I hadn’t known that choosing to be a parent was also saying yes to an inevitable series of heartbreaks.
It starts small. In their early teen years, you realize they’ve started keeping secrets. The number of subjects they’ll only discuss with friends keeps growing, while your role as confidant shrinks and fades (for the time being).
In later teen years, the internal clock that tracks your waning time together begins to tick louder. Your home becomes a changing station — a pitstop between other, more exciting destinations — as your offspring come and go.
When they leave for college, every visit, followed by every leaving, becomes a mini-earthquake — shaking your entire nervous system.
So when my firstborn moved across the country for his first real job, and my twins started looking toward college, I knew I had to prepare myself for the ultimate heartbreak: an empty nest.
Learning how to fill an empty nest
As my twins chattered on — hypothesizing about what roommates and campus life would be like, researching room décor, furniture, and sundries for college dorm living — I conducted my own research.
I’ve always believed words carry weight, so I found it interesting that the word “empty” could feel so heavy. Ironically, “empty” also points to a solution. When a glass is empty, we fill it. When writers fill empty pages, they become authors. Even an empty heart can fill with an act of caring.
I Googled “how to ease transition to empty nest.” Then I studied the leading advice. Researching art classes to fill the coming void, I discovered a multitude of nearby opportunities for creative exploration and expression.
By subscribing to local music and entertainment venues to fill the anticipated gap in joy, I discovered vibrant communities for liberated adults. Diving deep into forgotten dreams to fill the hole in my heart, I revisited passions, goals, and wishes I’d let go as sacrifices to parenthood.
Then, informed and inspired, I sat down with a blank sheet of paper and listed all the ways I could fill my “empty” nest. Each item on my list inspired excitement, enthusiasm, and hope, but more importantly, shifted my focus from a perception of loss to the prospect of future possibilities.
Free from school schedules and daily child obligations, I’d once again become the architect of my own life.
My empty nest was short-lived
Fall arrived, and our twins went off to their respective colleges. Although I grappled with the familiar tangle of feelings that accompany letting go, I knew the coming months held promise for us all.
The twins would meet new friends and learn new things. My husband and I would reconnect and explore new hobbies, places, and interests.
Then one day, we got the call. Our oldest — the one who’d moved across the country for work — said his role had been cut and that he was struggling to secure a new position.
Within a few months, he’d moved back home, reshaping the future we’d just begun imagining.
My son has moved back in, and I’m learning to be fluid
The joys of having him home far outnumber the challenges. His presence tempers the feeling of emptiness we’d otherwise have experienced. The house doesn’t feel as quiet, I notice, as his laughter drifts down the stairs. And the nights of quietly hoping he’s safe somewhere across the country have quieted and given way to restful sleep.
Soon, he’ll move away again to start a new graduate program, while the twins, for now at least, appear to be settled. But I’m learning that this stage of life is filled with ever-changing seasons and new surprises.
So, I’m making a concerted effort to practice fluidity — refusing to stay stagnant and learning to adapt without fear or resistance when life changes direction unexpectedly. While I’ve learned it’s good to have a plan, it’s better to know when to loosen your grip on it.
Life is always moving around us. I’m learning to soften enough to change with it.
