Finding my worth as an empty nester_blog#2

Our two kids are in their 20s—a son and a daughter. They couldn’t be more different, yet there’s an undeniable spark of similarity between them.

Our son lives and breathes cinema and music. He’s about to graduate with a degree in Cinema, a passion that’s been ingrained in him since the womb. Animation and film have always been his world, and, as if in perfect harmony, he also has an extraordinary musical ear. He’s a walking encyclopedia of sound—able to hear a single snippet of a song and instantly name the band, song, genre, and era. Though he played in his high school band, he’s largely self-taught. One day, in his late teens, he lugged home a beat-up old piano, cleaned it up, and taught himself to play. Now, he seamlessly blends his two passions, composing music for the films he creates. Beyond his artistic talents, he’s humble, frugal, and kind. He would sleep on the floor if needed and create heartfelt gifts out of nothing for his friends. And, one of my favorite things about him, he's a insatiable book reader.

Our daughter, on the other hand, is strong-willed, fiercely intelligent, and quick-witted—yet also artistic and athletic. She has excelled in swimming, soccer, softball, aerial arts, and dance, perfecting each skill before moving on to the next. Watching our tiny but mighty girl dominate the soccer field while the entire sideline cheered her on was unforgettable. For a while, we thought she might be a Division 1 athlete—or at least secure an academic scholarship (she was salutatorian in high school). Now, she’s exploring a future in healthcare or dentistry, but like all things, it has to be her idea, not ours. She reminds me so much of my husband—quietly brilliant, strategic, and destined for success in whatever she chooses.

For years, my life revolved around finishing work and immediately shuttling both of them around. Then, my son got his driver's license, and off he went. I was still deep in dance competitions, rehearsals, and performances, but once she, too, got her license, I was fired from my job as chauffeur. Suddenly, my evenings were mine again—but I wasn’t sure what to do with them.

At first, I spiraled. The transition hit hard. Without the constant rush of schedules, I felt unmoored, battling weight gain, menopause, and waves of sadness. I knew I had worth, but I still struggled to feel it. I was exhausted after work, grateful for my hybrid schedule (thank you, pandemic), yet emotionally drained. Slowly, I started clawing my way back. I exercised more, ate better, and tried to reclaim old passions—once a voracious reader, I now mostly listen to audiobooks . I love cooking and baking, and recently, I even picked up crocheting again. We’ll see how long that lasts.

My husband gets home late, but we make an effort to go out on weekends. I’ve learned not to rely on him—or anyone else—for my happiness. Finding myself again is a slow, ongoing process. I look at my older friends who are vibrant and engaged in life, and I either feel inspired or inadequate. I compare myself too much, yet I also dream—imagining business ideas for my post-retirement years.

With our son away at college, I remind myself not to need attention from our daughter. She’s busy building her own life, and while I cherish our outings, I know I can’t expect consistency. We’re not true empty nesters yet—one child moved back home, so the house isn’t as tidy as it was during that brief two-week period when both were out. But I don’t mind. Hearing about her adventures keeps me young, introducing me to things only the younger generation knows about.

Life isn’t over. One day, I hope to welcome new additions to our family when they find love. I don’t mind daydreaming about being a grandma, even if it’s years away. For now, I have my fur babies—three kittens, an old hound, a bearded dragon, the squirrels we feed, our backyard birds, and even a fish tank. They keep me busy.

I’m still figuring out how to enjoy myself again—how to stay interested and interesting. I know there’s more to come. I refuse to let myself fall into darkness. I may be in my 50s, but I still have so much life left to live.