By Allison Krug, Founder of Moms4Math and Artemis Professional Coaching

“Giftedness is not a gift. It is developed through curiosity, hard work, and a bit of nonconformity.” ~

Crouching in grief, I felt helpless, small, impotent to nudge our 18-year-old son to make what we believed was a smarter choice about staying in college. For a few days I felt guilty, ashamed, embarrassed, and blamed. Our family has been deeply involved in education for years — volunteering in the classroom, serving on advisory boards, and even starting a 501c3 to help mothers teach their children math.

We knew this first year of college would be interesting—our oldest son had headed off happy to be independent but he was already burned out on school. As we dropped him off in August, we held out hope that a new setting and the chance to make friends would invigorate him a bit, re-ignite an appreciation for school or at least a degree which would be useful down the road. That was not to be, and despite seeing the writing on the wall for months, intentionally steeling ourselves for that day, when hope came crashing down around me in a matter of hours it felt more like the shock of an earthquake than the release of a brewing storm.

“I wanna go to war.”

Move-in went well. Experienced movers thanks to the military, my husband and I happily fussed about installing fans and stowing pencils. “Look,” he finally barked, “just leave. I wanna go to war.” We had given him my husband’s seabag from his first submarine to carry much of his gear, and he wanted the agency to set himself up.

Christmas came and with it a reckoning with reality. We were shattered by the most exceptionally low GPA I’d ever seen in my life. “I see you’ve joined the squares club,” my husband said. I’d say this was a shock, but high school was a shot across the brow. Having earned 46 college credits by senior year and despite a 3.89 GPA, he had barely graduated from his STEM academy. Homework was not necessary for him to learn, the work was not stimulating, pandemic hangover rules stifled classroom discourse and budding friendships, exit tickets and homework added no value and just didn’t get done. He was failing a required high school freshman chem course so he asked to drop it and take the end-of-year test instead. The high school capitulated. He earned Advanced on the SOL without studying. He was out…

…But not in the headspace to really look forward to more bureaucracy, linear learning, and prescribed pathways. To my son, learning should be entirely driven by what you want to do with yourself. “You are what you do,” he said over Thanksgiving. “Creativity is the wildcard. IQ is not very meaningful.” School, to him, is the anathema of learning.

At university, he was a freshman, academically he was coded as a sophomore, but his scores and prior dual enrollment work placed him into junior math and physics courses. He was accustomed to being three to four years out of sync with his peers but maybe we were all a bit surprised that the work was still under-stimulating, the routine as numbing as high school had been. Socially he had a great time away at school playing guitar with a few lads, and physically he flourished between the gym and the dining hall. Given that he’d had to move during the pandemic from Japan to virtual school in a new high school, we were so happy to see him thriving on most fronts away at university. The academic stuff was a royal pain in the ass…but we’d somewhat braced for that. We didn’t expect a 4.0. Not even close.

“I can’t justify the why.”

The holiday weeks went by, and the weekend to return loomed ahead. As the sun streamed through the kitchen window one afternoon, I turned from the sink to face him while he used the microwave. I was responding to a visceral desire that our son know that we loved him no matter what, that the decision was his, that we were not disappointed in him, but that we also wished he could find a way to make his path less difficult later in life. I asked him to please look me in the eye as I told him this, I wanted to be sure he knew we loved him. I didn’t want him feeling that he was disappointing us, even if he put on his armor, shunned our advice, and decided not to go back—we loved him. He had to know that. The fact is, a college degree does open doors. A fact is a fact. Going solo is harder. My husband said the same thing to him but left the final decision in his hands.

He decided to go the next day and was ready to leave 10 minutes early. Things seemed to be clicking...

Ten days later things were not trending well out at school. Our son’s advisor said he wasn’t going to class, he didn’t seem like he wanted to be there, he hadn’t added a class he needed, the deadline had passed, a form wasn’t filled out… No one was reaching out and trying to engage with him. I had tried to pull any string in the fall but there was no such resource. Mental health services are everywhere, but the student has to activate that path. And he wasn’t looking for that kind of help. There is no academic outreach or student engagement person who looks at real-time indicators to see a train going off the tracks. No one does that. And even if they did, they don’t have the right kind of support to re-engage.

He decided the best choice was to call the ball and leave, resign.

A day into the extraction project, calculating the financial impact and the murky way forward, I found myself in Tractor Supply Company looking for a way to thank a kind lady in the Bursar’s office. I spotted a sign hanging from the ceiling at Tractor Supply boasting: “Answers for Life Out There.” Ha! Tempting. Plus, there were four hapless employees standing around at a desk under the sign. Most of the time I have enough self-awareness to know that what I’m tempted to do is super weird, cringe. Often, I hold back. (My family would counter this claim.) This time I couldn’t. I was too raw, vulnerable. I had to try. “My 18-year-old is away at school but doesn’t appear to be going to classes. Thoughts?” Not sure what I really thought The Divine was capable of, but He didn’t deliver. They didn’t have anything for me.

His life is his own. I knew that I needed to shift gears from parent to coach. But how?

I grew up raising and training horses. Young horses can be sensitive to confusing signals and get annoyed. Their natural instinct is to get you off their back by bucking. (Sounds like a teen, doesn’t it?) If she bucks, the only answer is to move her feet out, go forward. If you sit there clutching and getting tense, she’s going to buck more and with a bit more intent. A novice rider really doesn’t want to move an angry horse forward for fear of losing control. It’s very counter-intuitive, but it’s the only way. Giver her the reins, let her take the bit, but nudge her forward with confidence. Get her moving, in any direction. Just get her feet moving.

Our son needed to be given his head, and a nudge forward, the confidence to move out in a direction of his own choosing.

That kind Angel in the Bursar’s office was my last contact with the school. She helped me navigate the financial mess with softness and understanding. Before we left campus, I ran into her office to present my small gifts from Tractor Supply. As we chatted in the lobby and I shared my insights about young horses (and young people), she turned to me and said, “You have to do something with this. You have to share this. Other parents need to know they’re not alone.” She shared her intense desire to do more for the parents she helps through a similar grieving process while they disentangle from the school.

As a person of faith, several times in my life an angel has appeared during a time of distress, either to provide comfort or direction. This was one such time. I had been grasping about for my purpose, sensing a pivot was at hand but did not realize yet where this would lead. As we drove home from school, we eventually got to the point. “I thought I could do it, I thought I could make myself do it,” he explained. “But I just can’t justify the why.”

Keep the feet moving forward.

All of this agony transpired over the weekend of our son’s 18th birthday. We never imagined this is how adulthood would announce itself. I realize that our culture lacks rites of passage for young men. Perhaps this collision of milestones—shouldering the responsibilities of adulthood while rejecting a sensible path—is what caused my emotional crash. I eventually realized what we have known for years: Our son has taken responsibility for feeding his own mind all along, from his earliest days of consciousness.

Maybe you remember your children doing this? As toddler he studied the hinges on the bedroom door in our friend’s home where we crash-landed for a week after moving to Hawaii. I will always remember him crouching as babies can, chubby legs out, feet flat, large head hunched over the hinge as his arms moved the door back, and forth, back, and forth. His mind has been ravenous since, and we joyfully fed it.

These are early days, but I am grateful to have him home and able to see this growth firsthand. Yes, it’s unexpected but it’s also a gift. We have a chance to keep building an adult relationship day by day, through iterations of mistake and repair. I am learning to let go, not dive in and project-manage or troubleshoot. I came to realize my purpose was to pivot from parenting to coaching, and decided to invest in a professional coaching certification program which will take a year to finish. Last week I completed the first of three modules. The skills I have gained are helping me throw away the reins but give my clients a nudge to seek wisdom within.

Much like the equestrian, a good coach gives the client her head, but encourages her to open up and go, take action. I have much to learn, and I’m sure I’ll get bucked more along the way, but my hope is to use these new skills to help other disengaged young people find their purpose and move forward. Our son’s eyes are alight with learning and creativity again, and the value of seeing that is priceless. He is forging his own way as an artist and entrepreneur, and finishing up his associates’ online for now. He paid for a new graphics processing unit (GPU) with his own funds earned by visual effects work and is answering the phone when the bank calls.

“The shortest path is not always the best path.”

It is a relief to share this story with you. If any of this resonates, know that you are not alone. Approximately 40% of young men who start college do not finish. The dropout rate, according to Virginia data, is even higher among young men with an SAT >1400 or >23 dual enrollment credits. The reasons are unclear, but one can guess that a good portion of these smart young men take great pride in discovering for themselves the knowledge they need to do what they want. These young men may be quite prone to seeing school as irrelevant. Some may be unyielding in their resolve to only do what they find value in. The red flags show up early, often by middle school.

Please reach out if you would like to work with me as a coach on school engagement or communication challenges. Each of my clients is also a teacher for me. Maybe we can help each other avoid triggering a buck…or at least ride through them with grace?

Please use the code GWORD30 for a 30% discount on all programs and services through June 30, 2023. Visit coachalli.com.

About the author:

Allison Krug, MPH Founder, Moms4Math & Artemis Coaching

Epidemiologist, health/wellness coach, book coach, academic planning, family and parenting coach specializing in giftedness.

About Moms4Math:

A Bronze level member of THE G WORD’s Global Partnership Network, Mothers for Math is a 501(c)3 not for profit charitable organization that researches public data and conducts bespoke studies to find the best programs and practices to help all kids grow in math.

About Artemis Professional Coaching:

A Bronze level member of THE G WORD’s Global Partnership Network, Artemis Professional Coaching provides coaching in the areas of health & wellness, career transition, book authorship, academic planning, and family / parenting, specializing in giftedness and proudly serving military families.

 

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