During your first year of college you receive a lot of advice, whether it is asked for or not: how to spend your money, what classes you should take, the best ways to meet new people and make new friends. Almost all of which is subject to the well-intentioned opinions of friends and family.
However, I received much of this advice the summer after my first year. From what I gathered, I was either going to desperately miss Charlottesville or be so grateful for the amenities at home that I’d never want to leave. What I didn’t expect was the feeling of suffocation that came with living under my parents’ roof again — sorry Mom and Dad.
It didn’t start until about two weeks into summer vacation. I was reveling in the bliss of a life without shower shoes and dining hall food when my friends and I made some late night plans. Floating on my little cloud of happiness, I was halfway out the door when my mom yelled, “Be back by 12!” Suddenly, my blissful state shattered.
In that moment, I regressed. I felt as though the past year hadn’t happened and I was still in high school. I had to bite back my immediate response: “You can’t tell me what to do!” An angry reply certainly wouldn’t have helped my case.
It took a while, but I slowly realized I was once again living in a house with rules I was expected to follow. What was I to do? Asserting my independence would only cause an uproar, but failing to do so would leave my parents with the misconception that I needed such rules to govern my life.
The solution to my dilemma all came down to compromise and communication. Yes, compromise and communication. As much as this sounds like the wishy-washy end to an episode of “Full House,” it worked and I’m happy I attempted it.
Sitting down with my parents solved most of our problems and helped create an environment we could all live in. They were so used to supervising their children — a behavior only compounded by my little brother — that they didn’t know how to treat a college student under their roof. This didn’t mean I could suddenly do whatever I wanted. Even I understood that living under someone else’s roof necessitates a certain amount of respect of and adherence to their rules.
This is where we compromised. They realized I had lived by myself for a year without incident, and I realized they are still my parents and will worry no matter what age I am.
After speaking to a friend who lived at home during graduate school, I realized clashing parent-child expectations can be problematic for anyone who has moved away from home, no matter how long. My friend went through four years of college only to end up back at her parents’ place. She had to go back to asking for the car and yearning for privacy. From her, I learned how to deal with this situation and see it from my parents’ point of view.
Going to college didn’t change the fact that I am still my parents’ child. After listening to my friend’s advice, we made adjustments. I hope my experience will help someone else — like my friend’s experience helped me — and that anyone who reads this will think twice before they yell, “You can’t tell me what to do!” at their parents.
Abigail’s column runs biweekly. She can be reached at a.lague@cavalierdaily.com.
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