For most, transferring colleges or universities is a permanent thing. Many students leave their original institution unhappy, and find solace at their next. That wasn’t the case for me. I needed to do it twice to find my home—or rather my way back home.
In the spring of my first year, I became disenchanted with Lehigh University. The idealistic image I fell in love with as a junior in high school—the same one that led me to apply early decision—tarnished.
I was in a bad mental space and dealing with many personal issues. Sorority recruitment did not go as I planned, and I wasn’t selected to be a campus tour guide or a TRAC writing fellow, which made me feel even worse. Then, March came along, and I had to pack my bags up and go home because of the COVID-19 pandemic.
I started to compare my experience to that of my brother’s at the university he went to. His stories, along with those of my friends who went to the same school, and knowing how renowned the school’s journalism program is, convinced me I would be happier there.
Without telling anyone, I applied to transfer. Upon receiving my acceptance letter, I committed and withdrew from Lehigh without hesitation.
I was thrilled to start fresh. However, my experience there turned out to be very different than I imagined.
Most of my classes were large and felt impersonal compared to the ones I took at Lehigh. It was hard to meet and see people due to pandemic restrictions. The sense of community I felt at Lehigh wasn’t present in my new environment, and it left me feeling anxious.
Just a few weeks in, I thought about going back to Lehigh. I spent a good portion of September crying on my stairs and Googling “reverse transfers” and Lehigh’s transfer policy.
In an effort to avoid being rash—again—I tried to give my new school some more time, with an honest effort. I immersed myself in my work and tried to get to know the community the best I could.
Then, one spontaneous Thursday night in October, my best friend from Lehigh picked me up from my university apartment and drove me back to Bethlehem.
I had one of the best weekends I had had in months. I walked around campus with fresh eyes, and I knew I needed to come back to Lehigh.
Once she drove me back, I reached out to my most trusted professor at Lehigh, Jack Lule, for guidance. He offered help to get me readmitted, building a team of people to support the process. In one email, he reminded me of the sense of community that I missed at Lehigh.
Now, in my last year at Lehigh, “remember when you transferred?” has become a bit among my friends. To which I’ll always respond with a laugh and a fond, “yeah,” because I know that if I had never left, I would have never grown, and I would have never known that Lehigh is where I belong.