It's Not Exasperation. It's Trust.

I’ve been sitting in my office for the past hour, restraining myself from running down the stairs and saying, “just let me help you!”

Over the weekend, we tasked Rowan with putting together the new barstools for his apartment kitchen island. As the resident handyperson, I knew he was waiting to see if I would just do it for him, and truthfully, had he started the project when I asked, I’m sure I would have.

But alas, moving day is quickly approaching, and this needs to be done now. And so, I’ve been doing deep-breathing exercises as I try to write while also listening to the sounds of sporadic frustration, knowing that the best thing I can do for him in this moment is let him figure it out.

I think this transition is one of the hardest to both guide our kids through and to endure ourselves. It’s akin to that moment when we removed the training wheels and just let them go, but this time the stakes are so much higher; we’re releasing them into the world. In this moment, we hope that every moment we have spent with them, every lesson we have taught, every band-aid, metaphorical and otherwise, has been enough to help them cross the threshold into autonomous adulthood, feeling confident and empowered.

Rowan is my fourth and youngest child, and to be honest, it is no easier with him than it was with Connor. Yes, the execution of this moment has been different for each of them, easier in some ways for one and challenging for another. When Connor left for college, I was equal parts excited and terrified about sending him off to NYC. I had similar feelings when I dropped Isabelle off at Michigan. Grace was so ready that it was just hard to drive away because I knew I would miss her. There are worries and excitement I’m holding for Rowan, too, so what I really mean is that this moment is no easier emotionally.

I’ve thought about this a lot recently. My capacity has certainly grown over the past seven years. I’ve grown, evolved, and become wiser and stronger. I am so excited for this next chapter for Rowan, like beyond thrilled and proud of him for knowing what he wants and not being afraid to go after it.

I am also excited about everything I have planned for my writing and business, and about hanging out with my husband once my time opens up more.

AND

My heart aches, and there’s low-level anxiety constantly humming in the background. I like my kids, and I miss them when they’re not around. For the past 26 years, my biggest, most important job has been being their mom. And I have loved this job with every ounce of my soul. I don’t think there is anything in the world that could make me feel such deep love, sheer delight, existential fear, and fierce protection, often on the same day! And this is exactly the way it’s supposed to work, a threshold marking this moment as well.

I am stepping away from everything I know on this side: holding the clipboard of daily management of the most mundane tasks to the most fragile emotions, taking a deep breath and landing on the other side of the threshold, having successfully delegated most of said tasks, and sitting back and feeling the pride and love bubble up for the extraordinary humans each one of my kids has become.

At least that’s what I imagine it will be since I’m not quite there yet. Of course, I’ve had mini moments as each child has left for college, but this is the final one. The only things that lie on the other side are an empty house and a new way of doing life. And right now, even with a sliver of excitement, it just feels icky and unknown.

I’ve also been thinking about what exists in the invisible moment when we decide our child is ready to do their own laundry, go to the grocery store, or make their own doctor’s appointments, and what I’ve landed on has surprised me a bit. It’s not just timing or exasperation. It’s trust. We know that trusting them to take on more responsibility increases their confidence and understanding of self. And for them, feeling trusted or knowing that we trust them can positively change every relationship in their lives. Pretty powerful.

I just heard a thud downstairs, then quiet. Then Rowan’s voice, not frustrated anymore, just matter-of-fact: “Done.” I don’t go check the barstools. I don’t need to. It’s not exasperation. It’s trust.