Empty Nest Syndrome

So Your Kids Left Home. Now What?

A brutally honest guide to Empty Nest Syndrome (spoiler: you’ll survive… probably with snacks and sarcasm)

Okay friend, listen. Nobody warned us about this part. Everyone preps you for sleepless newborn nights, the terrible twos, and the full-blown psychological thriller that is puberty. But Empty Nest Syndrome? Nope. That little plot twist just sneaks up like a cat knocking something off the counter while making eye contact.

One minute you’re whining about Mount Laundry and a grocery bill that rivals the GDP of a small nation. The next? Silence. Glorious. Unsettling. “Why is it so quiet and why do I suddenly feel weird about it?” silence.

Honestly, for a long time it didn’t even feel like my kids had moved out. It was more like a very long, very confusing game of musical chairs.

My stepdaughter had been living with her partner, so technically she was gone… until life happened. The relationship ended, the job disappeared, and boom—she was back home. Surprise!
My oldest stayed home for her first year of university thanks to lovely little COVID, then went away to school for four years.
My youngest went away for school too, quit her program, worked her summer job, and stayed with her boyfriend’s parents. Then she went back to school and moved into a student apartment.

So really… had anyone actually moved out? Or were they just aggressively rotating locations?

Then my daughter finished school and moved in with her boyfriend. And that—that was the moment. The “oh crap” moment. The realization that this wasn’t temporary. My kids weren’t just visiting adulthood; they were unpacking there.

That’s when it hit me: my kids are growing up. They’re building lives, making choices, and moving forward. And while I’m incredibly proud… I’m also standing in a quiet house wondering who drank all the milk when nobody’s even home.

So yes, the nest is emptier. But here’s the thing no one tells you: you’re still here. You survived diapers, drama, and Door-Slamming Teenage Years. You can survive this too.
And hey—at least now the snacks you buy actually last longer than 24 hours. 💁‍♀️

The Five Stages of Empty Nest Grief (That Nobody Talks About)

Stage 1: Denial

“This is AMAZING! I can finally watch my shows without someone yelling ‘What’s for dinner?’ every five minutes!”

You deep-clean their room like you’re auditioning for a home makeover show. You reorganize the pantry. You alphabetize spices. You convince yourself this—this right here—is the freedom you’ve been waiting for.

Except… not really.

Like I mentioned earlier, it honestly didn’t even feel like my kids had moved out. It was more of a “they’re kind of gone but also kind of not” situation. My stepdaughter is still with us, so technically we’re not empty nesters at all. We’re more like empty-nest-curious.

We’re standing on the edge of it, peeking over, saying, “Oh wow, that looks nice,” while also whispering, “But please don’t move too far away.” Because yes, we’re looking forward to being empty nesters… eventually. The quiet sounds lovely. The freedom is tempting.

But do we still want our kids close? Around? Dropping by? Eating our food? Absolutely. Well—at least I do. Let’s be honest, I want the best of both worlds: independence and random visits where they magically appear when the fridge is full.

Denial, after all, isn’t just pretending they’re gone. It’s pretending you’re totally ready for it when you’re very much not. And that’s okay. 💕

Stage 2: Bargaining

This is where the texting starts. And by starts, I mean escalates rapidly.

“Just checking in!”
“How’s the weather there?”
“Did you eat today?”

You are basically one emotionally charged decision away from tracking their location like they’re still 16 and you’re totally normal about it.

Real talk: if you’ve texted your kid three times before noon to confirm they’ve had breakfast, congratulations—you are deep in the bargaining stage. It’s fine. This is a judgment-free zone. We’ve all been there.

Sometimes they text me back right away, which gives me false hope and dopamine. Other times… it takes a few days. DAYS. I try to stay calm, but let’s be honest—I’m mentally drafting my will by hour 36.

Now, I will admit: I still pay for the cell phones of the two youngest. And yes, I absolutely consider that leverage. Am I proud? No. Will I use it? Also no. But do I know it exists? Absolutely.

In six months, though, that safety net disappears. My oldest will be responsible for her own phone bill. Her own bills. I honestly don’t know what I’ll have to hold over her head to return my calls. Emotional guilt? Home-cooked meals? “Accidentally” etransfer-ing her money and reminding her I exist?

That step—when she takes over her phone and car insurance—that’s really the beginning of full-blown adulthood. Sure, some of my bills will be lower (and I am looking forward to that, let’s be clear). But emotionally? That’s the moment where bargaining officially stops working.

So here I am, enjoying slightly fewer bills, slightly more silence, and realizing I’m running out of things to negotiate with.

Anyway… onward to Stage 3. 😅

Stage 3: The Identity Crisis

And now we arrive at the big, slightly uncomfortable question:
Who are you when you’re no longer parenting someone 24/7?

For years, “Mom” or “Dad” wasn’t just a title—it was your entire personality. You didn’t have hobbies, you had schedules. You didn’t have interests, you had carpools. Now suddenly the lunches are unpacked, the permission slips are gone, and you’re standing there thinking… Wait. Is there still a person under all this?

Apparently, yes. But she’s a little rusty and hasn’t been asked what she wants in years.

Also, side note: my kids didn’t even call us the same thing over the years. After “Mommy,” my oldest decided to upgrade me to Mother.
MOTHER.

I don’t know what image that word brings up for you, but for me it was cold hallways, distant parents, and children being shipped off to boarding school while their parents politely forgot their names. I hated it. My daughter, however, thought it sounded very grown-up and sophisticated. Meanwhile, I was internally screaming, “I AM STILL WARM AND AFFECTIONATE, THANK YOU.”

Thankfully, I’ve now been downgraded—sorry, upgraded—to Mum. Sweet, familiar, comforting. Huge relief. My identity is no longer “emotionally distant Victorian parent.” Progress.

My youngest, meanwhile, went through a phase of learning German in her teens, which resulted in some… creative naming. Her dad is still “Vader” (yes, like Darth Vader, and honestly that tracks. He is a huge Star Wars fan). But at least I stayed Mom. I survived the linguistic experiment.

I know I’ll always be Mum or Mom—and I’m grateful for that. But I won’t lie… I loved being Mommy. That version of me felt soft, needed, and very much at the center of their world.

So yeah. Stage 3 is realizing you’re still you, just without the constant chaos. And maybe—just maybe—learning how to hold onto who you were, while figuring out who you’re becoming next. 💕

What Nobody Tells You (But I Will)

The hardest part isn't missing them—it's missing who *you* were when they needed you. Parenthood gave you purpose on a silver platter. Now? You've got to figure out your purpose yourself. How utterly inconvenient.

"I spent 18 years making sure someone else was okay. Now I have to figure out if I'm okay? This wasn't in the parenting manual."

But here's the thing they don't show in the Hallmark movies: this is actually your chance to become interesting again. Remember hobbies? Remember having thoughts that didn't revolve around school schedules and what's for dinner?

The Ridiculous Things You'll Do

You'll keep making too much pasta. You'll set the table for four instead of two. You'll hear a noise at 11 PM and think "they're home!" before remembering they live 500 miles away now.

You'll also do weirder things, like:
• Walking past their empty room and feeling like you're in a museum
• Getting unreasonably emotional at Walmart (or browsing Amazon) in the back-to-school section
• Considering getting a dog, a cat, or possibly a llama to fill the void
• Stalking their social media like you're training for the FBI

Pro tip: The dog will love you unconditionally and never roll their eyes at your jokes. Just saying.

The Plot Twist

Eventually—and I promise this happens—you'll realize something strange. You kind of... like this? The quiet. The spontaneity. The ability to eat cereal for dinner without judgment. The relationship you have with your partner (or yourself, or your friends) without the constant background noise of parenting.

Your kids will call. They'll ask for advice. They'll need you in different ways. And you'll be there, because that part never changes.

But you'll also be living your own life. Finally. Again. Whatever.

So What Now?

Give yourself permission to feel weird about this. Give yourself permission to miss them and also enjoy sleeping past 7 AM. Give yourself permission to be more than just someone's parent.

Because here's the truth: you did your job. You raised a human capable of leaving. That was literally the entire point. Congratulations, you succeeded. Now the next chapter is about figuring out what success looks like for you.

No pressure or anything.

And if all else fails, there's always wine and group therapy. Preferably in that order.