Graduation and the Transition to Adultland

Nobody talks about the absolute bizarreness of graduation, so let’s do that.

So, they did the thing. They wore the robe, crossed the stage, probably took a million photos, and now they're officially a college graduate. Congratulations. Really. But also... I’m sorry.

Because here’s the thing no one tells them while they’re handing out the diplomas and a smile: graduating from college can seriously mess with the head.

Not because they're lazy or lost or entitled or whatever buzzword their crazy uncle likes to throw around after two beers. But because leaving college is less like walking into “the real world” and more like being ejected into space without a suit. We prepare students for a job (kinda) but not the life transition. No training in personal finance, organizing time, and developing a whole new friend group.

The Illusion of the Next Step

For their whole life, everything has had a clear path. Grade school, middle school, high school, college. They knew what came next. There were applications, checklists, syllabi. They had measurable progress and a timeline. It’s what I like to refer to as scaffolding.

But now? That structure vanishes overnight. No one tells them what to do. There’s no syllabus for adulthood. There’s just their student debt, their resume, and an ever-growing existential dread whispering, “What now?”

That sudden loss of structure can feel like an identity crisis wrapped in a quarter-life panic attack.

And this is all assuming they’re one of the lucky graduates who landed a job.

Identity, Unplugged

In college, their identity was basically baked in: their major, their friend group, their clubs, their frat, the late-night pizza place that knew their order. They were someone, in a community of someones.

But graduation rips that away. One day, they're part of something; the next day, they're updating their LinkedIn headline like it matters. They move back home or to a city where no one knows them, and suddenly they're not “the president of the club” or “that smart finance major.”

They're just… another person in line at Trader Joe’s, wondering why they stopped carrying their favorite hummus.

And yeah, it’s disorienting. Because who are they without all those titles and activities and shared experiences?

Welcome to the very real identity void.

Ambiguity Is Exhausting

We love certainty. Actually, our brains love certainty (or more accurately, predictability). It clings to it like a warm blanket. So when they enter this weird liminal space—between the life they've known and the one they're still trying to build—it’s psychologically exhausting.

There’s no roadmap. No obvious benchmarks. Just endless options and FOMO and comparison paralysis. Suddenly, every social media scroll turns into a parade of “success stories” from people who got into grad school, landed a job at Deloitte, or are now influencers who somehow get paid to make matcha in aesthetically pleasing apartments.

Meanwhile, they're on TikTok trying to find “how to write a cover letter that doesn’t suck” at 2 a.m.

Loss Disguised as “Moving On”

Here’s another sneaky emotional landmine: graduation is a loss. Like, a real one.

They're leaving behind close friends, routines, campus spots that felt like home. The freedom to try stuff without the world watching. The chance to reinvent themself every semester.

But no one tells them to grieve that. Instead, it’s “onward and upward” and “what’s next?” So all that loss gets buried under job searches and awkward family dinners. Unprocessed grief doesn’t disappear. It festers.

They're Not Broken—They're Human

Let me say this clearly: if they're feeling anxious, directionless, sad, overwhelmed, or just plain “off” after graduation, there is nothing wrong with them.

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They're not lazy. They're not failing at adulthood. They're adjusting. Their brain is trying to rewire itself from 18 years of structured education to a life with infinite options and zero instructions.

That’s not a flaw—it’s biology.

So, What Can They Do?

Alright, here’s the part where I don’t give them some tidy 5-step plan to magically fix their post-grad funk. Because there isn’t one.

But here’s what I can offer:

1. Normalize the Suck. Stop pretending everything’s fine when it’s not. Encourage them to talk to their friends. Odds are they’re going through the same mess. Misery loves company, and sometimes that company turns into clarity.

2. Don’t Force a Life Plan. They don’t need a 10-year vision board right now. They need a job that pays rent and doesn’t make them hate their life. Start there. Let their future emerge through trial and error.

3. Create New Structures. Encourage them to develop anchors (eg. routines). Wake up at the same time. Set weekly goals. Start a project—even if it’s dumb. Their brain craves patterns. Give it some.

4. Grieve the End. Seriously. Light a candle, write a letter to college-them, cry over photos—whatever. But feel the loss. It’s real. And they won’t move on unless they feel it.

5. Embrace the Uncertainty. Here’s the secret: no one knows what they’re doing. Not really. Everyone’s winging it, especially in their 20s. So don’t let the ambiguity kill their—learn to surf it.

Final Thought: This Is the Beginning, Not the End

Graduation isn’t the finish line—it’s the starting gun to another adventure. But no one expects them to sprint out of the gate. They're allowed to walk. To wander. To screw up. To rest.

The pressure to “figure it all out” right away is a scam. Life isn’t a race—it’s a dance. And right now, they're learning the steps.

So encourage them to give themselves some grace. Embrace the weirdness. And remember: just because something feels hard doesn’t mean they're doing it wrong.

It means they're growing.

Even if they don’t have a syllabus anymore.