My Empty Nest Is On The Horizon — And So Is This

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My phone lights up with a text from my husband, Jay, on his lunch break. It’s a link to a brochure for an eight-day adults-only cruise. I sigh as I scroll through photos of smiling, sun-kissed couples playing pickleball and sipping cocktails — without sulking teenagers or an overflowing laundry basket in sight.

“Four years,” I text back.

Four years until our youngest graduates high school, and we officially enter the land of the empty nesters.

Lately, I find myself thinking about that future more often than I’d like to admit. When our kids were little, the “empty nest” used to sound like some distant fantasy — or urban legend. But now, with teenagers who stay up later than we do, the reality feels closer than ever.

By the time the house finally settles into silence, Jay and I are usually so fried from the day that we can barely keep our eyes open, much less enjoy the rare peace. Romance has become the sacred act of sharing a bowl of microwave popcorn while watching a movie in between periodic interruptions to tell us the Wi-Fi is acting up or ask us if we can drop them off at their friend’s house on Saturday.

We’ve learned to make the most of our in-between moments: coffee runs squeezed in before school pickup, Saturday errands that double as mini dates and the flurry of texts we send all day long like two teenagers — albeit ones discussing grocery lists and dentist appointments. It’s not glamorous, but it’s our version of quality time.

Still, the idea of what comes next — when the kids pack up their energy, appetites and endless requests for money and rides — feels like a swirling cocktail of emotions. I know I’ll miss the rhythm (and chaos) of daily parenting. But I’m also curious, maybe even a little excited, about rediscovering who we are without our parental job titles front and center.

Because here’s the twist: Jay and I got married young but didn’t have kids until our 40s. We had nearly 20 years of just-us time before becoming parents — an extended honeymoon, really. I always tell my younger friends to soak up that time together before launching into the full-time parenting gig. That chapter gave us the kind of solid foundation we’ve leaned on through tantrums, teenage angst and Taco Tuesday negotiations.

But that chapter feels like a whole different life.

The past 16 years have been a blur of milestones, memory-making and enough mood swings to qualify us both for honorary counseling degrees. Now, as we approach the edge of this parenting stage, I find myself flipping through two kinds of brochures — one promising slower days and tables for two, the other filled with reminders about SAT deadlines and college visits.

Change is coming, and it’s both exhilarating and terrifying to contemplate.

I’ll admit, some of my daydreaming is pure survival instinct. It keeps my blood pressure down to picture a peaceful, quiet house when I’m trying to get everyone to the table for a family meal. It’s a little easier to look forward to a beach vacation alone with my husband when I’m refereeing yet another debate about whose turn it is to take out the trash.

The truth is, while I know the transition will be emotional — and I can already feel the sadness seeping in as I think about it — it’s also full of potential. There’s a whole new chapter of life ahead, waiting for us to fill with experiences, memories and moments that will feel both new and familiar. I can see the beauty in the coming shift even as I ache for what’s still right in front of me.

I’m not rushing to push anyone out the door — not even at the end of the day when Jay and I are daydreaming about what it will feel like to have an uninterrupted weekend to ourselves. (Magic, right? It must be pure magic.) These kids have been the center of my world, the heartbeat of my days. They have made us into the family I love. I’m in no hurry for this era to come to an end, but there’s no escaping the fact that my real life right now is someone asking if we have any more milk or telling me they need new socks.

I know there’s joy waiting in the next chapter, but I can wait to turn the page. Still, I do find myself daydreaming about a slower, quieter life — one that makes space for love, growth and the chance to know my children as adults, in their own homes, building families of their own. They say you’ve done your job as a parent when your kids no longer need you. I suppose that’s true, even though it’s the kind of success that might feel bittersweet.

So yes, my heart will break a little when the house is too quiet and the fridge stays full. But when the tears dry, I hope I’ll look over at Jay and say, “Okay, so … where do you want to go?”

Are any of you empty nesters? How's it going? Let us know in the comments below.