My daughter was four months into her freshman year of college when I realized she had never asked me for any money.
I’d paid for Sarina’s housing, meal plan, and books, and put $100 on her account for laundry and incidentals at the beginning of the year. But that was it.
It didn’t occur to me until another mom posted a joke about how, every time her kid called “just to say I love you,” somewhere in the conversation, there would be a shakedown for money.
Lots of fellow parents joked around in the comments about how they were all getting squeezed by their college students, too.
Huh, I thought. My kid has never done that. How?
I asked my daughter about it
My daughter saved up from selling art in high school and lined up a job in dining services before she arrived at college, so I knew she’d have some spending money. But it never occurred to me that she’d think she had to pay for her own necessities.
So I asked her about it: “Hey, how come you don’t ever ask me for money? How are you paying for school supplies and snacks and shampoo and stuff?”
“I’m OK!” she said. “I give myself a weekly budget of $100, and I don’t really need more than that.”
She didn’t mind eating at the dining halls all the time and participated in clothing exchanges and thrift store shopping. She mentioned there were plenty of free activities on campus and a library full of books. When she didn’t use her full weekly budget, she saved for concert tickets and gifts for friends.
I Venmoed her $50, just for kicks, and she sent back $20 of it. “That’s too much!” she wrote.
I felt bad and wanted to fulfill my parental role to support my teenager
It had been a goal of mine as a single mom to provide for her through college so she’d never have that added stress.
That’s when Sarina said something that helped me see things differently: “I like paying for my own stuff. It makes me feel like a responsible adult, you know?”
Actually, I did know — and I’d forgotten that feeling. When I went to college, my parents didn’t want me to get a job or join clubs in the first year because they wanted me to focus only on my studies. But once I proved my grades were solid, they backed off, and by my senior year, I was working two jobs. It did feel good to earn my own money.
I took a more trusting approach with my daughter; I didn’t set rules about how she should spend her time, but I asked her to keep a light work schedule until she settled in and could see what her college workload would be like.
Sarina was able to piece together a schedule that worked out fine, though, combining work and play in proportions that made her happy. She handled time management like a boss and ended the year with straight As.
This year, she’s working in the mailroom during the week and as a local chocolate tour guide on weekends.
Every now and then, I still send her money
I know full well she’ll often return part of it or limit what I’m “allowed” to send. I was allowed to pay for her train ticket home, for instance, but not for the Lyft ride to the station.
When I tried to pay her $90 for shoveling our driveway over break (the rate my usual company would have charged), she wouldn’t take more than $50. It’s a dance, both of us wanting to feel good about our contributions. Both of us gather some of our self-worth by our ability to work for what we want and need in life.
There is joy in self-reliance, in that burgeoning confidence you get when you realize you’re capable of making your way in the world.
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