by Leanne Coffman

Created on: February 05, 2009   Last Updated: February 17, 2009

The alarm was set for six a.m. An important exam required additional studying. Exhausted when I hit the pillow, I had neatly assigned all taxing mental processes to dawn. However, the shrill ringing clock did not rouse me from slumber. It was something far more insidious. "Momma, my throat hurts." A pajama clad daughter stood silhouetted bedside. Bleary eyed, at 3:00 a.m., I struggled up. It would be another long day- many were since I began college as an over thirty something adult.

Like the almost eight million "non-traditional" college students, I recognized a need for career advancement. Surpassing my thirtieth birthday, there was an accompanying ache for personal betterment. I had spent so many years calculating ratios of boxed macaroni and cheese dinners to children, clearly if I didn't give my brain an opportunity- it would go on strike. Discontentment ran deep in my soul. It was time to act.

Evaluating possibilities, I chose a nearby University, based on proximity, affordability and degree options. As a mother, I was already well versed in psychology, particularly of the abnormal sort. Clinical Psychology seemed a fitting pusuit.

I discovered certain educational anxieties transcend age. Not being accepted by peers. Worrying the teacher will call on you when unprepared. Fear of failure. I had them all.

Suddenly, I was teleported to my first day of kindergarten, waiting nervously for the bus.

There are other neuroses attributed to returning adults, particularly single mothers. Balancing housework, children, a career- would this be possible when I added college into the matrix? Was I too old for this endeavor?

In spite of apprehensions, my youthful classmates were accepting. I was there to learn as they were. We became comrades, studying together. I began an open line of dialogue with my empathetic professors. (During a chickenpox epidemic, I threw myself on the mercy of the court for not completing a research paper - thereby granted a stay of execution).

Academically I have performed well. I've survived when the professors called on me.
Now, in my third year, there are still long nights. Sometimes life bursts at the seams. Kids get sick. Work creeps into study time.
The children rallied on my behalf. They've aided in housework, cooking and even in tutoring me with the dreaded, "Algebra". When I made the Dean's list, they hung the newspaper clipping on the refrigerator, beside their own honor roll announcements. Through my example, the children realize education is worthy of sacrifice. Perhaps chronically short on sleep, I am not deficient on love, support and self esteem.

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