Happy Easter and Happy Passover to all those who celebrate! Because it is a holiday weekend, I’m letting my recently recorded conversation with The Therapist Who Came Undone do the work this week - I’ll be back with fresh content next week. Thank you to everyone who tuned in for our conversation Live!
The Therapist Who Came Undone joined me this week for a warm-hearted conversation about the challenges and joys of launching our children as young adults into the world - in our shared story, into college; though this shift may take the shape of military service, a child moving into their own rented space for the first time, taking a job on a cruise ship or as a live-in nanny, or even a young adult teen moving away to live with their other parent in a different city, state, province, or country.
We discussed the shifts in identity as parents of kids at home to parents of adult children away from home. We explored the changing roles of both child and parent, and how these dynamics can intersect with attachment styles.
We talked about looking forward to and building in new rituals and routines to fill the altered shape of life patterns as an empty nester, explored how an older sibling leaving home impacts younger siblings and family dynamics, and discussed what a newly child-free home dynamic can reveal in marital relationships - and how to prepare for that to protect your marriage.
In the days between our recording and this newsletter going out, my 17 year old high school senior and I visited one of the colleges he has been accepted to for Admitted Students Day. To my delight, this prestigious school (that, in a fun coincidence, is the same that The Therapist Who Came Undone’s eldest also attends!) is only a few miles from our home. And yet, the thought of my baby, my only child, my sweet little (no longer so little) buddy no longer sharing after-school walks or nightly dinner or watching a show with me each evening, no longer giving me a hug before bed - it’s breaking this Mama’s heart.
How fleeting these days and years are.
We’re navigating new territory now. I try to swallow my aching sorrow and display only pride, though I know he knows. We walk the grounds of his new school - new home - side by side, but with different experience. He’s gazing into the future; I’m clinging to the present. Grateful to share this day with him. Proud and hopeful for his future. Wistful for the past.
How can the days of morning snuggles and curling up to read books aloud together be past already? Have we baked our last batch of cookies?
What will this new chapter mean as parent and child? Will he still tell me each new story idea he dreams up when I’m not longer daily sharing space? I know that adolescence - particularly this transitional phase of later adolescence - is about separation and individuation. Erik Erikson taught us that in his phases of human development theory, and I know better than to try to subvert the natural and necessary milestones of healthy growth and maturity.
As therapists, it’s our job to work ourselves out of a job. As parents, its also our job to work ourselves out of a job - or at least, to transition to a consultant role. In both aspects of my life, I work to lessen need of me from others I care about deeply; from others whose presence I enjoy. It’s a bittersweet heartache. Though this is a familiar road, and a truth about love I know and must practice constantly, it is harder to walk it this time.
The Therapist Who Came Undone, who is ahead, beside, and behind me in this transition with one off to college, one also taking the leap this summer, and one still at home, encouragingly noted in our chat that it isn’t an end to parenting. It’s a transformation to something new - and beautiful in its own way.
I have to trust that the firm foundation we’ve built will continue to support him as he branches out in maturity and experience, and will support our evolving connection, too.
The work is now mine to do. To release, to believe in him, to trust. To allow him to stumble without rushing over to rescue. To pull back physically, though of course never emotionally. To redefine my sense of self in a way that centers him less, allowing my self-concept to grow and adapt to shifting roles.
This can be challenging, particularly for parents who have dedicated themselves to the role of parenting full-time. The empty “nest” becomes a mirror in which to critically examine one’s sense of self, of purpose, of passion.
Grief, loss, and transition - themes that have become all too familiar of late - demand a reorganization not only of self-concept, but of patterns, priorities, and goals. This is not easy work. If you’re facing this transition, like we are, or still working through the reorganization it demands, it’s okay to let yourself grieve. Pride can intermingle with sorrow. Because in letting ourselves feel the full range of emotions, we become freer to find our way forward.
And as we loosen our hold on those we treasure, we find ourselves navigating a new stage. Erik Erikson defines the mid-adult stage of human development as a search for generativity, of finding ways to contribute meaningfully and leave a legacy. Much of this work, for parents, often centers on raising children well. When that task transitions from raising to consulting, from daily to intermittent, the psychological pull toward meaning calls for new activity to fill it.
This might mean leaning in at with your career or finding new ways to mentor a younger generation. It might mean volunteering in community or with children or others in need. It might mean projects at home, or at last finding time for the creative pursuits you’ve brushed off while putting yourself last. This stage might be a time to let yourself not only grieve, but shine. It might be time to gently, lovingly choose you.
This is the paradox of this stage of life:
The deeper we have loved, the harder it is to loosen our hold. And yet, it is that very love—secure, steady, enduring—that allows us to do it. Not by withdrawing, but by expanding.
And so I find myself practicing—imperfectly—this quiet, invisible work of loving him forward. Letting him step into a life that no longer orbits around me. Trusting that the closeness we’ve built won’t disappear, only change shape.
And reminding myself, again and again:
I am not losing him.
I am watching him become.
