At the start of my freshman year of college, I was prepared to take challenging courses and spend a lot of late nights in the library. In high school I worked hard, but I had a feeling nothing I had done before, including AP and level classes, would prepare me for the rigger of a prestigious university. At the end of my first semester, I found myself surprised. I didn't have a 4.0 and I definitely had worked hard, but I didn't struggle nearly as much as I had anticipated. I didn't fail, I actually did well. Maybe it was that I had lucked into taking easy classes with forgiving professors, or maybe my high school just did a really good job of preparing for the next level of education. Either way, at the end of Christmas break I was actually excited for classes to start. My semester would be busier than the last, and my courses looked a little more difficult, but I was ready. For one of the fist times in my life I was academically a confident; this was a feeling I had rarely experienced in high school as I found the town I grew up in was extremely competitive and judgmental. The University of Richmond, at times, felt like it wasn't good enough in some of my peer's eyes. Regardless, there I was, confident as ever and ready to take on second semester. Nothing could bring me down, or at least that is what I naively thought.
Syllabus Week was nothing out of the ordinary second semester: professors seemed intimidating and I was overwhelmed looking at all of the deadlines. One class and professor, however, stood out as presenting more of a challenge and requiring more effort than others. At Richmond, we are required to take two First year Seminars that are supposed to enhance our writing skills and focus on a specific topic. My FYS second semester had the reputation of being tough and having really strict professor but I didn't care, the topic seemed interesting and I felt academically invincible.
Flash forward 9 months later, and I am still recovering and regretting my decision to not drop that class as soon as the professor spoke. The amount of hours I poured into that class, the amount of tears I shed for it, and the amount of times I have since questioned my own intelligence because of that class were nowhere near anything I had ever experienced. I met with the professor several times, wrote dozens of drafts for each paper, took incredibly diligent notes, and participated more than I ever thought possible, and even that wasn't enough to do well. On my final paper, the only thing my professor commented on was my footnotes and that they were incorrect. Needless to say I'm still bitter.
I seriously believe that my FYS traumatized me. I now do not go around thinking I will get an A, I don't even think it's possible to get a A. I have practically no motivation to strive for an A. I need to figure out a way to take what I learned and turn it into some valuable lesson like something Stephanie Tanner would do, but until I figure that out, my only advice would be enjoy Syllabus Week while you can.
