No one warned me about the quiet.
Sure, I knew the loud toddler days wouldn’t last forever. I expected the teenage pushback, the slammed doors, the late-night check-ins. But I never expected the slow fade of mothering. One day, I looked around and realized I wasn’t needed in the same way anymore.
The shift didn’t come with a big announcement. It came quietly. A text instead of a phone call. They missed dinner because they had plans. A weekend where I realized the only person I was checking in with… was me.
It’s strange to sit in a house that was once bursting with life and feel so still. Their shoes by the door used to multiply like rabbits. Now, I only trip over my own. I used to complain about the noise. Now I crave it, just a little.
What no one tells you about parenting adult children is this: you don’t stop being a mom, but you do stop being the center of their world. And that’s a grief you don’t know how to name.
They’re figuring things out on their own. They should be. That’s the goal. But still, I sometimes miss the chaos. I miss the questions. I miss knowing what they ate, what time they went to bed, what they were worried about. Now, I piece things together from crumbs of conversation.
This stage isn’t talked about enough. There are books and blogs for every parenting phase, except this one. The part where they’re still your babies in your heart, but full-grown humans in the world. Where your instincts scream to protect, but your wisdom whispers to trust.
I’ve learned to parent differently. To listen without fixing. To offer without pushing. To step back with love instead of fear.
And I’ve also started learning how to mother myself.
Because when your role shifts, you’re left with space. And what you fill it with matters. I’m trying to fill mine with patience, with self-discovery, with softness. It’s not always graceful. Some days I ache for a time machine. Other days, I breathe easier in the quiet.
If you’re here too wondering who you are now that you’re not wiping noses or signing school forms, you’re not alone. This shift is real. It’s tender. And it deserves to be witnessed.
Has your role as a mom changed recently? I’d love to hear what the shift has looked like for you. Share in the comments or journal it out; your story matters.
Disclaimer: I’m not a medical professional. I’m just a woman sharing my experiences in hopes it makes someone feel less alone. If you’re struggling with serious mental health concerns, please reach out to a licensed therapist or trusted professional.
