Embracing the Empty Nest

I am Shavonda, a 43-year-old Black woman from Milwaukee, and I love being a mother. I have three sons, soon-to-be 21-year-old twins, and a fresh 18-year-old. They are the most interesting people I know. This fall, all 3 of them will be away at college, and for the first time in 21 years, I will not have my children living under my roof full-time. I am an empty nester; an empty nest refers to a home where the children become adults and move out. For many parents, this occurs when their last child goes to college. It can be a difficult transition for many as it means the end of a stage of their life that consumes much of their mental and physical energy. There is often a grieving that takes place, and I am in the thick of it. I am surprised I survived typing the previous sentence because my heart breaks slightly just thinking of it. I am always hesitant to call myself a single mother because I had the love and support of my family, friends, and community, so I never felt entirely alone. I was unmarried, and there were some lonely and scary times in parenting; but we did that. I now get to enjoy the fruits of my labor in seeing my children grow and navigate the world as some of the best young adults I have ever encountered.

This stage of my life should be one of celebration since I now have the time and energy to reclaim and to pursue interests and passions I put on the back burner as I centered my children and their care. And also…ya girl is scared. 

I wanted to share all of these confusing thoughts and feelings with someone. To create a mirror for other Black parents navigating this space and to ask others to bear witness to the joy and pain. So I am writing this blog.

I grew up having children around all the time. My mother was a childcare provider and a neighborhood mom, so there were always 2 or 3 younger children around, and I enjoyed helping her look after them. I grew up learning to be a nurturer, a protector, and a caregiver. I knew children would always be a part of my life, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. I became a mother in 2002 with the birth of my twins. I was 22 and terrified yet determined to be the mom those two precious babies deserved. I read books and blog posts and joined groups online with one goal: to be the best mother. Motherhood became my primary role, and it was all-encompassing. Two and a half years later, my youngest son joined the family, and I became more comfortable in my role as mom. My full nest was busy. Parent-teacher conferences, tennis matches, flag football, bake sales, chess club, stock market club, concerts, school plays, Saturday games, play dates, birthday parties, packed lunches, laundry, bedtime stories, early morning cuddles before school, missed buses, summer camp, lost hats and gloves. Rinse and repeat. The days, weeks, and years ran together. Yet, even in the most mundane day-to-day of being a mom, I loved it and wanted to be excellent at it. I was, no, I am a great mom. I even printed little business cards that listed me as “mom of Michael, Nicholas and Oliver” because I wanted the world to know I was THAT GIRL. My main goal was to send whole children to the world to do good.

Being a mom, an unmarried mom is hard. Being a Black mom of 3 Black sons is a herculean feat. Balancing that partial list above with helping your Black child find mirrors in a world that systemically strips them of their humanity by offering them windows into whiteness was a full-time job. There is this constant tension of letting them be free children while pointing out the possible racial pitfalls. I worried about how much detail to share with them about whiteness’ goal to kill them. Heavy stuff for kids you want just to be free to run around the park. I was constantly diligent.  My sons are aware of the world as young adults but not apprehensive. I still worry. I push my fear down so as not to make them afraid of the world and its beauty. I want them to explore, find more mirrors, and find more of themselves in this world. I also want to tuck them into their beds every night, but I don’t think I can have both.

I learned a lot about caring for and nurturing children growing up. Still, I also frequently heard adults express disdain for caring for children and being unable to wait until their children become adults. Having this been my experience, I was surprised and a little unprepared for the grief I am currently navigating. I thought this would be all joy, no drawbacks. As I type this, knowing I am moving one of my sons to their dorm in just a few hours, the joy is hard to find. For two decades, so much of my existence has been mom and mom in a very particular way. As your children move closer to adulthood, there is less physical touch. You are no longer picking them up, feeding them, helping them dress, or rocking them to sleep. Slowly, there is less routine touch, and you must be intentional with hugs, kisses, and high-fives. You must be even more intentional as they move out of the home. I will miss the frequent casual hugs afforded me due to proximity. 

We need to talk more about grief. We need to prepare each other. We need to encourage other parents not to get so caught up in the day-to-day mundane work of parenting that they don’t store enough memories of cuddles and giggles coming from the rooms of children who should be asleep. My arms ache to hold their soft toddler bodies. I worry about losing my identity and sense of personal worth because who am I, if not a mom with kids to rush home to? How do I structure my days without school pick ups and drop offs to anchor them? What would my little business card now read? “Shavonda, who lost herself in children that no longer need her to remind them to brush their teeth” If I am honest with myself I have been trying to prove something to a world that counting me and my children as nothing but statistics. Daily, weekly, yearly I have worked to show “them” that I had what it took to get 3 sons to this point. And now that we are here what’s next? What do I use to show the world my worth? Do I know my worth outside of mothering? 

These are the questions I am sitting with. Trying to work though. 

I am also working on finding joy in this transition. I have some things I am looking forward to. Glad to not be commuting to and from school and being able to be in the home alone with my husband for the first time since we married. I plan to direct my new free time into enriching activities. First up is the piano.

I look forward to planning travel without worrying about my baby sitters and school schedules. 

I am discovering the importance of self-care and my mental well-being during this transition, and I have found it is a great help to talk to other parents about how they are navigating this time. It is beneficial for me to talk to other Black women who are also learning to explore their personhood unencumbered with being full-time caregivers. 

It is still hard. I cried my whole way through writing this.  The transition is happening with or without my approval, so I am learning to mourn the changes without suffering. Being a mother continues to be a point of pride. I pursued excellence in parenting as a full nester and am preparing myself to be excellent as an empty nester. 

But check on me, y'all,  this still ain't easy.