Ever since I became a mom, I’ve been working toward one big goal: raising my kids to be thoughtful, kind, independent little firecrackers who are ready to take on the world. But now that my oldest is graduating eighth grade and heading to high school in the fall, I’m feeling everything at once. I thought watching her step into more independence would feel exciting, like the natural next chapter. Instead, I’m going through it.
My spiral really started before her first overnight school trip, the one I had volunteered to chaperone. Her class was going to Washington, DC, for five days and five nights, and I was prepared for all of it: the loud coach bus, the chaos of wrangling kids who weren’t mine, and the careful balance of keeping an eye on her while giving her enough space to be with her friends. Then she broke my heart a little when she said, Mom, could you please not chaperone.
It had been a while since I chaperoned any field trips, and I was definitely never invited to a middle school dance. Still, because this was her last big middle school adventure, I thought maybe she would want me along for the ride. Looking back, I’m pretty sure I was the only person who thought that.
In the week before the trip, I worked through my feelings in every way I knew how. I smothered her with affection, journaled like my pen had answers, and clung to my younger daughter like my life depended on it. Somewhere in the middle of all that, the realization hit me: oh crap, I only have four more summers with her before everything changes.
To be clear, the minute she turns 18 and heads off to college, work, travel, or whatever next step is waiting for her, I’m not kicking her out and changing the locks. She will always be welcome at home. She will always have a place to land with me. But I know the dynamics are going to shift, and I got another reminder of that when we talked about this summer.
She showed me a bucket list she had made with one of her girlfriends, and honestly, it was wonderful. They want to go to the beach, paint pottery, have an all-night sleepover, and squeeze in all the fun they can before freshman year starts. I love that for her. I really do. But in a twist that shocked absolutely no one except me, most of those plans only included me as the chauffeur extraordinaire.
I know this is healthy. I know this is the point. I want my kids to grow up, make good decisions, build their own lives, and feel confident without me hovering over every choice. I just thought I would feel a little more excited when it started happening.
Maybe I’m simply in a reflective mood, feeling dramatic about being left behind. But so much of my adult life has been shaped by being needed as a mom. Of course I’m more than just a mom, but feeling less needed by my kids has opened up a kind of void I wasn’t prepared for.
It hurts a little to imagine that she may not miss me as much as I’m going to miss her. Then again, teenagers are not exactly known for expressing the emotions that make them feel vulnerable. So I’m letting a small part of myself hope that, even though this is the natural next step, the transition won’t be entirely smooth for her either. Not because I want it to be hard, but because I hope some part of her still wants me nearby for the big things.
I also know I need to take a deep breath. She isn’t done with me. She just doesn’t want to hang out with me 24/7, which is fair. She hasn’t banned me from her bedroom. She still wants to go shopping for a high school wardrobe update, and she still cares about my opinion, not just my card. She still says her favorite thing to do with me is our book dates at Barnes & Noble.
There is still plenty of time. There are still so many moments we will enjoy together. They may just look different as she gets older. As an adult, I don’t crave time with my own mom the same way I did when I was 13, or even 30, but that doesn’t mean our relationship isn’t strong and loving. It has simply evolved.
It turns out I may actually have to listen to what my therapist tells me about almost every other part of my life: two things can be true at once. I can mourn the loss of the little-kid years while also feeling proud, excited, and curious about this next phase with my daughter.
I only have four more high school summers with her, four summers where I may still have a little say in how we spend our time, even if her interest in some of our old traditions fades. Growing up is part of life, and I’m grateful I’m here to witness it. I’m also genuinely excited for all the experiences she has ahead of her, even the ones that don’t include me.
I’m Holly Garcia, and I write about parenting, mental health, and all the lifestyle things. I’m from the Midwest, where I’m raising my daughters and drinking copious amounts of coffee.
Inspired by this post on Scary Mom.
