I wrote this essay for a scholarship for school and thought sharing it might give someone some hope. I’m sure many of us have similar stories as we step into arenas that we feel unprepared for.
In 2016, I was a stay-at-home mom, worked from home, and had homeschooled my children for thirteen years. I had worked harder than had been wise, but it was what was required in that circumstance. My oldest was leaving to go to Purdue and my second child wanted to go to high school. She wanted that experience. My two other daughters were ambivalent about homeschooling, so I was seriously considering making the choice to send them to school. It was a very difficult choice for me, filled with the anxiety that had incurred during my middle school and high school years due to unending bullying and sexual assault. I wanted to make sure my daughters didn’t experience that as they grew up. In fact, I was terrified of that possibility.
Dealing with one decision at a time, the children were registered for school, which left my days open. I worked in the afternoon/evenings and on the weekends. I had never finished college myself. It had been over twenty years since I had walked onto a college campus with the intention of taking classes but had dreamed of being able to finish school. I had been on many campuses, but only to meet people with whom my then-husband was in classes or attend his graduation ceremonies. He had his doctorate. It had taken nearly twenty years for him to get it. But finally, he was done. Was it my turn?
The campus I walked onto in an attempt to register was one that I knew well. I had grown up taking music lessons on that campus. I had performed on the stage as a child and as an adult. Playing the violin and singing had given me some neat opportunities as I grew up. The Registrar’s office was in an old building and smelled its age. I sat there, shaking, unsure of what I was going to do. Questions circled through my mind that had no answers. “Would my children feel neglected if I did this?”, and “Would I have time to keep cooking, cleaning, and working in addition to all of the schoolwork?”, and “OMG, I have to take Inorganic and Organic Chemistry! What in the world am I thinking?”
As a homeschool mom, I had uncovered a passion for the natural world and science. As a musician, I never thought of myself as “good” at science, but I’ve always been a curious person and quite a documentary junkie at times. I had learned a lot about myself in those thirteen years of studying with my children.
But I was terrified. After so many years of supporting someone else reach their goals, I honestly did not know if I had it in me to go back to school myself. But I registered for classes and filled out my FAFSA. I did the steps, one at a time, that I had done for my then-husband so many, many times before. I located my classes and downloaded Canvas onto my computer. I found the IT Help Desk, a place that would become a hang-out for me as a middle-aged mom with technology impairment issues. I found my professor’s offices and the restrooms.
Day one, I showed up to class, sitting through Intro to Environmental Science and Inorganic Chemistry. I was overwhelmed, but I stayed. My heart raced the entire time. The “kids” in my classes were the same age as my son, who was attending Purdue. That part wasn’t too uncomfortable. Young adults are a pretty easy crowd for me.
But, of course, I went through the gamut of “shoulds” in my head the entire time. I “should” have finished school the first time I tried. I “should” have prioritized my own education in the midst of my then-husband’s. I “should” have set a better example for my children. I “should” now wait until they are out of the house because this is surely going to be impossible! I could hardly convince myself that this wasn’t a selfish goal. But that day, I pushed through it.
However, that night when I got home from work, the dishes were in the sink, there was still food on the counter (I had made dinner before I had left for school), and my youngest had not even begun her homework. There had been no supervision for any of them that afternoon and evening, much to my disappointment. Everything I had feared with regard to my then-husband and his tendency toward neglect despite his supportive words had come true, even on that first day.
The next morning, I got the girls their breakfasts and prepped for dinner. I wrote an email to my professors, telling them how much I appreciated them, but it was apparently not the right time for me to go to school. I knew I needed to be a place that didn’t require so much support. So I quit.
I drove to the school to go to the Registar’s office to make sure everything was complete in my unenrollment process. But as I walked to the building, I felt my knees get weak. I felt like I was going to collapse. I got back to my car but fell to the asphalt outside. The tears and uncontrolled sobs I experienced that morning were something I had never experienced. It was twenty minutes, filled with tears of anger at my then-husband’s selfishness, grief at the loss of so many years of my own life, sadness at what I would miss with my children, but knowing full well that I needed to do this. And I did.
It took five years to finish school. In May of 2021, I graduated with a BS in Environmental Studies and a minor in Religious Studies. I was in the middle of a divorce and finding my footing in the world. Much has happened since that time. My family and I have experienced deep loss and then many health issues due to stress and trauma incurred in the process of leaving.
The experience of going back to school as a mother and adult was by far the most emotionally-loaded decision I have ever made. I am grateful my children and I could work together to accomplish it. I’m very proud of us.
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This post was previously published on medium.com.
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