Six months post-graduation, and now I’m finally ready to talk about it. I suppose I should point out that my world didn't change. I didn’t expect it to. I’m rather pragmatic and cynical that way. I don’t put a lot of faith in institutions to give me what I need - I usually end up feeling small and caged in by them. But there’s no doubt something inside of me was fundamentally altered by the experience.
I worked my ass off. I powered through seven semesters in 2.5 years all while raising two kids, and finished at the top of my class. The end result? A Bachelor of Arts Degree in Criminology. I was three weeks shy of 36th birthday when I walked across the stage, but something in me still feels so young. Like I haven't quite mastered my purpose yet. And that's okay, because I let my soul guide the way. While that esotericism leads me off course at times, I always find my path.
In the end, I received a piece of paper, a fancy gold cord, and a 4.03 GPA. I seem to put my all into things that make no difference in the grand scheme of things - all the empty praise and accolades and hard work just to achieve what literally looks good on paper. But I suppose I do it because on some level, it temporarily fills some part of me that feels I'm lacking.
If I seem like some kind of success story, I assure you I'm not. I just take forever to do things, savouring this idea that I'll reach some glorious, imagined peak. As a perfectionist and a voracious learner, I get easily fixated on the consumption of knowledge. How much can I stuff into my brain? But it's a trick, because I also never believe my efforts are good enough, or that my successes are well-earned. Luckily, I have the self-awareness to understand the broken part of me that feels like an imposter. But there's no denying I was good at academia. And I was doing it for all the right reasons - at least that's what I told myself.
I should've felt a sense of pride for all I accomplished. Instead, I felt shame. Shame for what I took from my family - my time, energy and emotional capacity to fully show up as an attuned, present and loving wife and mom. Shame for the energy and passion I invested into pursuits that I discovered never mattered that much at all. All the late nights spent up in the back and forth of it, as my head wrestled my heart, all the hours of studying and writing brilliantly articulated papers and discussion boards. All the aced tests used as a measuring stick just to make sure I could memorize and regurgitate. In the end, it was worth very little.
I told myself it was for my kids, my family, and for 'better' or 'different' career opportunities. But I was lying to myself. It was for me, and me alone. I got so swallowed up in motherhood and my marriage that I lost myself. I needed to find her again. To reclaim something. So when I went back I made it all about me. I put myself first for once. I met my own needs. I followed my interests and inner yearnings instead of coming home for dinner. I soaked up the alone time, which was something I cherished prior to having kids. I found a spark again. And people saw her, you know?
So that whole 2.5 years wasn't for the betterment of my career or my family like I desperately wanted to believe, it was just about seeing myself. That's what I was attached to. That's also why I laboured on it and had to throw myself into it so intensely. All because when life got too still, I didn't recognize myself. It felt nice to remember the things that shine when a light is put on them. Parts of myself now layered deep beneath being a mother and a wife. And therein lies the shame. Ultimately, I tried dancing in two worlds, and it almost destroyed me.
My last year of school was one of the most painful things I've ever experienced. I couldn't get through that last semester without feeling physically ill and crying almost daily. I felt isolated and alone. But it was also the most humbling and enlightening year of my life. It was the year I discovered the dark corners of self where grief and trauma lurked like menancing ghosts. It was where I confronted the aspects of my identity that had long been buried and craved being seen. It was in this time of fragility where I recognized the emotional defects inside of me that still need growing up. Parts of me that required reparenting, ongoing patience and everlasting tenderness. I also witnessed myself becoming stronger, and ultimately, I made it through and emerged slightly altered, but more whole as a human being. It was character-building and growth promoting, to say the least.
As much as it was a gloomy place for me in those last few months, I'm grateful that I did it. Shit, I'm even grateful for the shame! It snapped me out of a daydream and reminded me that the grass isn't greener without my family. And I met people who changed my life. I'm grateful for the pals I reconnected with, the new friends I made, and the professors who challenged me both academically and on a human level. Professors who cheered me on and inspired me, one who even became a friend post-graduation, and some who are simply thankful they never have to see or hear from my annoyingly perspicacious ass again. I owe a huge thank you to all of them. To every person I met. It all helped me grow, even if I had to regress a little first.
And now?
I'm simply grateful to have closed the door and returned to myself, especially after encountering so many iterations of who I thought I ought to be. I know now that I was always as worthy as the rest of the people, and I met myself more deeply and more compassionately than ever before. Maybe it wasn't about who I became after, but about every version of who I got to be along the way.
And perhaps I haven't quite bloomed yet. But I know that the most vibrant flowers emerge after months of rain.
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