And so, it begins

The long road to an empty nest

My eldest kid is moving out of home. Tomorrow.

This is something I have at many times over the years voiced to others that I never thought would happen. He has always had a lot of needs, primarily ME. And I have always done my very best to be there for him and help him work through all the things that have cropped up across his life (and there have been many!). For a long time, we weren't even sure he would make it out of his teens alive.

And now he is well enough to embark on an independent life. To go and live with other people and experience new things. So many wonderful things. I'm so freaking excited for him. SO fucking proud. Like, wow. We did it, we got to this place! And it's beyond my wildest hopes for him. He's studying, and he has new friends, and he is doing so great. He's worked so hard to get here and I don't think he realizes just how far he's come. But I do. I see it. I see him. I believe in him.

And it doesn't matter if things go pear shaped and he needs more support - the simple fact that he's giving it a go? That he is putting himself out there? Amazing. Astounding. So worth celebrating.

This is the first time I've had a child move out of home and I've got to admit, I'm not as emotionally prepared as I'd like to be. I fully believe this is going to be wonderful for him, and for us as well, but the fact he won't be here every day? Ooof. There is this twisty mess of emotion: joy, grief, pride, nerves, excitement. He is the first to go, but it won't be all that long before our middle child heads off to university. I have less than two years of them here at home to go.

We were watching Shrinking last night (thanks for the rec, Richard!) and the adults are talking about how you get to a certain stage with your kids where you just have to let them go off and do the things, and if you've done parenting right, they'll reach out when they need you. And I know he does. (sometimes, he reaches out when he doesn't really need me, but I am a giant security blanket). I will always have my kids backs when I can. Even when I can't. Even to the detriment of my own back. It's just how I parent and it's so important for me that they know I'm a safe place to land.

I'm getting better at saying no when it's a preference rather than a need, better at making sure I'm also looking after me, but in those big times of need? I will always be there however I can be.

But tomorrow night, this kid? He won't be sleeping under my room. I'm sure I can go a few days with just thinking he's away, staying with a friend or something. Every time I walk past his room though, I'm going to see that empty space (okay, let's be honest, it won't be empty, it's going to have a mess left behind, things still stuck to the walls, bits of rubbish, discarded clothes, and anything we didn't have the energy to move at the time, some of which is no doubt likely to lurk there for weeks, oh and his bed, and an old set of drawers he isn't taking with him).

How am I dealing with that empty space? Because I can already feel it.

It's a void waiting to be filled.

I'm dreaming about the day I can create my office in his old room. We've agreed to wait some time before I do that. It's important for him to know that if he needs to run home, he can. That there will still be space for him (that it will still be HIS space). To feel like I've not just been waiting for this day so I can take the space for myself. Some part of his brain might even try and convince him that I forced him out of the house so I could take it over, even though he knows that's not the truth (brains are tricksy - hilariously when I showed him the paint colour I've chosen he literally went on a half-hearted rant about how I just want him gone so I can take over his room lol and then I read him this, and we both chuckled).

Isn’t she pretty?? Why yes, if I cannot live in a cabin in the woods, I am bringing the woods into my cabin (room). Also, Speakeasy just really spoke to me…

But I have dreamed of the day I'll have an office. That office has had many iterations in my head over the past ten years. I've looked at cabins to rent or buy. At one time I even wondered if there was a way I could convert our ensuite into an office, albeit a small, damp one. However, where the hell would all our clothing go? lol I thought about converting the front porch into a fully built in space, the garden. I've looked at furniture and thought about the perfect chair. I've perused Pinterest looking at colour schemes and decorations. I've priced up different combinations of items, and paint and decorations. For most of my parenting life, I've had to fit myself into other spaces - the kitchen, the living room, the hallway, the bedroom. Spaces that everyone else occupied, or could, whenever they wanted.

I'm so ready to have a room of my own (I have been ready for a long time. I thought I would be waiting longer. I'd have coped if I was). A place where I can close the door and shut everyone out (everyone but the dogs, anyway). A place where I can spread out, breathe, be as me as I want to be with no consideration for other people. It's hard for me to articulate why this is important, but maybe part of it is just down to being such an introvert. Of needing so much peace in my life. A place that I get to control and dictate the rules for. Everyone else has a room in this house - I even call the bedroom my husband's room lol I sleep there, and my clothes are there, but I don't even get dressed in there, I gather clothing and dress in the bathroom because I get up at a ridiculous hour of the morning and don't want to wake him.

His computer is there. He works from home there. He plays games there. He watches TV there.

I don't feel like it's my room in any meaningful way.

It's amazing that in the near future I will be able to stake a claim on my own space. I can already feel the relief that will bring seeping toward me from the future. I am dreaming all the dreams, and using those dreams and that hope to help me process all the feelings involved when your first kid leaves the nest.