Growing Pains

If you’re a mother sending your child off to college, I know you understand how I feel.

I imagined that by child number four, it would be easier. It isn’t.

When Rain left for college last year, I couldn’t even talk about it. The grief was too fresh. I needed time to understand what I was feeling — the tension between holding on and letting go, between the mother I’d always been and the woman I was becoming.

Yesterday, my son walked out the door.

I’m so proud of him. He’s kind, capable, thoughtful, and ready. Watching him become a young man is one of the greatest honors of my life. But pride and heartbreak can exist at the same time.

This morning I walked past his bedroom, and it felt different.

I don’t hear his key in the front door anymore. His chair at the dinner table sits empty. There isn’t a sweaty backpack in the middle of the floor or shoes that somehow never make it to the closet. I won’t remind him to take out the trash. I won’t get that sleepy goodnight kiss before bed.

Those ordinary moments… were never ordinary at all.

What brings me peace is knowing that this is exactly what the last eighteen years were for. Not to keep our children close forever, but to raise them to leave us with confidence. To become good humans. To trust themselves. To build beautiful lives of their own.

Although it feels like I made him from scratch yesterday, today I’m doing what every mother eventually has to do.

I’m letting go. I’m cheering him on. And I’m praying he comes home often.

This is my fourth goodbye, and somehow it feels even deeper. Because with every child who leaves, another chapter of motherhood quietly closes.

Last year Rain said something to me I’ll never forget. She told me, “Mom, you’re my hardest goodbye.” I smiled and said, “That’s because you’ll always be my most beautiful hello.”

For every mother who feels scared, uncertain, lonely, or a little lost today, I hope you know this: You did it!

You spent eighteen years loving, protecting, guiding, teaching, and preparing your child for this very moment. This isn’t an ending. It’s a rite of passage. A transition. A beginning… for them and for you.

As I watched my baby walk out the door yesterday, I realized something unexpected. Freedom isn’t behind me. It’s in front of me.

For the first time in decades, I get to start mothering myself. All the time, energy, meals, appointments, homework, guidance, nurturing, and unconditional love that I so willingly poured into my children… I now have the opportunity to pour some of that back into me.

I’ve never spoken about this before because it was simply too hard. There were sleepless nights, endless worrying, tears at the dinner table, and moments I didn’t yet have the words for. This time feels different.

My sadness is balanced with joy.

My grief is softened by pride.

My letting go is filled with gratitude.

My four children are grown. And today may be the first day I realize I’ve grown up too.

xoxo,

Brooke

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