My Mom Pressured Me To Take A Leave From Harvard Because My Sister Struggled To Finish School. I Refused — So They Told Me To Move Out. Years Later, When My Mom Faced A Serious Health Diagnosis, She Asked Me For Help With Treatment. I Only Said:

I’d call home from the dorm common room trying to catch up and half the conversation would be my mom talking about how hard Brooke was working, how the tips weren’t fair, how the world was rigged against her generation.

Then my mom would pivot almost in the same breath to telling me not to forget to have fun, not to burn out, not to turn into one of those people who only cares about their career.

It always left me with this odd hollow feeling like no matter what I did, I was a little bit wrong.

When my app, a small, clunky health tool I’d been building for a class, won a campus competition and came with a modest grant and a boosted financial aid package.

I called my mom as soon as I left the auditorium.

I could hear the store sounds in the background, beeping scanners, hangers scraping metal rods, muffled pop music.

They’re giving you more money? She asked over the noise. Like actual money?

Some of it goes straight to tuition? I explained. Some is a stipend.

And they want to connect me with an alum who works in healthcare.

It’s a big deal.

She let out this long breath.

Half relief, half calculation.

That’s great, baby, she said. Every dollar helps. Maybe now I can stop robbing Peter to pay Paul.

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