But I didn’t realize how lost I was.

I was in a major that didn’t fit, just going through the motions and quietly struggling. The one thing that kept me grounded was becoming a glee club member with the Ball State University Singers. That community became my family during my time at Ball State.

It was during a University Singers performance that I got the call that my mother had passed away. Just 13 months later, I lost my dad. That grief was disorienting—it left me unanchored. After the second loss, I shut down. I walked away from school entirely.

I moved to Florida with some friends from University Singers, hoping that distance would bring clarity. In some ways, it helped. After a year, I moved again to California and started working with Challenge Day, an international nonprofit that opened my eyes to the power of connection, empathy, and vulnerability. I facilitated programs across the country and grew a lot through that work. But eventually, I realized something important: I was helping others find healing, but hadn’t truly done that for myself.

When my position at Challenge Day ended, I found myself isolated. I’d been on the road for so long, I had no real community to lean on. The pain I’d carried for years—grief, guilt, regret—came crashing in. I started numbing just to cope. What began as a way to escape quickly turned into a full battle with addiction. I hit some of the lowest points in my life.

Eventually, I reached a place where I had to choose to stay on that path or try, again, to rebuild something better. With the help of my best friend and her family, I went to rehab and began learning how to live differently. That healing work is what made room for another chance.

That is when someone from my past came back into my life with a really good idea. Ashley Coker, whom some might identify as an icon in the Ball State community, was someone who never stopped believing in me. She encouraged me to come back to Ball State—12 years after I had left. I was anxious for many reasons. Could I really do this? Am I worthy of this opportunity? What if it doesn’t work out?

Coming back to campus was surreal. I was walking the same sidewalks, but I wasn’t the same person. I came back sober. Serious. Uncertain. But ready. I finished my bachelor’s degree and kept going. Now, I’m in a master’s program and work as a student success coach.

Every day, I get to walk alongside students who remind me of myself—people navigating setbacks, doubt, and hardship. Students who think they’re behind or carrying more than they can say. That’s where I come in—not just as a coach, but as someone who’s lived it.

Ball State has taught me that success isn’t a straight line. Sometimes you must leave in order to find your way back. But when you do, there’s a community here ready to walk with you. That’s what resilience looks like—not perfection, but persistence. And that’s what Ball State gave me the space to rediscover.

—Chris Heinze