I Need Help With Credit Recovery (No, Not The Loan Kind)
I’m currently parked on my lumpy couch, half a bag of cheddar Goldfish spilled on the throw pillow next to me, and my laptop has had the same tab open for three straight days: Westside Community College Admissions > Credit Recovery Information. I haven’t clicked anything on it since yesterday, when I got to the part that says “contact our advisor with questions” and immediately closed the window like I’d clicked on a pop-up ad for weight loss pills.
I’m 26. I dropped out of high school senior year, when my mom had her stroke and I needed to pick up full time hours at the coffee shop I was working at to pay the rent on our tiny trailer. I planned to go back the next year, obviously. Then next year turned into two, then five, then I moved out into my own studio apartment, got a used car, kept working the coffee shop, and here I am. I want to do the CNA program at Westside, it starts next fall, and the only thing standing between me and the application is that I need a full high school diploma to get in. I’ve been dragging my feet on the GED because the math practice tests make my eyes glaze over after 10 minutes, and I can never remember to study after an 8 hour shift of dealing with customers who yell at me for putting too much foam in their latte. A counselor at the public library told me credit recovery would be easier— I only need three credits, not the whole four years of testing. Growing up, I thought credit recovery was just for kids who skipped too much class or got suspended for a semester, not for adults who had life happen. That didn’t help the awkwardness any. All I have to do is… ask for help.
That’s the part no one talks about, right? All those soft, pretty TikTok captions about “it’s never too late” are great, but they never mention the awkward part where you have to walk into your old high school’s guidance office and admit you never finished, when everyone your age already graduated college and has careers and kids if they want them. I did that two weeks ago, by the way. The receptionist at the front desk looked up at me and said “What’s your student’s name, honey?” I just stood there holding my old student ID that’s bent in half from being in my wallet for 9 years, and my face got so hot I thought I’d pass out. “Uh, it’s for me,” I said, and she just blinked, then apologized, then pointed me down the hall. That awkward 10 seconds has been replaying in my head every night when I try to go to sleep.
The guidance counselor was nice, actually. She gave me a list of programs, told me what I needed to get my old transcript, said lots of adults do this. But when I got home and looked through the list, half the in-person programs meet 3 to 6 pm on weekdays, which is exactly when I’m still at the coffee shop. I can’t just quit my job to get three high school credits. I have rent to pay, a car insurance bill that goes up every six months for no reason, and a cat that keeps peeing on the rug so I need to save for a new one. The online programs are confusing— half of them are these sketchy places that charge $600 up front and promise a diploma in two weeks, and I read a Reddit thread last week from a guy who did that and his diploma wasn’t accepted by any community college in the state. I don’t have $600 to waste on a scam, that’s my grocery and gas money for a whole month.
My coworker Lila said her older brother did credit recovery through the community college a couple years back, and it was cheap and flexible, he did most of the work at night after his construction shift. She wrote the advisor’s phone number on a vanilla latte napkin for me, and it’s taped to my fridge right now, right between my grocery list and a drawing a kid customer made me of a rainbow cat. I haven’t called. I know that’s stupid. I call customers all day to tell them their mobile order is ready, I deal with people screaming at me because they got the wrong syrup, I negotiate with my landlord when the heat breaks, but for some reason picking up that phone makes my chest tight. I still feel like that 17 year old who messed up, who couldn’t cut it in school, who let her teachers down by leaving. It doesn’t matter that I had a good reason. It still feels like my fault, somehow.
I saw a post on Instagram yesterday that said asking for help is the bravest thing you can do, which made me roll my eyes so hard they got stuck. It’s not that deep. I just don’t know what I’m doing, and I don’t want to do it wrong. I already spent three weeks tracking down my old transcript— my old high school moved buildings 6 years ago, all the old records were sent to the district office, I had to mail a $5 check and a copy of my driver’s license, and I still haven’t gotten it back because I forgot to put a stamp on the envelope the first time. Little stupid stuff like that keeps piling up, and I don’t have anyone to ask “wait, did I do this right?”
I don’t want some cheesy, perfect wrap-up here where I say I called the advisor and signed up for classes and everything is sunshine and rainbows. The Goldfish are still spilled on my couch. The tab is still open on my laptop. The napkin with the phone number is still taped to the fridge. I know I need help. I can’t do this all by myself, not when I’m working 40 hours a week and can barely remember what algebra even is after a decade of not doing it. It’s not that I’m not motivated. I want this CNA job, I want to help people who are going through what my mom went through, I want to make more than $14 an hour plus tips. I just need someone to walk me through the dumb paperwork, to tell me which online program isn’t a scam, to not treat me like I’m still a delinquent kid who skipped class to smoke behind the gym (okay, I did that a couple times, but that was 10 years ago).
Maybe I’ll call after my shift tomorrow. Maybe I’ll wait until next week, after I get my car’s oil changed and I’ve had a weekend to stop panicking about it. It’s okay that I’m here, right? I don’t have to have it all figured out just because I’m 26. I just need a little help. That’s all. (Word count: 1182)
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