This is what I’m calling my youngest leaving for college in the fall: The Leaving. Capital T, capital L. Leaving, and leaving us with a very empty nest, since she’s our last little birdie to go.
When I started this article, I was thinking about my feelings – don’t worry I’ve also been feeling my feelings a lot lately, too. But when I thought about what I may want to write, it all felt very familiar. Of course it does – I’ve already catapulted one of my little birdies from the nest. First she went down the street, but then she went all the way to France.
It also feels familiar because apparently, I’ve been writing and ruminating about The Leaving for TWO AND A HALF YEARS now. I went back and looked at old posts – January 2024 is when I really narrowed my focus to The Leaving.
In January 2024, I had this to say:
It is my oldest daughter’s senior year in high school…I find myself staring at her a lot lately. Well…it’s more like weirdly gazing at her a lot lately. Holding on to moments. Trying to remember everything, so that when she’s gone, I can take the memory out and savor it.
It’s a bittersweet time…This is how it should be. We know this. We definitely want to launch these kids into their own lives as soon as we can, but there’s dread too. She’s not going to live with us anymore and that’s unsettling and scary and sad and exciting.
That’s all still true today in May 2026. I stop at my youngest’s door and look (weirdly gaze) at her a lot. She doesn’t love it, but I’m banking the image, taking a mental picture like Jim and Pam from The Office (Season 6, Episode 4, “Niagara: Part 1”). Holding on to it so when she’s gone, I can remember the little moments of her living here and being physically here in my everyday life. Because she’ll never live here the same way again.
Then in March 2024, I shared these gems:
My oldest daughter is heading off to college…She’s leaving the house. Moving out. Farewelling herself into the great big world, mostly alone. It feels so exciting and sad and scary and right and confusing. Like, how in the world are we supposed to actively participate in this outlandish and absurd behavior?
We will physically take her away from the place we know she’s safe and drop her in a place where we won’t know that. Our whole entire life with her – every single interaction from the moment we knew she’d been conceived – has been about keeping her safe. And now, well…now we just take her away and hope for the best?
Guys, it doesn’t feel okay.
This also continues to be true, two and a half years later. In that post, I talked about a concept I learned to embrace in therapy – It is what it is.
What a terrible sentence. But also, it remains wholly and perfectly accurate. It’s the absolute truth.
And this is what it is. This little birdie of mine is very different than I am and has caused me a lot of stress and anxiety over the years. Some of it, for several years, was earned and justified. She struggled mightily, and we were both fighting for our lives to keep her alive through her darkest days.
But now she graduates in just a under a week, and I can see that my apprehension has all been for nothing. Well, maybe not nothing, but I shouldn’t have worried nearly as much as I did. This kid is alright.
She discovered that she really enjoyed the engineering classes offered in the certificate program at her high school. She has had a 100 average (or very close to it) in every engineering class for three years. She earned major scholarship awards at several different schools.
I could burst I’m so proud. And I could cry that I ever doubted her, or worse, made her think I didn’t believe in her. This devastates me. I will regret it for the rest of my life.
Did she make things harder on herself than I thought she needed to? Absolutely.
Did she apply herself as rigorously as I thought she should? Not usually.
Did she have different academic goals for herself than I had for her? Apparently.
Did she actually have me worried that she may not get into any college? Yes.
Did she do it her way and come out on top? One hundred percent.
And even if this part of her story didn’t have the storybook ending that it does, it is what it is, and it would’ve been okay. We would’ve readjusted, changed the plan, and dealt with whatever our reality was. And knowing this kid, having watched her plow through these last five years? She would’ve ended up exactly where she was supposed to. Even if it’s different than where I thought or expected her to end up. This is her life.
But back to my trip down posting memory lane…In September 2024, when my oldest started college, I wrote about her orientation weekend. One of the presenters had a slide in an otherwise bland presentation titled “Letting Go vs Letting Grow.” And that ruined me. We’re not letting our kids go, we’re letting them grow. And every single one of them will probably do it differently than we think they should. But it’s their journey, not ours. We must let them grow how they’re meant to.
I know this and yet cannot seem to do it with my youngest. I keep trying to manage her and make her do it my way, convinced that my way is the best way. And for me it is, but guess what? My way is not the best way for her. I’ve got to take my ego out of this. I don’t know why this is so hard for me with her, but I’m so disappointed in myself that I’m not doing this as well as I want to with her.
In October 2025, I wrote a little bit about a college friend who had recently died. In that post, I mused:
I feel confident that I’m sucking it up pretty badly with one of my daughters right now. How do I fix that when seemingly everything I say to her sets her off?
It’s taken up so much bandwidth in my brain lately. We’re trying to get her ready to fly from our nest next year and she’s not doing it exactly like I want her to. Honestly, she’s not even doing it remotely close to how I want her to.
So sometimes, as I’m trying to impart some wisdom or make a (legitimately good, I swear!) suggestion, it is not well-received. I don’t know if it’s what I’m saying or how I’m saying it, but it feels like we can hardly speak to each other anymore without one of us walking away. It feels really fraught right now.
And in the midst of my frustration about the state of our relationship right now, I think of my dear friend Ellie and how much life there still should’ve been. I wonder how much this tension right now with my daughter will actually matter in the long run. Is it enough that she knows I love her madly and am always here to help her figure things out?
I think I’ve always known or at least relatively recently realized that I’m terrible at the balance with her.
My most recent post in December 2025 was right before my oldest left for France. Knowing a very empty nest was imminent, I was really all in my feels. But looking back on this post, it feels prescient. And right here is where my struggle remains at this very moment.
I want control to be sure that she will be okay. No – I want her to be more than okay. I want to guarantee that she will thrive and have the best time and love every minute of every day and not get overwhelmed and make good friends and be a good roommate and get good grades and take care of herself and share honestly how she’s feeling with me and exercise and try new things and get enough sleep and, and, and…
Which, y’all. That’s absurd. Patently ridiculous. Even if I were in control I can’t guarantee any of this. And I know that. And I know that the struggle is actually where most of the beauty comes from – it’s at least where the best lessons and resilience and self confidence come from. Is this because her past issues are bubbling up for me – even though she’s given me no reason for them to, it’s just a fear I’ll live with forever? Or is this because I’m freaking out about The Leaving? I don’t know. Could be both, could be neither.
But what I wrote in December is still true:
Her world will expand exponentially, and her values will be challenged and honed, and she’ll discover new things about herself. How wildly exciting! But also, maybe she could just live at home with me forever so I know she’s safe and can enjoy her all the time.
I have more inner turmoil about her leaving – even if she just goes right down the street. She’s struggled with depression and anxiety and turning her loose in the world where I can’t keep eyeballs on her and make sure she’s doing okay is terrifying. But also, it must be done.
She’s so much stronger than she was five years ago. She’s got more tools in her proverbial toolbox to handle how she reacts to what life throws at her. And she’s okay. Is everything perfect? No. She’s still got depression and anxiety but she’s okay. Am I still afraid it will all get to be too much for her like before? Yes, always. I will carry that fear with me until the day I die. But sheltering her forever isn’t good for anyone and I’ve already acknowledged that I’m slower to let go of past fears than she is. She is getting it done. She is handling life pretty well for a 17-year-old.
The house will be so empty without her, and I will miss her freakishly long eyelashes and sparkly eyes that just about hypnotize me every time I look into them. She holds my heart so tightly and I will miss her in ways I can’t even imagine yet.
Every next thing has been the natural progression of life for her and each time it was scary and each and every time she flourished.
She absolutely soared into the person that experience shaped her to be.
It’s been inspiring and extraordinary and magical to witness. I have every reason to believe that college will be the same.
It feels harder this time. Maybe because she’s the last. Maybe because she’s going so far away. Maybe because I think messed up more than I got it right with her. But in less than 100 days she’s leaving home for her (mostly) independent life to begin. I need to remind myself that her way is the best way for her. She’s gotten herself this far and I have no reason to believe she won’t continue to do great. But, man, will I miss this kid who I love so wildly.
