I’m not built for this online learning thing. Maybe I should just quit

Ten weeks ago, I almost gave up on my online course.

It was one of those self-paced digital skills classes on Coursera, the kind everyone says will “change your career” — except mine was changing my sleep pattern instead.

Every night, I’d be on my laptop, eyes burning from Zoom fatigue, listening to an instructor explain Python loops like he was reading bedtime stories for robots.

But that night… something happened.

I was sitting in my small room in Surulere — laptop open, noodles half-eaten, generator humming in the background. I’d just failed the third coding assignment in a row.

Frustrated, I slammed the table and muttered,

“Maybe I’m not built for this online learning thing. Maybe I should just quit.”

That’s when a notification popped up:

“Zoom meeting in progress — Join now?”

I sighed. “Abeg, one last try.”

When I joined, the virtual class had barely started. A new instructor, a cheerful woman with blue hair and a UK accent, said,

“Hi, I’m Professor Tessa. Tonight, we’re not coding. We’re talking about failure.”

Wait. What?

Everyone in the chat went silent. Then she continued,

“You think failing a test means you’re bad at learning? No. It means your method is bad. Online courses aren’t about perfection — they’re about persistence.”

Something in me clicked. Maybe it was the way she said it, or maybe it was how real it felt — like she was talking to me, not at me.

After class, I stayed behind, still on Zoom. She noticed.

“You look troubled,” she said, smiling through the pixelated screen.

“Yeah,” I replied, “I’ve failed three assignments in a row. I think I’m wasting my time.”

She leaned forward and said,

“Do you know how many times I failed before becoming a lecturer? Seven. And do you know how I started teaching online? Because I got fired from my first job. Online education gave me a second chance — maybe it’s trying to give you one too.”

That line hit me like a Lagos okada in traffic.

I went offline and thought deeply.

The truth was, I hadn’t been taking the virtual learning experience seriously. I’d skip lessons, half-watch lectures, and scroll TikTok mid-class.

So I decided to change things up.

I set a schedule. I joined a study community on Discord. I even signed up for a free digital marketing course on Udemy to keep my brain sharp.

Within three weeks, things changed.

I submitted my fourth assignment — and passed.

Not just passed — 95%.

I screamed so loud my neighbor shouted, “Guy, NEPA don bring light?”

“No!” I yelled back. “I just passed Python!”

A month later, I got my online certification. I uploaded it on LinkedIn with a simple caption:

“From almost giving up to getting certified — thank you, online learning.”

It got over 4,000 reactions. Recruiters started messaging me. I even landed a remote internship with a startup in Canada — all from my small room in Surulere.

But here’s the twist.

A few days ago, I logged back into Coursera to thank Professor Tessa. I searched her name. Nothing. I checked the course forums, her LinkedIn… still nothing.

So I emailed Coursera support. Their reply shocked me:

“We don’t have any instructor named Professor Tessa associated with that course.”

My heart froze.

I replayed the recorded class — her voice, her smile, her words… all gone.

The file was corrupted.

Till today, I don’t know who — or what — that was.

But I’ll never forget what she said:

“Online education gives second chances. Maybe it’s trying to give you one too.”

And maybe, just maybe, that’s exactly what it did.