Class of 2025: The Strength to Struggle and Still Be Standing

By Imani Anderson

I was 8 years old when my mom sat me down and said, “You have 10 more years until you turn 18 — you need to start figuring out what you’re going to do with yourself.” I remember staring at her, confused. Is she trying to kick me out? Does she not like me? I couldn’t understand why, at 8 years old, I had to start preparing for a life I couldn’t even see yet.

I grew up in a single-parent household, which, unfortunately, isn’t a unique story. What made ours a little different is that my mom is a first-generation American who had to figure out a lot of things on her own. We faced the kinds of barriers that could have easily taken us down another path. But, somehow, they didn’t.

Faith is what kept us going. That’s my name — Imani. And it’s exactly what it took to get here.

There was always this sense that what we needed would be placed right in front of us when we needed it most — including fulfilling the dream of becoming a veterinarian. I was one of those kids who knew from the beginning. There’s a preschool drawing somewhere with the words, spelled horribly, “I want to be an animal doctor.” I held on to that dream tightly, even when life tried to pull it from me. There were years I juggled three jobs while trying to meet vet school prerequisites. There were days when giving up would’ve been easier. But my mom’s encouragement, and my faith, kept me in the fight.

Before vet school, I was confident. Determined. Maybe even a little overbearing — my childhood teachers would write things like, “Imani needs to let me be the teacher, but I appreciate her enthusiasm.” Or, “You’re doing great — just slow down and check your work.” I always did what it took to get things done. I believed in myself.

But vet school challenged that belief in ways I wasn’t prepared for.

Suddenly, I was surrounded by brilliance, and I began to compare. I struggled in ways I never had before, organic chemistry aside — exam scores I wasn’t used to, concepts that didn’t click right away, the feeling that everyone else was handling things better than I was. I kept it to myself, ashamed of the weakness I thought I wasn’t allowed to have. I started to doubt myself. I started to doubt my faith.

At one point, I hit a wall and had to really look at myself. I remember thinking, “What happened to my determination? Who even am I anymore?” I wanted to go back to that girl who believed she could do anything, who saw challenges as things to run toward, not hide from.

The biggest lesson I’ve learned in vet school is that being strong is slightly overrated.

Strength doesn’t always look like powering through or pretending you’re OK. Sometimes, it’s allowing yourself to fall apart and ask for help. Sometimes, it’s leaning on your faith, your friends, your mentors — and realizing that you don’t have to do any of this alone.

I’ve learned that it’s OK to be wrong, and when you’re corrected, it’s a gift. Embrace it. Learn from it. We weren’t born knowing everything. That’s why we’re born into families, with mothers and fathers or caregivers who are our first teachers. We go to school to keep learning, and later we lean on mentors — people who’ve lived this life before us and have wisdom to share. There’s a reason we don’t do this journey alone.

I’ve learned to listen better — it’s amazing how far that simple skill can take you. I’ve learned not to hold others in contempt when they make mistakes, because I’ve needed grace, and I will need it again.

In my hardest moments, I’m constantly reminded of what it took to get here. All the nights I prayed to be accepted into vet school, all the tears and sacrifices — it helped me stay grounded. Even when it was hard, I remembered: I asked for this. I fought for this.

Now, as I prepare to leave this chapter behind, I know I’m not walking away as someone who was always strong. I’m walking away as someone who was broken, stretched, humbled — and still standing. And I think that’s the kind of doctor I want to be.