This post was updated July 30 at 3:55 p.m.

Editors Note: The Center for Accessible Education confirmed that the standard policy does not identify substance use itself as a disability, and multiple factors are considered when evaluating a student’s eligibility to receive services on an individual basis.

I was excited to be a part of the nation’s No. 1 public university when I was accepted into UCLA. My excitement quickly disappeared when I learned firsthand how the institution proudly exalts students’ accomplishments but demonizes and excludes those who face unique struggles.

UCLA is an institution that prides itself on acknowledging diversity and the enrollment of first-generation students. However, the institution has a long way to go in sensitively understanding and being genuinely inclusive of the multifaceted identities stemming from the first-generation student population and effectively supporting marginalized students without ostracizing them.

I began my undergraduate journey in the summer quarter of 2021. The support I received from my peers and faculty within the Transfer Summer Program created an environment where I felt included.

I quickly began to create a community like the one I had left behind at my community college, allowing me to open up about my struggles as a first-generation formerly incarcerated student. I shared with my classmates and professors that I was having difficulty adjusting to the quarter’s fast pace and workload. I was also under a lot of pressure because my move-in date was mid-quarter. All these things brought on a mental and emotional burden that marked the beginning of my struggle with sobriety.

The welcoming and supportive environment of TSP left the impression that throughout UCLA, I would receive the same treatment.

Throughout TSP, I learned about UCLA’s Center for Accessible Education and decided to schedule an appointment. During my first meeting, I openly shared with the counselor that, apart from the disabilities I had been diagnosed with, I was also a student in recovery. I was then asked if I was still using, to which I quickly replied, “no.” I explained to the counselor that sharing my sobriety struggles had helped me not relapse in the past.

That day, the counselor’s response changed my perspective about sharing my sobriety struggles with anyone at UCLA.

After I was asked if I was still using, I asked the counselor why they had asked me that question. They informed me that if I told them I was still using, I would be ineligible to receive services. They proceeded to say that often the symptoms a student experiences when still using mimic those of certain disabilities.

While I expressed my disagreement with such practices despite being eligible for accommodations, I told myself I would never reach out for help nor request any accommodations if I ever relapsed while at UCLA.

I successfully navigated my way through the rigorous expectations of the institution. However, after every quarter, my cravings got stronger. I knew I still had my community back at home and could count on them to share my struggles, but I did not want to burden them.

By the end of the 2022 spring quarter, I witnessed the student organization I had joined since my arrival at UCLA disintegrate. I also lost one of my closest friends and two colleagues from my community college. I utilized all the resources available, like Counseling and Psychological Services and Behavioral Health Services, to combat my mental and emotional struggles. Nevertheless, I was still hesitant to open up about my sobriety struggles.

My first relapse occurred. However, it is important to note that I am not a victim.

With the high pace of the quarter, I have never really had the time to process all of my emotions. When the anniversary of these events occurred in the spring of 2023, I relapsed again. I was in such a dark place that I considered dropping out despite being so close to graduating. Thankfully, a close call with overdosing motivated me to stop.

That following quarter, I met a professor who, through their pedagogical approach, created an identical environment that emulated the TSP program. This allowed me to open up to them about my sobriety struggles, which motivated me to say something about my experience with the CAE program.

Additionally, my relapse experiences reminded me of the words of Martin Leyva, a sociology professor at Palomar College.

“The classroom produces high levels of stress and anxiety. And if the only way we respond to high levels of stress and anxiety is through drugs and alcohol, that’s our go-to. The relapse is going to happen. And this is why it’s so important for me to teach emotional intelligence,” he said in a 2023 documentary called “Almost Home – Life After Incarceration.”

Leyva added, “If you use every single relapse as an experience, as an education, what does it teach you? Eventually, you’re going to learn from it. That’s what I continue to tell countless students who relapse. It’s part of the process, don’t be hard on yourself.”

I was reminded that I did not make it this far just to make it this far.

Through this letter, I hope to raise awareness of this issue that seems to be ignored on our campus. Unfortunately, my story is not the only one. Throughout my undergraduate journey, I have met countless other students on the verge of losing themselves to addiction and others turned down by CAE when asking for disability support because of their struggles with sobriety.

Because of the institution’s punitive response to these struggles, these students would rather struggle in the shadows. It is time for this dilemma to be addressed.

Jimenez is a formerly incarcerated first-generation fourth-year sociology and Chicana/o and Central American studies student. He is also a McNair research scholar analyzing the impacts of mentoring practices deployed by support programs for formerly incarcerated students within the community college.