Miss Bluebells: Freshman year began exactly as I envisioned it would. Orientation threw everyone together into an intense situation at once, and fast friends were made. I felt for the first time in my life I was exactly where I was supposed to be, complete with a new sense of confidence at being able to start over and be the “new me” (which was essentially the “old but real me” that was once held back by a constrained high school social hierarchy). I had heard about the upperclassmen who preyed upon the new freshmen girls, and I was not let down on that front, either. Frat party invitations filled my mailbox and it was honestly overwhelming to suddenly feel so “noticed” or even “mysterious” to the opposite sex; and complete strangers at that. The classes were fascinating, the schedule was incredible (2 or 3 classes a day…yes please) and the freedom was soul-exploding. If high school is a 10 hour day, college is a 4 hour day at most.

Eventually the dust started to settle after 2-3 weeks, and the immediate friends I had made off the bat started to fizzle. I think that’s when I started to pine over my old friends and the comforts of home, particularly at night when I was crammed into a tiny dorm room that slept three people, two of whom happened to adore country music (pro tip: before college starts, never fill out your dorm preferences questionnaire honestly. I think I underlined “I HATE COUNTRY MUSIC” three or four times. Residential Life loves nothing if not introducing you to the concept of “tolerance”).

I didn’t gain the dreaded freshman 15, but I did gain the dreaded freshman year boyfriend. He was older, angsty, a “cool” loner; and hated everything about the school we attended. His pessimism and isolationism soon rubbed off on me, I felt miserable at college by proxy, and I think I lost out on a lot of friendships and great experiences that year as a result. If I could go back, I would have taken my freshman year as a time to focus on myself, enjoy new classes, new friends, and even “dating around” or just plain old gratuitous hooking up (using protection!). Instead, I got into a serious relationship waaay too soon. Huge regret. Can I get a do-over? God I’d love a do-over.

Miss Peony: Freshman year was a truly transformational year for me. I kind of expected college to be one big party, and it was. I met all of my still-best friends going to parties, drinking every night, and generally being wild. I was drunk the entire first two weeks – I stayed out until 6am and would wake up still drunk.

However, while all of my friends managed to get their sh*t together in time for class the next day, I was not able to. I hardly ever went to class and rarely studied; I expected my natural intelligence to carry me through the midterms and finals, but it just wasn’t enough. About halfway through the year, my midterm grades started coming in and they were all terrible. The thought of dealing with the mess of my life was terrifying, and so I kept drinking. I was blackout literally five nights of every week. I was caught urinating in public, and had to attend mandatory alcohol education classes, but that was also not enough to get me to stop binge drinking.

Finally, I got pregnant. That was my really big wakeup call. I realized that no one was responsible for my life but me. I had been so used to parents and teachers trying to reign me in, nagging me constantly to do work or make good choices. I finally realized that in college, no one was going to nag me or advocate for me except myself. I had to live my life, not anybody else’s. Getting pregnant made me envision the future I was building for myself, and it definitely wasn’t pretty.

I got my sh*t together. I broke up with my abusive boyfriend, got an abortion, and took summer classes to erase the two Fs I earned that year. I kept drinking, but I made a goal to not get blackout drunk ever again. By my senior year, I had my drinking under control, a really competitive campus job, the esteem of several professors, and a respectable GPA of 3.5. The Ds and Cs I got my freshman year really weighed down that number. I had to spend the next six years of my life explaining that part of my transcript – every time I was up for a campus job, or graduate school, I had to explain that one year I got a 1.4 GPA.

Going back, I mean yeah. I wish I had started college ready to get everything I could out of the classes. I wish I had not destroyed my liver drinking or my lungs smoking. I wish I hadn’t torpedoed  the healthy, strong, smart person that my parents built over 18 years. But, ultimately, I’m not sure I would have ever learned to take responsibility if it hadn’t been for that year. I had to learn and do so much, so quickly. The process of rebuilding my life was a true learning experience, and actually made me a much more confident person. If I could recover from the smoldering mess of my freshman year, I could do anything.

Miss Magnolia: My first year of college was so fun and exciting. I felt like a grown up, and like all of my high school angst and anxiety would melt away because there would be new people around me and I could start over. Right away, I loved my professors and felt that the classes I took were pertinent and interesting. I basically lived at the library and had little to no friends at first, but overall had a good educational experience. Socially, I went into my freshman year expecting dorm parties, keg stands, boys, dance parties, and more boys; none of that happened for me. I think this is because I chose to live off campus rather than in a dorm, so any party I went to, I was considered more of an “outsider” and couldn’t quite hang. Looking back, I don’t really think I would have changed anything, though – for me, education came first. The only thing I’d change would have been my expectations.

Miss Hydrangea: It was a mixture of “oh my god, what the fu*k is happening??” and “at least I’m not in this alone.” I had a difficult  roommate situation that came to a head when I carried my roomie out of a building (which at the time we didn’t know if it was on fire or a false alarm). I learned in that moment that it’s okay to be the asshole if it means your well being. My roommate was in a wheelchair and we were placed in the wheel chair accessible building on the second floor. Let that sink in. The SECOND FLOOR. In case of a fire you must use the stairs. But when you are 18 and the school tells you it’ll be fine you believe them. Until it’s 2 am and the RA tells you that it’s not a drill and you should go down stairs and leave your roommate, because the Fire Department will come and get her. Yeah, no. So after that incident I put in for a room change. I felt as though I was responsible for her life.

If I could go back? I would probably have worked harder to continue the friendship with her. She wasn’t a bad person, it was just little things that I was uncomfortable with doing and didn’t know how to say no (“No, I don’t want bunk beds, even though it makes it easier for you to get around” or “No, I’m not comfortable checking on you in the shower to make sure you haven’t slipped.”). No is very hard to say, especially in that situation.

When I changed rooms, my new roommate had been through some really horrible things with her former roommate (let’s call her “Stacey”) who had abruptly left the school, so we were happy to have each other. Neither of us fit in, and we both felt that the administration failed to really listen to its students or help them for that matter – a great line we were once told when we brought up issues with “Stacey” was that “Bulimia is a choice she makes as a woman,” coupled with zero attempts to get her to return her dorm keys (she actually dropped by and rearranged furniture, would leave harassing messages, etc…) Did I mention that my new roommate and I transferred colleges after freshman year? You bet we did.

That year was rough. But I met some great people and came out with a better sense of self. I was in a situation that sucked. I had chosen a college that while on paper was a good fit, the reality was a nightmare. It’s okay to think you want something and then realize that you don’t. Transferring was the best thing I ever did. And now look: I have a helluva freshman year story to tell.