All hail the empty nesters and the almost empty nesters
I wished I’d known how unsettling and jangly this phase of parenthood is because I’d have taken far greater care of the friends and family who were ahead of me on this path...
(I wrote this in September 2021, I think, when our eldest started university in Newcastle- upon-Tyne)
While social media fills with cute photos of freshly pressed children on their first day at infants, primary, secondary and even sixth form this week, spare a thought for the parents of the older teens, young adults.
The ones with the tight smiles as they perform the delicate balancing act of supporting - without interfering - their off spring as they grapple with weighty post-school and college decisions like how to get a job, whether to go to Uni or not. Gap years, travelling itineraries and IKEA trips, not just for the meatballs but to kit out student kitchen and bedroom without having necessarily seen the actual accommodation in person. There are a whole load of leaps of faith and a smorgasbord of swirling emotions going on right now.
These weeks can be fraught. At least that’s what I found this time last year. Who knew discussions about kitchen knives and frying pans could get so intense. This year it’s slightly different. We were in calmer waters last weekend as Charlie brought down his plastic crates from the loft, filled with crockery, cutlery and kitchenware, untouched since he came home at the end of his first year at Northumbria Uni back in May. Duvet and bed linen squidged into black bin bags, our large black suitcase filled with clothes. His BMX in bits. All neatly wedged into the back of my red mini with space for him and Andy upfront only.
The goodbye hug wasn’t quite as intense as last year but still, it’s change and there's a definite emotional shift. A stark reminder that he is an adult, wanting and needing to live independently. I know it’s easy to get carried away with laughs and jokes about student life but for the parent back at home, my goodness there's quite a bit to wrap our heads round too, isn't there? Last year there were tears (me) and a general sense of things being off, different (me – again). And honestly, I don’t know why that took me by surprise.
As Brene Brown says in Atlas of the heart, ‘with very few exceptions, developmental milestones leave me feeling bittersweet. I’m proud of Ellen and excited about her new apartment in a different city, and I share Charlie’s happiness about his new driver’s license, but I’m also sad when I walk by Ellen’s room in our house and I’m sad I don’t get to drive Charlie and his friends to school every morning (which is when you hear the best conversations).
When Charlie headed off to Newcastle last year, the four of us back here in Ilkley quickly settled into a gentle, quiet rhythm. We felt his absence even if we couldn’t find the words to explain or express it. It is that empty bedroom, the fridge taking slightly longer to empty. One less setting at the dinner table. The energy in the house was different and I realised how much each one of us brings to this home, to this family just by being here. How our personalities weave together, how we bounce off each other, even when we’re hiding in plain sight behind a bedroom or bathroom door.
What I did know was that I wished I’d known how unsettling and jangly this phase of parenthood is because I’d have taken far greater care of the friends and family who were ahead of me on this path.
During the day, the routine of school and work is a great distraction. And whilst Charlie always semi-joked that he kept the conversation going at the dinner table we discovered that him not being there gave Olly and Saskia airtime to chat and find a new dynamic to their relationship with each other, and us. (Sorry Charlie, you’re not the only family conversationalist now!)
It wasn't long before that dining table turned into a poker and games table on a Friday night for Ollie and his friends. While Saskia, spotting a not-so-distant future, where both her brothers would be away and she’d be facing dinner conversation with the ‘rents on her own, swiftly put her own exit plan in place. She fully embraced the freedom that comes with being at secondary school and living in a safe, small town and upped her social life. She found other friend’s houses to hang out in, to the point where there were plenty of weekends where we barely saw her. From a household of five to three in one fell swoop.
While the games of poker and sleepovers were happening Andy and I would sometimes find ourselves on the sofa in the evening, alone, looking around us. Where’d everyone go? What the heck happened? And we'd smile...our work here is done.
And I am happy for Charlie and all the young people heading off, really I am. As a friend and I were saying the other day (her children are all older than mine so she’s a few years ahead of me on this life curve), it gives us great joy seeing them head off into the big wide world. And whilst this phase is absolutely about them and their futures, it is also about us too.
Because, dare I say it - we did that. We put in an epic parenting shift to help them get to this point where they're ready to step out on their own, whether that’s a permanent move out of the family home to work, university or a few months inter railing or work experience. So, tears, yes, but fierce pride too.
There is no vicarious, oh how I wish I could be a teenager again feeling, life ahead of me feeling here as I listen to the tales and adventures of my 19-year-old. There really isn’t. I really am happiest at home, book in one hand, drink in the other, tea, coffee or gin depending on the time of day.
I love the shared Tweets, Instagram posts and Spotify playlists. I love hearing stories about quiet nights out that turn into 6am sunrise staggers home after ending up in a club. I love getting a call out of the blue. Just to check in with me and just say hi, because he's been busy, out having fun, just as he should be. I expect I'd have felt that way in a pre-Covid world, but those two lost years make this free, sociable life even more sweet.
And strange as it might seem, I also love those searching conversations where my sometimes reactive without thinking middle-aged comments are leapt on, especially when it comes to this oh so bloody chaotic, tumultuous world we live in.
The bittersweet side of appreciating life's most precious moments is the unbearable awareness that those moments are passing.
Marc Parent (thanks to Brene Brown's Atlas of the Heart for this quote)
And so, to this September which sees Charlie moving into a shared house just two streets along from where I lived in my fourth year at Northumbria (or Newcastle Poly as it was known then). Back in Ilkley Ollie steels himself for Y13 and A levels and I’m trying not to look too far ahead to this time next year because, well. Who knows what he’ll be doing. Whatever it is though it’ll no doubt involve an Ilkley escape leaving Saskia the last child standing at home. Maybe she'll hanker a little after her brothers, even if she won't admit it, and that feeling of safety in numbers when they’re around
September. A bittersweet month filled with pride, joy and tears. Our job as a parent is never over, but surely this milestone is one we should really mark.
Thanks for reading, Harriet
Loved this Harriet. I'm still a ways off of experiencing this as my kid begins high school, ideas of college of uni are still a few years away though at the rate the last 15 have flown, I'm going to do my best to savour these final years of constant togetherness. Gradual separation. When my nest empties, we will each be on our own but hopefully feeling each other's presence all the time, especially in lonely moments. But I congratulate you and your spouse and your kids for a job well done and I'm glad for you your nest isn't fully empty yet, that it's a slower emptying...and in that emptying, a fulfilment, too, for each of your family members including you. 👏🏻👏🏻✨