My daughter is going to college. It’s only three and a half hours away. So why does my heart ache so intensely?

Everyone says, “Good job, momma! Celebrate that you did your job well.” If it should feel like a celebration, why does it feel so dreadful?

Living Grief

It feels like death because it is, in fact, an ending. It feels heavy because there is true loss in multiple ways. As a therapist who specializes in relationships, anxiety, and depression, I encourage people to put a name on their feelings and experiences. The term we use to describe this heaviness is aptly, “living grief.”

How can it feel like loss, if she’ll only be a few hours or a simple phone call away? Perhaps it is just that simple. She will be away.

Before this change, I saw her face every single day. No matter how busy she was or I was, I knew that she laid her head at night just feet from mine. I felt? know her presence in our home as if she emanates an audible frequency.  I hear her feet when they hit the floor in the morning and know the sound belongs to her. And then overnight, her presence will be gone. It’s a shift from “always here” to “not here at all.” Just like death.

Her absence sets off alarm bells in my head. As a mother, I’m so attuned to her presence, her whereabouts, her plans – just as God designed it – so I that can ensure her safety.  When my kids were young, they often heard me say “If I can’t see you, I can’t protect you.” This reminder kept them from wandering in the store or straying on the playground. The bond of nearness is biological. Th sense of attachment also helps her know she is safe, because she knows that her momma is always aware and watchful.

I am also losing my identity. Of course, I am still a mom, confidant, and a coffee-and-thrifting buddy. However, the active stage of parenting is over. It’s now time for me to step back, and let her solve more of life’s problems on her own. It’s time for me to let her use the skills I’ve worked so incredibly hard to intentionally, lovingly, painstakingly hone and instill in her. It’s time for me to take a backseat.

The permanence is hard to grapple with. There will be no more weekly milestones to coo over and I no longer will have a front row seat as she figures out something new on her own. She is designed to grow away from me, to grow into her own person, yet I am designed to always be connected and aware. She will not feel the distance growing between us as I do. It can leave a parent feeling alone in the struggle, and less connected.

It’s not just her absence that I’m grieving. It’s the end of childhood, of innocence, of my ability to shelter her as much as possible from the big bad world out there. I have less influence over her choices and their outcomes. My daily and weekly rhythm is gone. Let me be honest, it also forces me to accept that I am getting older as another season of my life has passed! There are many layers to the loss. It is tangible. Each of those layers will take time to heal.

Is your baby bird flying the nest? These tips can you help you to process the “living grief” that you may be experiencing:

1. Create a transition space. Pick a comfortable spot in or around your home where you can sit and reflect on your feelings as the days pass. Grab a cup of tea!
2. Start your day with a grounding exercise. For just a few minutes, sit in a comfortable place and try box breathing (in for four, out for four, four times). Recite a mantra that soothes your soul. “You did good momma, and she will do great.”
3. Name the loss. Acknowledge the pain you’re feeling without judgment. “What I miss today is…” or “Today I’m struggling with…” This allows the feelings to be released – stuffing our emotions just makes them twist and grow!
4. Anchor yourself in connection. Write a note to your kiddo about something you want to share or reflect on – even if you never send it.
5. Foster connection. Share something encouraging each week that helps you both feel connected but also respects their freedom and their journey. “I’m proud of you because…” or “I remembered __ about you and it brought a smile to my face.”
6. Reframe your thoughts or emotions. Remind yourself that the struggle is only temporary, and they are indeed still a part of your life. Picture them thriving in their new environment — laughing with a friend, walking confidently to class, spending time in their new space as a comfortable “home-away-from-home.”
7. Reflect on prior growth seasons. From the beginning, their journey through each stage and season has meant letting go of the one before. I remember being so enthralled with their progress and the opportunities that opened up as they grew (I think we can all agree the post potty training stage was pretty amazing) that I barely noticed what was left behind.  Apply that same concept now, by looking for things to look forward to in the new upcoming season.

Celebrating This New Stage of Life

The good news? My first born, baby bird number one, left for school last year. He survived. I survived. And, he clearly still needs me (especially at 2am when he fears he might have frostbite)! He is a different person now than when he left for college last fall, but I adore him even more than I did before. We can cultivate that same joy for this new stage as well.

So, hang in there mom & dad! Let me share something a wise woman (my momma) often told me as I grew up and faced life’s challenges: “This too shall pass.”

It will take time to retrain your brain to associate their absence with growth and not danger. Remember, as this time passes, you’re creating something new with your baby bird. There are many who have walked this path before us and know that this season has its own joys and celebrations. There is more wonderful yet to come.

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