It was always me and my child for what felt like decades.

Just the two of us.

He was my first real lesson in life.

No math or grammar, but this: no one teaches you what happens when your life eventually outgrows you. School doesn’t teach you that part.

I gave up my college education to be a full-time single parent. Not in a dramatic, cinematic way – just real life. Bills, schedules, responsibilities. Survival mode. For years, my entire identity fit neatly into one role. It was always me and my child.

Until one day … it wasn’t.

One minute my child needed me for survival, the next they were ready to be independent. Ready to live life on their own. They “left the nest,” as people like to say – very casually, I might add – for something that completely flips any parent’s world upside down.

Suddenly, I had free time. And absolutely no idea what to do with it.

When you’ve lived by someone else’s routine for so long, silence is loud. The days feel unfamiliar. You feel lost – not because you don’t have options, but because you don’t know what you need anymore. Finding your rhythm is hard when you forgot you were allowed to have one.

Then one day, an advertisement came on for Del Mar College.

I used to attend after graduating high school, back when life was simpler and my biggest concern was making it to class on time. Somewhere along the way, I forgot how useful DMC was – and how useful it still could be.

This is not an advertisement for DMC.

(They didn’t pay me to say this.)

But it was a reminder. Of goals I once had. Of dreams I put on hold. Of a version of myself that existed before survival mode took over.

So, I enrolled.

Walking into my first class, reality hit fast. I felt out of place immediately – like I had wandered onto the wrong movie set. For context, I was born in the ‘80s and grew up in the ‘90s. My references don’t land the same anymore.

A classmate once told me, “That’s fire,” after I shared a travel experience. I nodded politely while mentally translating. Ah yes. Fire. The youth approves.

That moment alone reminded me just how much school had changed since the last time I was in college.

My first semester was full of self-doubt. I felt awkward. I felt old. Who’d thought punctuality would make me feel old. And if I’m being honest, I sometimes felt like a “know-it-all” – not because I was smarter, but because I cared. Some classmates weren’t giving their full effort, and it frustrated me … until I remembered something uncomfortable.

When I was their age, I didn’t care this much either.

I took things for granted. I didn’t understand the value of education because I hadn’t yet lived a life that demanded discipline, sacrifice, and resilience. Perspective comes with time – and apparently, with a caffeine dependency.

It was rare to find classmates my age. And when I did, they had full lives of their own. Jobs. Families. Responsibilities. Some were rigid. Others were always busy. And honestly? Rightfully so.

Growing up in a household with zero college education didn’t exactly set me up with perfect study habits. Discipline had to be learned the hard way. If it weren’t for late-night coffee shops (shout out to Lucy’s Shop) and caffeine doing the heavy lifting, I’m not sure how I would’ve made it.

And thank goodness for online courses – something I never thought I’d say. I guess I can thank the pandemic for that.

Being an older student didn’t make things easier – but it made them intentional. I wasn’t there to waste time. I asked meaningful questions youngsters were afraid to ask. What it gave me instead was proof.

Proof that I could start over.

Proof that it’s not too late.
Proof that I am more than the roles I’ve already lived.

I didn’t lose myself when my child left the nest. I finally made room to find myself again.

And if you’re standing at the edge of a new chapter – feeling too old, too late, or unsure – know this: growth doesn’t care about your age. Reinvention doesn’t ask permission.

Sometimes, after raising someone else, the bravest thing you can do is finally choose yourself.