You’re not just a wife, mom, daughter, or friend. You matter.

You have dreams and desires that may have been put on hold while you were parenting your children.

A friend once told me during this phase that God had plans for me—Carolyn—not just Carolyn, Jared and Jess’s mom.
That was a lightbulb moment.

But I think I had either forgotten how to dream, or I hadn’t given myself the freedom—or permission—to dream.

In truth, I had planned my life up until my children… and hadn’t really thought about what came after.

Give yourself time

My first piece of advice is this:

Don’t rush into anything.

This is a time that needs space.
Space to reflect.
Space to gather.
Space to reconnect with who you are.

Approach it with curiosity.

A gentle way forward

I came across an idea from Tiny Experiments by Anne-Laure Le Cunff that really resonated with me.

Instead of trying to figure everything out all at once, she suggests we approach life in small, low-pressure ways.

Not “What is my purpose now?”
but “What small experiment can I try next?”

Her approach is simple, but powerful:

Start small — no big decisions needed
Stay curious — explore, don’t commit
Keep it time-bound — try something for a short period
Reflect — notice what energises or drains you
Adjust — continue, tweak, or let go

It gives you permission to explore without pressure.
To rediscover yourself gently.

What might this look like?

Trying something new…

Learning a skill…

Exploring different work possibilities…

Making new friends…

Visiting new places…

We’ll talk more about this later when we explore self-care and permission to have fun.

Holding both grief and possibility

As I’ve said before, this is also a time of grieving.

I want this to be a space where you feel supported.

Where we acknowledge that while our experiences are different,
there are threads that connect us.

A place for honesty.
For shared experience.
For practical tools.

There is no judgment here.

And I’m not writing from a place of expertise, but from experience.

I haven’t “arrived.”
I’m still navigating this space too.

A gentle invitation

I’d love to encourage some reflection.

What’s something you have missed most since your children left home?

I think I miss the busy sporting weekends.
I loved watching my children play—
not just for the competition,
but for being outdoors in new spaces
and connecting with other parents.

What feelings are showing up for you during this time?

Acknowledge them.

If you feel comfortable, share them here.

What might those feelings be telling you?

There may be sadness.

But also relief—
that you’ve successfully launched an adult into the world.

For me, one of the hardest feelings was not feeling “needed” anymore.

But that feeling led me somewhere important—
towards exploring purpose.

Something we’ll talk about in a future piece.

Empty Nest Trivia

“Empty nest” was a term first coined by Dorothy Canfield in 1914.

It describes the stage in the family life cycle when children leave home—often bringing significant emotional and psychological changes for parents.

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“I miss their mess.
I miss their noise.
I miss their rudeness and neediness.
I miss their laughter.
I miss my place in their lives.
Who am I, and what do I do with the rest of my life?”

— Burns, J. (2022), Finding joy in the empty nest

Nobody prepares you for this.
Not books. Not friends. Not even yourself.

You birth these children and then spend the next eighteen years raising them. Your days are shaped around feeding, lifting, driving, waiting, worrying, loving. And then suddenly, they’re “ready to leave home!”

But are you?

There are hundreds of books on parenting — from pregnancy and newborns, to sleep schedules, toddlers, school years, and teenage angst. Entire libraries devoted to how to raise children well. And then… almost nothing.

Just a quiet house. A silence that feels heavier than you expected.

This is a grieving process that nobody really speaks about.

Whether you stayed at home, worked outside the home, or did some version of both, your identity has been shaped by raising your children to adulthood. You were needed. You were central. You mattered in very tangible ways.

And now the relationship shifts — from parent–child to adult–adult — with no roadmap.

You and your partner feel a little like strangers in the home when there are no children to “distract” you from engaging with each other. How do you stay busy and fulfilled? How do you connect well with your partner? How do I honour the loss — because it is a loss — and still move forward with purpose and joy?

I don’t believe the answer is to “just be grateful” or to rush into reinvention before acknowledging the ache. I do believe there is strength in vulnerability — in naming the struggle — and then gently taking practical steps to explore what this season might offer.

The empty nest is not linear.

If our children are at university, they return for holidays — each homecoming requiring renegotiation of space, expectations, and roles. Holidays look different. And for many families, there is the boomerang phase: adult children returning home to work and save. Each departure brings another small wave of grief. Familiar, but still real.

This season requires intention, planning, and compassion — for yourself and for your relationships.

One grounding practice during this phase is journaling. Write down what surfaces. Notice the emotions without judging them. Ask where they may be rooted, and what story you are telling yourself about this transition.

I’m here to say this clearly:

Your experience is valid.
This is hard.
And it looks different for everyone.

Beyond the Empty Nest is a space for pausing in this in-between — acknowledging what has been lost, and gently making room for what may still unfold.

You are not behind.
You are not failing.
You are simply standing at a threshold.