Melanie Yosco is a Campus student and participant in the Campus Studio writers program. Campus provides participants with support or other benefits in exchange for contributing content. This article reflects the author’s personal opinions and individual experience. Individual experiences vary, and Campus does not guarantee that other students will have the same experience.

I remember the first Tuesday of my online college experience. I had just closed my laptop after a long lecture. In a traditional setting, this is the moment you turn to the person next to you and complain about the reading, or ask if they understood a single word the professor just said. Instead, I turned to my empty kitchen. The silence was loud. I poured a lukewarm cup of coffee, sat back down at my kitchen table, and thought, Is this it? Is this what the next couple years of my life are going to feel like?

Why is it that being connected to the entire world through a screen can sometimes feel so profoundly isolating? I think it’s because we don’t just crave information; we crave the messy, unscripted friction of being around other people. The hardest adjustment for me wasn’t the coursework or figuring out the tech, It was the sudden realization that I was entirely responsible for my own momentum.

Without the physical act of walking into a classroom, time becomes slippery. A Tuesday bleeds into a Thursday. Suddenly, a discussion post is due in twenty minutes, and you’re still in sweatpants you wore to bed. I struggled with the motivation early on, not because I didn’t care about the work, but because the boundaries between “home” and “school” had completely vanished.

How do you build a routine when your bedroom is also your lecture hall? I realized I couldn’t rely on a campus bell to tell me where to be. I had to become my own bell. I started “commuting” to my desk. I’d get home from work, change out of my work clothes; take off my heels and put on actual shoes. Yes, hard-soled shoes indoors, a controversial move, I know– grab my coffee, and take a walk around my block a couple times before sitting down for my first lecture. It was a small, almost silly psychological trick, but it signaled to my brain: We are at school now. Practical observation: you can’t wait for motivation to strike; you have to build a structure that carries you when motivation fails.

But what about that loud silence? How do you replace the chatter before class starts? I learned that in an online environment, you have to be aggressively intentional about connection. You can’t just passively absorb the energy of the room. I started lingering in virtual meetings for an extra minute to ask the professor a question– not because I necessarily needed the answer, but because I needed the human interaction. I sent direct messages to classmates whose discussion posts I liked. Hey, your point about the reading really resonated with me. It felt awkward at first, like passing notes in a digital class. But it worked. Those small notes turned into study groups, which turned into group chats where we panicked over midterms and celebrated small wins.

That’s the thing I’ve discovered about being a Campus student. The community is absolutely there, but it's not handed to you on a flyer in the quad. You have to reach out and grab it. The support systems exist– professors who care, peers who are navigating the exact same weird waters– but you have to be the one to raise your virtual hand.

So, what has this experience actually meant for me? How has it changed me? I think online college isn’t just an exercise in time management; it’s a crash course in self-management. It forces you to figure out how you work best, how to advocate for yourself when you feel invisible, and how to build a world for yourself when the four walls of a classroom aren’t there to hold you in.

It was the hardest adjustment I’ve made since becoming a mother. But sitting here now, at the same kitchen table, the silence doesn’t feel nearly as loud anymore. It just feels like space. Space to focus, space to grow, and space to figure out exactly what I’m capable of.

The Quiet of the Screen-And How I Learned to Fill It!