First, I must apologize to my one or two faithful readers for not updating my blog as often as I’d like. As is predictable with the start of a new quarter, I have become incredibly overwhelmed and increasingly absent of time. It is not solely due to a lack of time, however, but also a lack of inspiration and laziness. With that said, I will try to make more of an effort to post.
It did not take much time to come to the conclusion that becoming a sheriff’s deputy was not for me, as the application process itself was so overwelming and scary that I simply did not know what to do with myself. Oh, how I wonder how I would have reacted with a gun pointed at me and little babies desperate for me to save them—I can’t even walk into the building to drop off an application!
Even after realizing that school was a much better route for me, I procrastinated and put it off for several weeks before I took any action. At the time, my boss was on vacation and, because we were short on staff, I had to work two weeks with only one day off. During this time, however, I finally found the courage to email one of the admissions advisors at the local university. The advisor I emailed was a good friend of both my mom and dad and my boss. On one hand, I was rather embarrassed of my situation and nervous about what her reaction would be, specifically because of the social circles we were both involved in. But I was also somewhat comforted with that knowledge as well.
Writing the email was relatively easy. I was as detailed and forthright as possible, because I figured that being honest and detailed would lead to an easy road to get into school. After sending the email, she responded by the next afternoon and her first words were, “THANK YOU very much for your detailed email. It helps me understand your situation much better.”
Her name is Donna, and she was my academic advisor and one of the primary reasons that I am in school. Her response consisted mostly of her encouraging me to come up and speak with her; I knew that would be a new hurdle I’d be forced to jump over. She also encouraged me to join a free, volunteer-based class that she and several other teachers offer during the summer. The program is to help acclimate students with college, build self-esteem, and to learn about managing time.
After several days, I again garnered the courage to call and make the appointment. The appointment was only a day or two later. I was incredibly nervous. I allocated several minutes in order to be able to enter into the building without turning around and deciding on a new endeavor, as well as to find her office. After finding the student services area on the small campus, I was asked to sit down. Donna came out several minutes and asked, “Are you my appointment? Come on back.” We walked back to her office and we sat down. She said, “Why are you here?” This question was a shock to me, because one of the main reasons I sent the email was so I could elaborate on my story through written communication rather than through oral, as my oral communication skills, at least at the time, were horrible, which was mostly due to the intense anxiety I still felt.
I explained that I had emailed her and she said, “Oooh, OK!” We had a brief conversation and she asked me some questions. It did not take long for me to realize that I really did not have much of a choice on whether I was going to go to school or not. Donna is an incredibly blunt person and did not “sugar-coat” anything (some may consider this a fault, but I consider it a positive characteristic). She, once again, encouraged me to join the summer class and explained it in relatively good detail. I told her I’d have to think about it, but it was starting in only a couple weeks.
After I got home, and because I was unable to articulate my thoughts and questions at the time, I emailed her several more questions and asked some questions about the volunteer class. I asked if I could just decide on the day of the class if I wanted to come and she said that was fine, but she seemed rather unhappy with that question.
As soon as my boss arrived back in town, I delightfully told her about my progress. She, too, encouraged me to go to the volunteer class, but I still wasn’t sure. I actually had another friend who would also be starting school, and she was going to go with me to the class. At that point, I was ready—that, in and of itself, really changed my perspectives on going to school. HOWEVER, she moved out of state like a week before the class started. I was obviously pissed and upset, so my apprehension about going to school quickly returned.
The night before the class was to begin, I was rather nervous and I did not believe I would really go, although I told everyone I would. As the time drew nearer, I have no doubt that my neighbors could feel my nervous shacking—it must have been like an earthquake. But, again, I garnered the courage and began my new journey. I arrived at the school with really no idea what to expect: more specifically, what my reactions would be, if I would throw up or start crying, or any other of the negative possibilities I could think of. I arrived about 10 minutes early and found the room. The door was open, the lights were off, and no one was there, so I grabbed a seat outside of the room and just sat there. When the class was about to start and no one was there, I slowly walked back out to my car to double check the room number and realized that I was waiting outside the wrong room.
Now, not only was I going to have to enter into a class room after about 10 years, but I was going to have to enter into a class room with a bunch of people I did not know about ten minutes late. I walked into the class room and sat down, and she quickly made an example of me. Essentially, she said how she would like people to arrive on time. Surprisingly, I blurted out that I was at the wrong room and apologized for being late. Then, she further made an example of me and said, “Oh, that’s OK. How did you find out what room we were in?” And went on to explain to the other students that the information desk had all of the information for the campus.
During the entire two hour discussion and lecture, I was nervous. I am positive that any color my skin had, even after not being in the sun much for the last couple years, disappeared. Afterward, she asked to speak to me, so we went to her office. I was visibly nervous and we talked some more about degree requirements such as math, as I had not even applied to the university yet. I asked if I placed into MATH 101, “Would I have to take 3 math classes?” She said “yes,” and I knew a couple tears must have come down my face, or she knew they were about to. Being that she is a psychologist, she is academically trained to watch people and their reactions. She told me to take three deep breaths and she animately showed me how to do it. It was actually rather funny.
After leaving, I went home and went back to bed. I probably slept for much of the rest of the day. The “volunteer” class actually had numerous requirements. One of the requirements was to write a one page paper after reading a chapter of the book. This one requirement was about to kill me. I was so scared and clueless about how to write an academic paper–and even then I loved to write. I told everyone how nervous I was about a one page paper and how stupid it was for me to be so nervous about it; most people agreed.
In the end, I made it through the class and actually had fun. Believe it or not, I was the most vocal of all of the students in the class—yes, the one with severe social anxiety disorder spoke more than anyone else in the class. The papers became easier and easier, and she was able to give me some specific feedback on areas that I’d need to work on for academic papers. The transition from my casual writing to that required in academic was actually not difficult at all. In the end, it has made me a better writer.
This post is outrageously long, I’m sure, and it’s rather late. I’m tired and I forced myself to write this, as it has been weeks since I’ve updated. I know it did not turn out the way I wanted, but I hope it’s at least coherent. Next post, I’ll describe my first quarter in college and the experiences it provided. Thanks for reading!
Filed under: College, Introduction, Personal, Social Anxiety | Leave a Comment
Tags: admissions, advisers, advisors, anxiety, College, fear, late, lecture, quarter, school, university, volunteer
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