In a society that glamorizes constant hustle and linear success, what if stepping away is not falling behind? What if it’s exactly what some of us need to find our way forward?

In March 2022, I received an email that changed my life: my acceptance into UCLA.

Since I was 13 years old, UCLA has been my dream school – a dream that, at times, felt unattainable. But as I would later learn, fulfilling that dream came with challenges I wasn’t prepared for and eventually led me down an unexpected path.

Leading up to the first day of school, I did what many incoming college students were doing: created Pinterest boards for my dorm room, found roommates and imagined the version of myself I hoped to become.

I packed my bags not just with clothes and books but with the weight of expectations – the pressure to make every opportunity count, and the quiet fear that if I slowed down, I’d lose everything I had worked for.

As move-in day got closer, feelings of dread crept in, but I dismissed them as first-day jitters. Hoping this anxiety would fade, I moved in, made friends and settled in.

But the first-day jitters never left me.

Transitioning from high school to a four-year university – away from everything I had ever known – took a hefty mental toll.

After completing my fall quarter, I made the difficult decision to leave UCLA and enroll at my local community college. There were many reasons behind this choice – some academic, some financial but most of all, deeply personal.

To start, I was majoring in environmental science and planning to switch into molecular, cell and developmental biology – two paths that felt misaligned with my true interests. Still, I believed they were my only options.

I was scared that if I stepped off the science track, my family and community would look at me as if I were lost with no direction, as if I were throwing away any chance at success. That fear sat heavy on me, and I let it guide choices that didn’t always feel like mine. Somewhere along the way, I convinced myself that the only kind of future worth having looked certain, impressive and tied to a STEM degree.

Money was another major factor. The pressure of paying $8,300 a year for a degree I didn’t truly want only deepened my anxiety.

But the overarching reason I chose to leave was that I didn’t feel ready.

My whole life, I had been on the go – always running, never walking. I feared that if I stopped, I wouldn’t start again.

I came from a high school that wasn’t academically rigorous. We didn’t always have consistent teachers, and many of my classes lacked structure and depth. The violence and economic instability affecting our community made it difficult for our school to provide the kind of support and resources I now know were critical. As a student, I often felt like college preparation wasn’t something many of us had the tools to fully engage with.

I was surviving, not growing. I was catching up in real time, unsure of how to study, ask for help or navigate a system that wasn’t built for students from schools like me. I didn’t feel equipped with the tools or support I needed to thrive.

That realization was debilitating. Admitting I needed change felt like a setback – one weighed down by unmet expectations. I found myself questioning my choices and my worth, suffocated by the pressure to live up to both my own expectations and those of others.

Leaving UCLA was one of the hardest choices I’ve ever made, but for the first time, it felt like my choice.

My time at community college was transformative. It allowed me to rediscover my love for writing while working at the Napa Valley College Writing Success Center. I realized my true passion lay in using language, critical thinking and empathy to advocate for others and challenge systems of injustice.

For the first time, I saw a path that felt both empowering and authentic.

Leaving UCLA was not a sign of weakness – it was an act of courage. It was an opportunity to explore new paths, embrace my interests and rebuild my confidence without the overwhelming pressure I felt there.

I made the decision to return to UCLA in fall 2024 not because I had something to prove but because I finally found clarity.

This time, I came back on my own terms with a new major, a renewed sense of purpose and the belief that taking the longer, messier path was not a detour but the exact journey I needed to grow.

So, what if stepping away is not falling behind? What if it’s exactly what some of us need to find our way forward?

I now know that growth doesn’t always happen in straight lines and that sometimes, the bravest thing we can do is pause, reroute and choose a future that aligns with who we truly are. I chose to honor my uncertainty, listen to my inner voice and rebuild on my own terms.

Now, as I continue my journey, I’m no longer running out of fear – I’m walking with intention toward a future in law, advocacy and justice.

To anyone else questioning their path: Stepping away doesn’t mean giving up. Sometimes, it means finally starting in the right direction.