Nobody Prepares You for This Part

This month is a big one.

My firstborn, Ben, turns 18. He graduates from high school and in just a few months he will be leaving for university. Even writing those words brings tears to my eyes because nobody really prepares you for this part.

When your children are little, people tell you all the time:

"It goes so fast."

"Enjoy every minute."

"You'll miss this one day."

And I know they mean well but when you're in it, really in it, it's hard to understand or imagine what they're talking about

When you're exhausted from sleepless nights, knee deep in dirty diapers, driving the kids all over to their activities, making lunches, doing laundry, helping with homework, breaking up arguments, and trying to hold everything together, it's hard to imagine a day when your children won't need you in the same way.

Parenting is so all-consuming. There are seasons where you barely have a moment to think about what you need, let alone who you are outside of being a mum.

Then somehow, high school happens. Four years pass in what feels like the blink of an eye and suddenly there are only three months left before your child packs up their life and moves six hours away!!

Ben is so ready and I am SO incredibly proud of him. The last few years haven't always been easy. There was a period when he struggled deeply with his mental health and those were some very dark places for all of us. 

As parents, we supported him the best we could but the truth is, he's the one who did the work. He's the one who kept showing up for himself and the one who found his way through and now I see this young man standing in front of me who is stronger, more confident, more settled in himself than ever before.

Watching him become who he is meant to be has been one of the greatest privileges of my life. I know he's ready for this next adventure, I'm just not entirely sure I am.

I know he's not leaving my life. I know he'll still call and come home. I know our relationship isn't ending but I am still feeling a kind of grief. One that brings that lump to my throat when I think about him leaving, where I cry in the car when I think about him gone and one that catches me off guard when I look around my house.

Right now, as I write this, his schoolwork is spread all over the kitchen counter. His water bottle is sitting beside me, there are six pairs of his shoes by the front door. His bedroom is a disaster. There are dirty dishes on his desk and laundry on the floor and somehow, all the things that drive me crazy today are the things I know I'll miss tomorrow.

I'll miss hearing him come through the front door and our random conversations.

I’ll miss him saying I love you every time he gets out of the car, even in front of his friends.

I'll miss seeing his things everywhere.

I'll miss knowing he's just upstairs.

And then there's his younger brother Sam, who can wander into Ben's room whenever he wants, who can ask him to play basketball or go for a drive. 

This transition belongs to all of us in different ways and while it feels bittersweet, I also know there is something beautiful waiting on the other side.

More space.

More time.

A different rhythm.

An opportunity to deepen my relationship with Sam and to rediscover parts of myself that have been quietly waiting.

I feel like I've grown up alongside my boys. Motherhood has shaped me in ways I never could have imagined. If it hadn't been for them, I don't know if I would have done so much of the inner work I've done over the years. They have been my greatest teachers.

They have mirrored back to me the places where I needed to grow, heal, soften, and learn and for that, I will always be grateful.

Maybe that's what this season is really teaching me, that life is made up of endings and beginnings and that every new chapter asks us to let go of something familiar. That love sometimes looks like opening our hands and trusting and that we can feel grief and gratitude at the very same time.

Most of all, it reminds me that while children grow up and leave home, what they truly need from us never changes.

A safe place to land.

A place where they know they are loved.

A place where they know they belong.

No matter what choices they've made and what mistakes they've made. No matter how far away they are, I hope my boys always know that. That home isn’t a house, it’s knowing there are people who love you unconditionally. People who will always answer the phone, who will always welcome you back.

Being a mum has been my favourite role I've ever had and while this next chapter feels very tender and uncertain right now, I know it's exactly where we're meant to be.

So here's to seasons of change.

To letting go.

To holding on.

To grieving what was.

And making space for what's next.

Mel x