Category: empty-nest

The Quiet of a New Season

Reflecting on the gradual transition to a new and inevitable season of life: empty nesting.

It is definitely quieter around here. Not that she made much noise during her last two years of high school—she often retreated into her “nest” (our nickname for the top floor of our house, where her bedroom is). Still, we knew she’d come down now and then for food or drinks, join us for walks with the dogs, and wander the house in search of her cats. But now? Yes, it’s definitely quieter.

Our youngest has been away at college in the U.S. for over a month now, while her dad and I are back here in Germany—with her cats and our one remaining dog. We are, officially, empty nesters. I can confirm: her nest is empty.

People often ask how things are going in this new stage. I usually say, “It’s quiet and different, but she’s where she’s supposed to be.” Over the past month, I’ve been reflecting on what it means to be an empty nester. It feels less like the dramatic shift of stepping off a plane into a new country, and more like the transition between seasons.

Eventually summer shifts somehow into autumn. You start noticing a few chilly, rainy days, but you’re still wearing your summer clothes—no need to pack them away just yet. Then one day, a tree catches your eye with its changing colors. You’re surprised—how are we heading into another season already? But as the colder days increase and more trees change, it starts to sink in: yes, autumn has arrived.

Raising teenagers is a lot like that. It’s normal for high schoolers to begin pulling away—this slow, natural distancing helps prepare them (and us) for adulthood. When our daughter turned 18, even she wasn’t so sure she was ready for this thing called “adulting.” But this gradual change also gives us, as parents, time to prepare for life without them under our roof every day.

We’ve had children in our home for nearly 25 years. That’s a long season. So what does this next one look like—for me? I don’t know yet. I know it likely involves moving back to the U.S sometime next year, but beyond that, the long-term picture feels a little foggy. That’s hard for someone like me, who loves to plan.

My husband and I do have some exciting plans together—we’ve been preparing for this new chapter for a while. But for me, personally, what are the things I can touch, see, and smell in this new season of life? That’s a good question—and one that will take time, reflection, and prayer to answer.

So, now that I fully realize I’m entering a new season, I’m trying to give myself grace. This transition might take time—a long time—and that’s okay. With each new season comes new opportunities, fresh joys, and unexpected beauty. Sometimes those joys are tucked under a fallen log or hiding in the branches of a tree.

Thank God for the changing seasons.

Embracing New Chapters

A mom reflects on their emptying nest and the courage to write new life chapters, all part of one beautiful life story.

Our youngest of three, with a big grin, waved and boarded the bus in 2013 for her first full day of school as a 1st grader. “Now you can get some work done, Mom!” she exclaimed. Her funny quips always brought a smile, and even at that young age, she could see the challenge of balancing work and family. I was going to miss our special “bagged” lunches in my office, but I was so happy for her excitement to finally be in school all day like her brother and sister.  As a preschooler and kindergartener, she had “worked” alongside me at our local church complete with her own desk and phone in my office.

How quickly those years flew by. Today, as she headed off to school for the last “first” time of her high school career, I’m reminded that I’ve been doing this ‘first day of school’ routine for 18 years. That’s a long time—a third of my life—and it’s worthy of reflection. Luckily, our youngest has aspirations of medical school, our middle child is still in university, and our oldest is starting her master’s degree this fall, so I can still look forward to the obligatory selfies. But it isn’t the same. There’s no in-person hug, no smile, no wave to kick off this special day. Every new beginning must be preceded by the end of a chapter.

As the nest gets emptier, it would be easy to fall into the trap of not knowing what comes next—wondering how I will contribute, how I will be needed. For half of my life, one of my main purposes has been to care for and nurture our family, equipping them to someday fly on their own. Now, it’s easy to feel less needed, reflecting on the past and gazing into a future that looks vastly different. But today, I was reminded that when you remember you are not alone, you can find strength and encouragement.

This morning, I hiked through the forest with a parent group from our international school. I enjoy this group, but on a hot, humid morning, where my “pity party of one” seemed more appealing, I forced myself to join the hike. Though the journey was arduous, my soul felt refreshed, and I found a renewed sense of purpose afterward. I met people who were experiencing similar feelings—grappling with the loss of something or someone and trying to find ‘what’s next’ and where to go.

I may have been the only parent on the hike today whose youngest child is beginning their last year of school, but each person seemed to be at the end or beginning of a new chapter. There were those mourning the loss of a career in a previous country, finding it challenging to work in Germany. A wife mourning the loss of her husband. A woman who had only been in Germany for a week, moving her family from Korea, struggling to find the English words she so desperately wanted to share to connect with others.

We listened. We shared. We walked alongside each other. I was reminded that what I am feeling is normal. It’s normal to feel uneasy at a big life milestone, at the turning of a chapter. A sense of loss. Trepidation. It can be tempting to stay stuck in the same chapter, but if the page does not get turned, the story will never grow.

With each new chapter, the book becomes more complete—becoming an even more beautiful story.

I am beyond grateful for the people who are such a vibrant part of this entire book, especially my husband, children, friends and family. And I know that just because our daughter is graduating next year, that does not mean my role as a mother has ended. As our adult children know, mom is just a text or a call away, no matter what the topic.

But, my book is expanding, continuing on with a new chapter. I am reminded to use the blessing of each new day, embracing my abilities and passions, to continue to write my story. I have gifts that go beyond motherhood, and there’s still so much I can do. I don’t know exactly where this new section is heading, but I do know that if I don’t invest the time and energy to begin this new chapter (and ask God to direct my steps), this book won’t be as beautiful and full as it could be.

“I heard you say that you wanted to learn English better. I’m not a teacher, but I’d be happy to meet for coffee each week to help you practice,” I offered to the woman I was hiking with today, who had just moved to Germany from Korea. Her face lit up. “Yes, yes, I would like that,” she immediately replied. I gave her my contact information and decided to say yes to this new adventure, one of several new changes in my book plot recently.

It’s time soon to turn the page on this new chapter, closing a long one of many years. There are so many new characters to meet, new adventures to explore.

Here we go.

“Now you can get some work done, Mom.” 

Yes, I can. And I will. And I ask God to help and guide me.