GSU

There was a time when economics and econometrics completely intimidated me. Not because I didn't want to learn them. Because I wanted to understand why.

I was never the kind of student who could memorize a formula and move on. I needed to know where it came from, why it worked, and why we were using that formula instead of another. Whenever I looked around the classroom, it felt like everyone else understood. Everyone except me. That feeling stayed with me for a while. So I did what I've always done when something scares me.

I stayed with it.

I spent countless hours teaching myself, asking questions, reading, solving problems, and refusing to move on until everything made sense. Little by little, the confusion turned into curiosity, and curiosity slowly became confidence.

Somewhere along the way, Professor Hua noticed.

She noticed that I wasn't just improving, I had started helping the people sitting around me. Friends would ask me to explain concepts after class, and somehow I always found myself drawing diagrams, making up stories, or relating equations to everyday life until something finally clicked.

Then one day she asked if I'd be interested in becoming her Graduate Teaching Assistant. I honestly thought she had the wrong person.

I remember looking at her and saying,

"I don't know what you see in me, but I've never done this before. I'm really not confident."

She smiled. The kind of smile that makes you feel like everything is going to be okay.

Then she said,

"Don't worry. You'll figure it out. And I'll always be here to help."

I don't think she realizes how much those words changed me.

Standing in front of a classroom for the first time was terrifying. I'm naturally introverted.Public speaking had never been something I enjoyed. My hands were probably shaking more than I care to admit. But something unexpected happened. For the first time, I wasn't thinking about myself. I wasn't worried about whether I sounded smart or whether people were judging me. I had a purpose, I knew exactly what it felt like to sit where my students were sitting, to stare at an equation and wonder why everyone else seemed to understand except me. I didn't want them to leave feeling that way. So I stopped teaching formulas, I started telling stories.

Econometrics became a city.

Businesses became bakeries.

Marginal analysis became cupcakes.

Instead of saying,

"Take the first derivative."

I'd ask,

"Imagine you own a cupcake shop. You baked one more cupcake today than yesterday. Wouldn't you want to know how much extra money that one cupcake made you?"

That's all a derivative is. It's the smallest change that happens when you make one additional unit. Suddenly the equation wasn't just symbols anymore. It had a purpose. And once students understood the purpose...

The formulas became easy.

I'll never forget watching their faces. You could almost see the moment everything clicked. Eyes lit up. Someone would lean back in their chair and say,

"Oh... that's why we're using this formula."

That moment was everything to me. Not because they got the answer right. Because they finally understood the question. By the end of the semester, students began sending me emails. Some thanked me for making econometrics feel approachable. Others told me they had never expected to enjoy economics until our classes.

A few simply said,

"Thank you for believing I could do it."

I still have those emails. I don't think I'll ever delete them. Whenever I doubt myself, I go back and read them. They remind me that sometimes the most meaningful work isn't solving a problem yourself. It's helping someone else realize they can solve it too.

When I look back, I realize this experience wasn't really about teaching economics. It was about breaking the cycle I had experienced as a student. I knew what it felt like to think,

"Maybe I'm just not smart enough for this."

If I could help even one student leave my classroom believing otherwise, then every office hour, every lesson plan, every cupcake analogy, and every nervous moment standing at the front of that room was worth it.

And none of it would have happened without Professor Hua.

She believed in me long before I believed in myself.

Sometimes all it takes is one person saying,

"You'll figure it out."

She was right.

I did.