When It’s Your Own: A College Counselor’s Visit from the Other Side

I just returned from visiting my daughter at college. She’s a sophomore now, and she’s thriving. She’s engaged in her classes, surrounded by good friends, balancing academics with campus life, and genuinely happy. As a college counselor, I should be bursting with pride. This is exactly the outcome she worked so hard toward: finding her personal fit and academic match school.

And I am proud. Yet as her mom, the visit brought up a mix of emotions I did not quite expect. There was pride and joy, of course, and also a deep sense of nostalgia and a quiet ache that surprised me. For the most part, we were still very much us, but something indeed felt different.

In helping my students apply and launch into college, I encourage growth and independence. I remind parents that success is not about where they spend the next four years, but the maturation, adaptability, and resilience that take place while there. Standing on the other side of that milestone, watching my own child confidently navigate her world, I see how “success” feels more layered when it’s personal. Because when your own child is the one thriving, success also means learning how to step back and trust the process.

The Shift

I noticed it the moment we arrived for the weekend. The same girl I once made school lunches for and yelled at ad nauseam to get out of bed for school is now living as a young, independent woman. She has a full class schedule, a part-time job, and more friends than I’ve ever had. She has a rhythm to her days, and an air of contentment I’ve not witnessed before in her. 

Somewhere between move-in day last fall and now, she had crossed an invisible line between “my kid” and “college student.” I found myself both delighted and disoriented. When did she become so comfortable here? When did she stop needing my reminders? And when did she start telling me where to be and how to get there?

It was a proud moment, and also a humbling one.

Redefining “Success”

In my counseling work, I require my students to have a “balanced college list” to maximize the likelihood of multiple college choices. And, even more importantly, each school on the list should be one where the student can envision their own college success. We discuss the concept of “college success” in measurable ways: academic engagement, social connection, and healthy independence. Ultimately, that success reveals itself not in the arbitrary rankings of the school in which the students enroll, but in the choices they make, the confidence they build, and the ways they continue to stretch beyond what once felt comfortable.

But sitting across from my daughter at dinner on Friday night, I realized that as a parent, success is harder to define. It is about something quieter. It is about the recognition that she is creating a life that no longer needs me in the same way she did even one year ago. Parents spend years guiding, scheduling, and encouraging. Then, suddenly, the very skills we have worked so hard to build become the reason we are needed less. It is beautiful and natural, and, oh man, it tugs at the heart.

The Counselor and the Parent

There is a strange duality to being a college counselor and the parent of a college student. Professionally, I understand what healthy independence looks like. I encourage families to let their students make mistakes, solve problems, and pave their own path. I often tell parents, “This is your child’s journey, not yours.” Not every parent finds that easy to hear, but this belief is central to my counseling philosophy. I find that students who are given the space to take ownership of their college process tend to feel more satisfied with the outcome and are better prepared to thrive once on campus.

Personally, I have to remind myself to follow that same advice. It is easy to tell another parent, “They’ve got this.” It is harder to sit quietly while your own child proves it.

Getting ready to begin the trip back home, I hugged my daughter goodbye. But unlike at the end of our visit last year, she let go first and shed no tears. Instead, I watched her walk back to her apartment in the pouring rain, calm and content, as if ready to return to the life that keeps moving even when I’m not there. For me, there was a fragility in the air, but it was not a loss. That independence is also proof that all the guidance, love, and letting go have done their work: the very outcome I hope for in every student I advise, and most of all, in my own child.

Final Thoughts

If you have recently dropped off your student or are planning a visit soon, know this: it is okay to feel both proud and wistful. Growth always carries a bit of both. College success is not only about how well our students adjust. It is also about how we, as parents, adjust to our new roles. We do not stop being needed. We are simply needed differently, less for reminders and more for reassurance, less for guidance and more for grounding.

And sometimes, that is the hardest and most rewarding lesson of all.