For our generation of mothers, the "empty nest" is the culmination of a perfect storm of factors that make the transition from active parenting to sideline supporter so much harder than I for one had expected. For a start, my friends and I had fewer children than our parents' generation. When I was growing up it was common for families to have four or five children, now any more than three and people are considered "brave". This means the parenting years are condensed. The time between the eldest and the youngest child leaving home is a shorter one (even if it's more common than it used to be for kids to boomerang back). I suspect if you're seeing your sixth child off to university you're ready to be done … but when child number two is the baby, their departure can sneak up on you. Also the boomerang thing isn't as useful as it may seem. I love having my adult kids in the house but they come and go at will and I have to work very hard not to remind them to wear a jacket or put on sunscreen … advice they really aren't interested in. Accepting that I'm not "needed" the way I used to be is hard and the nest can feel a little empty, even when the grown-up offspring are still in it.
Then there's the fact that people have their children later than in previous generations. A century ago a woman like myself (50+) would almost certainly be a grandmother by now - I'd have a job as a co-carer. But given I was 33 when I had my first baby and my daughters, like many young women, are pursuing opportunities their great-grandmothers never dreamed of, I'd say the role of nana is some years off. In today's world there's a significant gap between parenting and grandparenting. So while I appreciate the wonderful advances we've all made and I relish the independence women now enjoy, I also believe that somewhere deep in my DNA the urge to cuddle a baby or hold the hand of a child is still crying out - and my modern feminist self is at war with it.
The other issue many women - including myself - face as our children become independent is the juxtaposition between that event and the failing health or indeed loss of our own parents. This is really just about the math as it applies to childbearing in recent times. My mother was in her 20s when she had me, I had my children in my 30s, so 20 years later as my girls take on adulthood, my parents have reached their 70s-80s. My father passed away not long after my eldest went flatting and my youngest went overseas to college. The loss of my dad seemed to blend together with the end of my parenting years in a way that created a tornado of despair. As I wandered the halls of my oh-so-quiet house, peeking into empty bedrooms, it all seemed like a giant plot to undermine my innate confidence about my place in the universe.
On top of this were my hormones and the test that is menopause. Where, in previous generations, the children may have gone before the flushes started … not so for us. Weight gain, night sweats, mood swings; just when the fruit of my womb was leaving - my womb was packing up too. This alongside the unspoken understanding that we don't talk about the M word despite the fact that 50 per cent of the population will likely experience it is part of that perfect storm I referred to earlier.
Almost daily I see small children and feel a wash of nostalgia and a little regret. I pass our local primary school or a soccer pitch and I become aware of the hole in my heart no amount of yoga, swimming or professional accolades can fill. I am constantly asking myself whether I enjoyed my little ones when I had the chance, did I pay enough attention, was I a good mother … at least some of the time? I think of the things we were going to do but never got around to. The things I should have done differently or not bothered doing at all. There are many wonderful memories too but they don't always prompt a smile. Instead, they can bring on the sadness I've come to recognise as grief: I'm grieving for a time in my life that is rightfully over.
Time is such a strange component in all of this. For two decades it felt like I didn't have a spare moment. Now with the absence of school runs and birthday parties I find there's too much of it. The hours between 5pm and 8pm that used to be fraught can seem like a void and cooking dinner for two instead of four somewhat pointless. The temptation to fill the gap with work, taking on extra projects, filling every minute with something specific is overwhelming but I know it isn't the solution. I accept that I need to relearn the art of relaxing, reading … reconnecting with my very supportive, if slightly bemused, husband.
Of course there are developments that make things easier than they used to be. Social media means we can be in touch with our children in a way our parents never expected. I travelled for two years after high school and by the time my postcard from Ireland arrived at my parents' house in Canada I was already in Norway. Mum and Dad had no real idea where I was; phone calls were crazy expensive and, of course, there was no internet. When my daughter went on her O.E. I could follow her trip on Instagram or Snapchat. It was wonderful to share her journey but, oddly, I'm not certain it was always a good thing. When she travelled through regions deemed dangerous I couldn't help but worry, fighting the urge to stalk her online. My parents were forced to let me go and trust I'd be okay, which of course I was. In some ways I think the connectivity of our times makes it harder for us to let go of our children and for them to move on. I know that I worry about my kids as much now as I ever did. Indeed, patching a tiny scraped knee seems small next to a broken heart or a shattered dream.
Of course this is all countered, in part, by how wonderful it is to see the incredible young women my girls have become; to have real meaningful conversations with them about art, music, movies, sport, politics … the future. It is, however, important to acknowledge that as they transition into fully formed autonomous humans, I am also going through a transition, one that many of my friends are also grappling with … one the term "empty nester" doesn't begin to explain.
