And Then There Were Two (And All Of You)
Three weeks ago, my husband and I dropped our baby off at college.
I know this is not a particularly unique experience – many of you have moved children to college but watching the last member of our family grow smaller through the rear-view window as we slowly drove away toward an empty house was heavier than I expected it to be. Heavy and hard.
I left campus with existential questions plaguing my busy brain. What do I do now? How will my relationship with my husband change without daily parenting to monopolize our time? Fundamentally I was asking myself “who am I?” Short answer – who knows?
As with everything in life, multiple things can be true at the same time. I am so proud of my son. I am beyond excited to have a front-row seat to watching him experience independent-ish living and grow in a way that only college can grow you. I know he is ready for this, as much as you can be ready for one of life’s biggest leaps into the unknown. And, I am at my own personal crossroads, wondering what path will appear for this particular woman who took on the identity of mother 25 years ago. Mother.
As I was turning this blog over in my head, my thoughts first started swirling around the typical empty nester narrative – it’s not too late, I’m not too old, and this is a fresh beginning for me as much as it is for my son. But that’s not where I landed. As I reflected on what it means to mother-in-transition, I embraced the truth that now, more than ever, I need other mothers, in all your messiness and feelings and fears.
Becoming a mother is one of the most universal, yet isolating experiences there is. On the one hand, you are immediately connected to countless other women who’ve walked the same walk – the new baby being placed in your shaky hands, the sleepless nights, the first pediatrician appointment; the list goes on. Yet despite these universally shared moments, we often feel alone. I remember feeling so alone. Why? I think a lot of my isolation was self-inflicted. I didn’t want to feel inadequate. I didn’t want to admit I often felt like I had no idea what I was doing. I didn’t want to be vulnerable or more importantly, be SEEN as vulnerable. Instead, I wanted to portray that I was “fine” and “okay” and “over the moon” to be a mother. And I was over the moon. I was just over the moon without the benefit of the shared experiences of women like you to share the view. I am not implying that my husband wasn’t there or wasn’t my parenting partner. He was. I am sharing this through a female lens; the unique parenting experience that women share. Because mothering is different.
Why didn’t I want to reach out to my fellow moms and admit how I was really feeling? Yes, it was of my own doing, but there is also a piece of it that we are sold every day, with every scroll.
Don’t be messy – be happy!
You can do it all!
Work out while the baby sleeps!
Your two-minute make up routine so no one knows how tired you are!
Meal prep made easy – create a week’s worth of meals in one hour!
The list goes on…
Looking back through hindsight, I wish I had known that real community isn’t about how well we pull ourselves together; it’s about how we let ourselves fall apart into the safe arms of other mothers. I had friends asking how I was and how my kids were, but I was not going to tell them what was truly on my heart because I didn’t want to admit that I perhaps couldn’t do this mothering thing. I didn’t want to say “I feel like a total mess because I really have no idea what I am doing or if it’s the right thing. I don’t know if I am cut out for this. Am I raising kids who will help the world or harm it?” It’s hard to say we don’t know the next right thing to do. And for mothers, the next right thing is often complicated and confused by everything we’re told we should be doing and feeling; by comparing ourselves to others around us; and by our fear of being honest about needing people. Now, I know the next right thing was always to simply love my kids and let women into my orbit so that the loving could be multiplied and shared.
As an empty nester who stumbled, punted and often blindly felt my way through motherhood, I’m now ready to be humbly messy. For me, one of the greatest lies I ever believed is that to be happy and successful we have to be strong. Often, that strength isolates us because it’s predicated on the belief that we have to do it alone; figure it out; offer help but don’t ask for it; and always lead with a brave face. Today, letting go of this need to “portray” versus just “be” is what empty nesting means to me. I’m ready to push aside what I’m told I need to feel or do and lean into what brings me into the highest level of authentic connection with other women.
Let’s Let Our Guard Down
Letting down my guard used to feel not only scary – it felt stupid. Why would I let people see me at my most broken and vulnerable? That would mean that others might find ways to exploit what I was afraid of or see me in a lesser light because I didn’t have all the answers. So much of my energy has gone into protecting the shiny veneer of my outward existence that I might not have actually been fully living my real life. Today I’m ready to live; dings, dents and all. I’m ready to take off my armor and be me. And in being me, I can better let you be you.
We’re Wired for Connection and Community
When we stop worrying about what we want to be projecting, we can actually start connecting. I know without a doubt that real, authentic, tried and true female relationships are fundamental to my happiness. Now that my family needs less of me – or at least a different part of me – I can be there for others. I can be a person who gives what I so desperately needed and never asked for.
Let’s Be Safe Spaces for Each Other
It’s one thing to want to connect; it’s another thing to be a person others feel safe connecting with. My hope is to be safe, curious, and unassuming. I want to know people on their terms and through their stories. I want to feel safe, and I want others to feel safe around me. While this seems obvious, it’s becoming less common. Society and social media are doing their best to push us apart and place us in camps that can’t cross. I don’t want to live like that. Everyone’s story is valuable and their experiences matter.
There is no doubt that becoming an empty nester leaves us changed. When I try to visualize a mother’s love, I often imagine a steady orb of light that is housed in and emanates from each of our chests, right where our hearts are. This light is always there, even when we may not be able to feel or find it, warming and guiding our children no matter how far they may go. My hope is that in having loved my children, the light can also now guide me. I hope our lights can guide all of us, bringing us into community so that we can shine brighter and bolder in the glow of who we truly are.
Don’t get me wrong…I still have my more typical empty nesting goals. I might learn how to make pasta; I am trying to walk 1,000 miles in 2025; I will continue to write.
And, in the quiet of a slow morning, I will imagine each of my children living their lives, walking streets many miles from home, having conversations I will never know anything about, learning things about themselves I can only hope make them bolder and of service to a weary world. And I will do it with friends at my side, our lights shining whole.
