In a few months, I will watch my 18-year-old kid walk away to start a life of his own in another country. I can already picture it: the way I’ll stand there a little longer than necessary, trying to hold onto a moment that’s already passing.
I know that later, I’ll return to our apartment and feel the quiet in a way I haven’t before. Not because it’s empty, but because something has shifted. A chapter that once defined my daily life will have closed, whether I’m ready for it or not.
Before my son leaves for his study abroad program in Spain this fall, we’re still moving through our routines. He’s asking me questions about living on his own. We still have this time to share meals, routines, and small daily conversations. But everything feels different now. I know it won’t last in the same way. I feel like I’m standing in a space that is both present and forward-looking at the same time.
I’ve started to realize that letting go isn’t something that happens the day your child leaves. It starts long before.
My role as his mother has changed
I’m already grieving a moment that hasn’t happened yet. Every form we fill out feels like a step toward goodbye.
He’s my oldest kid, and lately I find myself caught between who he is now and who he used to be. I think about his first steps, the early words, and the way he used to need me for everything. Back then, parenting felt physical. I was holding, guiding, and protecting him. Now, it feels internal.
This past year has already been full of change. We moved from New York to Portugal, a decision that reshaped our lives in ways I’m still processing. I left behind familiarity, stability, and everything we knew to build something new for us. That move required courage, trust, and letting go.
Now, just as I’ve adjusted to this new life, I’m preparing to let go again, this time of my son as he steps into his own.
I wonder if I’ve done everything I was supposed to do as his mom
Have I prepared him enough for the world? For independence? For the moments when I won’t be there to help?
Because that’s what scares me the most: not being by his side if something goes wrong, or not being able to step in quickly, fix it, and protect him.
Letting go isn’t a single moment; it’s a process. It means encouraging him to make his own decisions, even when I want to guide them. It’s teaching him how to manage his money and reminding him that he can’t eat takeout every night.
It’s watching him schedule his own doctor appointments, handle his responsibilities, and figure things out on his own. I have to step back when my instinct is to step in. That’s not easy.
There’s a constant tension between wanting to protect him and knowing that growth requires space.
This experience has created an internal shift in how I see parenting
For so long, being a good parent meant being present, involved, and attentive to every need. Now, I’m realizing it also means knowing when to step back and not holding on too tightly.
I have to trust that what I’ve taught him will carry forward, even when I’m not there.
I imagine the moments ahead, the ones we haven’t reached yet, like him standing in a new apartment in a different country, calling me to ask how to fix a recipe. Or asking questions I used to answer before he even had to ask.
I know I’ll answer the same way every time, with patience, with love, and with delight. Because no matter how far he goes, I want him to know this: He can always call home, and I will always pick up.
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