Dual Enrollment: Walking in with doubt
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On May 12, I opened my laptop and logged into English Composition I for the first time, already feeling behind before I had even started. It was the first week of the semester, and while everyone else seemed to be diving in with their brainstorms and outlines, I was stuck on the first question. I sat there for almost an hour, staring at that blinking cursor on my screen, unsure what to say or how to start. Only thing in my mind is that I needed it done before the due date by 11:59.
The assignment was to write about our literacy journey , a narrative essay about how literacy had shaped us. But I didn’t even realize that. I thought I could just pick a random topic and go with it, so I wrote about something totally off base. When I found out I had misunderstood the whole point, I felt embarrassed.
On top of that, I was already exhausted. I’m a dual enrollment student at both Keiser University and Florida Southwestern College , which means I’m doing college work while still in high school, and I had just started track and field and flag football at the same time. That meant constant practices, long meets and games, late nights studying, and early mornings. Sometimes I’d be sprinting down a field one hour and trying to write an essay the next with no time to breathe in between.
Every part of me was overwhelmed: my body, my brain, my confidence. I started the class with a 34%. That number haunted me. I’d never seen a grade that low in my life. I kept thinking, Am I even meant to be here? Am I smart enough for this? What if I fail this whole class before it even starts?
The 59 that broke me
I remember exactly where I was when I opened the grade for that essay. I was sitting in the back seat of the car after track practice, still sweating, scrolling through my phone to check the score. When I saw 59 out of 100, my stomach dropped.
At first, I thought it was a mistake. I had worked hard on that paper. I stayed up late to finish it, reread it three times, and even asked a classmate to look it over. But when I opened the feedback, I saw all the things I had missed: the structure was off, , I didn’t follow the guidelines clearly, and my sources weren’t cited correctly.
The number hit me hard, but the comments hit harder. They weren’t mean, but they were honest and I wasn’t ready for that kind of honesty yet. I sat there feeling like a failure, like no matter how hard I tried, it wasn’t going to be enough. That one grade dragged my average down even further, and I honestly thought about giving up.
I didn’t want to admit it, but it felt personal, I felt like I extremely disliked my teacher . I know my teacher wasn’t trying to hurt me, but because I had put my whole heart into that paper, and it still wasn’t good enough, I just felt attacked. I felt like I was drowning , I kept thinking, Why even try again? What’s the point if I’m only going to fall short? The semester is almost over how am i gonna recover from this?
Character with scrambled thoughts from giphy.com
But after I had some time to sit with it, I realized something. That 59 wasn’t just a grade, it was a warning. I needed to slow down, read more carefully, and actually understand what I was being asked to do. I had been rushing to just get things done, trying to survive the chaos of school, sports, and life. But I hadn’t been working smart. I hadn’t been asking questions, checking rubrics, or really learning.
That essay grade really did hurt me. But it also woke me up.
Learning to learn
URETHRA meme of bald Animoji with a manic expression and a light bulb above head from dailydot.com
After that 59, something shifted in me. I carried that grade around like a bruise. Every time I opened our class page or saw another assignment posted, that number echoed in my head. But instead of letting it stop me completely, I decided to use it.
I went back to that essay, not to punish myself, but to understand where I went wrong. I reread the feedback slowly, and this time, I didn’t cry. I paid attention. I compared my writing to the example essays we looked at in class, and I realized that I had been writing more to survive than to communicate. I had been rushing, half-skimming instructions, just trying to turn things in before another sports practice or game pulled me away.
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So I made a promise to myself: no more guessing. No more doing assignments in a hurry. I started printing out the rubrics, and even highlighting key points.
That grade stung, but it also taught me something no textbook ever could: if you care about something, you fight for it, even if it doesn’t love you back right away.
The climb, The fall, and the Fight back
Image of a Man driving arrow from imgflip.com
Progress wasn’t a straight line for me, it was more like a rollercoaster. At the beginning, I was stuck at a 34%, and honestly, I thought I was going to fail the class. But I refused to let that be the end of my story. I pushed myself harder than I ever had in a school setting. I read the rubrics carefully, studied feedback even when it hurt, and started building my writing the way we were being taught,piece by piece, like a real process.
And it worked. Slowly, my grade began to rise. I started scoring higher on module quizzes, I put time into every discussion post, and even though the essays were tough, I kept learning from every mistake. There was a point where I saw my grade go all the way up to an 84%. I remember staring at the number on the screen in disbelief. That moment felt like winning. Like every late night, every moment of doubt, every tear I cried after seeing that 34% had finally been worth something. But then, another essay was graded. And my grade dropped again. Down to a 74%. And I felt like I had been punched in the chest. It was one of those moments where you ask yourself, What more do I have to do?
That drop hurt more than the 34%, honestly. Because now I knew what I was capable of. I had reached something, and then I lost it. The fall stung. Not just because of the number, but because I had worked so hard to prove that I could climb out of the hole I started in , and suddenly, I felt like I was right back in it.
But this time, I didn’t spiral. I didn’t shut down. I reminded myself of everything I had done right: the strong quiz scores, the consistent discussion posts, the way I took the feedback seriously, and the heart I put into my work even when it wasn’t perfect. The difference now was that I had grit. I had learned how to bounce back.
And that 74%? It’s not a failure. It’s a reminder that growth is messy , but real.
website url from giphy.com showing Sonic the Hedgehog saying that you cant give up
Who I am Now
Now, as this final project comes together, I’m no longer the confused, overwhelmed dual enrollment student who started this class with no clue how to properly structure a Problem-solving essay . I’m not the student who stared at a 34% and thought about quitting.
I’m the student who kept going. Even when it felt like the work I put in wasn’t being seen. Even when I was getting good scores on quizzes, completing every discussion thoughtfully, and giving this class everything I had, just to have my effort overshadowed by one number that didn’t tell the whole story.
Even when I wasn’t scoring high on the essays, I was putting in the effort everywhere else. I participated in every discussion post, took every quiz seriously, and treated this class with the same respect I give my teammates on the field. That effort should count for something too. I wasn’t coasting. I wasn’t lazy. I just needed more time to grow as a writer and I needed that growth to be seen.
But here’s the part I’m proud of, I didn't give up. I didn’t let that one moment define my semester. Instead, I let it shape me. It taught me how to listen to criticism, how to slow down, and how to write with intention instead of fear. It made me realize that not everyone get’s it right the first time. This growth isn’t just academic, its personal. Because if I can handle this, I can handle anything. In the future, I’ll face hard professors, tough coaches, jobs that demand more than I feel I can give. But this class reminded me that resilience isn’t loud, its quiet, steady, and earned.
So no, I didn’t get a perfect grade. But I gained something more important. Belief in myself. Im walking out this semester with a deeper understanding of who I am, and who I am becoming.
That 59% may have been just another grade to my teacher, but to me, it felt like a mirror of all the ways I feared I wasn’t good enough. But now, as I write this final reflection, I hope my teacher sees the full picture: a student who didn’t give up, but who got knocked down, and came back stronger.
“We did it!” song by Dora the explorer on youtube.com
