Tag Archives: University

Parenting during the stressful university application period

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Note: this article also appears on my blog at www.uni-versed.com

I’m not totally sure exactly at which point during my eldest son’s university application process, he started avoiding me. Whenever he saw me, he would swiftly and deftly pivot and change direction. On a good day he was taciturn. On a bad day he wouldn’t leave his room.

I, on the other hand, sought him everywhere, all the time. I wanted to know what he was thinking (he wasn’t) and what he planned to do about it (nothing). It didn’t matter whether he was studying, eating, or relaxing. I had questions and I wanted clear answers. Did he realize how important this stage of his life was?

He did. Which is why he was frozen with anxiety to start with.

As parents, we approach the university application process with our pre-set ideas, hopes and dreams. We ALL want what’s best for our children. We ALL want them to succeed. We ALL want them to be happy. And while we ALL know our children sometimes better than they know themselves, we don’t always know what is necessarily better FOR them. Pretending that we do only makes matters worse.

My worry about my son choosing the right course and university for him were pushing me into the driver’s seat. Instead of accompanying him on his journey, I wanted to lead him on it. Naturally, he rebuked. This was, after all, his car.

Luckily for both of us, when a well-meaning therapist suggested I get out of my son’s way to let him figure things out, I listened. I apologized to my son for my overbearing behaviour, and offered my help only when, and if, he needed it. I offered to be a sounding board rather than a brick wall. Tacitly, what I was promising was to trust him. The latter, I profess, was easier said than done. But at the end, it was either trusting him or losing my so-far (at least until before the application process) excellent relationship with him.

Now, as an admissions consultant, I encounter many different types of parents. They range from those who insist on driving, like I did, to those who are not even in the car. They all come from a good place: they love their children and they want the best for them. They are doing what they believe is best for their children, whether that be to coddle (even suffocate) them or to give them too wide a berth.

It is not the job of the consultant to parent the students, nor to tell the parents how to parent them. It is, however, our duty to share what we have seen to have worked in the past, and continues to work, with other families.

Every child is different and needs a different amount of support. But what they all need is someone to listen to them, to respect their opinions, and to provide a nurturing environment where they can feel safe, physically and mentally.

So here are four things I learned along the way as both, a parent, and a consultant:

  • Hang around, but give them the space they need. Let your child know you’re there for them but if they are happy to figure things out on their own let them! This is the first stage of adulthood. They are asking for autonomy. Decision-making is a learned skill, the more they do it, the better they get at it. Your advice and your experience are extremely valuable, but they are their own story and you are yours.
  • Challenge their ideas, not them. It is our duty as parents to question our children’s ideas, not to prove ourselves right, but to help them clarify their own thinking. Try to keep an open mind, if they can convince you of their choices, then just maybe they know what they’re doing. But if you make it personal, or if you make it about yourself, you might find them turning away from you.
  • Respect their time. I have to say this is one of the best pieces of advice I have come across and I have to thank Brennan Barnard and Rick Clark for the tip. You and your children both lead busy lives. Rather than catch them off-guard while they are at the dinner table or just chilling, schedule a regular time with your child, suitable to both of you, where you can discuss their application, ask them what they’re thinking, how you can help, and maybe offer some of your learnings along the way. Any time you get an idea, don’t just say it out loud, rather write it down and bring it to the meeting. Chances are your child will be more open to discussion in general and more receptive to your ideas if you have respected their boundaries.
  • Respect their final choices. Help your child to get to know themselves and understand their options and choices. But if, after all the time and attention you have given them, you still cannot trust them, maybe it’s best not to send them.

In case you’re wondering what eventually happened with my son, he is graduating this summer from the University of Edinburgh. His choice of degree—Acoustics and Music Technology—made me extremely nervous at the time, but that’s the subject of another post. I had made a promise to trust him and I stuck by my guns. Since then, I have also accompanied another son on his journey to University College London and am now helping my youngest through his own application process adventure. I am just grateful that I don’t have to send the dogs to university.

On leaving home.

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My boy is leaving home. My first. He is off to university 3,000 miles away and that has triggered all my sensory perceptions and electrified all my neurotransmitters. In other words, I have separation anxiety. I am very nervous.

Neurotic, some would say.

I have long argued that as mothers we are, essentially, animals and that we have a lot to learn from birds who leave their offspring to fend for themselves as soon as they can fly and think nothing of it. On the other hand, I also like to think that I have a brain slightly bigger than a bird’s, which translates into an ability to process thoughts and feelings, as loud and dizzying as they may be.

Naturally my fears and my agitation have translated into rants about very minor incidents and fights, with said boy, about everything and nothing. I have been saying all the wrong things and uttering all the wrong words.

I figured I would do us both, and all the other members of our household, a favour and articulate a little more clearly and maturely the myriad thoughts that have been swirling in my head over the last few months.

This is what I want to tell my son before I drop him off.

I want to tell him that education is a privilege.That not everyone has access to the joys and benefits of higher education. That he is lucky to be taking this time to invest in himself and advancing his knowledge in a discipline that he enjoys so much.

I want to tell him not to take this privilege for granted. That he should take full advantage of the new worlds and experiences that are opening up to him. That he should make full use of all that his university has to offer, whether in terms of facilities or people or activities. That he should not waste his time and assume that his time at university will last forever.

I want to tell him to be adventurous but not careless. That he should approach everything with an open mind, try everything, throw a bit of caution to the wind but that he should always make sure he has a way back home.

I want to tell him that I am a little envious.That I wouldn’t mind the opportunity to go through the same life-changing experience again, to feel like every single cell in my body is regenerating, to feel like my mind is growing, to feel like a world of opportunity awaits me. That I wouldn’t mind to still be counting up rather than counting down.

I want to tell him to take care of his finances.That now is the time to start investing in his future. That being lucky enough to have his education insured is not a reason to neglect learning how to save and invest and make an income of his own. That he should start building his own self-worth, to enrich and invest in himself.

I want to tell him that I will miss him. That I may cry. That after avoiding looking in the direction of his room and the piano for the first few weeks, I may find myself spending more time there. And that while I understand that he is only away to study, my primeval cells, my inner bird, cannot help but see his departure as a death of a sort. An end to a life that was, and the beginning of a new one. And that that is what scares, and excites me, the most.

And finally, I want to tell him that he cannot begin to understand how much he will change over the next few years and may not understand all that I am saying until he himself sends his first child off to university. And that, that too is a privilege.