The Unspoken Heartache

the exquisite sting of the empty nest

Photo by Mantas Hesthaven on Unsplash

Raising kids one day culminates in them growing up and leaving the nest. Intellectually, we parents understand this, and think we are prepared.

We dedicated two decades of our life (or thereabouts) to our children. They were the soul and centre of our world, the subject of many waking thoughts, and the focus of much of our energy. Our lives revolved around theirs.

With mixed apprehension and excitement, we anticipate enjoying our freedom again, after the long slog of parenting.

We have an idea of how this transition will go. There will be tears, but it will be okay. There will be a hole in our lives, a vacant room in our homes. But this is just the way it is, every parent goes through it.

In the thick of parenting, we occasionally resented the myriad demands on our time. Now, the absence of them is glaringly obvious. We once bemoaned our lack of solitude, but now we have it in spades.

Nobody really talks about the feeling of loss; the intense sadness bordering on grief. The empty nest is a heart-wrenching and beautifully bittersweet experience that, on the whole, moms endure quietly. 

By the time our kids are 18, we have already spent about 90% of the time we will ever spend with them. What a final and devastating statistic. When they reach adulthood, we are unceremoniously cast out of the most important job we will ever have. Our services are no longer required.

This, after all, is the point of parenting - a good mom works herself out of a job. The goal is to raise independent, capable kids who can manage life on their own, not basement-dwelling kids who are incapable of fending for themselves - the failures to launch. 

We want to feel proud that we achieved our life’s mission of successfully raising children. Then why doesn’t it feel like something to celebrate, but instead, leaves us with an ache in our chest and a sense of emptiness?

Young adults are naturally driven to individuate - to separate from their family of origin and establish their own identities. This is a healthy and natural process, though a painful one for parents. 

Our kids cannot comprehend how much we love them, unless and until they have kids of their own. Of course, we love our parents, but it is not the same as how we love our kids. It can’t be reciprocated with the same intensity - it’s written in our genetic code - for if it was, our kids would never leave home and create families of their own. This is how it has been throughout the history of humanity. 

Relationship dynamics have to evolve. Our grown kids don’t need parenting anymore - their lives are their business now, not ours. They are free to make all the decisions that adults do, without unasked-for input from their families. When the urge to give advice strikes, pivot toward curiosity - ask questions to help them uncover the answers that are already inside. Be available when they want to reach out and let them set the pace for the relationship going forward. 

Their loyalty needs to be to themselves, first and foremost - to create and enjoy their own lives, exactly how they wish. There will be decisions that we don’t love, but our role is to offer support and encouragement to let them follow their hearts where they lead, even if it takes them halfway across the world. They need to feel our unshakable confidence in them to handle whatever life throws their way. Good parents refuse to hold their kids back.

We may feel a little lost and left behind. It’s an adjustment, watching our kids lean into their freedom. But we’re learning how to let go: not to text every time we think of them, not to ask the questions that we would have when they still lived under our roof. Change isn’t easy, and when our kids launch, it’s a monumental life upheaval. As genuinely happy as we are for them, we can also allow ourselves space to grieve. 

Raising kids may have been a central purpose of our life. No wonder we feel unmoored when they leave. That doesn’t mean we can’t find a new way of being, in the wake of their departure. 

Celebrate as they revel in their new freedom. Rest in the knowledge that they are equipped with the tools they need to build their lives. And never stop being their soft place to land. 

Is this an experience you are looking forward to or dreading (or both)?

Have you endured the ordeal of the newly empty nest?

If so, do you have words of wisdom to share?