As I try to hold back tears, my husband and I embrace Ava for one last time outside her college dorm. She appears smaller, but her voice is steady and encouraging as she reassures me, “I’ll be just fine, Mom,” before walking away with a smile.
Beyond concerns about safety, like the threat of violence or substance abuse, my biggest fear is that she will feel isolated. Ava is somewhat reserved and introverted, not the type to initiate conversations easily.
On the drive home, I envision her alone in her dimly lit room, sitting cross-legged on her bed adorned with colorful throw pillows, while her new roommate, Sarah, is off enjoying time with friends.
Earlier that day, while unpacking boxes, Sarah and her mother introduced themselves. After a few polite exchanges, we moved silently around the small space until a knock at the door interrupted us. Two lively girls entered, clearly friends of Sarah from high school, both freshmen living on campus. My husband and I exchanged glances of disappointment.
Ava and Sarah had been matched through an online roommate service, and they seemed to click on nearly every topic: music preferences, personalities, a shared love for the TV show Dexter, and their mutual appreciation for a cool room at night. I had assumed they would naturally cling to each other as they navigated college life together.
On move-in day, the parking lot was bustling with campus volunteers, anxious parents, and nervous students maneuvering mini-fridges. However, when we returned from dinner, the dorm was eerily quiet. No doors were propped open, no laughter or music echoed in the halls, and not a single resident assistant was in sight.
I had envisioned how the day would unfold, picturing how my only child would transition from her sheltered home into this new environment: the RA would greet us warmly, answer all my questions, and then invite Ava to the community room for some ice-breaking activities.
But the only RA we encountered was a typed welcome note on her decorated door. “Hello, I’m Mia. These are my hours. I love cats, coffee, and too many donuts. Here’s my number if you need me.”
In those first few weeks, Ava spent time with Sarah and her friends, but after a month, she confided that she felt like an outsider. Eventually, Sarah stopped inviting her to join.
“It’s not that we don’t get along, Mom,” Ava explained. “But she doesn’t really engage with me. The other day, I mentioned a show we both like, and I could tell she heard me, but she just ignored me. I guess we’re just going to be roommates, which is okay.”
At that moment, I found myself disliking Sarah.
I remembered Ava’s elementary school friends who had shunned her during middle school. I was heartbroken, but Ava seemed unfazed. She never took the loss of friendships to heart, viewing it as a natural part of life. Even when hurt, my anxiety often overshadowed her feelings. “Mom, it’s fine,” she would assure me. “Those friendships faded a while ago, and yes, someone did sit with me on the bus.”
A few weeks into her college journey, I asked her, “Why don’t you reach out to Chloe? You were close in high school and even hung out during freshman orientation. I don’t understand why you haven’t met up.”
“I don’t know, she’s on the other side of campus. We just haven’t connected,” she replied.
“Are you meeting anyone in your classes?” I pressed.
“Yeah, but it’s only a couple of times a week, and we don’t really have much time to chat.”
Nothing seemed to be working. I could feel Ava’s loneliness. I knew what a fulfilling college experience looked like, and it didn’t include her current situation.
“Find a way to make that big campus feel smaller,” her dad and I advised. “I know you see your high school friends, but you need to make connections on campus. Join a club. Any club—animals, graphic design, environmental advocacy. Just pick one.”
Ava promised to consider it, but I could tell she was just trying to appease me. I could hear myself nagging her into submission, and I felt ashamed, but I couldn’t help it. I wanted to ensure she was thriving.
“I’m doing fine,” she reassured me. “You should be grateful that I’m not going to that off-campus bar like Sarah does all the time. She doesn’t drink, but many underage kids do. That party scene is just not my thing.”
Now, over a semester into her college experience, Ava insists she isn’t lonely. She sees her high school friends and talks to classmates.
While she may not radiate confidence just yet, she seems at ease in her own company, telling me she’s eating well, sleeping soundly, and exercising. Her grades are excellent.
“Well, then give her space,” friends advise me. “She’ll find her own way. Constantly asking about her social life will only make her feel inadequate.”
And they were right.
So when she visits home, I make an effort not to pry. Instead, I attentively listen to her discuss her classes, the campus food, the impressive gym, and her quiet roommate. I notice subtle changes in her tone, and with each visit, I sense her maturity growing.
Ava is far more self-assured than I was at her age, which is likely why I keep worrying about her social life. At 18, I was burdened by childhood traumas, anxiety, and fear of new experiences. I certainly didn’t enter college as my own best friend.
Sometimes I worry Ava is missing out on the full college experience. But she understands herself in ways I didn’t at her age. She knows who she is and who she doesn’t need to be among a small circle of friends or a vast campus of students.
During the Christmas break, my husband discreetly asked how she was faring. “I’m doing well, Dad, but it’s a process,” she replied. Immediately, I wondered if “process” was code for “unhappy,” which is likely why she confides in him rather than me.
Ava has a level of self-trust that I lacked at her age. She senses that as she navigates life’s uncertainties, she doesn’t need to stress too much, as in her own time, she will find her path.
When she comes home, I finally hear her message loud and clear. She’s not lonely. She’s not miserable. She simply prefers to navigate the world in her own way and at her own speed, which has always been precisely right for her.
Update
Ava is now a sophomore, enjoying close friendships with her roommates and another girl on campus. Her newfound confidence is remarkable. What a difference a year—and a bit of trust in your child—can make.
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Summary
A mother’s journey through her daughter Ava’s transition to college reveals deeper concerns about loneliness and social connections. As Ava navigates her first year, she learns to trust herself and her path, ultimately growing in confidence and forming friendships. The article highlights the importance of understanding and supporting your child as they find their way, emphasizing the balance between concern and trust in their independence.