Twelve years ago, my oldest son graduated high school. My middle son graduated last week. My youngest finished his sophomore year Friday. I used to panic at the thought of an empty nest, especially after the divorce. I have been a mother for 30 years. By the time my youngest graduates, it will be 32 years. That is a long time to do something. Long enough that you get so used to being “mom” that you forget everything else. You lose sight of who you are, who you want or wanted to be and the things you wanted for yourself. When you are a parent, you have to put a lot of things aside, and sacrifice a lot of what you want. Not that I am complaining. I love being a mom, I love my kids and until recently, I wasn’t sure I really wanted anything else.
Maybe it is menopause or maybe it is the light at the end of the tunnel illuminating my possibilities, but a few weeks ago, my fear and dread of an empty nest all but disappeared. It was a frustrating week demanding a lot. I had been in a car accident, I was having flooring installed in my house and it was defective, I am working graveyard shift and I was having to break up my sleep to drop off and pick kids from school and work. I had to go get estimates for my car and shop to replace the flooring I waited 2 months for the factory to have available. I have been putting in 5-10 hours per week of overtime at an already stressful job. I was so tired, so frustrated and so moody. I came to a realization–I have been putting myself on the back burner, scratching out bits of time for myself for 30 years. More than half my life.
I went from changing diapers and losing sleep, to temper tantrums and losing sleep, to children asserting independence and losing sleep. I am on the third round of teen years and all the angst that goes with it. And the loss of sleep. In coping with all the stress and fatigue and worry, I have lost interest and inspiration to paint and create. I don’t socialize. I work. I watch Netflix and I work.
It is not any more of a sacrifice than any other mother has made. I am sure most of them hit a breaking point at some point in their timeline of existence and realize they miss themselves. As a person. As an individual. Something beyond being a wife or a mother. Something, when you become a mom, goes dormant because otherwise our selfish nature with selfish needs would take over and would conflict with every want and need our children have. It doesn’t feel like such a sacrifice. Until it does. A few weeks ago, it did.
As much as I love my children, I am actually looking forward to the empty nest. I have focused so much on everyone and everything else, for such a long time, it will finally be my turn. I can enjoy the freedom that comes with the empty nest. The worry won’t go away. Our kids will always be our kids, but the worry will change.
All the things we view as selfish when the kids are home will no longer be selfish, but something tells me that I will have to constantly remind myself that I have earned it and it is finally my turn. The simplest of things will change–the grocery bill, the utility usage, the use of space. I will be able to travel without having to worry about who will take the kids to and from school and work. More money available for travel and to invest in my house. The dishes in the sink will be mine. The only messes will be mine. I can turn one of the bedrooms into an art studio and paint to my heart’s content. I need to start that before the empty nest though.
I can see possibility over emptiness. Peace over silence. Opportunity over absence. And joy over dread. The coming change is a welcome one.
My Forties Reboot 