When I left for college, I bid my high school sweetheart a tearful farewell through the window of my parents' stocked-full-of-college-boxes minivan. We knew it was the end, but we vowed to stay friends and call often.

That was the mistake.

Within days, I had what I now term the "Romance Panic Clutch." Suddenly, I was surrounded by strangers, and I longed to feel something familiar; something "home." I called him.

"I miss you," my high school sweetheart would say, and I'd feel twinges of guilt for even thinking about breaking up with him. He was sitting home at that very minute, poring over old letters and pictures. I was the one who skipped town and abandoned him. The least I could do was to prove my loyalty by never leaving my dorm room, right?

What I learned in the long run is that holding on to your high school sweetheart is like slowly peeling off a band-aid. Instead of making the most of my college experience, I was concentrating on making money to cover long-distance bills and plane rides home for the weekend. Everyone else was going out and getting into the college groove.

I wasn't interested in meeting another guy; after all, no one would ever compare to my high school sweetheart. But, as I learned, that wasn't the problem at all. It wasn't about trading in my old boyfriend for a new one. It was about allowing myself the freedom to be happy, the freedom to enjoy the college experience.

I felt guilty about being happy without him. I felt guilty every time I went out with new people, because I knew he felt left out. I'd hear that faint tone in his voice that said, "I'm here and lonely and I'm not doing anything fun without you."

So, I'd find myself telling potential new friends that I had too much work to do when they asked me to go out on the weekends. I'd stay in and gab with my high school sweetheart for hours over the telephone, and I'd feel more and more homesick and less and less connected to my college experience. I made one good friend, though. She also had a boyfriend back home, so maybe I subconsciously felt that this was a safe friend--she wasn't going to try to corrupt me into going out and meeting other guys. We put photos of our guys on our walls and scrawled hearts with initials in our notebooks. It was the equivalent of posting a giant "keep away" sign so all men would be repelled from us.

What did it take for me to learn my lesson? I left school. I came home for Christmas break, and somewhere between the I-don't-ever-want-to-let-you-go hugs and the mistletoe, I decided I couldn't bear to go back across the country again. I transferred to a local school the next semester, figuring I could apply to a better college the following year. I spent all my free time with my high school sweetheart, and even though he was wonderful, I started to feel something other than guilt: I felt held back.

I needed to strike out on my own. Ever since I could remember, I had been waiting for the day I could go away and get a taste of the college experience. It wasn't that I hated home. It was just that I longed to travel and explore my horizons. I couldn't test my limits while I had one foot firmly planted in my safety zone.

My boyfriend was the stay-at-home type. Part of the guilt I felt was that he was totally satisfied with me and with the idea that we could live just as we had in high school forever. I had to accept that I wanted different things, and that it wasn't wrong to feel that way.

The following year, I transferred to Boston University, which was six hours away from home. I bid my high school sweetheart another tearful farewell. We vowed to stay friends and not call often. I only hung one photo of him, and it wasn't framed with hearts. That first week, I was lonely again. Everyone looked remarkably like strangers, and it seemed I was the only student who had arrived without a built-in social circle.

I thought about him. Dreamed about him. Stared at the phone, arguing with my willpower about which one of us would break first. Uh-oh! These were classic signs of R.P.C.! (Romance Panic Clutch, remember?) This time, though, I was prepared. When I wanted a dose of home, I'd call my family or friends. And even when I didn't really feel like it, I went out. I hung around the student union and forced myself to talk to people, even if I was just making small talk ("Do you know what time the cafe closes?" "Do you think they sell Fritos at Campus Convenience?")

I also joined the theater club and went to performances. Though it took me a long time to date again, I made lots of friends, and my social life was overflowing with fun by the end of September.

So, can long-distance relationships work? Yes. But is it worth it to sacrifice the first taste of freedom and independence in your college experience? For me, it wasn't.

Get out there and get the most out of your college experience. It's all up to you to open yourself to this possibility--without the chains bound to home.

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