Sometimes I feel like I’m supposed to be proud all the time. Being the first in my family to graduate from college should automatically mean I’m strong, happy and thriving. But the truth is, being a first-generation student is hard, confusing and lonely. It’s honestly exhausting.

When people talk about transferring to a university, it sounds simple. Just apply, send your transcripts and register for classes. But no one tells you what it’s like when you have to figure out everything by yourself. I didn’t have anyone to look over my application or explain what “upper-division general ed” is and I still don’t even know what that means.

Half the time, I feel lost and overwhelmed. There are so many steps and it’s honestly embarrassing to go see a counselor and have to explain your parents’ level of education. It feels like they’ll be judged.

I watched my friends get help from their parents, filling out forms, helping to choose schools, helping them move. And me? I just stared at my laptop for hours, trying to make sense of things that should’ve come with a guidebook. There were nights I cried out of frustration because every step felt like a test I didn’t study for. I felt like an idiot, all this education I completed couldn’t help me complete a simple application. 

What makes it harder is that people assume you’re doing fine because you’ve “made it this far.” They see the acceptance letters, the grades, the late nights spent at the dinner table and think you’ve figured it all out. But being first-gen means learning how to survive in spaces that were never built for you. 

It means pretending you’re okay when you’re barely hanging on, smiling through exhaustion because you don’t want anyone to see how close you are to breaking. Being the oldest sibling makes it even heavier. I’m not only carrying my family’s hopes on my back, but also trying to set an example for my younger siblings, showing them that it’s possible to rise, even when the path is steep. 

You teach by doing, surviving and holding yourself together, even when you feel like you’re falling apart on the inside. It means pushing through tears when you don’t have time to cry because someone is always looking up to you, depending on you, trusting that you’ll show them the way. I created that road map for them so they won’t be in my position and their transition will be smooth.

I say “I’m good” because it’s easier than explaining the mix of pride, fear and exhaustion that runs through me every day. But deep down, there’s that quiet, aching worry that maybe you’re not enough, that maybe all the effort will fall short. You want to make your parents proud, to protect and guide your siblings, to prove that all the sacrifices were worth it. And still, in the middle of it all, you wonder if anyone realizes how much strength it takes just to keep going, just to carry everyone else while barely keeping yourself afloat.

Being first-gen often means juggling more than just school. Between classes, homework, and family responsibilities, there’s also the pressure of balancing multiple jobs just to help make ends meet. It’s exhausting, and it doesn’t leave much room to breathe. Every shift, every hour, feels like another balancing act on top of all the other pressures to please a company that doesn’t care about you.

I feel like I have no time to breathe and it honestly feels like there’s this giant brick I carry on my back. I don’t have time to spend  with family and friends and it honestly sucks. it’s so hard to get me out now because I’m so mentally exhausted and all I want to do is lay in my bed and drown myself in my pillows to mute the world for 6 hours until I have to get up and do it again 

I’m proud to be first-gen, I really am. But pride doesn’t make it easier. It just means I keep going, even when I’m scared, even when I have no idea what I’m doing in this world I’m still getting used to as an adult. 

And maybe that’s what being first-gen really is  not a story of automatic success, but a story of persistence. It’s showing up when no one else is watching, carrying burdens that aren’t yours to carry, and still finding a way to move forward. It’s learning to celebrate the small wins , even when the bigger ones feel impossibly far away.

Being first-gen means growing up fast, carrying your family’s dreams on your back, and realizing that strength isn’t about never breaking, it’s about picking yourself up every time you fall. It’s about teaching your siblings that it’s okay to struggle, to feel scared, to not have all the answers, and still keep trying. It’s about quietly proving that where you come from doesn’t limit where you can go. 

But then I remember why I keep going. Not for perfection, not for applause, not for the idea of “success” everyone talks about. I keep going because every time I show up at work, in class, or at at home,  I’m proving something to myself. Proving that I can survive, that I can endure, and that I can carve a path where there wasn’t one before.