When my oldest daughter left for college, I felt blindsided — like I somehow prepared her to be independent without preparing myself. As the mom of two teenagers, I still had a high schooler at home, but other than rides to school or friends’ houses, she didn’t seem to need me very much anymore, either.
Even with dozens of child development course credits, years working with kids of all ages, and an academic understanding of individuation — the process people go through to achieve a separate, distinct identity — the drastic and almost overnight change in my job description as a mom took me by complete surprise.
I didn’t think my kids would pull away when they went to college
Somewhere underneath all that education, I think I believed that my daughters and I were the exception. We were different. We were close. They didn’t need to pull away to find themselves.
I was grateful that my daughter had decided to attend a local university, unlike some of her friends who had moved across the country or even to Europe. I looked forward to supporting her with home-cooked meals, laundry services, and the occasional ride to work.
After a few months, I converted her bedroom into a home office and spent weeks finding the perfect futon for her to sleep on when she came home. But she never used it, and it seemed like the more I pursued her, the more she slipped away.
I couldn’t understand why she stopped sharing her location and resisted my help. I felt sad and disconnected from one of my favorite people. Every night, before I went to sleep, I lay in bed worrying and wondering if she was tucked safe into her dorm room.
In response, I became clingy
Instead of taking the hint and backing off, I became clingy, insecure, and resentful. I texted too much, told her how much I missed her, and insisted she turn location sharing back on. I also pressed her to talk about her feelings and tried to get to the bottom of her detachment.
Had I failed her as a mom? Is that why she didn’t want to spend time with me anymore? It seemed like she couldn’t wait to get away, and my confidence plummeted.
I didn’t realize that what felt like care and support to me came across to her like stress and pressure. I was also unwittingly making her feel responsible for my emotions, which just created even more distance between us.
I felt like I was losing the relationship I’d spent 18 years building and had no idea why.
I finally realized that I had to quit fighting what I already knew
It was only when I went back to what I already knew — that pulling away is how people find themselves — that I finally realized what my daughter was doing was not only normal but necessary, and that I had to quit fighting it.
I stopped taking her independence personally, remembering that I raised her to be strong and self-reliant, and realized that she wasn’t the only one who needed to figure out who she was separate from her family.
It was also time for me to rediscover who I was besides a mom and caregiver. But it wasn’t easy, and I spent months feeling lonely and adrift. After having virtually no time to myself for almost two decades, I now had too much time on my hands, and didn’t know what to do with it.
I tried to remember all the things I dreamed about doing when my girls were little — reading, writing, traveling — and started there. One day, I spent hours hiking a local wilderness trail without checking my phone for the first time in years, and that’s when it hit me.
Once I finally backed off, gave my daughter some space, and refocused my attention on my own life, our relationship began to improve. I became less needy, more confident, and showed my daughter that she wasn’t responsible for my feelings.
Now that she’s 23, we text almost daily and talk by phone several times a week. She recently requested her favorite meal and enlisted my help on a writing project. I feel closer to her than ever, reassured that she’s doing a great job making her own way in the world, and thrilled to see her building the confidence that comes with being independent.
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