100 DAYS UNTIL GRADUATION...HOW I'M APPROACHING THIS DIFFERENTLY THE SECOND TIME
Welcome to the Small Jar Podcast, where we moms of teens find the power to step off the emotional rollercoaster between motherhood and the empty nest. I'm your host, Jennifer Collins. Episode number 144.
Hello, my friends, and welcome back to the Small Jar Podcast. I'm embarking on my second 100 days until high school graduation with my youngest son. You know, I just listened to the podcast episode I recorded two years ago titled The Last 100 Days, This Is It.
This was an episode I recorded when my oldest son was 100 days from his high school graduation. And listening to it, I decided I wanted to share a few reflections on that episode. I felt like it was worth making a take two of this episode as I reflect on where I am now and how thinking about this final 100 days compares to that version of myself I was two years ago.
One of the things I love about this work, and something that has been such a gift to me in my own personal journey, is that by virtue of creating this podcast and being intentional about my thought work, I have a pretty robust library of chapters of my former self, at least over the past six or seven years. I've regularly captured where I was in my mind, what was happening in my life, what I was struggling with, and how I was growing. As I reflect back on those journals and past episodes of my podcast, I feel so much gratitude for those earlier versions of myself, for being willing to do the messy work of trying my best, showing up in my life, and seeking growth in every challenge and opportunity I faced.
It would be really easy for me to judge that past version of myself. I think we often do this because in hindsight, we see the mistakes we've made, the impact of our choices, and the ways we wish things could have been better or different. But I choose to believe that this journey of personal growth and evolution never stops.
And for sure, in two years or ten years, I'll listen back to this very episode and I'll smile at my naivete, my innocence. I hope also at the sheer effort and intention that this version of myself is putting into my work as a mom and as a woman, striving to be that next version of herself every single day. I have no idea how any of this will turn out.
In that original last 100 days episode, I reflected a lot on the passage of time. Listening to my voice, I could hear the sense that time was slipping away from me. I talked about how quickly the previous 18 years had flown by and how precious these last 100 days felt.
I remember getting teary every time I thought about my oldest son graduating. I think I would have felt that way no matter what, but the struggles my son and I had faced made that period of time in my life even more emotionally charged for me. I had so many thoughts about our relationship and what I wanted for my son.
At that time, our relationship was still very tender. At my kids' school, they hold a 100-day breakfast, which is why this milestone sticks in my mind. Parents are invited to have a breakfast with their kids, marking the beginning of the final stretch before graduation.
It's a moment where you think, wow, these next 100 days are going to fly by. There's a list of upcoming events, the AP exams, college sweatshirt day, and then of course, that moment when they receive their diploma. And even more significant is that day, just a few short months later, when they leave for their next adventure.
I remember that breakfast two years ago. I showed up assuming my son wouldn't want to sit with me given where we were in our relationship. At the time, I believed I'd made peace with that.
I wanted to be there at the breakfast to support him, to celebrate him, but I also didn't want to impose. I assumed he'd want to sit with his friends. In retrospect, I remember how raw and hurt that version of myself still was, because I loved my son more than anything, and for me at that time, loving him unconditionally meant giving him space and allowing him the freedom to be who he needed to be.
But it wasn't easy. I'm pretty sure I arrived late to the breakfast. I stood around talking to the other parents, the room was full, and all the seats seemed to be taken.
I didn't know where my son was, but I assumed he was off sitting with his friends. So I put on a smile and I chatted with the other parents. Then all of a sudden, my son came up to me and he said, don't you want to sit with me? In that moment, my friends, I felt gutted.
I'd assumed he wanted space, so I withdrew and I gave him that space. But now he had to come find me. I realized I'd gotten it wrong.
Immediately, I felt terrible. Had he been looking for me? Had he noticed me talking to other people and wondered why I hadn't bothered to come find him? But my friends, I'm so grateful that he did. Because at that moment, in our relationship, I realized I needed a sign.
Looking back over the past two years, it took time for my son and me to truly find each other again. After everything he had been through, after everything we'd been through together, it just took time. And what I can say for certain now, something I couldn't have known two years ago, is that both of us are stronger because of the journey both of us have been through.
His journey was his own. And ultimately, there was very little I could do to help him through it. But because he needed a time of pulling away, I had to grapple with my own thoughts and emotions about all of it.
My growth had much more to do with who I am and who I needed to be than it did with my son. Another thing I discussed in that last 100-day episode was how much validation we receive in our role as moms. The pleasure of that reward, of feeling needed and having purpose, that can become such a powerful habit.
I recently talked about this in my masterclass as well. I don't necessarily think seeking validation is a bad thing until that validation either goes away or we find ourselves dependent on it for our happiness. I see two common struggles among the women I coach.
First, there's the transition when our kids need to pull away and find their independence. That can feel like a rejection, leaving us longing for connection and the reassurance of their love. And the second struggle is the pain of losing that validation when we sense that as our kids leave the nest, we're also losing that closeness, that sense of purpose.
Even in that early episode, I recognized how powerful that pull to seek validation can be. But here's the thing. I don't think I would have labeled myself as validation-seeking back then.
And discussing mindset traps, I think it's important to avoid black and white thinking about these traps. It's not that we either seek validation or we don't. It's definitely more nuanced than that.
I wonder if you can relate to this. I wouldn't have said that I was seeking validation when my oldest was graduating. But I can't deny that the dramatic shift in our relationship, from ease and connection when he was younger to silence and distance when he was in high school, it was incredibly difficult for me.
That transition was excruciatingly painful. And at the end of the day, I also can't deny that I had to grapple with the loss of that reward, that feeling of closeness and connection I had with my son when he was younger. When I first became a mom, I never thought of myself as a particularly maternal person.
And yet with my boys, the love I felt for them, the love that I received back from them, it's a more powerful kind of love than I've ever experienced in my life. The thought of losing that connection, the reality that for a period of time, I felt like I did lose that connection. It was the hardest time in my life.
But it's also incredible to look back and see that this time was simply a season in my relationship with my son. And that season, in retrospect, was not only unavoidable, but maybe even necessary. I admit that being a mom has been validating to me.
I've loved the purpose and the importance of the role. But in the past, I've also approached this role the way I approach most things in life. I like having control.
Or at the very least, I like having the ability to work hard and do my best and be successful at what I do. So I've applied this same work ethic to being a mom. When my boys were little, the work could be physically exhausting.
And for sure, I got frustrated and I lost patience with their whining and fighting. But for the most part, I got to the end of most days feeling like I'd been successful. The boys had been fed, they were safe, tucked in bed.
I got a big hug goodnight most nights. All was well. I don't know that I appreciated the sheer simplicity of those times.
As my boys grew up, I actually loved some parts of them not needing me as much anymore. When they were 8, 9, or 10, they were self-entertaining, fun to be around. They were my little buddies.
They still needed me, but being their mom didn't feel so heavy or exhausting to me. But before long, the boys started facing bigger challenges. First, it was the social struggles of middle school, then the real work of high school, then dating.
I wanted my boys to be happy, but also successful. I cared about how they did in school, and I saw it as my job to stay on top of them, to be sure they kept up their grades and did their assignments. My oldest had taken on a really challenging academic workload, so if I'm really honest, I think there was a part of me that feared we'd pushed him too hard.
I was constantly afraid that he wouldn't be able to do it. Back then, I realized I was already deciding that it would be my fault if he failed. So I made it my job to make sure that didn't happen.
My biggest challenge was that I had an illusion of control. I thought it was my responsibility to ensure my boys' success. Honestly, I thought that if I just did the right thing and supported them in the right way, that I could make them happy, that I could make them feel successful.
It took that painful shift in my relationship with my oldest son for me to truly see what I was doing and how that was impacting our relationship. As moms, we instinctively want to protect our kids, to guide them toward what we believe will lead to their success and their happiness. But the result of this is that we sometimes unconsciously try to shape their experiences, to manage their emotions, and prevent them from struggling.
But what I had to learn the hard way is, not only is this impossible, but it's also not my role as a mom. In my oldest son's first few years of high school, I felt the weight of his emotions so deeply. If he was struggling, I struggled.
If he was distant, I needed to know what was going on, what was wrong. If he was frustrated, I felt like I had to fix it. But what I've learned is that my boys' emotions are their own.
Their struggles are part of their journey. My role isn't to fix things for them, or to ensure that they're always happy, or even to make sure they make the right choices. My role is simply to love them, to support them, and trust that they'll navigate all of this on their own.
This realization has been both freeing and very challenging. Because letting go of control means also letting go of the unconscious belief that my happiness is tied to my boys' happiness. It also means trusting them even when I don't agree with their choices.
It means I need to let my boys feel what they need to feel without trying to change them to make me feel better. There is so much freedom in this perspective, my friends. It allows me to focus on being the mom I really want to be rather than feeling like I'm constantly reacting to my boys, seeing them unhappy and going into fix-it mode, or noticing signs of trouble and spiraling into anxiety.
Maybe even more powerful is this freedom let me truly be present with my boys without feeling this underlying sense of fear or constantly being alert, waiting for the next shoe to drop. I get to experience the gift of loving my boys unconditionally without placing unspoken conditions on how they need to feel or act so I can feel at peace. Letting go of control has not meant letting go of my connection with my boys.
It's actually deepened it. Because when I show up in my relationship with them without an agenda, without the need to do something or fix something, I create space for them to be themselves. And I think they see it.
I think they would never doubt that I love them. But the way I show up for them now, in contrast to that version of myself four or five or six years ago, now I truly see them for who they are. And I love them without condition.
I'm a safe place for them to be exactly who they are. And what I realize is that this is constantly changing for them too. They're constantly evolving, not even sure of who they are in any given moment.
So who am I to judge this version of who they are right now in this singular moment? Two years ago, I had learned these painful lessons, but I was just on the brink of living into them, just starting to appreciate the power of these lessons and the impact they would have on my relationships with my boys. And over the past few years, transitioning to college with my oldest and being fully present with my baby still at home, now embarking on his last 100 days, I can't tell you what a gift these lessons have been for me. What's been most surprising to me is how much peace I've found in this shift.
There was a time when I believed that being a good mom meant being deeply involved in every detail of my boys' lives, knowing what they were feeling, anticipating their needs, stepping in before they even asked for help. I thought that was what being a good mom was all about. I've now learned that my role as a mom actually isn't to protect my sons from discomfort or challenge.
It's actually fiction that we can do this at all, my friends. Think about your own life, the ups and the downs you've experienced. You got through them by putting one foot in front of the other.
No one else could actually free you from that pain or experience. And the reality is our kids are going to have to do that on their own journey, filled with ups and downs of their own. No matter how much we want to protect them from this, it's simply not possible.
By truly accepting this, I've found so much peace. This doesn't mean that I'm going to be ambivalent in the face of their pain. For sure, when they're sad, I am going to be sad.
But now I experience this as a clean pain. It's empathy without responsibility. It's compassion without the weight of guilt and anxiety.
It's actually just a reflection of my love for my boys. I also trust that if there is something I can do to help, I will a thousand percent do that thing, absolutely no question. But so often we find ourselves feeling the weight of the responsibility to do something that is actually out of our control.
It's no wonder we feel this anxiety bordering on panic sometimes, because the truth is we are powerless, but we're fighting against that powerlessness. Imagine if you could stop fighting what you can't control, but also felt a hundred percent in control of where you do have agency and ability to help. Knowing all of this doesn't mean it's always easy.
There are definitely moments when I feel that pull of worry or the urge to step in and make things easier. But now I'm able to catch myself. I give them back responsibility over their emotions.
I let them feel what they need to feel. I might tell them I'm here, but I let them be in charge of the next steps. I focus on being present, on being someone they can turn to if and when they need me.
There have been so many moments with my younger son where I am deeply aware of how I'm reacting differently now than I would have four or five years ago. It's almost like I can see that former version of myself having an absolute fit. I'm able to see her and actually tell her I've got this.
We're going to be okay. I'm convinced all of us have that version of ourselves within us. It's that version of us that we experience as fight or flight, that immediate panic reaction we have to situations that trigger us.
In the Mindset Trap series, I refer to this as our primitive mind. But it could even be more helpful to think of this part of your mind as just a more reactive, less intentional version of yourself. Many of my clients have even taken to naming their reactive fight or flight alter egos.
And I'm not saying we're all running around with split personalities, but think about it. There's that version of you that is intentional, that knows exactly how she wants to show up in any given situation. With our teens, that intentional version of ourselves is patient.
She listens. She doesn't react uncontrollably. If there are hard conversations to be had, she has them.
But she's calm and she's intentional with her words. She's able to take a breath when her teen acts in a way that's not the best. And instead of reacting, she either calmly sets a boundary or she responds with grace.
Because she knows how her teen is struggling, and she's able to give them the compassion they need in that moment. She doesn't make their behavior or actions about her. I know that this intentional version of each of us is inside of us, and we fully live into her in our more calm and peaceful moments.
The problem is when we're triggered, when we feel anxious or angry, it's so much harder to access that more intentional version of ourselves. What I've learned, and in fact what I teach my clients in my coaching program, is the ability to see and understand that reactive alter ego, and to give her the strength and presence of mind to shift from the need to react, to be able to step into that intentional, more present place. Just like our kids are going to have ups and downs, we're going to experience ups and downs.
Things are going to happen with our kids that we don't like. Just the other day, my son called me because he got caught sneaking off campus for lunch. So he's a senior, weeks away from getting his college acceptance news.
100 days from graduation this one. Over the past few months, he's been through the challenge of having to write many college applications and the letdown of getting deferred from his top choice. And he snuck off campus for lunch.
To the school's credit, they've already meted out natural consequences. He's lost the privilege of going to senior lunch for two months. And my son called me to tell me about this before I actually saw the notice from school.
In the scheme of things, this is a relatively small thing. And yet, the past version of myself would have been livid. I would have felt the need to yell and lecture.
I would have been disappointed. I would have honestly felt embarrassed, because who wants other people thinking your kid's a troublemaker? I might have been tempted to pile on with my own punishment. But even more, I think what I would have experienced is that I would have been tied up in knots with anger and embarrassment and disappointment.
I would have gotten over it for sure, but I would have wasted a good 24 to 48 hours stewing in the soup of feelings. And I would have taken it out on my son. How often do you find yourself reacting to something your kid does or says? Even if you catch yourself before you yell or start trying to fix it or punish them.
Because so often we've learned that we need to keep our mouths shut or just not react. But then we're bottling up all these painful emotions and we just feel terrible, not really sure what to do. Then eventually, we let it go and we move on.
Only to have the next situation trigger us into the spiral of anxiety or anger again. I had been there in that cycle so many times. And now, I find that I'm able to see that version of myself.
It's almost like I acknowledge all of those feelings. Oh, I see you. Surprise, disappointment, embarrassment.
When my son called me, I saw all of those feelings. And I was present. I recognized that my son was calling me to let me know.
He was taking full accountability. He didn't lie when he got called and he accepted the consequences of his actions. I saw all of this, my friends.
And in that moment, I felt gratitude. Here is my son, who is larger than life sometimes. He loves to have a good time and he has never met a boundary he didn't test.
And he got caught and accepted full responsibility. In that moment, I actually thought, my work here is done. There are so many moments with both of my boys that my alter ego gets triggered and has a lot of feelings.
When my son got deferred, when my son's driving home. There have been so many moments and there will be many, many more moments because I love my boys and will always want them to be safe, happy, and successful. But I've learned to trust that I will be there for them when they need me and to fully let go of those things that are truly not in my control.
What's been so interesting about this journey for me is how much it's changed not just the way I think about my role as a mom, but also how I think about myself as a woman. This phase of life taught me so much about what it means to truly let go, not just of control over my kids' lives, but also of old beliefs I've held about my value and my purpose. I've always been someone who loves to be productive, to know that I'm making an impact.
And this has been true, not just for me in my role as a mom, but also in my work and my volunteer roles. I've loved the purpose of always having something to do and the sense of accomplishment I felt when I do something well. But in recent years, I've had to ask myself, who am I when I'm not in constant motion? Who am I now that my kids don't need me in the same way, now that I have so much more open space to fill? It's tempting to simply fill that time so you don't have to face the emptiness, the long stretches of time that used to be filled with cooking dinner for the family or sitting on the sidelines of games.
But it's interesting to reflect on how we're measuring our success and our worth. Is our success measured by how much we get done or how many hours we fill? Or is it possible that success, our feelings of accomplishment, are simply a reflection of how we think about ourselves? I tell you, I've coached many women who fill every hour and can still feel empty and purposeless. I've also coached women who have so much open space and they love that about their lives.
For me, I'm learning to measure my success by how intentional and present I am in my life and with myself. In my relationships with everyone, whether that be family, friends, clients, co-workers, or strangers, I'm noticing that I no longer feel the need to manage how they feel. I used to take things personally.
I used to feel the need to fix it if other people felt something I wished they didn't. But in the same way, I've learned to let my boys feel what they need to feel. I give the same grace to every other person in my life.
And this is so freeing, my friends. And then there's my professional life. I always used to operate from this place of pushing, always trying to make something happen.
I've always been a worker, and don't get me wrong, I still love to set goals and challenge myself. But now I trust the process more, rather than feeling like I'm constantly proving myself or really working hard to give myself permission to think that I've done enough. Instead now, I trust that my efforts will lead me where I need to go.
I believe in myself and my efforts, even if I don't know exactly where they'll lead. And in my friendships, I've also grown more intentional. For a long time, I've tried to fit friendship into and around my responsibilities as a mom.
But now I'm focusing on nurturing relationships that feel meaningful to me. I realize that this space has opened up possibilities for me. Time to travel to see friends who live far away, and time to meet up with new people and nurture new friendships.
I now know that you can be lonely in a sea of people and fully content by yourself. And this has nothing to do with the people, and everything to do with who you are inside. I'm my own best friend, 100% of the time.
And this is the biggest shift, in how I show up for myself. I've actually always carved out time for self-care. But I realized that all of the yoga and the meditation in the world won't calm my mind without me truly doing the work to understand how my mind is creating my emotional experience in the first place.
I spent years attaching my peace to things outside of myself. How my kids were doing, whether or not they were happy, how well I was keeping up with the demands of my life. I could carve out time to meditate in the morning, but if I spent the rest of the day desperately trying to control every little thing in my life, the meditation went out the window.
In fact, I was recently updating a program I use as a daily calendar because I wanted to be more intentional with how I'm spending my days now. Specifically more intentional about not packing so much into every day. The last time I used this particular program was my oldest son's sophomore year, so four years ago.
I clearly had been trying hard to carve out time for meditation because I'd had this feeling of constant overwhelm. My friends, I can't remember the last time I meditated. And that's not because I don't find it useful.
I actually do. But I haven't needed to meditate. Because I'm actively present in every moment of my life.
And that means I'm conscious of not creating overwhelm ahead of time. I don't need meditation to quiet my mind. I actively create that state throughout the day.
I think it can be true for so many of us that we turn to self-care or self-improvement as a way to fix the way we feel. We think, if I just exercise more or just take time for myself, then I'll feel better. We also do this with our teens and our lives.
If I can just get my kid to X, Y, and Z. If I can just figure out what I'm going to do in the empty nest. If I can just get my kid out of the house, then I'll feel better. Then I get to experience my life in the way I want it to be.
But feeling how you really want to feel in life isn't about what we do. It's about how we think. It's about the way we relate to ourselves in every moment of our lives.
My friends, I still love yoga. I love to go for walks. I love to read.
I take time to care for my physical health and my well-being. But now I do it from a place of peace, not as a way to chase peace. And this is how I find myself approaching the next 100 days and the series of 100 days that will follow.
Last time around, I was so cognizant of how fleeting the time was. I sensed that I was letting go of something precious. And now I'm so much more aware of the fact that that was just a season.
And there are many more ahead of me. If I could go back and talk to that version of myself from two years ago, I'd tell her, you're not losing anything precious. You don't have to let go in 100 days.
This is just a season. And there are so many of these seasons ahead of you. It's true, we don't know what the future will bring.
But you can trust yourself to meet each season with compassion and grace, focusing on what you can control, and letting the rest go. Even two years ago, I was still in the early stages of living into the possibility of this. I was still wrestling with what it meant to step back.
I was afraid that in letting go, I'd be losing something. But now I see that in letting go, I was making space for something even greater, deeper relationships, more peace, a deeper connection with myself. If you're in this place right now, struggling with what it means to redefine yourself as your kids grow up, I want you to know that this isn't the end of your story.
It's just another chapter. A chapter where you get to embrace who you are as a woman who is still evolving and discovering who she is. So if you find yourself holding on, trying to control, afraid of what's next, not sure of how to approach the future, take a deep breath.
Trust that you're becoming exactly who you're meant to be. And this is true for your children as well. I know how hard this season can be.
I've experienced some excruciating and painful moments, but I no longer feel like my only choice is to put one foot in front of the other to get through the challenges of my life. I trust myself to navigate my life having my own back. And this is thanks to a skill set I teach in my one-on-one coaching program.
My friends, you don't have to stay stuck, and you don't have to figure it out alone. In my Mom 2.0 program, I teach you how to understand your mind, really how to understand and find compassion for that alter ego inside of each of us that wants to fight or run away from the challenges of life. In this program, you'll learn how you don’t have to fight anymore. You don’t have to run and hide. You can access within yourself the strength, peace and confidence to create the experience of life that you really want.
No matter where you are on your journey, consider that you don’t have to wait 100 days to start creating the experience of life that you want. The power of being present and fully intentional in how you approach your life. This is a gift that you can give yourself right now. And I can show you how. Reach out to me at [email protected] and let’s set up a time to talk.
In less than 100 days you can experience more peace, confidence, connection and joy.
This is not the end of your story, my friend. There are so many chapters ahead of us. The question is are you going to write this new story with intention or are you going to retell the same old stories. This is a choice you get to make.
Here’s to this next 100 days with my son before graduation and all of the beautiful days to follow. Are you with me? Let’s create something beautiful together, my friend.
Until next time.
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.
