Going back to school at 33 was humbling. I had to let go of my ego and ask younger students for help.

• At 33, I pursued a second master’s in economics, and faced some unexpected challenges.
• For the first time, I struggled with academic work and felt out of place among younger classmates.
• Once I put my ego aside, the experience taught me resilience and the value of collaboration.

At 33, I went back to school to pursue a second master’s degree in economics, a subject I had always found fascinating, but had never formally studied.

It was part of a larger journey toward earning my doctorate. I knew juggling school, parenting, and home wouldn’t be easy. But what I didn’t expect was how humbling the academic part of it would be.

I had always done well in school and had never really needed to ask for help. But stepping into a master’s program in a completely new field, surrounded by classmates five, eight, and even ten years younger than me I suddenly felt very out of place, lost in equations, struggling with derivations, and lacking the foundational knowledge that everyone else seemed to automatically have. It shook my confidence in a way I wasn’t prepared for.

Letting go of my ego

I had to ask for help, openly and often. I had to request classmates to explain concepts I couldn’t grasp in one go, walk me through derivations step by step, and give up their own time outside of class to sit with me. Sometimes that meant rearranging my schedule just to catch them for an hour. And even then, I had to practice things over and over, far more than they did, just to keep up.

This was unfamiliar territory for me. I had always been independent when it came to academics, the one others turned to for help, not the other way around. So asking felt uncomfortable, and very embarrassing at first. But it also opened something in me. It made me realize how hard it is to be the one who doesn’t know, the one reaching out. That shift made me more grounded, more empathetic. I became more aware of how easy it is to overlook someone else’s quiet struggle. And as I let go of my pride, or maybe vanity is the more honest word, I found a kind of recognition: one that comes from accepting your limits and being gentle with them.

Finding confidence in a new way

Over time, the fear of not knowing gradually gave way to the quiet satisfaction of figuring things out — slowly, yes, but with determination. My classmates, generous with their time and patience, didn’t just help me understand the material, they helped me rebuild a new kind of confidence. One that wasn’t rooted in achievement, but in persistence and openness.

Along the way, we formed real connections. We’d laugh between classes, share meals, swap stories about our lives. I was older than them, but they never made me feel out of place. Instead, they treated me with kindness and respect, and for that, I’m deeply thankful. In those study sessions, I wasn’t just learning economics. I was learning how relationships are built in small, generous moments of support.

Sometimes, things are awkward

Looking back, I’m proud I didn’t walk away. This experience reminded me that learning isn’t always polished, sometimes it’s awkward, slow, and filled with self-doubt. But that doesn’t make it any less valuable. Going back to school in my 30s wasn’t just an academic decision. It was a lesson in humility, resilience, and quiet growth.

Now, as I continue my research and professional journey, I carry those lessons with me. I still don’t always have the answer. But I know how to ask, how to listen, and how to keep going. I’ve become a better team player who is more collaborative and more patient. I’ve also come to understand my strengths and weaknesses more clearly. I’ve accepted that I can’t do everything and that’s not a flaw, it’s simply part of being human.

I worked incredibly hard to make it through, and in the end, I graduated third in my cohort. That achievement means more to me than any grade I earned in my earlier academic life because I know how much it took to get there.

I’ve learned that success isn’t about being ahead. Sometimes, it’s simply about standing your ground and being willing to try again.