Tuesday was marked with the motherload of meltdowns starring me, party of one. And I don’t cry. Wednesday followed in a broken-down mood as I attempted to overpower it with a dominating attitude. Thursday was the lost soul that led up to me waking up this gloomy Friday morning in clarity—and dropping out of my MA program at Eastern Michigan University. But that phone call brought sunshine to this rainy day.

I’m not a gal who cries. I can count on one hand the number of times I remember breaking down in tears over the last decade. Unless I’m watching The Voice—there’s something about watching someone chase their dreams, don’t judge me, and that’s just a tear brimming on my lower eyelid anyway—I’ve got the round the clock dry eyes to match the resting bitch face. But Tuesday I bawled for a good hour and had the running mascara and puffy red eyes and migraine to prove it. My breaking of the dam and unlocking of the backup floodgates was a major concern, for me and for my parents. (Mom: “Well, I’m concerned. You’re not one to cry. We need to do something about this. We can’t just let it go.”) So I looked at my life and all the stress and Tuesday night I went to bed defeated, under the expectation that I could do nothing about this.

Wednesday, as I drove to my night class on the opposite side of Ann Arbor—forty minutes of allowance to purely stew—I wondered why I’m so hard on myself. How I can console and accept it when friends cry but think it childish and weak and entirely inappropriate for me to do the same. I told myself it was okay. I was allowed this once in a decade break.

On Thursday, yesterday, that was no longer okay. Why was I settling for that unhappiness? Why was I even pursuing a MA program degree that is heavily and disappointingly misrepresented? The Written Communication program I was so excited about being accepted into last spring and beginning this fall turned into a program heavily geared towards Technical Writers and defending the 90 percent focus on this particular field. Forget the design and social media organization and blogging and professional writing aspects. Those were insignificant. And those were the reasons why I was initialing pursuing this field.

This morning I went through the list in my head as to why I was unhappy and everything boiled down to this course of education. I couldn’t let the fear of people viewing me as a quitter or the pressure from family to further my education make me stay on this course. I NO LONGER WANTED TO BE ON THIS COURSE. I wouldn’t want my daughter to stay on such a course if it was the source of not just stress—that can be overpowered—but depression. My god, and I don’t do depression. Three days and I was done.

For two seconds after I withdrew from classes, I panicked—What did I do? What will people think? Why do I care? I didn’t. Third second in and the relief blanketed me. I looked at a future not ridden with financial strain, tuition payments, apologies to Evelynn for not having time, cancellations on friends due to last minute homework, constant yawning at work and leaving early for class…I was ecstatic for my future. I looked at a mostly open weekend and was elated. It was euphoric—the relief and lightness. I didn’t know how heavy I was until I realized how happy I could be without the burden from one course of action.

I’m not quitting, I’m flying.