The Crossroad Before Confidence: How Struggling Through College Taught Me More Than Grades Ever Could

When people talk about college, they often focus on the success story — the dream school, the scholarships, the 4.0 GPA.

That wasn’t my story.

I didn’t attend the University of Tampa because it was my first choice. I went there because I wanted to prove something — to a high school professor who didn’t think much of me. I turned down opportunities that made more financial sense, including a potential ROTC scholarship, for a private school that offered me just a small leadership grant. I told myself I’d make it work.

What I didn’t realize then was that this wasn’t just a college experience. It was the first crossroad in my life — the one that taught me how to keep moving even when confidence was nowhere in sight.

Surviving, Not Thriving

When I got to campus, my finances were a patchwork of faith and luck — a Pell Grant, a leadership award, and a loan co-signed by my grandmother. I didn’t have backup. I didn’t have a plan.

By the end of my first semester, I was already debating whether to transfer to a cheaper school. But I told myself I’d stay if I could get hired as a Resident Assistant. I didn’t think I had a chance. Most RAs were upperclassmen.

To my surprise, I got it.

That job changed everything — it reduced my loan debt, gave me a stipend, and opened doors to college work-study and eventually a full ROTC scholarship. From the outside, it looked like I was thriving. But on the inside, I was quietly fighting through something else entirely.

The Academic Struggle

I started college strong, with a 3.2 GPA my first semester.

But as a biology major, I quickly discovered that comprehension wasn’t the same as retention.

I could understand complex concepts with ease — but I couldn’t memorize the way the coursework demanded. I did well in labs, where I could apply what I knew, but tests? That was another story.

By the time I graduated, my GPA had dropped to a 2.5 overall — and just a 2.0 in my major.

For years, I carried shame about that.

Even though I’d survived financially, worked multiple jobs, and stayed involved on campus, I still felt like I’d failed at the one thing that was supposed to define success: grades.

Finding My Way Back

It wasn’t until my senior year that something clicked. A professor told me to rewrite my notes by hand — to process and reframe what I’d learned in my own words.

That small change transformed how I learned. I finally saw that the problem wasn’t my intelligence — it was my method. I had been trying to succeed in a system that rewarded memorization instead of understanding.

That one adjustment didn’t just help me finish college. It became the foundation of how I process and explain information today — whether I’m mentoring law students, teaching about disability law, or creating content online.

The Advisor Who Saw Me

At one point, I told my academic advisor that I wanted to change majors. He told me to stay.

He said, “There aren’t many Black men in the sciences. You need to finish.”

That conversation stayed with me. I didn’t fully understand it then, but I do now: he wasn’t telling me to stay for representation — he was telling me to stay because he believed I could do it.

And I did.

That biology degree became the foundation for how I think and how I work — applying observation, logic, and discipline to every career step since. From science to law, from advocacy to judging — the roots of how I analyze and adapt trace back to those long nights in the lab.

Redefining What Success Means

For the longest time, I believed success was about mastery — perfect grades, perfect performance, perfect outcomes.

But what college really taught me is that success often looks like survival.

It’s the ability to stumble, adjust, and still find your way forward.

I didn’t graduate with honors, but I graduated with endurance.

And that endurance has carried me further than any perfect GPA ever could.

Looking Back

The University of Tampa wasn’t where I found confidence.

It’s where I built it.

That was the first time I faced uncertainty and had to redefine what winning meant. Every major decision since — from law school to the bench, from running a firm to launching digital media — has carried a piece of that same lesson:

You don’t need certainty to move forward. You just need faith that you can handle what comes next.

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Call to Action

If this story resonates with you — if you’ve ever felt like your “struggle years” didn’t count — remember: those are often the chapters that build your foundation.

Share your own story of resilience in the comments or on social media using #CareerCrossroads or #BlackGenXReflections.

And visit www.anthonyreeves.com  to explore more reflections and lessons from my Career Crossroads journey.

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