anticipating an empty nest
+ the many momming eras leading to this moment
Nineteen years ago this week, I discovered I was pregnant. That very day, I began to dream about the baby who would be born the following January. I noodled on baby names, purchased teeny clothes, imagined packing adorable bento boxes for school lunches, and I pictured their life unfolding. This is all normal to do when one is expecting a child — dreaming into the new life to come.
The moment a baby is born, a very necessary grieving process begins for the parents. Though many skip over this part of the birthing process, it’s important to acknowledge that with the birth of a baby comes the very real loss of the child we dreamt about for nine months. There’s a necessary letting go of the imagined child in order to make ALL the room in the world for the real human being who comes to us with their own identity and life path. Psst: This includes this new human’s own ideas about gender expression, by the way! Why all the pink and blue baby clothes and toys? Not to mention biological sex reveal parties, which people mistakingly call gender reveal parties. Can we please stop that nonsense already? I digress… though for the sake of reading this post, remember that my kid is non-binary and uses they/them pronouns.
When we tangibly begin to nurture a life earth-side, we must surrender to the mystery. We will suffer if we do not make a lot of space for the unknown to unfold, if we hold tightly to maintaining an illusion of control, if we try to squeeze and press reality into the shape of our prenatal dream world. We can take our cues from these amazing small humans as they show us how to love them well. If we are exquisitely attuned to them, we can help to nurture, grow, and support them in whatever it is that lights them up. This is not an easy task, and in all of my trying and failing and repairing and trying again, all I can do is fumble through it — with transparency and love.
my momming eras
As my kid is now 18 and leaving for college this fall, I’ve been earmarking my ever-changing role as a mom:
👶 When kids are little, they have so little agency and need to rely on their caregivers to survive. It’s a vulnerable time for children and parents alike. At this stage, I felt I needed to be there for every meal, for every sock going onto a tiny foot, for every doctor’s appointment, for every enactment of our bedtime ritual.
👧 As children develop, there is a parallel process of individuation that occurs wherein the child becomes less dependent on the parent and hopefully more integrated into communities other than their family of origin. I’ve found that for myself and many of the parents I work with, this tends to happen when the only or oldest child is about 10 years old, during the stage of development when the child becomes more interested in peer relationships and extracurricular activities and starts to develop their own sense of identity and values. This simultaneously allows parents to rediscover their own autonomy, at least in small bursts (or to have a complete midlife emergence, as ya do). During this era, I was driving my kid to and from dance classes and theatre rehearsals, accompanying them on playdates (that were often socially awkward for me), and only seeing my therapy clients during the hours they were in school…. and I began to reacquaint with a part of myself I had been missing in early mothering days. I remember listening to Beyonce’s Lemonade album in the car instead of grimacing through another round of Music Together albums. I began to feel like a sexual being again (although my desire was in the direction of only women, thus the whole emergence/divorce situation ensued). And, I finally had brain/heart space to expand my private practice to include coaching, groups, courses, and selling my art.
👱For me, parenting a high schooler has looked a lot like being quietly available. My kid is in school all day and rehearsals almost every evening, and they drive themself to both. When they’re at home, they are FaceTiming their friends (why does this generation only talk on video?!), hanging out with their partner, doing homework, or making the most creative TikToks. I’m far less needed for their day-to-day functioning, but it feels like when I am needed, I’m needed urgently. I make it known that I am here, offering nourishment in all the ways I can. My nervous system doesn’t love the feeling of being “on call,” so I am trying to work with that in myself.
Over these past few years, as my child has grown into later teen-hood, I’ve been in a quandary around the relationship between the natural role of a parent and codependent tendencies. As parents, I believe we are responsible for the livelihood and wellness of the children we invited onto this earth. It gets tricky to tease that basic responsibility out from all-too-common traits of codependency (as taking on responsibility for another person’s experience and emotions) and/or high-functioning codependency (as an overly-responsible, highly-efficient, super-helpful, problem fixer and more). When we see our children upset or struggling, it’s natural to want to rescue them or cheer them up or solve the issue — and that is ultimately doing them a disservice. As Glennon Doyle likes to say, it teaches them “I’ve got you” rather than “you’ve got you,” the latter of which is the ultimate gift. Lately, I’ve been trying (for my kid’s sake and for my own) not to feel responsible for their joy or sadness or anger — just as I’m not responsible for the emotions of anyone else in my life — and understandably, that feels complex with our own children.
what will it be like to parent an adult child?
On Mother’s Day yesterday, I was watching my child on stage in a musical at one of our local theaters, absolutely glowing as the lead in Rodgers & Hammerstein's Cinderella. While sitting front and center, only a few feet away from this young adult person I gave birth to while they took the spotlight, I noticed my body was absolutely relaxed. This was notable because, as an anxious being, I am often tense or bracing in some way. During their performance, I was not.
Watching them on stage is one of the few places I feel like I can rest as a parent. Theatre is a part of their life that they’ve sought out and that they do without me. I don’t know what happens in tech rehearsals or in quick costume changes backstage. All I know is that I’ve bought character shoes and stage make-up, and I’ve packed them an extra meal because they’ll be at rehearsal on a school day until 10pm. Beyond that, so all I can do is sit back and watch them shine.
While seeing them perform yesterday, I realized that this exhale I get to experience in the audience is what it might be like to someday have a fully adult child who is wholly responsible for their life. They will someday make their own dentist appointments, they’ll sleep through their alarm clock and arrive late to work, and they may eat cereal (or more likely popcorn) for dinner some nights. And I may never know about those details. And the world will keep spinning. I will be a phone call (or a freaking FaceTime!) away, carrying their heart in mine, but my momma hands that have done so much of the day-to-day work will have let go. Apparently, the heart-wrenching act of our children growing up and flying free in the world is the best case scenario. We give them roots and wings, both. Here’s a gorgeous song for those of us watching our children fly:
reading: We Can Do Hard Things by Glennon Doyle, Abby Wambach, Amanda Doyle and 118 other wise voices
watching: Last week we finished the very quick binge of Four Seasons on Netflix (with Tina Fey, Steve Carell, Coleman Domingo, etc.) I hear that reviewers are saying it’s not for everyone, but I do think it’s a worthwhile and entertaining piece for us midlifers.
looking forward to: my kid’s high school graduation this month! 🧑🎓
not eating: any grains or soy for 30 days to try to get my inflammation in check. Gah! Please send thoughts and prayers.
absolutely engrossed in: preparing to move in June and making my new home as cozy, welcoming, and beautiful as I can
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