Empty Nest Syndrome: The Tears Aren't About the Drop-Off, They're About Who I Am Without It

Driving to work this morning, I was overwhelmed by all the feels about the looming college drop-off date for my baby. I told myself not to cry because I'm wearing mascara. Even now, as I type, I have to deliberately hold back the tears.

What These Tears Are Really Telling Me

What are these tears telling me, showing me? The obvious answer is that my youngest of three is about to be seven hours away from me at UC Santa Cruz. But that's too simple an answer for my brain to accept. I think that behind the obvious sits some very real changes I'm being forced to face, accept, and eventually, hopefully embrace.

As I think about the physical part of my baby moving into the dorms, I'm not filled with sadness or dread. I'm actually happy he's about to start this incredible journey. I had so much fun in college myself, and I can't wait to see the metamorphosis that lies ahead for Jaron.

The First Time Wasn't Easier, Just Different

Akira, our oldest, also went to UC Santa Cruz, and the drive home after dropping him off was awful. James and I drove in silence, on and off crying the entire way. Every time Akira came home, I was ecstatic. Every time he left again, I cried. But each time it got a little easier, especially watching the growth and independence he was building. It confirmed that college was doing exactly what it was supposed to do.

With Jaron, though, the sadness runs a little deeper. He's proof that we're entering a new season of life: the season where all of my children are adults and don’t need me like they used to.

Is It the Kids I'll Miss Or Being Needed?

I ask myself: is it that I'll miss having to take care of someone? My other two are older and always busy, so my reason for making dinner, especially on the nights when I was tired, was Jaron. So many little mothering tasks will no longer be required of me.

Am I going to miss being so intimately involved in his day-to-day? Absolutely.

Am I going to miss being anxious when he’s not home on time? Probably that too.

And as sad as I am that my baby is leaving, what he symbolizes in my life is what's actually hard to sit with. I'm getting older. I'm past the midlife mark, moving quickly toward my third act. My youngest leaving symbolizes the transformation of me as a mother, an identity I've carried and loved for 24 years.

When "Mother" Has Been Your Whole Identity

My primary identity has been "mother" for a very long time! Every other part of me has come second. I changed my career, made sacrifices, postponed goals to mother my babies the best I could. And now I'm supposed to switch gears and return to myself? Who am I anymore?

And there it is, the unspoken agony of the empty nest. Yes, it's about our children. But it's just as much about us mothers reclaiming our identities as women first. Whether we want to or not, we're forced to meet the woman that is left inside.

I'm not saying our adult children don't need us. They absolutely do. But it's different. Akira and my middle daughter Jaden don't need me to take care of them the way they used to. They're both capable and independent. They take care of all their needs and schedules. My job now is to walk alongside them, not tell them where to go. I'm here to listen to the grief and remind them the sun will rise tomorrow. I'm here to celebrate every lesson and remind them to stay grounded in their truth. My role has changed.

It's Time to Reclaim Myself

Even while writing this, I caught myself thinking about all the ways I could take care of other people instead of finishing this blog. It's a delay mechanism. Preoccupying myself with other people's priorities has become my specialty. I'm an excellent support person. But now it's time to prioritize myself as uncomfortable and unbearable as that feels right now. It's so much easier to cheer other people on than to force myself to act.

But everything in me tells me I have to start reclaiming the woman I was before children, before husband, before family. The woman with big dreams, who had all the time in the world to make a difference. Where did she go?

It's time for my Fiery Living to take center stage because this life is not a dress rehearsal, and I still have a lot of life left to live.

This is dedicated to all the mothers dropping their children off this Fall semester. I see you. I am you. We’ll get through and hopefully reclaim a part of ourselves we forgot existed.