Going Back to School at 53: How Scary Is It, Really?

I’d always had an interest in public relations, so that’s the path I chose.

My husband was completely supportive of my new adventure as a full-time student, and before I knew it, I was accepted into the program.

That summer, in the middle of a pandemic, I went shopping for “back-to-school” clothes and stocked up on supplies like a kid again.

But just before classes began, I got the email: everything would be virtual.

Honestly, I was fine with that. It meant staying safe during COVID, being home with my three dogs, and—if I’m being truthful—avoiding the awkwardness of being the “mature student” surrounded by 20-year-olds. I couldn’t imagine what we’d possibly have in common.

When September rolled around, I logged on for my very first class with a knot in my stomach. There I was, on camera, looking at 25 young faces that were just as nervous as I felt.

Our professor had us introduce ourselves and share why we were taking the course. When it was my turn, I told my story—different from theirs, of course, but no one batted an eye. If anything, they seemed curious. And as it turned out, I was actually older than some of my professors! For some reason, that still makes me laugh.

The first semester flew by. I started to really like my classmates. I joined a weekly radio show, worked on group projects, and my marks were excellent. Honestly, I realized I might have enjoyed high school more if I’d tried harder back then—back in the days when I thought I already knew everything.

After Christmas break, though, came another email: classes were moving back in person.
That sent me into a full-blown panic.

I forced myself to attend a few classes, but the anxiety was overwhelming. It was easier to hide behind a screen than sit in a crowded room, so I withdrew from the program. My professors were stunned. My classmates probably were too.

At home, I moped. I told myself I had plenty of good reasons—fear of COVID, social anxiety, discomfort—but deep down, I knew I’d quit because it was easier than facing my fears.

Ten days later, I emailed one of my professors and asked to meet. She welcomed me with open arms, listened, and helped me make some adjustments that worked better for me. And just like that, I was back. In person.

Now I’m finishing up my second semester and looking ahead to September. I even switched programs slightly—turns out I loved the media side of public relations most of all, so that’s where I’ll be focusing.

I’m 54 now, and I still don’t know exactly what I want to be when I grow up, but I’m loving every step of this journey. I can’t wait for the day I walk across the stage and accept that piece of paper that says, “Hey look, you did it.”

If you’re thinking about making a big change, here’s my advice: go for it. Even if it scares you. Especially if it scares you.

The anticipation is usually far worse than the reality.

I may not have a lot in common with the 20-year-olds, but that’s okay. They’re a wonderful group of people, and I enjoy seeing the journeys they’re on just as much as they seem to enjoy mine.

My professors have been amazing. I’ve never once regretted going back—only that I almost let fear rob me of the chance.