Lisa Goldberg Brown
There are two versions of college drop-off.
There’s the Instagram version flooding your feed: the perfectly made dorm bed, the cute throw pillows, the peel-and-stick wallpaper, the smiling family under the university sign. Mom posts something about new beginnings. Dad is suddenly wearing a school T-shirt. The kid is hugging her parents voluntarily.
It’s lovely.
Then there’s the version happening just outside the frame.
You’re sweaty. Your child is annoyed. You’ve already made one emergency Target run, and somehow the room is getting smaller with every box you unpack.
And this is all before you actually have to say goodbye.
The Drive There
Instagram:
“Car packed. Iced Matcha, check. College playlist on. One last family road trip before the big adventure begins. #MakingMemories, #MoveInDay”
Reality:
You’re already 40 minutes behind schedule.
The car is so full you can’t see out the back window.
There’s a mattress topper where your feet should be. Your husband wants to know why anyone needs nine pairs of shoes. Your child has put in her AirPods, which feels unnecessarily hostile considering this was supposed to be family time.
Four hours to go.
Moving In
Instagram:
“Making this little space feel like home. #DormSweetDorm”
Reality:
It’s 92 degrees, the dorm was apparently built before elevators and air conditioning were invented, and you’re carrying a plastic drawer unit up three flights of stairs.
Your daughter is carrying a pillow.
Then you discover you forgot Command hooks.
Off to Target.
Unfortunately, every other mother within a 15-mile radius has also forgotten Command hooks.
You come back $183 poorer with a fan, two extension cords, protein bars, Advil and several things nobody remembers putting in the cart.
Still no Command hooks.
The Dorm Room Reveal
Instagram:
“Perfection! I just love how this room turned out! The girls’ matching bedding and custom headboards look amazing; the bedskirt is the perfect addition to hide her 10 extra storage drawers; and the peel-and-stick wallpaper totally elevates the space. #DormRoomGoals #DormRoomInspo”
Reality:
The rug doesn’t fit.
The storage drawers don’t fit under the bed.
Wallpaper? You can’t even cut shelf liner correctly.
You messed up the initial placement in her monogram and now her pillow says “PMS”.
Meanwhile, the roommate’s mother is already finished and her side looks fantastic.
Meeting the Roommate
Instagram:
These two are going to have the BEST year! #Bestiesforlife #WonTheRoommateLottery
Reality:
You are trying very hard not to interrogate an 18-year-old.
She seems nice.
You casually chat with her parents while quietly collecting as much information as possible.
Is she neat? Is she a morning person? Does she snore? Is that a ferret?
The Goodbye
Instagram:
“We arrived with a car packed to the roof and left with empty seats, full hearts and a few more tears than we expected. 🥹❤️ Today, we didn’t just drop our baby off at college—we watched her step into the life she’s been dreaming about. Sweet girl, spread those wings, chase every dream, find your people, make memories that last a lifetime and never forget where home is. We are always here when you need us. We couldn’t be prouder of the beautiful young woman you’ve become. Your next chapter starts now, and we know it’s going to be your best one yet. Fly high, baby girl. The world is yours. 🎓✨💕 #AndJustLikeThat #LetThemFly #ProudMom #OurBabyIsGrowingUp #NewBeginnings #ChaseYourDreams #TheBestIsYetToCome”
Reality:
You’ve thought about this moment for months. You had meaningful things you wanted to say.
Instead, your child says, “Okay, I think I’m good.”
Oh.
We’re doing this now.
You hug her.
You say, “Text me.”
She says, “I will.”
You say, “And don’t forget—”
She gives you the look.
Fine.
Your husband says, “We should probably go.”
The Drive Home
Nobody posts this part.
For the first ten minutes, you talk about whether she has enough towels.
Then it is quiet.
Your husband reminds you that this is a good thing. She’s happy. She’s ready. This is what you wanted.
You know all of this.
It doesn’t help.
So you do the one thing guaranteed to make you feel better.
You check her location.
She’s at Chipotle.
Okay. Good.
She’s eating.
Later That Night
The house feels different. Not dramatically different. Just…off.
You walk past her room and notice clothes on the floor that would have annoyed you 48 hours ago. Now you find them strangely comforting.
You wonder what she’s doing. Has she met people? Is she having fun? Is it too soon to text?
Yes, but you text anyway.
No response.
You pour a glass of wine.
Then your phone buzzes.
“Mom where did you put the Advil”
And just like that, you’re needed again.
Lisa Goldberg Brown is a writer and mother of three college-age children. Her writing reflects the humor, heart and perspective that come from surviving the late 90s and early 2000s in NYC and raising a family into adulthood.
Still getting ready for college drop-off? Check out our dorm room must-haves—real picks from parents who’ve already survived move-in day.
