So in February 2010 I went back to school.

For the third time.

Another attempt to finish my bachelors degree in psychology. I was a single parent, half a year away from turning 37 years old. My daughter? Fourteen going on 15 (going on 25).

The week before classes began, I started training to learn life insurance servicing at a brand new full time job. I lost my full time job of two plus years at the end of September-heavily influenced by my mental health diagnosis. Several years beforehand, at the end of 2005, I lost the full time job I’d worked for eight years. Undiagnosed until thirty days before my termination, a counselor informed me I was “manic depressive”. As of 2009, my diagnosis had a new name, Bi-Polar Disorder. It was still the same condition, only the name had changed.

This time returning to school-took. Thanks to the cooperation of my teenage daughter (as much as teens are cooperative) and my current-but then brand new-boyfriend, my bachelors degree in psychology was conferred. The next graduation ceremony was scheduled three months before my 39th birthday, on Mother’s Day weekend 2012.

I decided to attend graduation for the School of Psychology, but not the earlier ceremony for the entire university. When the big day rolled around, my daughter and I rode with my parents. To pass time during the 45 minute drive, I attempted to have a conversation with my mother. I chose a safe topic- the graduation card and gift I received from one of my aunts.

As an adult graduate, I had zero expectation of receiving gifts, monetary or otherwise. The sole reason for sending out announcements was that I believed finally graduating was worthy of being announced. I shared with my mother that I was incredibly touched that this particular aunt had not only been the first person to send congratulations, but she had also included a gift. It was humbling, because of the financial struggles she and my uncle typically experienced and because my uncle had only recently passed away. Continuing praise of my aunt, I commented that the irony of slower or nonexistent acknowledgment from family members with greater means was not lost on me. Not because I expected anything. Simply in comparison to the kindness and thoughtfulness of my aunt.

The irony wasn’t lost on me, but my sincerity and feeling of humbleness was definitely lost on my mother. She was-appalled? Insulted? She disdainfully responded-“ there was no need to send announcements to begin with.

I reiterated, the announcements were not sent with an expectation of receiving anything in return, but because I was proud of finally earning my degree.

“I wouldn’t be proud. I’d be embarrassed to be graduating at almost 39 years old.”

I reminded her she always expresses pride in being the first, or maybe the only, of her siblings to graduate high school. Why, I asked, should I be embarrassed to be the first from my generation of our family, to earn a college degree?

“I went to school and finished when I was supposed to. Besides, you don’t know you’re the first who graduated from college.”

She names a cousin or two who attended college and “probably graduated before you.”

Defensive now, I explain that they attended, but decided to go another direction before graduating. Next, she names someone in our family-a cousins child, I think-considerably younger than me, who graduated from college.

A final attempt-maybe somehow something mom could be proud of. “That’s great that they graduated, but-I’m part of an earlier generation in the family.

“You’re 39, not just out of high school then straight to college. They did it the right way. Went to college straight out of high school and had a great job waiting when they graduated.”

Defeated, I close my mouth and ride in silence, to my college graduation.