The anxieties and sadness of the parent whose child has left for university have been exponentially exacerbated by the dystopian events of 2020.
As the world locked down, our children, in the final stages of their secondary education, were sent home from school. Unlike children of other ages, this didn’t have parents frantically juggling home schooling and home working. Nor did it have us frantically googling algebra, Tudor history or Thomas Hardy. Our children, reaching the point at which they were about to see their education and hard work be recognised through exams, were told to down tools. Stop.
And so, in a way nobody could ever have predicted, their education came to an end.
The uncertainty between March and July was a million times more preferable to the events of August and beyond. Particularly so, I believe, for parents like me. Having overcome difficulties and illness in his first year of A levels, with everyone doubting his ability to continue or catch up, my son made a miraculous turnaround. He had a diagnosis of ADHD which helped him to make sense of and find strategies for the difficulties he faced. With fierce energy and determination, by the time lockdown was announced, he had strong predicted grades and an offer from his university of choice.
On results day, I will never forget the look on his face as he walked towards me clutching the piece of paper that had shattered his dreams. The system had let him down because of the challenges he had now overcome. The next few weeks he faced with a maturity and resilience that humbled me, eventually securing the place at university he wanted.
As many parents feel, there is a confusing mix of overwhelming pride and a sadness that feels like grief when your child leaves home. A wonderful friend @shannoncassidy, whose son had left for college a year ago, gave me a wonderful piece of advice: This is not final. It might feel like the end of something, but it is not final.
I have spoke with many wonderful parents about the additional pain and anxiety when neurodivergent children make life transitions - from school, to university, to work. How will they cope without us? How will the world treat them? How can we stop the hurt they may feel? I was flooded with these emotions when settling my son into his university accommodation (not least when I realised that on an unsupervised shopping trip he had bought a doormat instead of a bathmat, facecloths instead of hand towels and refused to let me unpack for him) I left in tears, knowing that those boxes would remain unpacked for many weeks (they still are)
The anxiety surfaced again when at 3:30am (insomnia a shared ADHD trait we both share) on Sunday to say that his girlfriend had had a positive COVID test and that he was unwell. Unable to get back to sleep I found myself at my desk working at 4:00 am, battling the urge to jump in the car and drive 200 miles to rescue my baby.
It has been an absolute rollercoaster, but the latest event in a way brought me a sense of peace. He was battling his first crisis as an independent adult. He was doing it in his very own way - surrounded by boxes, ordering takeaways and playing FIFA - but nevertheless he was doing it.
I can’t begin to tell you how proud I am of this incredible young man. Parents, having children brings these transitions which we can barely imagine when they are born. Parents of neurodivergent children, I understand the pain of these transitions, but let’s never forget their unique brilliance. Knowing we are there as they make their way in the world really can be enough.