This article is written by a student writer from the Her Campus at Toronto MU chapter and does not reflect the views of Her Campus.

Before University, success always felt exciting. It meant new beginnings, growth and finally stepping into something I had worked so hard for. I imagined being independant and confidant. I imagined finally feeling like I belonged.

What I didn’t imagine as clearly was the pressure that would come with it.

I’m a first generation immigrant student. I’m not the first person in my family to go to a University—but I am the first to do it in a completely different country. A different system. A different environment. A place my parents never experienced themselves. And once I got here, I realized how much those differences shaped the way I saw everything, especially success.

Success stopped feeling small. It stopped feeling personal. It became tied to sacrifice, and to the choice my parents made to leave behind what was familiar to them so I could have access to something more. In that sense, school felt like proof that their decision was worth it.

And that made everything feel heavier.

The pressure doesn’t always show up in obvious ways. Sometimes it’s in how much a grade can affect my mood, and sometimes it’s in how even rest comes with guilt. I’ve had days where I sat with my laptop open, exhausted, telling myself that struggling doesn’t mean I’m ungrateful, even when that’s how it felt.

At home, every achievement is celebrated. My parents tell relatives that I’m studying in Canada and that I’m in university. And every time they say it, I feel that mix of emotions hit me at once—pride, happiness and the reminder that I can’t afford to mess this up.

Because this is also their opportunity just as much as it’s mine.

On campus, I see how much many first-gen immigrant students carry. Some commute hours just to make it to class. Some work to help their families. Some help their parents understand systems they’re still learning themselves. We’re all trying to balance school while also being anchors at home.

We walk into classrooms carrying more than notebooks and backpacks.

Living between two worlds has shaped me in ways I’m still learning to name. At home, I carry family, tradition and responsibility. At school, I carry independence, ambition and self-discovery. Sometimes those parts of me don’t line up. Other times, they fit together in ways that feels comforting. Either way, both sides have made me who I am.

And somehow, in spite of all of that, pride still grows. Pride in adapting. Pride in learning things my parents never had the chance to. Pride in knowing that my path might make someone else’s life easier.

But pride doesn’t cancel out pressure. They sit next to each other, all the time.

People say that once you make it to university, the hardest part is over. In some ways, maybe that’s true. But for many of us, the challenges just adapt. They become harder to explain. They become things you deal with on your own while still showing up every day.

We’re figuring things out without blueprints. We’re making choices without many examples to look back on. And most days, we’re just hoping we’re getting it right.

I’ve had to learn that struggling doesn’t mean I’m failing. That needing rest doesn’t mean I’m wasting time. That the pressure I feel doesn’t get to define my worth. And that being “the first” doesn’t mean I have to do everything perfectly.

Being a first-gen immigrant student is something I’m proud of. It represents growth, risk and a future my family once only imagined.