In a society that rewards instant gratification, responds to alarms and deadlines, and reassures us that success is always within arm’s reach, we are taught from an early age that delay equals failure. Much of childhood is spent preparing for the next phase of life. Career paths and life goals are encouraged to be explored and outlined long before a child has any real understanding of the world, or even leaves high school. Countless hours and resources are invested in the pursuit of a defining interest, something expected to provide not only financial security, but fulfillment. Like many, I committed to a timeline early, believing that a childhood hobby would determine the course of my life. When life disrupted my plan, I learned that commitments can fracture, and that recovering requires more than talent; it requires resilience, adaptation, and the rebuilding of purpose.
I took up drawing at a young age. I drew everything I could: people, animals, buildings, landscapes. I would occupy myself for hours with nothing more than a stack of paper and a pencil. Toward the end of fourth grade, I became particularly interested in drawing clothing and designing outfits. I filled book after book with fashion sketches, and it soon became apparent to my grandmother that this was more than a hobby. She saw in me a likeness to my uncle, who had exceptional artistic talent and the ability to realize his vision into reality. I was promptly enrolled in art classes, where I began developing a distinct vision of my own.
I dreamt of becoming a fashion illustrator, and I pursued that goal fervently. I spent my evenings at the studio with my art instructor PJ, where I was taught to work with various media. In my spare time, I drew collections of haute couture, business-casual, and winterwear. As my skill grew, so did my imagination for where it might take me. I envisioned attending the Pratt Institute in New York, one of the most prestigious fashion schools in the world. I saw my dresses coming down the runway and striking awe in the crowds at fashion week.
The following Christmas, I unwrapped my first sewing machine. I was ecstatic! I could finally begin learning how to produce my 2D designs into wearable garments. That spring, I was offered summer classes at Kendall College of Art and Design. My instructor was enthusiastic about my performance and the original collections I had presented to her, and she told me that continuing in her class would be a waste of money, and that my designs were already at a professional level. I had real aptitude, and after my time at Kendall, I was fully committed to the dream. I knew what I wanted to do, and I believed I had the talent to do it. What I had yet to learn was that talent is only one wheel on the vehicle to success.
During my junior year of high school, my already ill mother’s health took a turn for the worse. The strain of her condition placed immense pressure on my family and on me. As a result, my mental health deteriorated, and I developed severe anxiety. Many of my nights were spent drawing and sewing, unable to sleep, followed by mornings where I could barely keep my eyes open. On days when I managed to prepare for school, spontaneous panic would set in as we pulled into the parking lot, and I would be driven straight back home.
As my mother’s health continued to decline, my grades followed suit, dropping sharply from A’s and B’s to D’s, F’s, and even dashes, which indicated insufficient participation to assign a grade. Eventually I was started on medication and my school accommodated my issues by setting up a desk in the library for me to work as an attempt to prevent overwhelm. I was miserable; the medication wasn’t working, and just being in the school was excruciating. I wanted to sleep, spend time with friends, and focus on the things that gave me relief. So I started skipping school after getting dropped off.
At the time, I was still enrolled in a vocational CTC program, which allowed juniors and seniors to learn a trade. I had taken cosmetology classes out of interest, as it’s very related to the fashion industry. In contrast to high school, I had strong attendance and very much enjoyed the course. I weighed the reality of my grades, and hairdressing started looking like a viable career choice. Again, I had the talent.
My mother’s health continued to dwindle, and she was admitted into a nursing home. The separation gave me some temporary relief from the chaos of her illness, and I continued training in cosmetology through my senior year, all the while skipping out on my high school classes to go smoke with friends. It was 4/20 when a large group of us had left to go to hotbox a friend’s shed and celebrate. We were laughing and having a grand time when I got the call. My mother had passed, and in that moment, a part of me went with her.
Occurring at a stage in life when identity is still forming, loss, such as that of a mother, can fracture a young person’s sense of continuity, direction, and agency. The death of a parent during childhood is widely recognized as an immensely destabilizing life event, and long-term disruptions often follow (Kilicoglu).
My senior year of high school ended without me. I didn’t complete the remaining hours required for cosmetology certification, and I lost myself in drugs and partying as a way to escape grief. With no job or education, I moved into an apartment as soon as I turned eighteen, supported by monthly benefits left from my mother’s estate. The deal was that in order to receive the funds, I was to enroll and attend a program to complete my education. I attended one class, left with some people to smoke a joint, and never returned. Shortly after, those checks were cut and my rent was due.
Drawing on prior grief research, Emma Smith’s analysis in “Mourning and Marijuana” aids in explaining why substance use had become so central in my life. Grief is an overwhelming experience, and when the capacity to emotionally regulate is strained and/or underdeveloped, individuals may turn to substances as an immediate, though maladaptive, means of coping with distress. Drug use through grief often operates as a form of emotional avoidance. It temporarily numbs the pain without integrating the loss. Smith explains that in young adults especially, this approach can prolong grief (Smith 10–12).
For the next few years, I squandered both educational and employment opportunities chasing highs to numb the distress I built a lifestyle around pushing away. I fell in with the wrong crowds, worked odd under-the-table jobs, and learned how to scrape by. Renting out rooms, driving people around, selling drugs, and partying alongside a close friend who worked as a prostitute bore no resemblance to the future I had once imagined. I was not in New York, overlooking the skyline after a day illustrating at Pratt; I was stoned on the couch watching Grandma’s Boy, having just sold my food stamps to pay the electric bill. The person required to pursue that dream no longer existed.
In youth, death is not experienced only as loss; it becomes a challenge to both meaning and identity. Losing my mother destabilized my sense of purpose, continuity, and future self. At the time, I was too young and numb from drugs to care. My dream felt like one from a past life, a life I knew of but had no connection to. My efforts had all gone into one basket, and while I knew it was sitting on the top shelf of my closet, I never looked up at it. I couldn’t identify with the passion I once had, and being reminded of it brought a sadness I saw no way out of. So I avoided it, and all that was associated with it. As Smith notes, when grief becomes difficult to regulate, avoidance of loss and its reminders often replaces the needed emotional processing, disrupting the process of adaptation. Rather than resolving my grief, substance use during bereavement served as a form of experiential avoidance, temporarily dampening my distress rather than helping me integrate the loss of my mother.
I would like to say that the chaotic phase of my life ended shortly after, but it didn’t. It continued until I was 23, when I learned that I was pregnant with my daughter, Oaklyn. I began thinking about the life that her father and I could provide, and about who I wanted to be for her. For the first time since my own childhood, the future became imaginable again. Cleaning up my life did not begin with education, but with a reorientation of purpose. Until then, I had lived almost entirely without structure. I lived reactively rather than routinely, responding to circumstances rather than shaping them. As I confronted the reality of motherhood, it became clear how consequential that lifestyle had been, and could be, for my daughter. I was ready to start a new chapter in my life.
For the next seven years, my days were devoted to caring for Oaklyn while managing household and family responsibilities. I learned to build and adhere to budgets, organize time into functional categories, and plan for work, homeschooling, appointments, and daily life. These were not abstract skills; they were practiced daily, under real stakes. The competencies that I developed as a stay-at-home mother became the foundation from which I could reapproach education. I had learned routine, responsibility, follow through, and self-expectation. I felt capable not only of caring for my family, but of holding myself accountable in a new way. With my husband working long shifts, I proved to myself that I could manage sustained responsibility and still pursue a goal I had once abandoned.
I returned to my education where I had left off, roughly ninth grade, spending hours each day on Khan Academy to fill the gaps left by leaving school early. As I progressed, my desire to continue grew. Math, once tedious and exhausting, became both the most rewarding subject that I studied. I had always been curious, but I hadn’t always loved learning. Approaching it from a different stage of life transformed my relationship to learning itself
After completing the equivalent of high school coursework, I found myself wanting more. I began thinking pragmatically about careers, where I could contribute, how my work would support my family, and what kind of environment I wanted to be a part of. I completed my GED in January 2024 and I was able to celebrate with my family at a formal graduation ceremony! The following autumn, I began my first semester at Grand Rapids Community College after careful consideration of potential career paths.
Initially, I was drawn to mathematics and statistics, but after recognizing the physics-focused demands of the engineering pathway, I decided to explore accounting instead. I had been managing budgets, saving, and advising my family financially for years without formal training; it was a skill that came naturally to me, much like drawing once had. The difference this time was perspective. I was no longer chasing a vision of who I might become, but evaluating whether I would value the process, the environment, and the people involved in the work itself.
Since starting my second year at GRCC, I have switched my major from accounting to pre-business. I’ve learned to adjust the parameters of my goals in accordance with who I am while remaining committed to who I will be and am always becoming. The path I am walking now is wide open. With interests in accounting, supply chain management, and business continuity, I did not return to education chasing a dream; I returned because the process itself made sense to who I have become. Some dreams don’t die; they become stepping stones.
Works Cited
Kilicoglu, Nur Akbulut. “Psychosocial Effects of Parental Loss on Children and Support Strategies / Ebeveyn Kaybinin Cocuklar Uzerindeki Psikososyal Etkileri ve Destek Stratejileri.” Psikiyatride Guncel Yaklasimlar/Current Approaches to Psychiatry, vol. 18, no. 1, 2026, pp. 143+. Gale Academic OneFile, dx.doi.org.grcc.idm.oclc.org/10.18863/pgy.1579475.
Shih, Hsin-Hsin. Growing Up with a Mentally Ill Parent: A Phenomenological Study of Chinese Children in Taiwan, The University of Texas at Austin, United States -- Texas, 1995. ProQuest.
Smith, Emma E. Mourning and Marijuana: Exploring the Relation between Cannabis and Grief among Colorado College Students, Colorado State University, United States -- Colorado, 2025. ProQuest.