(No knitting, lots of self exploration. Feel free to pass by if you don’t want deep thoughts today. You could go read part 3 if you like.)
I’ve posted a few times about school. About the stress and the anxiety and the way my stomach curls up in tight little knots when I think about going and the way my heart breaks if I think about NOT going.
I posted about how I was accepted for loans to help me pay for school. I’ve since been going through the process of actually getting those loans. Applying and filling out paperwork and mailing in promissory notes and all that good stuff. But how I’m still not able to admit it to myself that I’m going to school.
Day by day there are little things making it more real for me. Daddy Knit Wit discussing how he took a few days off work to help me move down into my dorm room. The countdown on my desktop. (91 days) The reminders in the mail that I need extra long twin sheets for the dorm beds. The ever growing list in the back of my mind of things I need to take with me and things I can leave behind in storage. The insane urge to knit myself a dorm blanket out of crazy bright colors. The Rogue sweater I said I’d knit for myself for school that is waiting for yarn to be ordered.
But there was one thing, one single thing that could make it Official. And I kept putting it off. I hesitated. I waited. I delayed as much as possible.
At Harper College I connected with 3 of my teachers. 2 of them I was lucky enough to connect with as friends. But one of them was more than a friend. She was a mentor. A guide. A woman who had so great an affect of my life that whenever I mention a class I enjoyed at Harper everyone immediately assumes she taught it.
It was this woman who introduced me to Victorian Literature. It was this woman who found time in her overloaded schedule to do an in-depth independent study with me, to help me develop my skills at reading and writing literary theory. She expected so much of me, and I was so afraid of letting her down, that I pushed myself to heights I didn’t know I could reach and found a faith in myself that I never had before.
When I was accepted to UIC I e-mailed her with pride and told her of my accomplishment. When I had to drop out telling her was almost harder than admitting it to myself. I was so afraid of disappointing her, of losing her faith in me. Of not living up to those expectations. She didn’t turn her back on me or any of the other things I was afraid of. She encouraged me to keep trying, to stay focused on my dream and invited me to sit in on one of her classes to keep my mind fresh. She didn’t treat me like a failure, which is how I saw myself.
When I was accepted to SIUE everyone asked me when I was going to tell her. But I waited. First I waited to see about my advising meeting and what they said. Then I waited about the money issue. Then… I just waited. I was scared. It was the final step. The great acknowledgement. It was the last step in emotionally investing myself in school.
I e-mailed her this morning.