I try to hold back tears as my husband and I embrace Ava for the last time outside her college dorm. She seems smaller somehow, yet her voice is calm and steady as she reassures me, “I’ll be fine, Mom.” With a smile, she walks inside, and my heart sinks. My biggest fear, apart from the dreadful things like violence or substance abuse, is that she’ll feel isolated. Ava is a bit reserved, an introvert who doesn’t naturally reach out to others.
On our drive home, I imagine her alone in her dimly lit room, sitting cross-legged on her bed, which is adorned with soft throw pillows, while her new roommate, Sarah, is off making friends. Earlier that day, while we unpacked boxes, Sarah and her mother had introduced themselves. After a few polite exchanges, the atmosphere turned silent until a couple of chatty girls burst in, announcing they were Sarah’s friends from high school. My husband and I exchanged disappointed glances.
Ava and Sarah had connected on a roommate matching site and seemed to have a lot in common—music tastes, favorite shows, and their love for cool rooms at night. I figured they’d support each other through this first year of college, but when we returned from dinner, the dorm was eerily quiet. No open doors, no laughter, not even a resident assistant in sight.
I had envisioned the day differently: the RA warmly welcoming us, answering my questions, and then inviting Ava to the common area for icebreakers with other girls. But the only RA we encountered was a typed note on the door. “Hi, I’m Jamie. These are my hours. I love coffee and hiking. Here’s my cell if you need anything!”
In those initial weeks, Ava spent time with Sarah and her friends, but soon she expressed feeling like a third wheel. “It’s not that we don’t get along, Mom. It’s just that she doesn’t really talk to me,” Ava explained. “The other day I tried to start a conversation about a show we both like, but she ignored me. Looks like we’re just roommates now, which is fine.”
Just like that, I found myself disliking Sarah. Memories flooded back of Ava’s elementary school friends who had excluded her on the bus during middle school. While I was heartbroken, Ava took it in stride, never letting it weigh her down. “It’s all good, Mom,” she’d say. “I had someone else sit with me.”
After a few weeks, I suggested she reach out to her friend Lily, with whom she shared a bond in high school. “I don’t know,” Ava replied. “She’s on the other side of campus, and we just haven’t connected.”
“Are you meeting people in class?” I probed. “Sure, but it’s not like we have time to chat,” she said.
My worries grew. I knew Ava had to be feeling lonely. I envisioned what a fulfilling college experience should look like, and she seemed far from it. “You really need to get involved on campus,” I urged. “Join a club—anything. Animals, art, environmental groups—just pick something!”
Ava promised she’d look into it, but I could tell she was just trying to placate me. I hated that I was nagging her, but I worried that if I didn’t push, she might struggle.
“I’m fine,” she assured me. “You should be glad I’m not going to that off-campus bar like Sarah does. It’s not my scene.”
Now, a semester later, Ava insists she’s not lonely. She catches up with her high school friends and chats with classmates. While she’s still finding her footing, she seems more content in her own skin. She reassures me she’s eating well, sleeping, exercising, and her grades are impressive.
“Just leave her be,” friends advise. “You’ll make her feel like something’s wrong if you keep asking.” And they’re right.
So when she visits home, I try to hold back the questions. Instead, I focus on her stories about classes, the food, the campus gym, and even her quiet roommate. I notice subtle changes in her tone and feel a growing sense of maturity.
Ava is far more grounded than I was at her age, which makes me worry less about her social circles. At 18, I was still grappling with my childhood fears and anxieties. I certainly didn’t start college feeling confident and self-assured.
Sometimes I still fret that Ava may be missing out on the full college experience. But then I remember she understands a truth I learned only much later: she knows who she is and doesn’t need a huge circle of friends to validate that.
During winter break, my husband asked how she was doing, and she told him, “I’m good, Dad, but it’s a process.” Instantly, I wondered if “process” was code for something more negative, which is probably why she shared that with him and not me.
Ava has a trust in herself that I never had at her age. She understands that as she navigates through life’s uncertainties, she doesn’t need to worry too much because she will find her way in her own time. And when she visits home, I realize she’s been trying to tell me all along—she’s not lonely or miserable; she just prefers to move through life at her own pace, which is exactly what she needs.
Update
Ava is now a sophomore and has formed strong friendships with her roommates and others on campus. Her newfound confidence is remarkable. What a difference a year—and a little trust—can make!
For those dealing with similar concerns, you might explore resources like Make a Mom’s free sperm donor matching group or check out their at-home insemination services for those considering starting a family. They even offer a detailed guide on how it all works, which you can find here. And if you’re interested in learning more about artificial insemination, this blog post might be helpful. You can also explore their at-home insemination kit for a comprehensive solution. For further information on intrauterine insemination, a great resource is found here.
In summary, as parents, we often worry about our children’s happiness and social lives, especially during significant transitions like starting college. However, by providing support and allowing them the space to grow, we can trust that they’ll find their way.
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