Have you ever thought about what your life would be like 10, 15 years down the road? Will you be married to the (wo)man of your dreams, doing what you love every day, helping others, tending to kids of your own? What about the life of your family and friends? Where will the rest of college take your classmates, best friends, brothers and sisters? Will Mom and Dad be living a happy retirement, traveling the world and finally living the life they’ve always deserved to live?

While all of these questions seem like reasonable questions to ask yourself every now and again, I’m haunted by them every day. I’ve always worried about the future, even from a very young age. I remember being 8 years old, lying in bed at night and asking myself, “Why do I have to grow up?” and, “What’s going to happen to Mom and Dad once I’m all grown up?” And every time these questions would conjure up in my young mind, my thoughts would always leave me crying myself to sleep. It frightened me to think about the future, what it’s going to look like, and who all will remain in my life.

But my real fear of growing up hit me on my 18^th birthday – Sunday, July 21^st, 2013. Just a month earlier, I had graduated from high school, my sister had moved to Chicago to start her “big girl job,” and three of my best friends had already left for college. I remember so vividly on the Saturday night before my birthday, sitting in my sister’s bed with questions racing through my head as the minutes ticked down to midnight. I remember wishing that it was all a bad dream, that I wasn’t turning 18 and becoming a legal adult, that I could forever stay 17 (or even younger) and never have to leave my parents to be by themselves.

With every minute that passed, I felt my heart beat faster, and it seemed like I was starring in my own scary movie. Every tick of the clock was the sound of my footsteps getting closer to the ominous door, and I so badly wanted to scream at myself to stop, to turn back time, to wake up and be 10 years old again. But time and life do not work that way. You can’t turn back time, you can’t stop it and you can’t slow it down. All you can do is move forwards with it. So, at 11:59 p.m. on Saturday, July 20^th, 2013, I held my breath and counted down the 60 seconds I had left of my childhood. As the clock stuck 12, I cried. I wasn’t ready to be an adult. I wasn’t ready to leave for college. I wasn’t ready to take on this life on my own.

And in that moment, I was 8 years old again – crying myself to sleep, terrified at what tomorrow and the rest of this life would bring to me, my family and my friends. Only this time when I woke up, I wasn’t 8 years old. I was 18. I was an adult. I shouldn’t be afraid of irrational things like growing up. But I was. And I still am.

Every day, I put up a fight with myself, pushing away those petrifying questions that so badly want to take over my mind. And through the years, I’ve come to realize that it’s not just my growing older that frightens me – it’s my parents growing older that scares me the most. While I’m growing older in college, away from my mom and dad, each day that passes is one less day I have to spend with them. And what about after college? I’ll move away from home, have less breaks to visit and lose even more days to share with my parents.

While this fear of growing older has been one of the hardest fears for me to face, it’s given me a greater appreciation for the time that I do have with my parents. Time that I’ll cherish with them every chance I get. Time that reminds me of just how blessed I am to have two hardworking, loving and selfless parents. Time that I wish no one ever takes for granted.