“Spread your wings and fly,” I said. “Explore all horizons, and always believe that anything is possible.” And with that, both my teens, B and A, have flown the nest, for first year of university and Year 11 of boarding school, respectively, I should feel a profound sense of accomplishment, right? I mean, they’re all grown up, independent, strong -willed, and fearless; two shiny examples of how well my parenting goals were achieved. They both feel so ready to take on the world, alone. I have done my job. Haven’t I?
Well, as it turns out, it’s not that simple. I am currently experiencing what’s known as “empty nest syndrome”, and instead of pride for an 18-year-long task completed, and an unsalaried job well done, I am riddled with self-doubt. Did I teach them enough? Did I raise them to be kind adults? Did I tell them I love them enough? (I have been telling them several times every day, since the day they were born, but for some reason for the past 4 years they have been rolling their eyes…) They are grown. They are starting a new chapter. Instead of relief, I feel grief and a profound sense of loss. And that’s even with D – the most wonderful companion I could wish for – stoically by my side.
Upon some reading on the subject, I discover it is common for parents to feel a sense of loss, worry and sadness when adult children leave home. I have definitely started showing symptoms of anxiety, I have barely slept since they boarded the British Airways emergency airbridge that whisked them, and a plane load of Cayman’s students, off to the UK, for a school term of mask-wearing, social distancing and uncertainty. They stripped their bedrooms at home bare, packing up all their belongings to take to a new room at school. Only the flipflops and swimwear got left behind. They won’t return home to Cayman until the Christmas holidays. Everyone in my family is really, totally excited about this. Everyone except me.
D is a logical man, he can see all the benefits that empty nesting will bring for us, and will especially bring for me. When children leave home, it is the time for the primary-caregiver to redefine themselves, and explore opportunities for personal freedom. More free-time. More me-time. More time for D, and the deepening of our connections with our friends. It’s all extremely positive. It’s just the transition that I am in right now that’s the rub.
I found some guidance online. To transition easily, I need to ask some difficult questions. “If you were to invest as much energy into taking care of yourself, as you would your own child, what would you do?” was a particularly tough one to answer. I am tasked with asking myself how I would take good care of myself emotionally, physically, spiritually. What will bring me a greater sense of meaning and joy? How do I want to spend my precious time? This all sounds like straining cerebral exercise. Do other people, especially those without children, have all this stuff worked out?
I have come to realise that my attention has been focused outside of myself for nearly two decades; raising children is all consuming, as every care-giver knows. It’s not like I didn’t find a good balance, I regularly got out to see friends, and my career ensured that I also had a healthy focus outside of the home. But recently, Covid ensured that a sudden work-life change came crashing into our lives. The business is now closed five days a week. Work-from-home has replaced face-to-face connections. It’s been a huge adjustment. And just when I was starting to find my feet with the new normal, a double whammy, the kids leave home, and another life change arrives in full force.
I’m still trying to figure out how to get through this transition, to the inevitable other side of feeling free. I know kids need to leave and grow. Since the moment they’re born they have been learning how to separate from us. One day, I know I’ll embrace it, and then wait for that feeling of freedom to sink in!
