**This post came out of a journal I had to write for my Developmental Psychology class.** 

First Year Adjustment Reaction

: A cluster of psychological symptoms including loneliness, anxiety, and depression, relating to the college experience. Particularly likely to be experienced by students who were unusually academically or socially successful in high school. Their sudden change in status during their first year in college may cause them distress. First-generation students, are particularly susceptible to difficulties during their first year of college. They may arrive at college without a clear understanding of how the demands of college differ from those of high school, and the social support they have from their families may be inadequate. :

Just discovered another phenomenon that made me feel like, ok, so that thing that happened to me? It’s completely normal- it happens to other people too. Somehow it feels amazing to be validated in seeing my own experiences reflected in a textbook…

When I first went to college, I was 17. I had graduated high school in 3 years, so eager was I to get away from my parents and my hometown. I had worked very hard in high school to get good grades and graduated top 5% of my class, earned a full scholarship to the state school of my choice, and I chose NAU to get as far away as possible from my parents/family. It wasn’t that my family was bad at all, I have very supportive and loving parents and siblings, but I was just so ready to be independent.

Or so I thought. After a semester of struggling to get through classes that felt over my head—some of which literally were over my head since I had been allowed to register for some 300 level classes—and struggling to find work in the small town my college was located in, and struggling because of the stress of breaking up with my boyfriend after I cheated on him during spring break, I was at my wits’ end. Midway through my second terms, I didn’t know how to pull my grades out of the pit they had plunged into. In danger of losing my scholarship, and without any support—I had made few friends during my first semester because I refused to live on campus in my eagerness to prove I was a “grown-up”—I decided to drop out and move back home. It was like I threw in the towel because it had become overwhelming to me, and I didn’t know that there were resources available to me. I didn’t know I could talk to someone on campus about my struggles. I didn’t even know that there was such a thing as a campus mental health center with free counseling services. I withdrew from my classes quietly, without telling my parents of my decision until after the fact.

From there, I had to call them for help. I didn’t have any money to get home and I didn’t have a vehicle to transport my belongings. I had moved to my new town with my boyfriend, in his car. By the time I was ready to leave to go back home, he had already left and I was alone, sharing a small two bedroom apartment with a couple who had decided that they hated me, for the previously mentioned cheating. I phoned my parents and desperately asked them to help me rent a U-haul on their credit card so I could pack my things and come home. I told them I was planning to re-enroll in college when I got back to Tucson. I wasn’t really sure that was my plan at the time, but I told them that because I thought it would be what they wanted to hear. The day I packed my U-haul, I had to get help from my no-longer friend, who was no longer speaking to me, in order to get some of my heavier things down the rickety stairs or our apartment building. The day I packed my things into my U-haul, it snowed. Again. It was April.

I was so ready to go home to the Sonoran desert with its flowers and its springtime and its friends (the few that hadn’t already left town for various colleges around the country, or embarked on world-travels.) I was eager by then to be back in the safety of my parents’ home.

When I got home, I unpacked my things and left them on a series of storage shelves in my brother’s bedroom. My little sister had already moved into my old room that I used to share with my other sister. There was no place for me. I tried sleeping on the couch for a while, but pretty quickly I got bored of sleeping on the couch and having nothing to do. I got back together with my boyfriend and found a job. Soon, we had moved into a new apartment on the opposite side of town from my parents. We felt happy, and I felt independent again! I started working with my sister at the bakery where she pulled some strings to get me a job.  A month later, I found myself pregnant.

My first thought was that I should clearly have an abortion, but my boyfriend was so excited to hear the news, and I knew that I wanted to be a mother. I knew I wanted kids with him. I wasn’t sure I was ready, and I was still struggling with the difficult choice, when I got a call from my boyfriend’s step-mom.

“Congratulations! We heard the good news!!”

My heart sank. How could he have told anyone when I still didn’t know if I wanted the baby? At that moment I knew I had to make a decision, quickly. I was already more than 4 weeks along, and I wasn’t really sure how long you could wait to get an abortion before it became dangerous, or even worse, morally questionable. I knew I had no moral qualms about terminating a pregnancy. I grew up with a mom who was of the second wave, and Ms. Magazine and Gloria Steinam were household names. But when I thought about giving up this baby, something inside me whispered, “No.” So I decided to keep it.

I had a great fear that if I were to abort this baby, something would go horribly wrong and I would never be able to conceive or carry a child again. This fear did not feel unfounded, though I did not know where it was coming from. It felt like more than a worry, but more akin to a voice from the other side, some magical being, or spirit whispering to me, you need to have *this baby,* not wait another ten years until you have finished school, as was your plan. And so we went through with the pregnancy. My father was upset with me when I told him. I was only 18, after all. But I was sure. And the rest of my family came around quickly. Soon, they were all eagerly anticipating the birth of this new little life that we had made.

******

I first went back to school after my second son was in kindergarten. I had since divorced, and gotten a pretty good job at the University, in a research facility as an administrative assistant. The benefits were good, and one of them was I could take classes for free. I started taking a class here or there, one night class at a time, at first. Then after a few semesters of that, I cut that out. It was too hard to manage with my two young children and working full-time. Plus I didn’t know what I wanted to do. I took three years off. Got married again, subsequently divorced. In the interim, I took a yoga teacher training. I had gotten a massage certification when my oldest was three. I thought I’d take those two things and make a business out of it. However, after my second marriage ended, I lost my job.

There I was, 38, no degree, my only marketable skills were a massage certification that I had no license to practice, a yoga teaching certification that I had no experience in teaching (I had decided shortly after finishing the yoga program that teaching classes “wasn’t for me.” And my ten years that I had spent doing various administrative and receptionist jobs. There seemed only one thing to do… I polished my resume and started flooding it out. I emailed everyone I knew and tried networking that way, asking all of my former colleagues and friends if they could help, if they knew anyone who was looking to hire someone like me. I felt pretty confident that I’d find another job soon enough. My parents helped me out with the rent. And then they helped me out again. A few months passed, and I had several interviews, but no call-backs. I kept applying. Soon, 4 months had gone by and I still had no job and no money coming in, other than what my parents were sending.

I knew that I had to make a new choice.  I decided to pursue the nursing degree that I had always thought of, with the intent of going for my masters in midwifery after I complete my nursing degree. And, I figured, with an RN, you can never go wrong. There will always be jobs available for someone with that skill-set. So, I enrolled at Rio Salado college.  Got a part-time job delivering pizza in the evenings, so I could be home with my son in the afternoons, and be able to drive him to school and pick him up without scheduling problems. I do my homework during the day. I’d like to me making more money, and maybe working a little more, but what I am bringing in right now covers most of my bills, except for my rent. My family has been helping me with that so far. Next term, I am going to either have to cash in my 401K (thank god for that) or take out a lot more student loans. I am thinking about becoming a driver for Lyft or Uber, friends say you can make better money with that than driving for the pizza place, and you can set your own hours.

My struggles currently involve things like making sure that I submit my application for food stamps on time every six months, and being the only adult in the household who drives a car. My oldest son is still living with me. He’s 19 and he doesn’t drive yet. He is still figuring out what he wants to do. It reminds me of myself at his age. I’m just glad he’s not fathering any babies yet.