A 5-minute read

It’s 2 AM, and I’m sitting in my dorm room, surrounded by empty coffee cups and half-finished assignments. The campus outside is quiet, but my mind is loud with a question that’s become all too familiar: Am I cut out for this?

This question hits differently at night. During the day, I can brush it off, hide behind the bustle of classes and coffee dates with friends. But in these quiet hours, when it’s just me and my thoughts, it echoes louder than the gentle hum of my laptop.

The Art of Pretending

Remember when we thought college would be like those movies? You know the ones—where students somehow balance perfect grades, thriving social lives, and life-changing internships, all while looking impossibly put-together. Instead, here I am, watching my classmates seemingly glide through their academic lives while I’m still trying to figure out how to properly format my citations.

They walk into class confident, hands shooting up to answer questions I didn’t even understand. Meanwhile, I’m in the back, googling terms the professor just used like they were common knowledge. How do they make it look so effortless? Are they really that much more prepared, or are they just better at hiding their struggles?

The Pressure to Perform

Back home in Kenya, success had a clear definition: good grades, a respectable profession, making your family proud. But here in America, it feels like success is this ever-moving target. It’s not enough to just pass classes—you need internships, leadership positions, networking skills, and somehow, a “personal brand.” Some days, it feels like I’m running a marathon where the finish line keeps getting pushed further away.

Every career fair feels like a reminder of what I haven’t achieved yet. Every LinkedIn notification about a classmate’s new internship sends me into a spiral of self-doubt. The pressure isn’t just academic anymore—it’s existential. What if I’m not just struggling with college? What if I’m struggling with who I’m supposed to become?

The Identity Crisis

The hardest part? It’s not the assignments or the exams. It’s the constant questioning of whether I belong here. Growing up, I was always “the smart one,” the kid with big dreams who was going to make it. Now, I’m just another student trying not to drown in readings and deadlines.

Some nights, I find myself staring at my major requirements, wondering if I chose this path because I wanted it, or because it seemed like the “sensible” choice. Did I pick this major because it lights me up, or because it’ll make for a good LinkedIn headline?

But here’s something I’m starting to realize: maybe being “cut out for this” isn’t about having it all figured out. Maybe it’s about being willing to figure it out as you go.

I’ve noticed that my best moments in college haven’t been the perfect grades (though those are nice). They’ve been the late-night conversations with roommates about our fears and dreams, shout to Thals and Emily( I love you guys). The small victories of finally understanding a concept that seemed impossible last week. The moments when I realize I’m stronger than I thought.

Perhaps the question shouldn’t be “Am I cut out for this?” but rather “What am I learning about myself through this?” Because while I’m studying for exams and writing papers, I’m also learning resilience. While I’m struggling with homesickness and cultural adjustments, I’m learning adaptability. While I’m questioning my place here, I’m learning self-acceptance.

The Reality Check

Let’s be honest—none of us really know what we’re doing. Not the classmate with the perfect GPA, not the professor with three PhDs, not even the successful alumni who come back to give inspirational talks. We’re all just figuring it out as we go, pretending we’re more put-together than we actually are.

And maybe that’s the point. Maybe college isn’t about becoming someone who has it all figured out. Maybe it’s about becoming someone who’s brave enough to keep going even when they don’t.

So am I cut out for this? I don’t know. But I’m here, I’m trying, and most importantly, I’m growing. And tonight, as I finally finish this assignment and crawl into bed, I’ll remind myself: that’s enough. That’s more than enough.