I Finally Did It at 52—So Why Does My Heart Still Hurt?

At 52 years old, I can look back over my life and admit that I have made plenty of mistakes. There are things I would do differently if I could, opportunities I wish I had taken more seriously, and times when I allowed other people's opinions of me to determine how I felt about myself.

But today, I can also say something I have wanted to say for a very long time:

I finished my bachelor's degree.

I just turned in my final assignment and completed all of the requirements for graduation.

I should probably be somewhere jumping up and down, screaming, "I DID IT!"

And part of me is.

But another part of me is hurting.

The Degree I Always Wanted

After high school, I earned an associate degree in a field that I ultimately did not pursue as a career. Life continued, and although I always wanted my bachelor's degree, year after year passed without me completing it.

As I moved through my career, I began to understand just how much not having that degree could affect me professionally.

I had experience. I knew how to do the work. I knew that I was capable. But when I applied for certain jobs, it often seemed as though experience wasn't enough. No bachelor's degree sometimes meant being offered less money.

Even after finding a career that I genuinely enjoy, I experienced it firsthand. When I started, I remember making about $5,000 less per year than someone with a degree.

That stayed with me.

It made me feel like I had to work twice as hard to prove that I belonged in the room.

So eventually, I made a decision.

I was going back to school.

I Started This Journey While My Mother Was Still Here

When I began working toward my bachelor's degree, my mother was still alive.

Somewhere in my mind, I think I pictured getting to the end and being able to tell her, "Mama, I did it."

But life didn't happen that way.

My mother passed away before she could see me finish.

My grandmother isn't here either. Neither is my aunt.

And that is the part of this accomplishment that I wasn't prepared for.

I reached a goal that means so much to me, but some of the people whose faces I desperately want to see aren't here to celebrate it with me.

That's a strange kind of pain.

I'm proud of myself.

I'm happy.

I'm relieved.

And I'm hurting.

All of those feelings are existing in me at the same time.

Sometimes Success Has an Empty Seat Beside It

I don't know if anyone else has experienced this.

You work toward something for years. You imagine what it will feel like when you finally accomplish it. Then the moment comes, and instead of feeling nothing but happiness, you notice the empty seats.

You think about the phone call you can't make.

You think about the person who would have bragged about you to everybody who would listen.

You think, I wish you were here to see me now.

That's where I am.

I keep trying to concentrate on the good because I know this is an accomplishment worth celebrating. But grief doesn't disappear simply because something wonderful happened.

Sometimes happiness and sadness sit right next to each other.

I'm learning that maybe I don't have to choose between them.

I Wish They Could See Me Now

There is another part of this journey that makes me emotional.

I remember being around people who made me feel small.

Looking back, I realize there were people I called friends who didn't really value me. I allowed their opinions and treatment of me to affect how I saw myself because, at the time, I didn't know myself well enough—or love myself enough—to recognize that I deserved better.

That woman feels so far away from who I am today.

Today, I can look at myself and say:

You did this.

You went back to school.

You worked.

You handled responsibilities.

You experienced loss.

You kept going when life didn't look anything like you expected it to.

And at 52 years old, you finished your bachelor's degree.

When I think about how far I've come, sometimes all I can do is cry.

Maybe "Getting It Together" Doesn't Have a Deadline

Part of my sadness comes from wishing my mother, grandmother, and aunt had lived long enough to see me finally "get it together."

But I've been thinking about that phrase.

Maybe getting your life together isn't one big moment.

Maybe life is a series of moments where we finally understand something we weren't ready to understand before.

Maybe at 30 you learn one lesson.

At 40, another.

And at 50, life sits you down and teaches you a whole new set of lessons.

I cannot go backward and become the woman I think I should have been 20 years ago.

But I can be proud of the woman I became at 52.

And I am.

This One Is for Them—and for Me

I wish my mother were here.

I wish my grandmother were here.

I wish my aunt were here.

Nothing I accomplish will change that.

So I'm allowing myself to miss them instead of feeling guilty because I'm sad during what is supposed to be a happy moment.

But I'm also going to celebrate.

Because I worked hard for this.

For so many years, I wanted this degree. There were times when not having it affected my career, my income, and even how I saw myself.

Not anymore.

At 52 years old, I earned my bachelor's degree.

Maybe my journey took longer than someone else's.

Maybe I made some wrong turns along the way.

Maybe some of the people I wanted standing beside me at the finish line couldn't stay long enough to see me cross it.

But I crossed it.

And perhaps that's another lesson I'm learning in this second half of my life:

You can be proud and still grieve. You can celebrate and still cry. You can miss the people you love and still keep moving forward.

Those feelings don't cancel each other out.

They are simply proof that something—and someone—mattered.

Today, I am happy.

Today, I am hurting.

And today, I am incredibly proud of myself.

I did it.