never give up

similar dress (on sale for $17) | bracelet (holds my hair tie!) | bag | charm | earrings | sandals | sunnies

I'm gonna tell you guys a little story. It goes back about ten-ish years to my college days when I was just starting to figure out life in the "real world". This will be my Mom's first time hearing this story as well, so you know if it took me ten years to tell her (via blog post), it must be juicy.

It was my junior year of college, second semester, and life was good. I was the captain of our women's golf team there at LCU, had the best friends a girl could ask for, and had pretty much figured out how to survive on Ramen Noodles and refried beans alone (not together). My schedule wasn't too tough that semester and I even seemed to be enjoying most of my classes. Weird, I know. However, as the semester rolled along, I found myself struggling to get out of bed for my 8am Creative Writing class. It's not that I was being lazy and sleeping in; we had golf work-outs every weekday morning at 5:30am. So by the time I made it back to my apartment at 7am, I would pass out from a mix of staying up too late and running all morning only to miss my 8 o'clock class.

Being a college athlete definitely has it's perks, but it's not everything it's hyped up to be. Especially not at a smaller school. In our classes, students were allotted a certain amount of absences for the semester. Once you exceeded this amount, you would be dropped from the class with an F. My teammates and I traveled all the time for golf tournaments, so we missed a ton of class for that alone. Those absences were not excused; they counted toward our total allotment. Basically we couldn't afford to miss any class at all other than when we were gone for tournaments. I knew this, but I didn't know that my Creative Writing teacher, Dr. Blassingame, was keeping a watchful eye on just how often I was sleeping through her class.

So one afternoon toward the end of the semester, I was in the library between classes when I noticed an email from the dean. I knew he wasn't putting me on his "list" given my stellar attendance the past few months, and I had a feeling this wasn't gonna be good news. In a few short words, the email stated that Dr. Blassingame had dropped me from her class because of my lack of attendance. Oh, and as if being dropped wasn't enough, she had given me an F.

Panic spread through my body as I tried to figure out how I was gonna get outta this one. My golf team was leaving for Nationals in San Diego in a few short weeks and this would mean I couldn't go. I had let my entire team down. I felt sick to my stomach. I didn't even respond to the dean's email, I just walked straight across campus to his office and begged his secretary to let me speak to him. Luckily he agreed to meet with me for a minute, and I did some serious begging. I pleaded. I think I even had the waterworks going at one point. He agreed to speak with Dr. Blassingame (Dr. B, as we called her) on my behalf, but with no guarantee that she'd reconsider. I was desperate at that point so I finally left the poor dean alone on the promise that he'd keep me posted.

Several days later and the good news came. Dr. B was going to give me another chance. The stipulation? I had to more than make up for everything I'd missed. It's been so long now that I can't even remember what all the stipulation included, I was just so ecstatic to have the opportunity to pass her class. You see, I'd always been a good student. Straight A's in high school (minus one dumb B in chemistry) and mostly A's (with a few B's thrown in the mix) in college. Failing a class wasn't an option; it had never been something I'd even thought about. I was even in the Honor's College. Not to mention the fact that I love writing. The few times I actually showed up to Dr. B's class, I thoroughly enjoyed myself. 

This story is getting way too long (see, that love of writing again) so I'll speed through the end. I spent the next two weeks living in Dr. B's office. I was scared to death of the woman, to tell the truth. She was intimidating and the epitome of a "stickler". I had to embarrassingly explain to my golf coach the severity of the situation, and he agreed to let me miss work outs and practice in order to pass the class. I'm not sure if I slept at all during that time; if I wasn't in Dr. B's office going over an essay I was at my apartment writing one. But I guess I had built up enough sleep to tie me over. Karma is a real thing.

Dr. B wasn't the nicest to me at first; she almost seemed to dislike the fact that I was a student athlete and managed to get a second chance in her class. But as the days went on and she saw my desperation, and ultimately my love for writing, she and I became good friends. In the proper way a student and professor should be, of course. We understood one another and the passion we share for writing bonded us in a way that I haven't found with many other people. Dr. B gave me confidence in those last few days that I hadn't felt before; she suggested I submit my articles to magazines such as Seventeen to inspire other young women. Her words and belief in me are a big part of why I ever started Hello Honey. Funny how things work out.

So the semester ended and the time came for grades to be posted. I had a 50/50 feeling on whether or not Dr. B would actually pass me. Even though we had become close those last few weeks, she had still dropped me with an F a mere fifteen days earlier. With shaking hands I looked up my grades that afternoon, and I thought I must be seeing things. 

In Creative Writing, I had made an A.

I called my roommates in to double check; there was no way. It had to be some sort of a mistake. She had dropped me with an F. I had been praying for a C only moments before, thinking that was as good as it could possibly get. But an A! I was euphoric. I emailed Dr. B just to be sure, in which she responded, "Yes, Brittany, you made an A in my class. You earned it."

I could have easily accepted the fact that I'd failed a college class. Everyone's doing it, right? I could have just skipped Nationals that year and stayed home to work like most college kids do all summer anyway. I could have given up altogether. But I chose to fight for what I wanted, what I thought I could achieve. And it had paid off in a bigger way than I ever thought possible.

I learned a very valuable lesson that semester. Several, in fact. One: sleep is important but not that important (being a mother brought that fact to life even more). And two: never, ever give up. If you want something badly enough, you can make it happen. It might take time, and it might not be easy, but where there's a will, there's always a way. If you fall down, jump back up on those feet run your ass off. You can catch back up, and if you push hard enough, you might even win the race.

xo, Britt