There are certain life events that catch us off guard, ones we seldom discuss openly. Among them, the emotional rollercoaster of sending your child off to college stands out. As I navigated this bittersweet farewell, I often found myself thinking, “Why didn’t anyone prepare me for this?”
Many parents, especially young mothers, often feel pressured to present a façade of unending joy. When well-meaning acquaintances insist that this is the best time of your life, you feel compelled to respond with a forced smile, despite the reality of sleepless nights and chaos. We laugh and share our struggles with close friends, but in public, we sugarcoat our experiences, occasionally revealing our desperation to find a moment of peace.
This brings me to the recent emotional experience of dropping my daughter off at college. If you’re seeking a glossy, Instagram-perfect rendition of this moment, it’s time to stop reading.
As a mother of four, this was my third child to embark on this journey. My nephew, Jake, lived with us during his senior year, and although I was sad during his send-off, my emotions were tinged with regrets about not having him around sooner. My eldest son, Max, pursued cycling, and by the time he was in high school, I had grown accustomed to him being away for races. By tenth grade, he was off to a boarding school in another state.
Ella, my daughter, was different. Apart from a few weeks spent traveling in Europe, she had been home a lot. I thought I was prepared for her transition to college, having read countless articles and books on the subject. However, I was in denial. As the days dwindled down, I kept telling myself it was just a small change, that I would be fine.
Then, just like that, the day arrived, and I was struck by an overwhelming wave of sadness. I found myself on my bed, crying uncontrollably, wondering if I would ever stop. Over the next couple of days, I tried to hold it together, but every little reminder of my love for Ella sent me into tears.
Her friends came over, I cried. She picked up groceries for me, I cried. Every time I embraced her and caught a whiff of her hair, I cried. Shopping for her college clothes became an emotional ordeal as I spotted mothers with babies everywhere. “Why are there so many babies?!” I lamented. “Is the universe trying to torture me?” Ella gently reminded me that my sadness was altering my perception.
On the day of her departure, I managed to keep my composure until after our farewell dinner. Standing on a sidewalk in the bustling city, I gripped her face and rambled about safety: “Watch for cars, don’t go to parties alone, and never accept drinks from strangers!” My anxiety spilled over into a long, frantic monologue, desperate to impart wisdom before she left.
Ella listened with a combination of affection and amusement. I felt compelled to convey every ounce of love I had for her. “Read the letter I wrote you! It turned into seven pages instead of one! And when I say I’m proud of you, I mean it, even if I’m crying!” My emotions were overwhelming, and I was proud of her as I tried to express it through my tears.
As I gazed into her eyes, a profound realization took hold: no distance could diminish the love we shared. I steadied myself and told her, “You are one of the greatest gifts of my life. You are brave and unstoppable. Don’t forget that, and know I’m incredibly proud of you.”
In that moment, it felt akin to the aftermath of childbirth—hopeful, painful, and entering an entirely new phase of life. I hugged her tightly, inhaling the familiarity of her hair one last time. She smiled at me, then turned and walked toward her new chapter.
Later that night, I reached out to friends who had been through this experience. “It was horrible,” they all echoed. “But it gets better.” I pressed for details about this elusive “better” phase, and the consensus was six to nine months of adjustment, with therapy recommended.
Was I really going to feel this way for months? It felt like a betrayal. Why didn’t anyone warn me about this heart-wrenching experience? I scrolled through social media, seeing parents cheerfully sending their kids off, and I questioned if there was a conspiracy to hide the truth.
As I sat alone, tears flowed freely until two significant truths emerged. First, women don’t discuss this painful transition because it’s still too raw. Social media often depicts a joyful façade, masking the complexities of parenthood. Second, older women do attempt to warn us, but we often dismiss their advice in the midst of our busy lives. They tell us to cherish every moment, but it’s a lesson learned only through experience.
And that’s why I’m sharing this. We need to talk about the emotional realities of sending our children off to college. If we remain silent, parents will continue to feel isolated and overwhelmed by these profound feelings.
So, to anyone facing this moment: know that it may feel like part of your heart has been ripped away. It’s okay to grieve. You are not alone. Loving another human being is one of the most beautiful, vulnerable, and challenging experiences we can endure.
And to young parents, remember this: you don’t need to relish every moment. Sometimes it’s tough. But strive to appreciate each second. Tell your child you love them often, so they carry that love into their lives. Because before you know it, you’ll be watching your heart walk away, knowing every moment was worth it.
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Summary:
This article discusses the complex emotions parents face when sending their children off to college, highlighting the contrast between societal expectations and the reality of parental grief. It encourages open dialogue about these feelings and emphasizes the importance of love and support during this transitional phase.
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