quiet kind of hope.
I was just 18—new to campus, new to independence, and unsure of what college would hold. I remember standing outside Tyson Hall, dorm key in hand, feeling like I was stepping onto a blank page. I didn’t know it then, but this campus would become the backdrop for the hardest—and most beautiful—years of my life.
Just months into my freshman year, my life shifted in a way I never saw coming: I was kicked out of my parents’ house, and I haven’t seen or spoken to them since.
The foundation I thought I had crumbled overnight. I was suddenly a college freshman with no home to go back to, no safety net waiting to catch me.
Shortly after, the world shut down. The pandemic hit, cutting my first year short and swallowing my sophomore year in isolation. While many were adjusting to Zoom classes and virtual lectures, I was adjusting to something heavier: life with no family, no support system, and no idea how I’d keep going. I wasn’t just figuring out who I was—I was figuring out how to survive.
There were nights when I questioned everything. How could I possibly finish college like this?
Where would I find the strength to keep moving forward when it felt like everything had been taken away?
And yet, somehow, in the midst of it all—I did.
At West Chester, I met the love of my life.
It was simple at first—a friendship that grew quietly into something steady and sure.
And with him, I gained something I never expected: a family.
His family welcomed me without hesitation. They took me in, embraced me as their own, and never once made me feel like I didn’t belong.
They became my anchor when everything else felt like it was drifting away.
Together, my fiancé and I brought a beautiful daughter into the world.
She wasn’t part of my original plan—but she became the reason I refused to quit.
She turned every lecture, every late-night paper, every exhausting shift into something meaningful.
I wasn’t just earning a degree for myself anymore—I was building a future for her.
I was a student and a mom. A partner and a provider.
And through it all, I was working full-time—clocking in, showing up, pushing forward even when I had nothing left to give.
There were days when it felt like there weren’t enough hours to be everything I needed to be—but somehow, I found a way.
College didn’t always look like the movies for me.
It wasn’t tailgates and carefree nights—it was exhaustion and responsibility.
It was learning to budget every dollar, stretch every minute, and hold onto hope even when it felt paper-thin.
But it was also growth. Healing. Becoming.
I learned how to show up for myself. I learned how to rebuild when everything around me fell apart.
I learned that family isn’t defined by blood—it’s defined by love, loyalty, and the people who stay.
West Chester didn’t just give me a degree.
It gave me the space to rewrite my story.
I stayed true to the path I started on.
I never switched my major, even when everything else in my life was changing.
I held onto the dreams I arrived with—and somehow, against the odds, I made them real.
The quiet library corners where I studied until closing.
The professors who didn’t know my full story but still made me feel seen.
The friends and classmates whose small kindnesses meant more than they’ll ever know.
These were the threads that stitched my college experience together.
WCU wasn’t just a campus—it was a lifeline.
I’m not the same girl who showed up here in 2019.
I’m leaving as a mother. A fiancée. A graduate.
A woman who faced unimaginable challenges—and refused to let any of them define her.
This isn’t just a goodbye to college—it’s a celebration of everything I’ve survived.
I didn’t take the traditional path, but I carved out one that was mine.
And I’m walking away with everything that truly matters.
As I cross the stage and move my tassel, I’ll be carrying so much more than a diploma.
I’ll be carrying the strength of every hard night I survived.
The love of the family I found.
The hope that refused to die, even when the odds said it should have.
Thank you, West Chester, for being the place where I didn’t just earn a degree—I found my future.
I found myself. I found everything I thought I had lost—and so much more.
Here’s to the girl who lost everything—and still won. Here’s to the next chapter—and the beautiful, messy, triumphant story that’s still being written.