There eventually comes the day when you move out of your family home. You will experience the anxiety of managing bills along with the excitement of gaining a new sense of independence. Moving out means you will officially leave your childhood and parents behind. Even with all this anticipation, moving out of my mom’s house and away from my family, specifically, my grandma, remains the hardest part of my college journey. I feel like I left so much behind in that little, small town of mine and it makes me want to crawl under the covers to wait for my mom to give me the all-clear. I can’t deny the excitement of living alone. However, realizing my mom and grandma never experienced this joy made me feel like I didn’t deserve it. I went to bed that night wrapped in guilt.
The Differences…
Growing up I knew my parents couldn’t relate to my childhood because it looked so different compared to theirs. They never experienced college move-in day or even dining hall food. However, being a semi-adult made me sad that they never got to experience what I consider so normal. They sacrificed their late teens and early twenties to move to a new country where they didn’t even speak the language. Why? Because they wanted to give me a chance at an easier life.
I always expressed my gratitude for their sacrifices but never thought too deeply about the specifics of their sacrifice. In short, it means more than college or living alone, or owning a pet. It meant feeling uncomfortable with the words coming out of their mouths and working on their hands and knees while praying for a better future for their kids.
When I moved into my apartment I remember looking for furniture and picking a style.
I thought about whether I should pick white plates or colorful ones. Maybe how many beds my cat would own or where I should buy groceries. I became wrapped up in the newness of it all. My family felt very happy for me. They helped and gave me encouraging words. I felt like this step showed them I could slowly build the life they wanted for me. But it still nagged at me that my new experience came with only the price of rent and not a penny more.
These feelings of guilt made me feel like I needed to work harder. I placed a lot of pressure on myself. So much so that lectures, homework and readings filled up my days. I never spent time outside of Zoom or my new cushy apartment to get some much needed relaxation. Days were too short, too short to finish everything and to work ahead. Pretty soon I burned out. I became depressed and full of anxiety. Things only got better when I finally quit my job. I lessened my workload by focusing only on my school schedule. I know it sounds ridiculous, but just being a student helped me focus on my mental health. Instead of putting my energy into work, I redirected it to my mental health and self care.
I never told my parents about my guilt.
Constantly feeling silly to feel such extreme imposter syndrome. I did work to go to college and worked to live alone. I didn’t cut corners or bend rules but I still compared my work to my parents’ sacrifice. Nothing ever measured up. How could anything ever measure up?
I am still struggling to figure out how to get over the guilt of being a first-generation immigrant and college student. I think it helps when I remind myself that I am not alone in the feeling and that everyone experiences a different journey. Right now, I can work and study so that hopefully in the future I can create new experiences for them.
