Why am I grieving if it’s a good thing for my child to leave home?

How many times had I heard something along the lines of, “The days are long, but the years are short.”?

When my husband and I had children, we never had the conversation about what it would be like when they would reach the age when they would leave home. It was never a thought either of us had time to formulate between less sleep, more feeding, more crying, less us time, baby cuddles, laughter, less me time, bonding, less sleep, more feeding…again. You know, keeping small humans alive and whatnot. 

But, here we are. Another child has stepped out into the adult world. 

I mean, first off, I don’t feel old enough to have children who have moved out, flown the coop, whatever. Can you tell I’m not super excited about this? Which, honestly, is a little confusing to me. How many times have the two of us talked about how amazing it would be once the kids left home and we would have so much more time to ourselves? We could travel more, sleep more, worry less about being quiet in our own room, engage in more personal hobbies; you know, live it up. It would be like we were honeymooners again after all these years! 

So why are we both crying…again. I don’t mean to paint the picture that my husband and I are crybabies (okay, maybe we are a little), but we have been weepy the last few days.  Even a little raw feeling. Things that may not have been such a big deal before, suddenly are. It’s harder to navigate relationship issues in a positive way when your heart already hurts.  It’s hard to realize everything you’ve put nearly your last two decades into has become exactly what you hoped they would, successfully moving on to fulfill their dreams and life, and you’re supposed to be excited about it. I am trying to tell myself I deserve a pat on the back for all that successful work, but I’m too busy with the Kleenexes to reach my back.

Okay, in all reality, we’re surviving, even thriving. We are traveling more now that the kids are older and/or moved out. We do spend more time together. We are dating more and stronger than ever as a couple. We’ve become closer than we even knew we could. (Build your relationship now so you can have a relationship when they leave! Read here for those tips. https://www.bozemancounseling.org/blog/2021/1/10/what-now-11-tools-to-help-with-that.) We focus on our careers in a more effective way.  

We are doing all kinds of things we couldn’t when life was consumed with the job of nourishing small humans.

Note to self: This adjustment time is rough. 

But it is just that. A time, and it will pass, too.

It might take a bit, and that’s ok. Give yourself time to be sad, to grieve. There is no specific timeline. You don’t have to listen to those telling you to “get over it,” “It’s supposed to be this way,” “You’ll be fine.” Take the time you need to process it before moving on. Then do just that. Move on when you’re ready.

Remember when you forgot who you were because you couldn’t see past the mashed peas in your hair, and you had to tell your friends you couldn’t go anywhere when they called? Now is the time to call them! Or to find that new community that has similar interest to you so you can grow in those hobbies and talents. It doesn’t matter if the kids went to college, a foreign land, or down the road. Now is the time for you to remember who you were; to remember who you are! 

That child will call. They will come home. They will become the amazing adults you spent time teaching them to be.  Maybe you will even become wonderful friends with these awesome adults. You gave them the roots to grow and the wings to fly, now let them. After you have sent them off, given them love, an invitation to come home often, as hard as it might be, step back and watch them as they fly, while you remember them in those long days and short years.

You’ve got this, Mom and Dad.

My case of the "Twisties"

One of my earliest childhood memories was standing in front of the extra television that we positioned in our living room for the 1984 Olympic games. I vividly remember feeling entranced by Mary Lou Retton’s performance and visualizing myself competing on the same stage. I am fairly certain that I was not even a gymnast at the time, so this desire was met with the reality that I was not going to be an Olympic gymnast for a myriad of reasons. Since that moment, the Olympic games have held a special place in my heart, or so I thought. 

Many years later, I was on the start line of the 2004 Olympic trials, not as a gymnast but as a marathoner who came to the sport of distance running post collegiately. Here, I was about to live out that childhood fantasy in running shorts as opposed to a leotard. In the warm-up area prior to the race I popped a handful of meds that I recently began taking to treat severe anxiety and GI issues that presented themselves as soon as I began running on an elite level. The looks on the faces of my peers (who all happened to make the team that day) was enough to tell me that I was not in a good place, both physically and mentally. I already felt like an imposter in the land of well conditioned athletes and now it was confirmed and I had to run 26.2 miles. I can’t tell you what happened in that race, but I finished, and instead of celebrating I was in an ambulance getting treated for something deemed physical; yet I knew the truth, it was my mental health.

That event, and a series of others, led to my demise in the sport of running at an elite level. It was probably very obvious to those around me what was happening yet I never felt like I had the space to share my story. I tried talking to professionals, but I always felt misunderstood or unappreciative of the opportunities that I was afforded. Plus, there was no way after decades of being rewarded for being tough and strong that I would let down my guard to state that I did not feel like I was enough. 

Fortunately for me, I was not the G.O.A.T like Simone Biles, nor did I bear the weight of a country expecting me to win at all costs. I was able to work through my anxiety and my relationship with sport privately, only letting those close to me know how ashamed I felt for not being able to handle the stress of professional sport. I learned that my identity as an athlete was not my whole identity and that I was worthy of love despite race results or if I was wearing a Nike kit. Over time, this version of me has been strengthened and my identity as a human includes being an athlete, but my worth is never contingent on performances. 

So, how does my story relate to the “twisties” or Simone Biles? When I struggled with my mental health back in the early 2000’s it felt like I had lost my footing. I was disoriented and disconnected to the people and things that made me feel grounded. I felt like I had been tossed up into the air without anywhere to land. I had my childhood dream, yet it wasn’t bringing me happiness. As more and more athletes shed light on their own mental health journey and the immense amount of pressure that they feel as athletes, I have become less enamored by the concept of being an Olympian. I have many friends and former teammates who are Olympians and their accomplishments are tremendous, but it does not make me think differently about who they are as individuals. See, when we put athletes, or anyone for that matter, on the proverbial pedestal, they will fall. We all fall eventually, which is a part of the human experience and it doesn’t mean that someone needs to be cancelled. In Simone Biles’ case, she knew that she could actually fall and endure a horrific injury. So, she told the world that she wasn’t going to fall for them, she chose herself knowing that her worth as a human extends beyond the walls of the gym. 

I watched the Olympics, but only the highlights on Youtube. I saw some incredible performances along with some heartache. I am grateful that Toyko was able to pull off the games despite Covid and that the athletes got an Olympic experience. To be honest, I didn’t think much about the games for the first time since I was that little girl watching Mary Lou compete. My focus is more on the aftermath, hoping that resources are devoted to supporting the mental health of athletes. I hope that the athletes find peace following the games and see their complete selves, not just their athlete self as worthy.