186 Credit Hours, No Degree. Celebrate Yo’ Self.

I have 186 credit hours and no degree.

And I’ve never been ashamed of that.

I walked across the graduation stage—barefoot. Had the celebration. Just never got the paper.

Sounds absurd, right? I have enough credits for a major and two minors. But in truth, that was the goal. I wasn’t chasing a degree—I was chasing knowledge. I followed what I loved, what I was curious about, and what fed my skills.

At the same time, I held down a work-study job. A part-time job. And for the last four years, I was freelancing as a designer. Hustling. Learning. Building.

Now, at 50, I still apply for jobs every now and then. Every decade or so, I step away from design to take stock, to check my worth, to reassess stability.

Lately, with so many in our industry facing layoffs, reevaluating careers, and even leaving design altogether, I’ve been reflecting on my own story—this path I took, without a degree, and what it really means.

It means nothing.

A degree isn’t my story. My narrative, my experience, my choices—those have more weight than the 8 hours it would have taken to check off some arbitrary educational requirements.

I spent my college years knee-deep in Black history. Hours in the library, after long bus rides, after work-study shifts—like a kid in a candy store, devouring every book I could. And at the time, I didn’t even like reading.

I haunted the Amistad Research Center, flipping through old JET magazines, newspaper articles, uncovering books and images I’d never seen before.

Growing up in what we’d now call a Trump-loving church (and school), I was one of the few Black attendees alongside my sisters, I had gone to a high school where every textbook was drenched in Christianity. College? College was my reprogramming.

I know people who graduated with fewer hours, less ambition, and no curiosity. People who never picked up another book after college. Who don’t challenge themselves. Who don’t challenge anything. And yet, they get a pass because of a piece of paper.

How fair is that?

Especially when the cost of college in the U.S. is astronomical—while in other countries, it’s free.

A degree is just another screen. Another hurdle. A measurement that excludes some of the most brilliant minds, the ones who chose a different path.

Here’s the kicker: The last two classes I needed to graduate?

One was a history course—I’d already taken it. But my counselor didn’t listen. By the time they admitted the mistake, I told them to just move one of my extra African American history electives into the required slot. I knew American history.

The other was Spanish II.

By then, I’d taken Italian Diction, fallen in love with etymology, and gained a deep understanding of Proto-Indo-European languages. I told my counselor, If I want to speak Spanish, I’ll learn it myself. No one in my New Orleans circle spoke Spanish—how was I going to keep it fresh?

Funny enough, when I was a music major, those Italian courses counted as a foreign language. But when I switched to graphic design in my third year? Suddenly, they didn’t.

And why did I wait until my third year to switch?

Because when you’re a creative, choosing between what you love and what you can make a living from is not easy.

Do I monetize my artistic side? Or do I sacrifice my love for music to pay the bills?

I didn’t have the guidance to navigate that decision. But I did know this: I wasn’t about to fold my creativity into a corporate structure built on Western ideologies.

So yeah, I left college with 186 credit hours and a healthy chunk of student loans—loans I flipped enough real estate to pay off two decades ago.

Am I less accomplished than someone with a degree?

Hell no.

Did I make things harder for myself? Maybe—if I wanted to climb the traditional corporate ladder.

But did I trust myself back then to figure it out and thrive?

Absolutely.

And here I am.

—Published in two design anthologies.

—Featured in the upcoming Graphic Artists Guild Pricing & Ethical Guidelines.

—Delivering keynotes, mentoring the next generation, and making an impact.

At 50, I celebrate myself. I celebrate my journey. And I celebrate the power of my own narrative—one that has made me a uniquely strong, Black creative in a system that was designed to break us.

So I encourage you: Celebrate YOURSELF.

Forget the rejection letters. Ignore the jobs that ghost you. Keep pushing past the barriers meant to keep you out.

You are creative. You will find a way.

You are your greatest tool, asset, and weapon.

And as we all know, this is still a war.

So fight—with confidence. With community. (https://unity.aagd.co/)

And know that you are not alone. There are thousands of us—fighting to be seen, heard, and to thrive as Black creatives.

Let’s keep going.