As I hold back tears, my husband and I embrace Emma one last time outside her college dorm. She seems smaller than ever, yet her voice is calm and steady as she reassures me, “I’ll be alright, Mom.” With a smile, she walks towards her new life.
Among my many fears—ranging from campus safety to the dangers of substance abuse—my biggest concern is that she might feel isolated. Emma has always been a bit shy and introverted, not one to initiate conversations easily.
Moving Day
On the drive home, my mind races with images of her alone in her dimly lit room, sitting cross-legged on her bed adorned with cozy pillows, while her roommate, Sarah, is off mingling with friends. Earlier that day, as we unpacked boxes, Sarah and her mother had come in to introduce themselves. After a few polite exchanges, we shuffled about the cramped room until a knock at the door interrupted us. Two animated girls entered, claiming to be Sarah’s friends from high school, both freshmen living on campus. My husband and I exchanged glances filled with disappointment.
Emma and Sarah had connected through a roommate matching site and seemed to align on almost every question: music tastes, personalities, their mutual love for the TV show “Dexter”, and a preference for cooler sleeping environments. I assumed that they would lean on one another during this transition, navigating friendships together in their first year.
On moving day, the parking lot was alive with campus volunteers, anxious parents, and students hauling mini-fridges. However, when we returned from dinner, the dorm was eerily quiet. No doors were ajar, no laughter or music filled the hallways, and not a single resident advisor was visible.
I had envisioned a different scenario for Emma’s arrival: a warm introduction from the RA, who would answer all my questions and invite Emma to the community room for icebreakers. Instead, our only introduction was a printed note taped to her door: “Hi, I’m Claire. Here are my hours. I love coffee and fries. Call me if you need anything!”
The Struggles of Connection
For the initial weeks, Emma spent time with Sarah and her friends, but after a month, she confided in me that she felt like a third wheel, and Sarah had stopped including her in plans. “It’s not that we don’t get along, Mom,” she said. “But she doesn’t really communicate with me. I made a comment the other day about a show we both enjoy, and she just ignored me. It’s clear we’re just roommates, which is fine.”
At that moment, I found myself disliking Sarah. Memories of Emma’s past friends who abandoned her in elementary school resurfaced. I was heartbroken, but Emma brushed it off, never taking those drifting friendships to heart. She always viewed it as a natural part of growing up. “It’s okay, Mom,” she’d tell me. “Someone did sit with me on the bus.”
As weeks passed, I urged her to reach out to Mia, a friend from high school. “You two hit it off at freshman orientation. Why haven’t you met up?” I asked. “I don’t know,” Emma replied, “She lives on the other side of campus. We just haven’t had the chance.”
“Are you making connections in your classes?” I probed. “Yeah, but we don’t talk much. We only see each other a couple of times a week.”
I felt the weight of her loneliness. I had a clear idea of what a fulfilling college experience should look like, and Emma didn’t seem to fit that picture. “You need to find ways to connect on campus,” her dad and I encouraged her. “Join a club—anything! Animals, art, environmental groups—pick one!”
Emma promised she would, but I knew she was just trying to placate me. I couldn’t help but nag her about her social life, worried that if I didn’t intervene, she would suffer.
“I’m fine,” she insisted. “You should be relieved I’m not off at that bar like Sarah. That scene isn’t my thing.”
Finding Her Own Path
Months passed, and Emma assured me she was not lonely. She was seeing her high school friends and chatting with classmates. Although she wasn’t overflowing with confidence, she appeared comfortable in her own skin and content with her independence. She reassured me about her eating, sleeping, and exercising habits, and her grades were excellent.
“Just let her be,” my friends advised. “If you keep asking, you’ll make her doubt herself.” They were right.
So when she came home, I refrained from prying. Instead, I focused on her glowing presence and listened to her talk about classes, campus life, and her quiet roommate. I noticed new tones in her voice, reflecting a growing maturity.
Emma is far more grounded than I was at her age, which makes me question my worries about her loneliness. At 18, I was filled with anxiety and uncertainty, while Emma seems confident in who she is and who she doesn’t need to be.
During the Christmas break, my husband asked her how she was faring. “I’m good, Dad, but it’s a process,” she replied. Instantly, I wondered if “process” was code for “unhappy,” which is likely why she told him instead of me.
She navigates her life with a level of trust in herself that I lacked at her age. She understands that even as she faces new challenges, she will discover her path in her own time.
Now, when Emma visits, I listen to her quietly assert that she is not lonely or miserable; she simply prefers to engage with the world at her own pace.
Update
Emma is now a sophomore, thriving with new friendships and exhibiting a remarkable confidence. A year’s time and a little faith in her have made all the difference.
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In summary, as a parent, it’s crucial to allow your child to navigate their own path, even when worries of loneliness or social struggles arise. Emma’s experience has taught me the importance of self-discovery and trusting in her ability to find her way.