I thought I knew what to expect when my daughter left for college. Everyone talks about the grief, the tears in the driveway, the quiet bedroom. Nobody warned me about the guilt.
I wasn’t grieving. I was proud. She’d done exactly what we raised her to do. So why did it feel so bad?
I was falling apart, then feeling guilty for falling apart, because what right did I have to be sad about something I was so happy about? Guilt stacks right on top of joy, and the two of them sit there making you feel like you’re doing the whole thing wrong.
The day itself
I remember almost nothing about that morning except one photo. She’s hugging me, crying, and I’m crying, and you’d think something terrible had happened. Something wonderful was happening. Proud, excited, terrified, heartbroken, all at once.
My husband did something smart on the drive home. He didn’t take us straight back. He stopped in a couple of towns, pointed out random things, kept us looking outward.
Less than 24 hours later she called. Door propped open, candy out, no friends yet. I spun out immediately. You can raise a kid who’s completely ready for independence and your brain will still find something to panic about within a day.
What changes shape
Nobody tells you grocery shopping becomes a grief ritual. She’s gluten-free. Nobody else in my house is. I still buy gluten-free groceries. We’re all still shopping for people who aren’t there.
What I miss most is almost too small to admit. Watching TV together, working on a puzzle, what we called girl dinners before that was even a phrase. Not the milestones. The couch.
With an only child there’s no easing in. At first I thought I’d stopped mothering, but I’m still her mom. I’m just not mothering daily. It’s more consultative now. It’s not finished. It just changed shape.
My husband and I had to rebuild too. Just the two of us was 1.0, then we had her, 2.0, and once she left we had to build 3.0 on purpose. We wrote “Huber 3.0” in the sand on a trip, because we needed to see it to believe it. It took therapy and honest conversations, and it made us better as partners, not just as parents.
What actually helped
The best advice came from moms who’d been through it: do not let your kid come home in the first six weeks. People think that’s cruel. It isn’t. If she can retreat home the moment things get hard, she never fully bonds with her new life, and you never fully release into yours. We didn’t see her until Thanksgiving. It was hard, and it was exactly right.
I gave myself a rule too. I wouldn’t call more than once a week. She had to reach out. Some weeks she called every day, some weeks she went quiet. Both were fine.
If you’re a few weeks into this
If you’re sitting in your kitchen wondering why you feel like this when everything is going right: it’s going to be okay. All the work you put in comes out exactly the way it’s supposed to.
I want grandbabies, I’m just going to say it. But mostly, this stage expanded our family instead of shrinking it. Her friends, her partner, a whole circle of people we never would have known. The nest didn’t just empty. It grew new rooms we didn’t know we needed.
Turns out it’s allowed to feel like grief and pride at the exact same time.
— Renee Huber, Guest Writer (+ Cameron’s mom!)