Growing up, there was this silly joke among adults about breaking a plate on the table and shooing their kids out at 18. My parents and their friends would chuckle over it at dinner parties, seemingly finding it hilarious despite having said it throughout my childhood. I couldn’t grasp why they thought it was funny, especially when I looked at my siblings, who appeared unfazed by the idea of being tossed out at 18.
Of course, it was all in jest, and my parents never actually kicked us out. In fact, I think I was the only one of my four siblings who willingly left home after high school and never returned.
When I welcomed my first child, the thought of him eventually leaving home resonated on a deeper level. I made a promise to myself not to act like I was counting down the days until he left. I gazed at him in his clear bassinet next to my hospital bed, consumed with love and suddenly terrified of the day he would move out.
Over the years, I’ve told myself I have plenty of time with my kids. I’ve tried to avoid thinking about an empty nest. Yet here I am, preparing for my eldest to leave, and I’m not handling it well.
Sure, I don’t love his messy room or the ice cream container he left on the kitchen island. I’m not thrilled about the old tires he’s said he would sell on Facebook (it’s been a month, buddy; Mama might just sell them herself).
Some days, managing three teenagers feels overwhelming. There seems to be no end to their needs, schoolwork, and mental health challenges. Yet, the thought of them leaving fills me with dread. I can’t shake the feeling of waking up on weekends without them or hoping they’ll make it home for Christmas.
Last week, I stumbled upon a social media post celebrating empty nesters finally enjoying their home alone. Posts like that trigger me. Not because I think those parents shouldn’t celebrate their accomplishments, but because I’m filled with anxiety about this impending chapter of my life.
I wonder if it’s wrong to feel sad when other parents seem eager to see their kids fly the nest. I’m not ready to celebrate anything. My son is graduating in June, and I keep reminding myself to set aside my feelings of gloom, telling myself this isn’t about me; it’s about him and the adult I’ve raised.
I will miss my kids desperately when they go. I wanted all three of them, and time has flown by too quickly. For nearly 18 years, my life has revolved around them. Who will I be when they leave?
No one can truly prepare you for motherhood, especially the tumultuous teenage years. So how do we cope with this sudden shift from a bustling home to an eerily quiet one?
I’m not looking forward to an empty nest. I won’t celebrate when my kids are grown and gone. The prospect of less laundry and fewer dishes doesn’t bring me any comfort.
For all the parents who share these feelings about the empty nest years, you’re not alone in your sorrow.
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Summary:
The author reflects on the impending departure of their eldest child, expressing mixed emotions about the transition into an empty nest. While they recognize the joy of raising capable adults, they also grapple with feelings of sadness and dread about the changes in their household dynamics. This piece resonates with parents who find themselves unprepared for the emotional toll of an empty nest.