You don't HAVE to be miserable when your kids leave for college

The phrase “empty nest” is an evocative metaphor, conjuring the image of a bird’s nest after the fledglings have flown away. Although the expression first appeared in print in the late nineteenth century, it wasn’t until the 1970s that it became associated with the grief, loneliness, and anxiety some parents experience when their children grow up and leave home.

Some studies estimate that as many as half of parents experience mild to moderate symptoms of what has become known as empty nest syndrome, with mothers—who still shoulder a disproportionate share of caregiving responsibilities—often reporting the greatest emotional impact. For many parents, the departure of a child brings an identity shift. Familiar routines disappear. Long-held roles change. The person you’ve spent decades caring for suddenly needs you less, and in an entirely different way.

But the research also tells a more hopeful story. Empty nest syndrome is not an inevitable rite of passage, nor is it a recognized clinical diagnosis. For many parents, this is less a psychological crisis than a major life transition, and how it’s experienced depends on factors such as identity, marriage, health, financial security, and whether they’ve cultivated a meaningful life beyond raising children.

That’s why I love Gretchen Rubin’s “Open Door” metaphor, her alternative to the phrase empty nest. Rubin argues that the words we use shape the way we experience life’s transitions. An empty nest emphasizes absence, loss, and endings. An open door emphasizes continuity, freedom, and possibility.

“...it emphasizes that family members are going and returning. My husband and I can take an impulsive trip, because our door is more open than when we had children to care for; and my kids can come back when they want. Our door is always open! The metaphor reminds me that I want to cultivate an atmosphere of freedom, welcome, and tenderness.”

The truth is that birds abandon their nests once their chicks fly, but women don’t have to abandon their lives or themselves. If anything, we might finally have the space and courage to rediscover who we’ve been all along. In that way, this transition isn’t an ending, but as Rubin says, an opening.

I had my first child in my twenties, so by the time the last of my five children left home at 49, I was ready. Of course I missed them in ways both large and small, and for months the silence in the house felt like a real, tangible loss. But looking back, I don’t think my nest ever felt “empty” because my life was so full. I was happily remarried to a man I genuinely loved spending time with, and I was leading an organization that energized me while beginning to make a meaningful difference in the fight against gun violence.

There were so many parts of my life demanding my attention and nourishing me that my kids’ physical absence from my home never eclipsed all of the other things in my life that were still present. Without that sense of fulfillment though, my experience of watching my household shrink from seven people to two might have looked very different.

The truth is, there’s nothing you can do to avoid missing your child. As psychiatrist Dr. Colin Murray Parkes famously said, “Grief is the price we pay for love.” But we do have a choice in how we prepare for—and respond to—that grief. Unlike so many of life’s hardships, empty nesting is one transition we can see coming. We have weeks, months, even years to prepare for it.

So instead of joking that you’re going to “lose the will to live” when your high school sophomore leaves for college, what if you started building a life now that will still feel rich and meaningful after they leave?

I’ve found that women approaching this transition typically fall into one of two groups: those who have no idea what they want next, and those who know exactly what they want but aren’t sure how to pursue it. Wherever you fall, my Fire Formula can help.

The process begins by identifying the three elements of your personal fire triangle. Just as every fire requires heat, oxygen, and fuel, a fulfilling life depends on three essential ingredients: your desires, your values, and your abilities.

Your desires reveal what energizes you. Your values keep you grounded. Your abilities give you the tools to bring those things to life. When those three elements align, something powerful happens. What you long for becomes connected to what matters most—and to what you’re uniquely equipped to contribute. That’s where fulfillment lives.

Building a life that lights you up isn’t just a gift to yourself. It’s also a gift to your children. They want—and need—to know you’ll be okay without them. More than that, they deserve to see that adulthood doesn’t end with parenthood. Watching you pursue something meaningful beyond your role as their mother gives them permission to do the same.

As psychologist Dr. Aliza Pressman told me, “When you do the thing that lights you up, it gives your child a role model for how to find meaning in life. That meaning can’t come only from our children. If you’re suffering because you’re not giving yourself the time, space, and energy to feel fulfilled, you’re not doing anyone any favors. We have to show our kids they can go live their lives happily—that our happiness doesn’t rest on them, and that we can find meaning both as mothers and beyond motherhood.”

Whether your marriage is thriving or struggling, empty nesting will change your relationship. For many couples, parenting has been the organizing principle of their lives for decades. When that shared project winds down, some couples rediscover each other. Others realize they have little in common beyond the children they raised.

It’s no coincidence that divorce rates tend to rise during this stage of life. The transition can expose cracks that were easy to ignore amid the busyness of carpools, soccer games, and college applications. Without children at home, you and your partner may rediscover the romance that existed before there were Legos scattered across the floor—or you may discover that you’ve become strangers sharing the same bed.

That’s why it’s worth considering now how empty nesting might reshape your relationship. I meet countless women who tell me they’re waiting until their children leave for college before taking an honest look at their marriage. Then the day arrives—and they stay. They settle into lives that feel more like roommates than partners because the years of avoiding difficult conversations have become their own kind of routine.

Instead of waiting, start asking those questions now. What kind of relationship do you want when parenting is no longer your primary role? What can you begin doing today to build that future together—or, if necessary, to build a different future apart?

A few places to start:

• See a couples therapist before your child leaves home, not after.

• Find a shared purpose beyond parenting, whether that’s traveling, volunteering, learning a language, or finally pursuing something you’ve talked about for years.

• Have the conversations about intimacy, resentment, finances, and expectations that are so easy to postpone when you’re busy raising children.

Preventive work is almost always easier than repair. And even if your marriage ultimately isn’t meant to last, you’ll move forward knowing you addressed it with honesty rather than simply waiting for your children to leave before confronting what you already knew.

Research suggests that parents are more involved in the day-to-day lives of their college-aged children than ever before, driven by a mix of delayed adulthood, helicopter parenting, and the difficulty many parents experience letting go. There’s even a term for parents who relocate to be near their children’s college campuses: “trailing parents.”

Motherhood never ends no matter how old you or your kids are, but helping your child gain the emotional and physical space they need to become an independent adult is part of the job.

There’s a world of difference between listening when your son calls to vent about a bad grade and emailing his professor to dispute it. There’s a difference between telling your daughter you’ll miss her and telling her you’ll “die” when she leaves for her dream university. And there’s a difference between letting your child know they’ll always have a home to return to and making them feel guilty for walking out the door.

Your child shouldn’t be your primary source of emotional support during this transition; they have their own enormous adjustment to navigate. Instead, begin building your support system before they leave. Cultivate friendships. Reconnect with your partner. Join a community. Find people you can call when the house feels too quiet—people who aren’t trying to survive organic chemistry.

If your grief feels overwhelming or begins interfering with your daily life, don’t hesitate to seek professional support. A therapist or support group can help you process this transition in a healthy way, allowing your child to embrace their newfound independence without feeling responsible for your happiness. One of the greatest gifts we can give our children is the freedom to step fully into their own lives, knowing we’ll be okay as they do.

The goal of empty nesting isn’t to stop missing your children. If you’ve loved well, you’ll always miss them. The goal is to make sure their leaving doesn’t mean you’ve stopped living. The intensity of raising young children was never meant to be the whole story of your life—it was one beautiful, meaningful chapter. As your children step into the lives they’ve been preparing for, you have the opportunity to step into yours. Your nest isn’t empty. It’s simply making room for what’s next while keeping the door open to life.

If you’re going through an empty nest transition and are feeling unsure about what’s next, I’d love to help you find clarity. Click here to learn more about working with me as your coach.

If you’re looking to unleash your potential, find your personal, professional, or political fire, and to connect with a community who is doing the same, click here to learn more.