Before she climbed the three steps onto the stage, she sat alone in her car at home. She turned the key again—nothing. She rested her head against the steering wheel and closed her eyes. "Please," she whispered. "Not today."
Not after five years of night classes.
Not after having to pull so many all-nighters that she lost count.
Not after having to work two day jobs to pay for the nanny and tuition.
Not after having to justify on more than one occasion that she had missed putting her daughter to bed because she was trying to make a better life for them.
She picked up her head. She didn't want better—she demanded it.
So she turned the key one final time and let out a sigh of relief as she heard the engine roar.
As she walked across the stage, her gown swishing over the same floor as thousands of graduates before her, she stared off into the crowd. It didn't matter how many diplomas were handed out today; what mattered was the one in her hand. She locked eyes with a bright-eyed little girl, hands waving wildly above her head. What mattered was that today she showed her daughter a new life is always possible.
Higher education isn't just about grade point averages and faculty ratios. It's about the story that starts with every diploma.
Let's tell your story together.
