Do you ever feel like maturity is cyclical? That once you start college it kind of feels like that first day of kindergarten all over again, but instead of climbing up those steep steps of the big yellow school bus your parents are unloading a minivan full of crap in front of a stuffy dorm building then hauling ass back home? Maybe it’s just me.

As you mature, in theory, you need your parents less. When you’re young it’s always “Mommy, look!” or “Daddy, guess what?” No accomplishment or problem is too small to share. When you reach your teenage years, your parents are nothing but embarrassments. You don’t want your new “cool” friends to know that your dad still called you “Caitybear” and blasts George Gershwin at full volume in the kitchen when he’s cooking. And you definitely don’t want them to know that your mom categorizes paper plates, as you would fine china—“Don’t use the good paper plates Caitlin. Use the crappy ones from the dollar store.”—Who knew? Again though, maybe that’s just me.

I’ve always had a tendency to get attached to the people who have a dominating presence in my life, and sometimes it gets me into a bit a trouble. When I left for college, it felt like that first day of Kindergarten all over again. I got to school and all I wanted to do was go home and watch the Rosie O’Donnell show at 3 p.m. with my mom. When I got sick, I wanted my mom to sit on the couch with me and watch lame daytime TV. It’s no fun correcting Dr. Phil’s grammar by yourself.

I think my parents understand this. They’ve always been there for me. Always. Whether it’s my dad calling me and telling me that “boys only ever want to get in your pants. I know this. I was one,” or my mom offering to drive three hours to Syracuse to pick me up at a rest stop off the thruway because I was having a panic attack, there has never been a time where my parents weren’t 100 percent supportive of me and everything I want to do. They tell me I’m crazy sometimes, and I admit, I often bite off more than I can chew, but they’re always there to pick up the pieces.

What’s my point? It’s that time in the semester where I look around campus and see my fellow students lugging huge backpacks and frantically scurrying off to Capen or Lockwood. Midterms are over for most of us but finals are right around the corner. It’s always late October, early November when I overhear stories in the Union or group study areas in Capen which all end in “Oh my God! I am so stressed out, I haven’t slept in three days, and I might die.”

Don’t die. Call your mom.

I’ve been doing it for almost three years now and let me tell you, it works. Sure, I’ve had my fair share of stressful moments and borderline mental breakdowns—caffeine binges and power naps. This is college; who hasn’t? But what I don’t think many of us understand is the support system we’re all born with. Cars come with manuals, classes come with syllabi, and kids come with parents. Use them. They’re there for you. They always will be. Remember how they wouldn’t shut up when you were 16? Yeah, they haven’t grown out of it. Take advantage of it. They (mostly) know what they’re talking about. They were young once…you know a really, really, really long time ago.

I say all this from experience. Honestly, this semester has been kind of a shit show for me, and I’m about 80 percent positive that if it weren’t for numerous phone calls and 1 a.m. emails to my parents, I’d probably be curled up in the fetal position on the fifth floor of Lockwood, trying to remember my name.

Maybe I’m a wuss—maybe I’m needy. You’re not me, and I know that. But what I do know is that you’re never too old for your mommy or your daddy. People just need to talk sometimes. It’s a nurture vs. nature world and sometimes nature starts to kick our asses, especially in college. So next time you’re stressed about an exam or a ten page paper and that handle of Barton’s is starting to look like a good idea, try calling your mom. I bet your GPA and self-esteem thank you for it.