Going to Therapy Because I Already Paid With My Tuition
So, my tuition is $60,000 CAD. Yes, I know. Outrageous. Criminal. I try not to think about it, but unfortunately, I am required by law and capitalism to think about it constantly.
Thankfully, I have scholarships that cover a little chunk of this educational ransom. Still, like any person with a functioning frontal lobe and a rapidly disappearing sense of financial security, I found myself asking the very fair question:
Where the hell is all this money going?
Answer: Everywhere. Literally.
If you dig deep enough, most universities have a breakdown of how your money is spent. It reads like the world’s saddest grocery bill, or worse, an American hospital invoice for a minor cough. You’ll see mysterious line items that make you wonder if you're secretly funding a campus goat sanctuary or the Vice-Provost’s private jet fuel.
Let’s take some highlights from my personal “tuition dissection”:
A portion of it goes to the student aid program fund. Which... I'm paying for? Shouldn’t I get to use it then? Like, am I allowed to walk into the office and just take a snack and a stress ball? Or at least a partial refund in the form of emotional validation?
A good chunk goes to the health plan, which, as we all know, is the backup system you never use but keep funding like it’s your emotionally distant cousin’s GoFundMe.
So yes, I’ve been going to therapy. Not because I’m in crisis, but because I’m determined to use the money that was essentially robbed from me and repackaged as “benefits.”
If any future employer is reading my benefits usage history and thinking, “Wow, this girl’s had a lot of therapy — she must be unstable,” let me assure you: I am fine. My only affliction is being financially aware and morally opposed to unused insurance coverage.
I do not have a major mental health event. I do not have interpersonal drama. I have a simple, burning desire to squeeze every cent out of this $60,000 before it swan-dives into another ambiguous “student success initiative.”
Because at this point, I am broke. And being broke makes you resourceful. And slightly unhinged.
And so I will continue scheduling therapy sessions, printing in color, and haunting the student aid office like a polite ghost until I feel that my tuition has, in some small way, served me back.
