Unnested

The Emotional Shift

Deep breath…
In the last 900 days, I’ve watched all three of my daughters graduate high school. It felt like a three-part miniseries — no commercial breaks, just back-to-back milestones.

And in what felt like a lightning strike, they launched into their next chapters: work, college, even parenthood. It’s been a whirlwind of pride, excitement, and a surprising sense of disorientation. Parenthood is a journey of temporary roles — and that reality is both a gift and a gut punch.

Expected Stages

Whether you signed up for it or got drafted, parenthood comes with a lot of unsolicited directions. People love to tell you what’s coming.

• Infancy: aching bellies, first smiles.
• Toddlerhood: Tantrums, giggles, learning to walk.
• Childhood: School days, bedtime stories.
• Teen Years: Independence, conflict, growth.

But nothing fully prepares you for the emotional brick wall of Young Adulthood — the season of letting go. You feel proud yet quietly grieve the shift.

You’re torn between the joy of watching them chase their dreams and the ache of feeling left behind. And I’m not asking for pity — this is what I signed up for. This is the culmination of all those torturous yet blissful years. The hard parts. The beautiful parts.

So why do I sometimes feel so lost? Even useless?

It’s like working at a company for 18 years. You grind your fingers to the bone, hoping for a promotion, only to be let go without notice. And let me warn you: the Company of Home offers no severance, no pension, and definitely no exit interview.

Emotional Whiplash: Relief and Heartbreak

Some seasons felt eternal. There were sleepless nights and sticky-fingered chaos. You never knew what mysterious, foul-smelling pile of “nope” you were about to clean up next — was it food? Was it art? Was it alive? But now, those moments have disappeared like sidewalk chalk after a thunderstorm.

I didn’t realize it at the time, but somewhere in the midst of all that blessing, I lost pieces of myself. My husband quietly slipped down the priority list. Self-care became a luxury reserved for birthdays and rare quiet mornings, instead of a daily right.

If you’re about to enter this season, hear me: there is relief in moving forward. In reclaiming your time, your space, your identity. Sure, there’s a deep ache for what’s gone — and honestly, that’s okay. It means it mattered.

Job 12:12 says, “Is not wisdom found among the aged? Does not long life bring understanding?”
This verse speaks directly to the empty nest season. It reminds me that this chapter isn’t about fading — it’s about evolving.

Watching your children step into adulthood can make you feel like your role is shrinking. The house feels like it is swallowing you making the silence louder than the peace.

But the verse reminds me: this isn’t the end of purpose — it’s the beginning of wisdom.

I’ve lived through scraped knees, teenage storms, and stood through college goodbyes. That journey has shaped me. And now, in this quieter chapter, I carry a depth of understanding that only time and love can teach.

Sometimes, I don’t love it. I feel like a Bounty paper towel — soaking up every minute I get to share in their lives. Now I’m the one sticking my little hand under the bathroom door, asking repetitive questions. Sasha Alex Sloan’s song “Kids” is a deeply emotional reflection, go listen. It’s an illustration of role reversal that happens as parents age. Children step into the caregiving role. It resonates beautifully with the empty nest experience. This is especially true and bittersweet realization. The people who once cared for you will one day need your care in return.

The chorus captures this shift poignantly: “One day before we know it, parents become the kids.” “I’ll take care of you like you took care of me.”

Real Talk…..The empty nest isn’t the end of parenting — it’s a new kind of influence. You become the steady voice, the wise counsel, the safe place they return to. Your wisdom becomes your legacy.

So yes, the heartbreak of change is real. But so is the beauty of growth. The years haven’t just passed — they’ve prepared.

Learn to find joy in this stage, too.

The calendar will flip, the bedrooms will empty, and the routines fade. Calls may only come when someone’s Venmo isn’t working. Even then, the thread that ties a parent to their child doesn’t unravel. It stretches; it shifts and occasionally frays around the edges… but it never breaks.

Your friend, Cassie