Ever since I can remember, school’s been my identity. I spent most of my life trying to impress the people around me with all A’s and an impressive resume so I could get into a good college. I spent my first semester of freshman year at UT working with no breaks until I burnt myself out. The worst part is, no one ever told me I had to do that. It was just an unsaid expectation for me as a first-generation college student. 

The problem is, I don’t know who set those expectations for me. Was it my family? Was it my friends? Or worse, was it me?

No one ever outright said I had to be perfect. But all the pressure to be the one who would finally get the degree put a weight on my shoulders. The look on my parents’ faces when I succeeded academically and all the praise I received from the rest of my family made me feel like I only ever deserved their love if I continued to be the best. If I didn’t accomplish a goal then I didn’t feel worthy. 

When I got to UT, my parents sat me down and talked to me about how I’m here for one reason, and one reason only: to graduate. Unfortunately, I took that too literally. I didn’t take care of myself, both physically and mentally. I spent all my time studying and didn’t try to make any friends. I had no energy for anything, to the point that I even considered dropping out. The sole fact that I had to be the first to graduate in my family was terrifying. I didn’t just want to graduate; I wanted to graduate with honors. I wanted to be the best and prove to everyone that I was worthy of their love.

Before winter break ended, my mom saw how anxious I was about going back to school. I finally admitted to her how I was struggling and how afraid I was of letting my parents down if I didn’t get the best grades. She told me they didn’t expect me to be the smartest person on campus. They simply wanted me to have an easier life than them by having an education, not to overwork myself. She looked me in the eyes and told me that at the end of the day, they just wanted me happy and healthy.  

That following semester, I realized that being a first-generation student means more than getting all A’s. It means that I have to take care of myself too. It means I have to reach out for help. This degree will be pointless if I burn myself out at 19. 

Now, at the start of my sophomore year, I’m in a better place. I’ve found a community that uplifts me whenever I’m down, and I’m still in the process of finding a work-life balance. Whenever I feel like maybe I’m not cut out to be at UT, I remember my family’s proud looks when they dropped me off freshman year. I remember their constant words of encouragement. 

Being a first-generation student means so much to me. On the surface, it means I’m the first to earn a degree in my family. But on a more personal note, it means I’m one step closer to having the life my parents always dreamed for me. 

Sometimes, I feel like I have the whole world on my shoulders. But the reality is, my parents want a better life for me. Having a “better life” isn’t about having a 4.0. It’s about letting myself live. Before I’m a first-generation student, I’m human. 

Ponce is a journalism sophomore from Laredo, Texas.