GRADUATION DAY
Welcome to the Small Jar Podcast, where we moms of teens find the power to step off the emotional roller coaster between motherhood and the empty nest. I'm your host, Jennifer Collins. Episode number 51.
Hello, friends. It's graduation week. In fact, by the time this episode is released, my son will have graduated high school.
So as I record, I'm standing on the precipice, on the brink of something that I, wait, actually that my son has been working toward his entire life. Funny how I still want to include myself in that equation. I think it's fitting that a precipice also means a very steep or overhanging place.
It's an end, but also a beginning, and it has magnitude. It's been a steep climb to get here, and presumably whatever comes next also involves a climb, or at minimum, a big step into the vast unknown. As I think about my son taking that big step, me taking that big step next to him, I'm not sure whether I'm more daunted by the past or the future, or frankly, the huge number of events on our calendar between now and the start of summer.
On top of all the logistics, getting the house ready for my family, getting my son's first suit tailored, figuring out how I'm going to feed everyone. Anyway, it seems understandable to be afraid of what comes next, for him and for me. I find myself getting emotional at the mere mention of graduation.
Since I seem to be in the thick of it, I thought I'd share some of my self-coaching practice around what's coming up for me now. I notice a mixture of nostalgia, sadness, and regret, and also a bit of fear. Which should we tackle first? Well, let's get into it.
I think one of the biggest headlines I'm grappling with is the thought that my son is leaving in just a few months. Along with that, I'm thinking things like, it will never be the same. I wonder if he'll miss me.
We know we'll have to say goodbye to our kids, although as many of my friends and clients would say, they leave, but then they come back. But then it's never really the same. And that's probably the part that feels the saddest, that things will never be the same.
And if I'm honest, things have been changing for quite some time. It's interesting to even explore that concept of the same. What do we even mean by that? In reality, I feel like we've been in a constant state of transition with our sons for the past four years.
So what part exactly do we wish we could keep the same? One aspect of my life that will be, actually already has changed, is the high school routine, the schedule of high school. No more early mornings, running late, no more tests to study for, no more papers. For the past few weeks, my social calendar has been filled with athletic senior days and championships.
There have been convocations and award ceremonies, prom, beach day, beach weekends. And then tomorrow, the big day, graduation. After my family leaves at the end of the weekend, I imagine things will get pretty quiet.
I've marked on my calendar move-in day and parents weekend, but come September, I won't have anything on the calendar related to high school for my oldest. The first day of school picture will look pretty empty. My youngest will soon be driving, and so even the drive to school will feel lonelier.
The phrase empty nest, it seems to imply that the home is empty, but I actually think the emptiness feels more pervasive. They're constant reminders that your child, who has been with you forever, it seems, that they're no longer taking up as much space in your day, in your schedule. Somehow, unbelievably, not as much space, measured in hours at least, in our lives.
I wonder how you think about the place your child has in your life. It's different for all of us, different with each of our kids. That's not to say at all that we love our kids any more or less, but the texture of the relationship we have with each of them is different.
What are the adjectives you would use to describe your relationships? Close or distant? Easy or strained? How often do you really talk versus have exchanges focused on logistics, or do you feel like you don't really get to talk to your teenager anymore? Maybe all you get are mumbles and grunts. Do you spend a lot of time going to their events or managing their life, or do you feel like the only time you see them or interact with them is when they come to dinner? Do you spend time with them alone or really only with the whole family around? As you're hearing this list of questions, I'd invite you to notice that you're probably thinking there's a right answer to these questions, like for sure it would be better if we were close, if our relationship was easy and open, if you had a heart-to-heart with your teen every day or at least a few times a week, that you had weekly outings planned to go to the mall, just the two of you. I want to offer that whatever words or adjectives you would use to describe the relationship you have with your kids, it's okay.
The only judgment is the judgment we have in our own minds that these relationships should be different than they are, that somehow life would be better or easier if our relationships were better or easier. Maybe we blame our teen, often we blame ourselves. So much judgment, and it all gets in the way of us appreciating the relationships we have exactly as they are.
And no matter what the texture of the relationship you have with your child, when they leave the nest, their absence will leave a void. So right now as I stand on the brink of graduation, I fear the unknown of how my relationship with my sons will change when they leave. We often project into the future the worst case scenario.
I don't know why it's easier for our brains to create those terrible images in our minds than to believe that the opposite best case scenario is not only possible but potentially even more likely. Our brains almost don't even want to dare to hope that somehow our relationship could become even stronger when our kids leave the nest. There are those of us who feel so close and connected to their kids or that their lives are so inextricably tied to the lives of their kids that it seems impossible to consider what comes next.
Close relationships or not, our purpose has been our kids. We could have worked full-time or been a PTA volunteer, managed all sorts of important responsibility in our lives, but our kids have come first. And even if our kids still need our support in different ways when they head off to their next chapter, the hours that that purpose will take up is likely to decrease and we can be left wondering how we're going to fill our time.
In the words of one of my clients, I don't want to be stuck watching TV and doing laundry all day. We intellectually know we want to find a new focus and purpose in our lives but it's been so long since we've invested any time or energy into that idea that we're not even sure where to start. As you can imagine, feeling stuck and without confidence isn't exactly a recipe for the motivation to move forward and create the next chapter.
We can also fear how our children will do on their own, whether it be mental health concerns, trouble focusing on school without our friendly reminders to study or get assignments done, maybe our kid is shy and we worry they won't make friends, or they party too much and we're worried that's all they're going to do when they go to college. We could worry that our child has never had a romantic relationship and we think it might have been better if it had happened while they were home with us so we could have been there. Notice how many different rabbit holes our brains can go down when thinking about the future.
So many of these scenarios, these nightmares of the future, create our fear. There's no reality we're grappling with, just fantasies in our mind that we want to avoid. And our brains, believe it or not, think if we can just worry about the future hard enough that maybe we can avoid disaster.
No matter how much we tell ourselves not to worry about the future, there it is waiting for us when we can't sleep in the middle of the night. And as these series of lasts hit us like a cascading ocean wave, we're constantly reminded that the clock is ticking. The time when we have to take the big step into the unknown is inevitably drawing nearer.
I find with all of these lasts, I'm spending quite a bit of time in the past as well. I've been searching for baby pictures and videos. I came across an adorable series of videos where my boys were singing happy birthday to their youngest cousin.
They were so open and innocent. They thought nothing of responding to my request to sing to their cousin. They didn't think it was lame.
There was one series where they actually had to do seven takes. They were laughing so hard when they messed up. I don't even remember that specific moment happening, but here's the beautiful shining memory of how our lives used to be.
And I find myself thinking, I don't even know if I fully understood how precious that time in my life was. And it's gone. Don't get me wrong.
There's so many things I love about this stage too. It's just so different. I feel like more of a bystander than an integral part of my boy's life.
And I'm cognizant now of so many years gone by. I can't help but wonder if I did okay. Should I have done it differently? I know as a coach, there's little upside to regret.
It's just our mind's way of judging a past we have absolutely no power to change. One more way for us to beat ourselves up for not being good enough as a mom. I can recognize it for what it is, but I can't help using evidence of my past mistakes as a reason to believe that maybe I did mess up.
Maybe I should have known better. As moms, we've made a million or more little decisions every single day, every single time, sincerely doing our best given what we knew at the time, how we were managing our own emotional life, messy, imperfect, loving our kids and wanting the best for them. And now here they are on the brink of independence.
And I think it's natural to wonder, to worry and maybe regret, was it enough? Did I do the right things? Are they actually ready? Am I ready? As for the present moment, for the time being, my son has entered into the strange territory of not needing to do anything to get into college or to finish high school. For the first time, probably in the span of his life that he even remembers, school as he knows it isn't hanging over his head. Even during summers, for the past four summers at least, the specter of applying to college has been a big factor in how he's chosen his path.
Get a job. I think it's a great idea for every teen, but somehow the fact that the college counselor told him to do it made it feel like it was for college. Volunteer.
My son has a huge heart and loves working with kids, but the fact that it would go on his college application made him feel a little less enthusiastic about it, like it was an obligation or a quid pro quo rather than a way to give back and make an impact. SAT prep, summer reading, AP summer work. It's been an exhausting four years and he's finally on the other side of it.
It's crazy to think that my son is embarking on a time where he actually gets to decide what he wants to do. For the time being, that looks kind of like he floats in and out of the house. He sleeps late.
He may or may not be home for dinner. His plans are spur of the moment. Total freedom.
He's not quite 18, but close enough that boundaries feel elusive. Have you ever noticed that we often don't even know what boundaries we want to set with our kids until they've been crossed? It's like something happens and you think, oh hell no, I'm not putting up with that. Like setting a curfew.
In a few months, he'll be in college without any curfew. So is the curfew about safety and there really not being anything legal or legitimate worth doing after 1am? Or is it about my comfort level, having my son roaming around town or doing god knows what at 3 in the morning? Drinking, drugs. Look, if they want to do it, they're going to do it.
So do we forbid it and enforce consequences or do we look the other way? Neither option feels comfortable. Having a friend spend the night in the same room or separate rooms, how they treat us, how they treat our home, how much they're asked to help out around the house. It feels like we're entering new territory here too.
As a coach, I work with a lot of clients on establishing these boundaries. And let me just say, I don't think there's a perfect answer. The answer that's perfect really depends on you, your family, your values, your child.
But what I work with my clients to discover is what they truly want to do with a full understanding of their own mind. Let's take the question of having a friend stay in the same room as your child. The only right answer is the answer that's right for you and your family.
Some of that involves what we want, but also how much we want to or are willing to take into account what our child wants. Again, no right answer, no judgment. What I've found for myself is that when I'm really honest with myself about what I want and why I want it, the answer becomes very clear.
But when we're facing so much change and so much that potentially feels uncomfortable, it can be hard to find that clarity and honesty. A number of clients have come to me saying, my teenager thinks I'm trying to control her, but I'm not. Or I want help making them see how I'm not trying to control him.
But the truth is, we are trying to control them. And look, that's not a judgment. It's actually the truth.
What we want in a perfect world is for our kids to be safe, responsible, and make the right choices. But from our vantage point, we often look at what our kids are doing and we don't see safe, responsible choices. So we want to convince our kids to do things differently.
We're convinced it's in their best interest. And by the way, if they would just listen to us, we could stop worrying so much, start sleeping through the night again. So you tell me, is trying to get your kid to change so that you can feel better trying to control them? Let's be honest with ourselves.
And let me be with you. I've a hundred percent tried to control my boys. Absolutely.
Did I want to call it control? No, definitely not. I called it parenting, tough love, setting the right example, guiding them. And it worked for quite a while until it stopped working and they started having their own ideas about what they wanted to do.
Then what seemed like my job as a parent felt like control to my boys. No matter what words you use to describe it, I've absolutely tried to influence and direct my boy's behavior. So now at age 18, the scales are tipping and the reality of my ability to control my oldest or frankly, my youngest is at best an illusion I can keep clinging to in my more anxious moments.
But how do we manage our anxiety and stress as we navigate this moment when whether we like it or not, we have very little influence over our kids anymore. Some of our kids may not be testing these boundaries yet, but where they are, the growth that's required of us to jump from parenting our kids to treating them like quasi-adults, especially when they don't really act like it and may not be taking on adult-like responsibilities around the house. This is a huge leap into the unknown for us.
And it almost feels like our kids get the benefit of enjoying new freedoms while the cost to us is anxiety, worry, and sleepless nights. I've coached a number of women who've said they actually feel better when their kids are away at college than they do when their kids are home. Or I should rephrase that.
They feel less anxious when their kid's freedom and potentially questionable behavior isn't in their face all the time. If they stay out late in college, assuming you're not tracking them on Life 360 and for your own sanity, I would suggest you not doing that. But assuming you don't know what's happening at school, out of sight, out of mind, right? That's not to say we don't care or still worry, but when we don't see evidence of them vaping, for example, or we don't know who's sleeping in their bed, it honestly feels more comfortable not to have this information.
I want to point out that this is one incredibly interesting nuance of self-coaching that I teach my clients. Notice that if your child vapes, for example, and you don't know about it, you don't have any feelings about it. But as soon as you see evidence that your child vapes, now we have feelings.
What's the difference? The difference, my friend, is that once you have facts in front of you, now you have all kinds of thoughts about how they shouldn't be doing the thing. It's fascinating, actually. In this example, the child's vaping, whether mom knows about it or not.
But mom doesn't get anxious about it until she knows it's happening and then thinks all sorts of terrible things about it. It raises the question, would we be better off knowing? Or is it possible to manage our emotions, whether we know or not? So where's my head, now a little over 24 hours before my son's graduation? I've been through this before, actually. Not as a mom, but as an administrator at the school.
Every year watching the same procession, the heartfelt speeches, the awards. I've watched it all before, and I have to be honest, I've teared up in the past. Even hearing speeches directed at kids who are not mine.
There's something truly weighty about the expectation that these ceremonies seem to place on graduates. Go out into the world, be responsible, be kind, take what you've learned and change the world. It seems so hopeful and lofty.
Speaking for myself, I'm not at all worried yet about how my son's going to change the world. I just hope that he'll be happy, that he'll find someone who truly loves and protects his heart. I hope he'll find a career that both interests him and pays the bills.
I hope he'll be healthy and safe. I hope I'll be in his life. These dreams are simple, yet not guaranteed.
And they're certainly no longer anything I have any power to give him. Maybe I never had this power. For some time, I just carried with me the illusion of being able to help guide his path.
It's so interesting that I rarely think back to the young woman I was when I graduated from high school. But if I'm honest, I was so done with high school. Sad to be leaving my friends at the end of all of it, but so ready for my next adventure.
So done with being treated like a kid. I don't remember thinking much about my parents, as much as I love both of them. I must have just had this blind assumption that they would always be there, as they always have been.
I've been so blessed in this way. They'll be with me when my son crosses the stage to accept his diploma. Crazy to think that someday I might be in the audience when my son's child accepts his or her diploma.
You better believe I'll be there if I'm invited. This cycle of life stuff is heavy and beautiful. We've been given the gift of these children, and boy has it been beautiful and messy and terrible and the best thing that's ever happened to us.
This pulling away stage has been harder than I imagined it would be for me. But the practice that has brought me peace and so much appreciation for the present moment is to come to terms with my fears, regrets, frustrations, and sadness. All of it part of my experience, and felt so deeply because of how much I care for my boys.
I have this precious bond in my heart with each of them, and this concept of letting go feels so hard. But here's what I've learned to let go. I've let go of needing my sons to be anything other than exactly as they are for me to be happy.
I've let go of needing to be right about what's best for them. I've let go of taking responsibility for their moods and their feelings. Don't get me wrong, if I mess up, I apologize.
But I can't make them happy if they're not. I no longer try to get them to perform their happiness so I can feel better. I notice the judgments I have of myself as a mom and I let them go.
I get to decide that I am a mom who loves her boys a hundred percent and always does her best, even when I fail. I get to learn from my failure. But here's what I refuse to let go.
I haven't let go of my boundaries. I will never let go of the relationship I have with my boys. I get to decide exactly how I think and feel about these relationships, no matter how my boys show up.
And I choose to always be their mom, to always be there to support them whenever, wherever they need me, to be willing to accept the times when they say they don't need me or don't want me in their life. I'm willing to love them enough to let them decide when to invite me in their lives. I hope they will, but they get to decide and I'll be here no matter what.
I will never let go of my love for them. So here I go, ready for graduation day, no regrets, only love for the gifts of the past. I have compassion for my fear of the future.
It makes sense that all of us are a bit uneasy about what comes next. And most importantly, I am right here with my boys in this moment now. And the present moment is always here for me.
I never have to let it go. Happy graduation day. We are all venturing into a world of endless possibilities.
Until next time, friends. Wait, one more thing. Raising teens is tough.
As moms, we feel responsible for everything. Our kids' happiness, their success, their safety and well-being, and yet none of it seems to be in our control. Still we try, and then we feel like we're failing.
So then we feel anxious and frustrated, guilty when things go wrong. I know that you are doing the best you can as a mom, but you need tools. And in Mom 2.0, I've got them.
Join me on a journey to gain control of your anxiety, sadness, frustration, and guilt, and start finding joy and peace in your life right now. The moments you have with your child at home are fleeting. Don't waste them feeling miserable.
See you in Mom 2.0.
If you enjoyed this podcast, please leave a review. And check out our coaching program, Mom 2.0, at www.thesmalljar.com. You have more power than you think, my friend.
