So You Made It to College, Now You Have to Actually Live There
- 15 hours ago
- 10 min read
April Ratchford, Occupational Therapist, Registered/Licensed, is an autistic occupational therapist and the voice behind Adulting with Autism. She supports neurodivergent adults across the world with relatable storytelling, lived wisdom, and empowering strategies for real-life challenges.
Getting accepted was one thing. Paying for it was another. But now your parents have bought enough university gear to personally fund the athletic department, your extra-long twin sheets are packed, and everybody is excited. You are probably excited too, along with terrified, overwhelmed, and wondering what the hell you just signed yourself up for. For autistic and other neurodivergent young adults, college requires an enormous amount of executive functioning that nobody puts on the admissions brochure. So let's talk about dorms, roommates, money, accommodations, routines, hygiene, grades, and what happens when Mom is no longer standing behind you with a clipboard.
First, get the stuff you actually need
If you're attending vocational school, your program will usually be pretty structured. They'll tell you what supplies, books, uniforms, equipment, or materials you need. If you're working with Vocational Rehabilitation, ask whether they can help with books, supplies, tuition, transportation, or other education-related expenses.
Community college students, same idea. Check your syllabus. Figure out whether you actually need the physical textbook, an online access code, or something else before spending $300 on a book you're going to open twice.
Four-year college students living on campus? Oh, baby. Now we've entered a whole different level of chaos.
You need bedding, toiletries, clothes, medications, chargers, laundry supplies, basic cleaning supplies, and whatever else you genuinely use. You do not need to recreate your entire childhood bedroom inside a dorm. Remember, everything you drag into that building eventually has to come back out.
Check your mattress size before buying bedding. Many residence halls use Twin XL mattresses, which are just similar enough to a regular twin that you'll confidently buy the wrong damn sheets.
Your roommate is not a non-player character (NPC)
Dorm shopping has somehow become an industry. You don't need seventeen decorative pillows, a neon sign, six storage contraptions, and an entire Target home collection. Be realistic.
A mini fridge and microwave can be useful if your residence hall permits them, but talk to your roommate first. Two people bringing two refrigerators, two microwaves, and everything else into one tiny room is how you end up living inside a very expensive storage closet.
My son, Z, already had a refrigerator and microwave when his roommate moved in, so they communicated. "Hey, I already have these. You can use them." Problem solved.
Z's roommate was also autistic and was older than him. That didn't mean they automatically had identical needs. They had to learn how to navigate one another.
Talk about sleep. Lights. Noise. Visitors. Cleaning. Food. Shared appliances. Temperature. Studying. Personal space. You don't have to become best friends, but you do have to remember that it's not the You Show.
Be considerate. Be clear. Don't assume somebody else automatically knows your boundaries.
For the love of God, keep the room reasonably clean
Your dorm isn't your bedroom at home. Nobody is coming behind you to pick everything up. Residence halls have rules. There may be health and safety inspections. Fire hazards matter. Prohibited appliances matter. Trash piled everywhere matters. Your roommate is also allowed to become irritated if your half of the room becomes a biological experiment. Which brings me to another subject nobody apparently wants to discuss with college students.
You still have to wash your ass
Yes, we're discussing activities of daily living. You are responsible for showering. Deodorant. Brushing your teeth. Washing your hair. Laundry. Changing your sheets. Eating. Taking prescribed medication. Getting enough sleep. Keeping track of toiletries. Cleaning your room. All of it.
Executive dysfunction can make supposedly simple tasks surprisingly difficult. That doesn't make the tasks disappear. If you need a routine, make one.
Set alarms. Put things where you'll see them. Make a checklist. Attach showering to another part of your morning routine. Pick a laundry day. Have a medication system that works for you.
College independence doesn't mean magically acquiring executive functioning. It means learning how to build systems around the executive functioning you actually have. Please wear deodorant. Nobody likes a stinky roommate.
Commuters, I'm looking at you too
Living at home doesn't exempt you from learning independence. If your parents are still waking you up, reminding you about every assignment, packing your lunch, washing all your clothes, tracking every appointment, and making sure you leave the house on time, college is an excellent opportunity to start taking on pieces of that responsibility.
Not everything tomorrow. Start with something, then something else. Your parents and caregivers won't always be able to manage your life for you. The goal is not to rip away every support you have. The goal is to distinguish support from dependence. Those are not the same thing.
Find student accessibility before you need it
If you're autistic, have Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD), are dyslexic, chronically ill, physically disabled, or otherwise qualify for accommodations, find your school's disability or accessibility office, preferably before classes begin.
If you're one of my Last Second Sams and Sallies and classes are already starting, go now. Depending on your documented needs and your school's policies, accommodations might include extended testing time, reduced distraction testing environments, note-taking supports, accessible materials, or other appropriate accommodations.
But here's the important part: you have to participate in this process.
College isn't high school. Your parents aren't automatically handling your educational accommodations anymore. Learn what your school requires. Learn how accommodation notifications work at your particular school. Learn what you need to communicate to professors. This is self-advocacy practice in real time.
Tell somebody before you're completely drowning
This is where I see young adults make a huge mistake. They struggle quietly. Then struggle some more. Then stop going to class. Then stop opening Canvas, Blackboard, or whatever technological hellscape their university uses.
Then suddenly it's November, and they're sitting on six missing assignments thinking, "Well, fuck." Don't wait that long. Your advisor exists for a reason. Tutoring exists for a reason. Student health exists for a reason. Counseling services exist for a reason. Professors have office hours for a reason.
People cannot help with a problem they don't know exists. I learned this myself. I attended Spalding University as a single parent. During college, I lost my housing. I missed a final because my life had completely gone sideways. I communicated what was happening.
My professor allowed me to take the final late, and the university helped me access assistance while I got back into housing. That experience stayed with me. Asking for help isn't somebody else doing college for you. Asking for help is a college skill.
Your brain needs an external hard drive
College involves an absolutely ridiculous number of dates: assignments, exams, registration, advising, tuition, housing, financial aid, withdrawal deadlines, meetings, and projects.
If you have executive functioning challenges, don't depend on your brain to magically remember all of that. I still use a paper agenda. Yes, in the year of our Lord 2026.
People ask why I don't just put everything in my phone. Because it doesn't fucking work for me. I need to physically write things down, preferably in colors. My sister is a total tech person. Great for her. That is not my brain.
Use whatever works for your brain: a paper planner, digital calendar, alarms, sticky notes, a whiteboard, color coding, apps, or a giant calendar taped to the wall like you're coordinating a National Aeronautics and Space Administration (NASA) launch. I don't care. The correct organizational system is the one you will actually use.
School comes before gaming
I know. I know. But somebody has to say it. If gaming is your special interest, your social outlet, your decompression activity, or simply your favorite thing in the world, you don't have to stop gaming. You do have to learn when to stop gaming.
My son loves gaming. He's studying computer science because he wants to work in video game development. But even he had to learn that the game has to wait when assignments need to be done.
You cannot spend six hours gaming and then become shocked that the paper you haven't started is still due at midnight. Do the shit first. Then game.
Your emergency credit card is not a DoorDash scholarship
Now we're going to discuss money. Some of you have checking accounts. Some have credit cards. Some of you are about to discover that a credit limit looks suspiciously like free money when you're young.
It isn't. I gave Z a credit card for emergencies, and I was very clear about what I meant: medical supplies, medication, or something genuinely necessary when another source of money isn't available. An emergency.
At one point when he was at Western Kentucky University (WKU), that motherfucker ran the card up to around $500. I lost my ever-loving mind because apparently we needed to clarify that an emergency credit card was not for DoorDashing your ass off and having a pizza party.
Credit cards are borrowed money. If you carry a balance, interest can make whatever you bought substantially more expensive.
Parents and caregivers, define "emergency" before handing over the card. Students, if someone gives you an emergency card, ask what you're allowed to use it for. Everybody will be much happier.
Watch those dining dollars too
A meal plan can feel unlimited in August. Then October arrives. Oops. Know the difference between meal swipes and dining dollars, flex dollars, or whatever terminology your school uses. Know where each can be used. Check your balance periodically.
Don't blow through your flexible dining money in the first six weeks because Chick-fil-A was calling your name every afternoon. Some families can replenish that account. Some cannot. Budget accordingly. That's part of adulting too.
Protect your routine, especially during breaks
Routine can be incredibly important for neurodivergent students. Once you've finally figured out when you wake up, when you eat, when you study, when you shower, where you sit, how you get to class, and how your week operates, disrupting all of it can be exhausting.
School breaks can therefore be more complicated than people realize. Residence hall policies vary considerably. Some campuses or residence halls stay open during certain breaks, while others close or offer limited break housing.
Don't assume anything. Check your university's housing calendar and policies ahead of time. Pay attention to your own nervous system.
Going home for every available break isn't automatically restorative. Some students love it. For others, traveling home, changing environments, losing their routine for several days, and then returning to campus is harder than staying near school. Learn what works for you.
Please do something besides go to class
College is education, but it isn't only education. Join a club. Go to an event. Meet somebody who likes the same bizarre thing you like. Try something you've never done. Eat somewhere new. Go to a game even if you don't understand what the hell is happening.
Community college students can look for campus organizations too. Vocational students may have fewer formal campus activities, but the larger point still applies: don't let your entire life become school and your bedroom.
This is your opportunity to meet different people, experience different things, and figure out who you are outside the environment you grew up in. Use it.
Parents, your new job is to sit your ass back
This one is hard. I know. You spent eighteen years keeping this person alive, and suddenly everybody expects you to throw them onto a college campus and cheerfully drive away. You don't have to disappear. But your role has changed.
I have access to some of Z's information with his permission because financial aid and administrative nonsense can be overwhelming. I'll remind him to check something. I'll ask about assignments. I'll occasionally ask, "Have you looked at your grades?" Because sometimes this child is simply going to class and doing assignments without ever checking the damn grade.
But I don't do his homework. I don't earn his grades. I already graduated. Those degrees are mine. This one is his.
Parents can scaffold independence without taking it away. The goal is not abandonment. The goal is supported independence.
One bad semester does not mean you're done
I want students and parents to remember this one. Z's first semester at Marshall was a mess. He was dealing with housing and safety issues. He moved during the semester. His organization wasn't where it needed to be, and he struggled academically.
His Marshall Grade Point Average (GPA) ended up around 1.14. That could have become the end of the story. It wasn't.
He advocated for himself. He explained what had happened. He used resources. He learned how to navigate campus. He learned the bus system. He made friends. He found tutors. He learned what wasn't working.
Then he came back. He retook a class he had failed. He brought his Marshall GPA up to around 2.85, and during the following term, his GPA was around 3.3, close enough to the Dean's List to be thoroughly pissed off that he missed it.
That's growth. One disastrous semester is data. It is not a prophecy. Maybe you overloaded yourself. Maybe you didn't understand how much executive functioning college required. Maybe your mental or physical health went sideways. Maybe your housing was a disaster.
Maybe you discovered that your course load was simply too damn much. Figure out what happened. Use the information. Change the system and try again.
Welcome to college, now go build a life
You're going to get some A's. You'll probably get some B's. You may get a C. Hell, I got a D in religion and still passed that bitch. We're not looking for perfection. We're looking for progress.
College is one enormous experiment in figuring out who you are when nobody else is running your life.
So learn. Advocate for yourself. Ask for help before everything catches fire. Make friends. Build routines. Manage your money. Do your assignments. Call your parents when you need them.
For the love of everything holy, wash your ass. Have a fantastic fall semester. Go build yourself a life.
Read more from April Michelle Ratchford
April Michelle Ratchford, Occupational Therapist & Podcast Host
April Ratchford, Occupational Therapist, Registered/Licensed, is an autistic occupational therapist, writer, and global advocate for neurodivergent adults. As the creator and host of Adulting with Autism, an internationally ranked podcast with over two million downloads, she blends clinical expertise with real-life lived experience. April specializes in supporting autistic young adults as they transition into independence, higher education, and adult identity. She is known for her clear, empowering approach that makes complex neurodivergent challenges accessible and manageable. April is currently advancing her studies in neuroscience through King’s College London to further elevate her work in autistic well-being and adult development.
