New beginnings can also be endings.

In which I consider the plight of empty nesters

How many parents are (or were) itching for school to start this year? I mean, summer time is awesome, with camps and pools and bicycles and play dates…and bored kids lying around whining and worries about day care and endless coordination for numerous human beings and teenagers coming home late and stressing everybody out and no quiet time AT ALL.

For these parents, fall is a godsend.

But then there are the parents who dreaded this fall. Like a friend I saw recently who told me her second (and final) son was leaving for college. With tears in her eyes. She’ll miss him, yes. But, worse: She’ll be living in an

empty nest.

She and I started talking about mothering. How it’s the hardest job we’ve ever done. How defining it is. How our identities, purposes in life, moment-to-moment thoughts are shot through with inescapable core concern for our children’s well-being. How, frankly, having children ruined our lives.

This last is important. Whenever I say, “Having children ruined my life,” people gasp. How could a true mother say something so horrible? Well, gosh, I’m not sure it’s horrible. What I mean by “ruined my life” is this:

My life was a definite way before I had children. As soon as I gave birth, my life changed into something completely different. My prior life was gone. Ruined. My new life was born.

I use the word “ruined” because my life before having children was pretty great. Having a baby pulled that whole happy edifice down. Turned it into rubble.

But here’s the catch: My new life also became great. I cannot imagine life without my children. They have taught me lessons I needed to learn. They have made me a better person. I didn’t know I could love anyone as thoroughly and viscerally as I love them. They have always been brilliant and fascinating human beings and, now that they’re young adults, they create their own worlds that I’m really excited to hear about (and sometimes participate in).

And, as I confessed to my friend whose son was going away to college this fall, I reveled when my kids went away to school. Not at first. At first I was ambivalent and worried. How would they do all alone? (Of course, our kids are always all alone inside themselves no matter how overpowering or controlling we parents try to be. Kind of a remarkable realization.) But then, once they were gone, I realized this:

I had my life back.

I could reconnect in a crucial way with my husband, for example. Suddenly we were in complete charge of our own lives. Holy cow! There are so many adventures we get to have now! I practiced the important act of trusting my children by letting go of my fevered sense of responsibility for them. They are intelligent, competent human beings who need to make their own decisions and suffer the natural consequences of their own acts in life. I can rest assured that they are well prepared to do this.

Getting my life back meant I could focus on my own work. For the first time in 20 years I didn’t have to drop everything at 3 p.m. or fit my thinking into an hour-long (please make it longer!) nap time or give up all my plans so I could stay at home with a sick child or carve up my day to accommodate my children’s busy schedules. I remember telling a friend in the midst of child-rearing, “No matter what I’m doing I’m always waiting to be interrupted.” Now I am in charge of my life again (for the most part) and can determine my own stability and equilibrium. That is pretty awesome!!!

Getting my life back also amounted to something I hadn’t thought about despite my psychotherapy training: It facilitated my individuation from my kids. I always thought of individuation as something children (and teens) do. You know: They alternate between being dependent and independent and push us and pull us as their conflicting developmental needs require. Our job is to be there as best we can, survive the confusion, keep loving them even when they’re super unlovable.

But the truth is: Individuation is a two-way street. If I’m unwilling to let my children go, they will have to fight harder to assert their autonomy. Which means they’ll have to behave even worse than they already do. Because their appalling or surprising or alienating behavior is, as I now see it, exactly what will make us parents want them to leave. Which paradoxically facilitates healthy individuation.

Better to want my kids to leave because I’m excited about my own life than to want them to leave because they’re making my life miserable. Moral of the story? Embrace the empty nest.

Public Service Announcement about mothers: Wow! How resilient we are! We go from one life to a completely different life to yet another completely different life whether we like it or not. We do it with grace. We do it despite the gut-punching sadness we feel every time our children go away (again). We make and remake home for ourselves and our families no matter what the conditions. That is, if we’re lucky. How ruinous having children can be for mothers who aren’t so lucky.

Three fuckin’ clamorous cheers for all mothers!!!

When it comes to the empty nest, then: This is a time for us to take stock of our lives (our many lives). Who were we — what made us happy, what brought us joy — before we had kids? Who are we now? What are we clinging to that we can let go of for our sake and our kids’ sake? Why are we clinging? What will make us happy and bring us joy now?

Let’s do it.

But we need to feel what we feel. Sad. Scared. Lost. Confused. Uncertain. We need to embrace those emotions and take good care of ourselves and each other.

And then get out there and set the world on fire.