I found an old checkbook recently — the one I used during high school and college. I was on top of the world back then. By senior year of high school I was a valedictorian, president of my class, and a state champion in volleyball and tennis. Believing that I really could become anything I wanted, I was excited to go to college. My mom always said she’d pay for my education, since her father did the same for her and her five siblings. This enhanced the illusion that my possibilities were endless.

Thanks to scholarships, graduation money and years of saving from a half a dozen odd jobs, I was ready to go to the University of Michigan with almost $20,000 of my own money. I knew that was a lot of money for a high school kid, even for a privileged kid who grew up in a wealthy household in the affluent city of Grand Rapids MI. My father was a successful lawyer, owning a couple of businesses on the side. Money helped us to see and do many things, for which I am extremely fortunate. But how fortunate was I really, in the long run, to have parents with money?

As college neared I learned my father was never on the same page as my mom on the whole paying-for-my-kid’s-education philosophy. He worked to put himself through school so he thought I should too. Before I could begin to wrap my head around what that meant, the first bill arrived for my fall tuition, room and board. That is when I started to realize how unfortunate my parents’ money actually was. I received little financial aid from the government because FAFSA operates on one simple equation: parents have money = parents give kid money = government doesn’t need to give kid money. What happens to the kids whose parents don’t abide by this assumption, like me?

Receiving that first bill, it was abruptly clear my expectations for college had to be seriously re-evaluated. I was a bright, accomplished and an ambitious high school student, but I had no real experience in managing real world finances, much less paying for college. Plenty of people pay for their own education, as I have, and for the most part they learn a great deal from the experience. But at what cost to financial and emotional stability should paying for higher education batter young adults who choose to go to college? At the end of four years of paying for my education at a well-respected yet expensive public university, I questioned whether my degree was worth the trauma.

Fall 2003 – Spring 2005

The financial aid I received first semester included $1,294 from Uncle Sam and $1,875 in scholarships, forcing me to use over $4,900 of my high school savings to cover the remainder of the whopping $8,100 bill. Trying to make up for this expense, I found my first college job: a technician in a research lab at the University of Michigan Dental School. That was perfect, since I had already been accepted to the Dental School, provided I kept a B+ average as an undergrad, took the required classes, and passed the hands-on part of the dental exam. College was going to be a cinch.

Living very frugally my first two years of college, I still managed to enjoy them. Looking back, I believe I actually was extremely responsible with my money. It was well-spent on my education, living expenses and invaluable growth experiences forged into unforgettable memories. I enjoyed classes and only missed a couple each semester; yes, I was a nerd. I responsibly enjoyed road trips to away matches with the club tennis team, parties on the weekend, a couple of concerts, and the occasional medium skim chai tea latte from Espresso Royale™ on my way to the diag. Growing up and learning a lot, I felt pretty good about my direction. I loved the University of Michigan.

I also discovered how cheap things are at Walmart™ and on Meijer™ Super Saturdays. Nothing gets a poor college kid to the grocery store on Saturday morning like Meijer Super Saturdays. Thrift stores were another great find. New clothes — hell yeah Goodwill™. Living in the dorms had its perks too. I was on the 13-meals-per-week plan, but I snuck out food in my backpack to cover the rest. And how about that cheap liquor? I don’t think I’ll ever be able to look at a liter of Popov™ without gagging, but it did its job back then.

Upon completion of my sophomore year, I had racked up almost $7,000 in government student loans and had paid the University of Michigan an additional $24,000 from accumulated savings, scholarships, and wages. I am proud that I paid for two years of college on my own, but at the time, having already exhausted my savings, I was mortified by the possibility of failure.

Summer 2005

The summer after my sophomore year I had two years down and two to go. A couple of girlfriends and I decided to stay in Ann Arbor MI, take summer classes, and enjoy being on our own. We sublet a friend’s house, paying only one month’s rent for our 4-month stay. However, after getting situated into the new digs, I was staring down the summer with only $100 in my checking account. I had bled my high school savings dry. Fuck.

My first financial panic wave hit me. What went through my mind was something along the lines of, ‘Okay, it was all going to be alright, right? I could work up to 15 hours per week at the lab, and be even more frugal. I could find another job too. Tuition wasn’t that expensive for summer classes either. I can still do this. I can pay for my own college without my parents’ help.’

Why didn’t I look for additional loans or other assistance, you ask? Well, I was strong-willed and had always been self-sufficient. And if my dad could put himself through college by working then I could too. I had to. Always trying to earn his respect, I needed to prove to him that I could survive without him. With no guidance from my parents, working hard to earn money was the only option I saw.

That summer I scoped out every opportunity to make money that I could. While taking statistics and physical chemistry classes, I worked at the research lab, the annual Ann Arbor Art Fair, and I did miscellaneous odd jobs for a 40-year-old cat lady named Phyllis. No joke, she owned nine cats. I biked almost three miles each way to this divorcé’s house to pull weeds, plant flowers, mow her lawn, do data entry, and help her take her cats to the vet. Sometimes she gave me a few Oreos™ and lemonade on the really hot days too — I felt like a child. I was a 20-year-old college student sweating it for $5.25 an hour doing work typical of kids half my age. I didn’t really have another choice though, I needed money and there was only so much time between classes, studying, and my job at the lab. And Phyllis was flexible.

Going into junior year of college, I was proud of myself. I was sick of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and ramen noodles, but I had worked hard that summer to get ahead financially. More meaningfully, I broke out of my comfort zone and met countless people. I always appreciated the value of hard work, but actually getting out from under my parents and viewing the world with less green in my wallet made me realize just how invaluable working hard and saving money really is. I had earned $1,400 that summer, but I had no clue how far it would go. Looking back at my checkbook, I remember those emotional next two years.

Fall 2005

Fall tuition for junior year was completely covered by a $650 scholarship and just over $4,700 in student loans. And no longer living in the dorms, I didn’t have to pay food and rent up-front at the start of each semester. Instead I shared a room in a 5-bedroom house with six other girls; it was going to be a blast!

A few quick months’ worth of rent, tennis matches, utility bills, and school books later, I was sitting less-than-pretty with just over $100 in my checking account. How the hell did I go through $1,300 in three months? Right then, my face smacked into a brick wall — my second financial panic wave — leaving a scar on my psyche as I admitted to myself that it might not be possible to pay for college without outside help. But I didn’t give up yet.

For the next month I became a hermit. No tennis matches. No parties. No eating out. No chai tea lattes from Espresso Royal. At least it was easy to hide behind the, ‘I’m studying for finals’ excuse. At my lowest point that semester, I signed up for a Discover™ credit card just to get a free Subway™ sandwich. I hated the University of Michigan.

Melancholy, stick-skinny and unbelievably disheartened, I hitched a ride home for my week and a half winter break. “You look good,” my dad said when I walked in the door. And therein lies the perfect example of our radically extraneous relationship. Pretending not to notice how awful I looked and felt, he handed me $500 on Christmas morning. Awesome, now I could pay December rent, which was only a month late at that point.

And my poor mother. I hated feeling that my dejected spirit was hurting her but I wasn’t strong enough to completely hide my resentment toward the situation. Guilty from her broken but well-intentioned promise, my mom generously gave me some of her savings. She knew I needed it more than her even though she wasn’t working at the time. I swallowed my own pride and took the Christmas money from her. That Christmas we cooked delicious homemade meals and baked dozens of cookies. My mom fattened me up, both physically and spiritually, and I hoped this timely rejuvenation would carry into the New Year.

Winter 2006

Another $4,700 in student loans — now totaling just over $19,000 — and a $650 scholarship covered my tuition for the winter 2006 semester. But I didn’t have any more money in my checking account than I had at the beginning of the year, even with my parents’ generous Christmas presents. And that semester I paid $100 more per month in rent because the girl I shared a room with studied abroad in Spain. To try to keep my spirits up and my focus on school instead of money, my wonderful mother padded my checking account a few more times over the second semester of junior year. I wouldn’t have made it through that year without her. She covered a couple months’ rent and I managed to eek out the rest. Although I felt sad that I couldn’t do it on my own, I was thankful for her help.

I played tennis matches again and hung out with friends as long as I didn’t spend too much money. My stingy streak continued, though. I impulsively bought a cute thong online from Victoria Secret™ before Valentine’s Day, but returned it a few days later. I couldn’t even justify a $3.52 thong; how ridiculous. At least I had tennis and intramural volleyball acting as stress relievers. Hitting balls as hard as I could was the only thing that calmed me down.

As before, the bills, books, sports and groceries — even purchased during Meijer Super Saturdays — wiped out my account. For the most part I kept on a smiling mask through all of the parties, tennis practices and study sessions, but I was exhausted from constantly watching my checking account toggle just above zero. My mind was always on money. After my last final I had about $200 to my name. That’s when my roommate who I shared a room with first semester came back to town.

She was on the lease and I was subletting from her all year. Even though we weren’t going to live in the house past April she wanted me to cover all four months of our room’s rent for the summer. Her parents couldn’t afford it, she said. WHAT?! Her parents! I had never been mean to anyone in my life before then. I can’t believe how hard I had to fight to split the summer rent for our room, but we worked it out. That summer I decided to leave Ann Arbor and live with my friends in Milwaukee WI who would let me stay for free. I needed a break.

Summer 2006

Summer in Milwaukee was a great relief from constant financial worries. Teaching tennis revived me, and I was also able to find an additional kick-ass job: balloon artist plus carnie. My technical title was something like ‘business intern,’ but basically I blew up balloons in a store and monitored carnival games, rides and concessions at company picnics. It didn’t pay any more than the research lab back at school, but it made me enjoy life, something I hadn’t felt at school in over a year.

All I did that summer was work, eat and play tennis. At the end of that much needed stress-free four months I was mentally ready to go back to school. By the end of August I had almost $2,000 to take back to Ann Arbor, which could last me rent for the entire first semester. If loans covered tuition again I could easily get by without mom’s help. This thought made me proud again. But continuing on my financial roller coaster, it was to be short-lived.

Fall 2006

A few days before my senior year classes started, my mom explained over the phone, “Your father filed for a second tax extension, so we didn’t have the final numbers for the FAFSA until recently.” Since the government gives student aid on a first come first serve basis, this explained why I hadn’t been awarded enough loans to cover my full tuition. My father also claimed me as a dependant on his taxes so he could get more money, blocking me from getting money back on my tax return. I no longer depended on him for shit, but he still reaped the benefits as if I did. My hope for making it through this semester on my own was shattered, through no fault of my own.

Choking back angry tears, a panic hit me again during that phone conversation with my mom. The following week I owed September rent ($491.67), my security deposit ($737.50) and fall tuition ($1,382.79). $2,000 was all I had. Trying to calm me down my mom offered to pay my tuition. That would be the only financial help she could offer me this year since she was going back to school and couldn’t afford more. Tuition was due in one week, and I didn’t see another way. Even though I felt terrible for taking her money, I graciously accepted her kind offer.

Why didn’t I seek out an additional loan this time you ask? Well, having already obtained over $23,000 in student loans, I knew that borrowing more would drag me even further into debt. I did the math, and I knew that if I got another job I could put myself through this semester, without tacking on more years of paying back student loans. Also, part of me felt that taking out more loans was the easy way out, which would be failing in my father’s eyes. Why I was still trying to impress him at such an expense, I have no idea, but I continued to try.

Between tennis practices, classes, my job at the lab, and studying, I managed to land another campus job with my work study money: an office assistant in the Medical School Grants Office. There was enough time in my week to work ten hours at the lab, ten hours at the grants office and go to all of my classes. During the week I only worked, went to class, studied and slept. By the end of September, I rarely went out with friends, I cut down on tennis matches, and I barely ate enough to keep going. I lived off of cereal, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, tuna and crackers (my roommates can attest to that), frozen chicken, apples, and the occasional $1 pizza slice.

Every purchase had to be justified as a necessity, and I was always open for opportunities to make a buck. I enrolled in several psychology experiments on campus that paid cash on the spot, usually $20 or more. Sometimes I needed to skip class for the experiments, making me feel guilty while earning enough food money for one week. Even more shameful, I sold most of my home football tickets. Yes, I know that what I did was wrong. My veins bled maize and blue back then, as they do now and always will. But the truth is I really needed the money, even at the expense of losing all those memories in the Big House.

One day I came home from class and my roommates really wanted Arby’s™ for dinner, my favorite fast food chain. Immediately I started salivating for a roast turkey and swiss Market Fresh™ sandwich, curly fries next to a pile of ketchup, and a Jamocha™ shake. I became angry because I couldn’t really afford it. Sadly, I had shut myself off to almost everything that made me happy. I considered denying myself this one little pleasure, but then I realized how ridiculous it was to fret over fast food. That evening I ate the most delicious meal of the entire semester.

My major was Brain, Behavior and Cognitive Science at one of the most competitive schools in the country. I should’ve been concentrating more on my classes. I used to love school, before college. Now all school meant to me was being poor and struggling to eat and pay bills. I was only spending money on necessities (tennis was necessary for my sanity), but my two jobs only gave me enough each month to cover rent and some bills, so I slowly fell behind. Approaching my 22nd birthday, I wasn’t focused enough on school or having fun like most college kids. I needed a third job.

Two professors who lived a block away offered me $12 an hour to clean their house bi-weekly. Those four hours every other week were cathartic and gave me time to think about ways to avoid going out to dinner or splitting a 30-pack with friends. Shutting myself off from almost everything that revolved around spending money, I sank slowly into depression. There is no way to make light of listening to Elliot Smith alone in my room while staring at a full bottle of ibuprofen. Constantly on the verge of crying but too numb to actually shed tears, I went through each day like a zombie. Working three jobs and mustering just enough energy to complete my classes, the days that semester blurred together.

Some Friday and Saturday nights I stayed in my room playing Snood™ or TriPeaks™ for hours, too sad to study or hang out with people. The furnace broke in our house once, dropping the temp under 40 degrees for two days. A pipe broke too, flooding the basement with poop water. My friend bribed me to go out with her by buying me a drink one Saturday. I became the charity case on my 40-player tennis team as the only one who couldn’t afford the uniform. Luckily the captains were able to give me one for free. My work study money ran out, so the lab cut my hours in half and the grants office shaved my hourly wage by $5.

The only purchases I made during those long four months unrelated to school, tennis, medicine or food were birthday clothes. And I only justified those after returning a birthday gift from a friend. In school, even if I achieved all A’s both semesters that year I still couldn’t bring my GPA above 3.3 in order to matriculate into the Dental School as planned. My world was falling apart. I asked my school counselor how to emancipate from my parents in hopes of getting more financial aid, only to learn I couldn’t.

One Friday I finally broke. I left my drug-focused psychopathology class to bawl in the bathroom because my heroin-addicted cousin couldn’t come to my tennis match the next day. He was in jail for stealing. I started crying when I thought of my cousin, but the built-up pain from my disheveled life also reached the surface. After a couple minutes I wasn’t sad or angry, but I couldn’t stop sobbing. It was just too much to keep inside. I felt just as much locked up as my cousin was, trapped in my mind of sadness and suicidal thoughts.

I don’t remember Christmas that year. My checkbook indicates there was less than $1 in my bank account when I went home for the holiday. My last semester’s tuition bill — $5,500 — arrived just after New Year’s Day. Loans would cover half this time, leaving about $2,800 for me. Upon reading this number I felt no panic wave. No sadness. No anger. Just acceptance. My depression left me numb of all feelings, detached from everything. Exhausted of trying to work my way through college, I gave up right there and I didn’t even care.

Winter 2007

The day I returned to Ann Arbor, my counselor gave me instructions on how to get a private loan. I asked for $10,000. This would cover tuition, books, tennis, and the last eight months of rent, leaving me about $3,000 to spare. I don’t know that I would have survived that last semester if it was a continuation of the first. Money didn’t bring me happiness. It kept me alive.

Not remembering what it was like to have money, I was still extremely frugal that last semester. I continued my work at the lab, the grants office and cleaning my neighbors’ house. The depression failed to cease but I forced myself to be more social and concentrate on school more. Partaking in tennis parties and road trips, hanging out with friends, taking walks with my roommates when spring came around, and studying for calculus and psychology classes were highlights of my last semester at the University of Michigan. My first college 4.0 was well overdue but extremely satisfying, and definitely attributable to having extra money. I was beginning to feel feelings again.

Graduation day, April 24, 2007, was both relieving and gratifying. I was so eager to leave school behind, even though that also meant saying goodbye to many close friends. All I could think about was finding a job. Just as the economy started declining, I was applying to anything I could find that sounded interesting. However, Brain, Behavior and Cognitive Science doesn’t get you anywhere unless you go to more school. That was not an option; at least not right then.

The Afterlife

After nine months of searching, I finally landed a job that required a bachelor’s degree even though it had nothing to do with my college studies. Today, three years after graduation, I still have a job during a rough recession in the somewhat related realm of behavioral medicine, but I am not getting ahead financially. Graduating college with over $35,000 in student loan debt I don’t see how I can. I’m paying off my loans as aggressively as my income allows, dedicating about 20% of every paycheck to this seemingly never-ending debt. I’m barely keeping up with interest. The loan calculators say I’ll pay it off in about 25 years. So, when I make my last payment at 50 years old, my degree will have cost well over $70,000.

To be saddled with a near lifetime of debt after such a promising start makes me wonder if higher education really is the answer to the American dream. Barely able to save $100 a month, I could make more money giving tennis lessons, doing construction, or even collecting trash. If I ever want to find a job that makes more money in my field I would need to go back to school. But associating higher education with depression, horrible financial struggles, and decades of debt, I am extremely hesitant to return to school.

On the bright side, however, I’m fortunate to have a job, I can afford my shared, 2-bedroom apartment, I am close to owning my car, and although still very frugal I no longer obsess over every little dime. Perhaps with better financial guidance I might have succeeded as a dentist, but because of my college experience I am confident that I can at least survive tough financial challenges. And as I work hard to pay off my loans, my new checkbook does look better than the old one. In recent months I’ve even started entertaining the idea of returning to school for nursing. Having learned from my first college experience, I am confident that I can responsibly finance my education. This time I’ll succeed academically, financially, and emotionally, emerging with better chances for a more fruitful career in the health sciences.