I Was Told College Was the Only Option — But I’m Telling My Kids the Truth

I never wanted to go to college.

It wasn’t that I was incapable. I was smart — that much, I was told constantly. I got good grades, was in the gifted program, edited my school‘s literary magazine, and headed up the yearbook staff. I was the kid who stayed after class because I liked talking to the teacher. But despite all that, college just didn’t call to me the way it seemed to call to everyone else.

What I wanted, more than anything, was simply to get married and become a mom. To create a home, to raise children, to be a present and nurturing force in their lives. For the record, that didn’t mean I wasn’t a feminist. I didn’t want to rewind time to the 1950s, or be some submissive and subservient “tradwife” figure. But I believed — and still do — that choosing motherhood and homemaking as a central identity can be just as valid and empowering as any career, as long as it’s your choice. Feminism is about honoring women’s autonomy, whatever shape that takes — and to me, my goal felt like purpose. It felt like enough. But no one else seemed to think so.

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“You’re too smart just to stay home.”
“You’ll waste your potential.”
“You’ll regret it.”

The word “just” — as in just a housewife, just a mom — was always flung around like an insult. It didn’t matter that those roles were the ones I aspired to. In the eyes of guidance counselors, teachers, and even much of my own family, those goals weren’t “real” goals. Not for a girl like me.

College wasn’t presented as an option; it was a non-negotiable. The next box to check, a necessary step on the conveyor belt of achievement. So I went. Not because I had a plan, not because I wanted to, but because I didn’t know how to explain — much less defend — the fact that I didn’t want what everyone else seemed to want for me.

In quiet rebellion, I didn’t apply for one single scholarship. I figured if I was going to be forced into something I didn’t want, I shouldn’t have to put effort into getting there. But apparently I didn’t have to — because I was granted a scholarship anyway. To this day, I don’t know how. Maybe someone submitted something on my behalf. Maybe the universe was just playing a joke.

I packed up my things and moved into a dorm, and I told myself I’d figure it out. (Spoiler alert: I didn’t.)

From the outside, I looked like a typical college student. I went to class. I hung out on the quad with friends. I complained about the cafeteria food and subsisted on ramen noodle cups in my dorm room. But internally, I was unraveling. I struggled with depression, anxiety, and a growing sense of disconnection from everything around me. I wasn’t thriving in this environment like everyone in my life had envisioned — instead, I was barely surviving. The academic pressure didn’t help, but neither did the deep and gnawing sense that I was there against my will.

I made it almost three years before I burned out. Mentally, physically, and emotionally. I dropped out — quietly, with a mix of shame and relief. And then, I did exactly what I’d wanted to do in the first place: I got married. I started a family. I stepped into the life I’d envisioned for myself all along.

At first, I felt like a failure. Not because I believed I was one, but because I knew others would. It’s hard to explain feeling proud of your life while simultaneously feeling judged for it, but I loved being a wife and a mother. I found joy and meaning in it. And eventually, when the time was right, I started working again — first freelance, then part-time, and now full-time in a career that lights me up. Today, in my mid-40s, I’m a professional in a creative field I love. I earn a solid income and help support my family financially. I didn’t need a degree to do what I do — just talent, work ethic, and time. Sometimes I wonder what might have happened if I’d spent those three years after high school exploring creative opportunities instead of dragging myself through a college experience that didn’t fit.

And because I know what it feels like to be boxed into someone else’s version of success, I’m giving my kids the freedom I didn’t have.

I have four sons, all at different stages of figuring out who they are and what their futures might hold. And I’ll be honest: I would be proud if any of them decided to go to college. I know it can be a powerful and enriching experience for the right person, at the right time, for the right reasons. But I also know it’s not the only path.

So I don’t tell them they have to go. I don’t frame it as the default or the gold standard. I talk to them about their interests. I help them explore options. And I make sure they know that college is one tool in the toolbox — not the toolbox itself.

Because the truth is, society has spent decades selling young people an unfairly narrow definition of success. We’ve been told that a four-year degree is the only key to a good life. That anything else is “less than.” That we’d never be truly respected or financially stable without a diploma. And while that may have been true in past generations, the landscape has changed — dramatically.

As a recent New York Times op-ed (bluntly entitled “Stop Trying to Make Everyone Go to College,” which I love) pointed out, we’ve long followed an overly-simplistic “4+4” formula — four years of high school followed by four years of college — as the assumed path to success. In the process, we’ve devalued the trades, scoffed at vocational programs, and stigmatized alternative paths, treating technical education like a consolation prize instead of a worthy goal. The article argues it’s time to expand and invest in career-connected learning, where students can graduate high school with industry credentials, college credits, and a running start toward fulfilling careers, whether or not they ever set foot on a four-year campus.

The reality is that nearly 40 percent of students don’t go to college at all after high school, maybe because they’re already burning out in high school (in a poll of boys from SheKnows’ Teen Council, more than 90 percent of respondents said they feel stressed either frequently or occasionally, with grades as the number-one cause. Extracurriculars came in close behind, especially the pressure to perform at a high level). Of those who do choose to go to college, many who do never finish; nearly 33 percent of college students drop out every year, with freshmen leading the charge.

Technical training, apprenticeships, and certifications can offer just as much opportunity — and in some cases, even more — than a traditional four-year degree. In fields like welding, HVAC, plumbing, and electrical work, skilled tradespeople are retiring faster than they’re being replaced, and employers are desperate to recruit young talent to fill those spots. As the Wall Street Journal recently reported, high schools are starting to reintroduce vocational programs; kids are responding with interest and enthusiasm, but most importantly, potential employers are taking notice (and lining students up for jobs once they graduate!).

Meanwhile, other industries — including tech, digital marketing, design, and content creation — are increasingly skills-based. Companies care more about what you can do than what school you went to. Even Elon Musk, in a tweet recruiting software engineers, said, “We don’t care where you went to school or even whether you went to school or what ‘big name’ company you worked at. Just show us your code.” Teens are building entire careers through YouTube, Substack, and online courses. There are twenty-something Gen Z-ers running six-figure businesses out of their bedrooms. There are bootcamps for coding, certifications for IT, and endless free resources for people who want to self-educate.

It’s a whole new world out there — one I wish had existed when I was 18 and feeling pigeonholed.

That’s the part that still stings a little, if I’m being honest. I feel some resentment — not because I wasn’t encouraged, but because I wasn’t heard. My goals were dismissed, my instincts for myself ignored. I wasn’t shown the full menu of options; I was handed one plate and told, “Eat this or starve.” And I want better for my kids.

I want to know what they want. I want to empower them to build a future that aligns with who they are, not just what’s expected of them. I want them to know that success doesn’t come from a piece of paper — it comes from knowing yourself, trusting yourself, working hard, and finding a way to contribute meaningfully to the world.

If that means college, great. But if it means learning a trade, joining the military, starting a business, becoming an artist, working their way up in retail, taking a gap year, freelancing, or something I haven’t even thought of yet? That’s great too.

We owe it to our kids to stop selling them a single version of the American Dream. We need to talk to them like individuals. We need to let go of the shame society attaches to alternative choices. We need to make room for different timelines, different ambitions, and different kinds of brilliance.

It took me a while to figure all this out. I had to unlearn a lot of internalized ideas about what it means to succeed. But I got here. Without a degree. Without a map. Just with heart, resilience, and a deep belief in who I am — and in who I always was, even when no one else could see it.

And for what it’s worth? I’m still married to the guy I wanted to marry back then. The one people warned me I was “throwing my life away” for. Turns out, marriage and motherhood didn’t ruin my potential — they helped me realize it. They gave me purpose, perspective, and yes, the stability to build a life and career I love.

So no, I don’t push college on my kids.

I’m giving them information. I’m giving them encouragement. I’m giving them my story. And I’m giving them the freedom to decide.