That Awkward In-Between

One of the most unexpected challenges of parenting isn’t the newborn phase or the teenage years - it’s this awkward, in-between stage when your child is in college but still living at home.

It’s a strange limbo. Things are changing, but somehow also staying the same. Your child is maturing, making real decisions about their future, maybe even beginning a career path. But at the same time, they’re still under your roof, still relying on you for certain things. It’s a delicate dance - learning to let go while still holding space.

My son is almost 20 now and working hard toward becoming a fireman. I try not to ask him where he’s going every time he walks out the door, or who he’s with, or when he’ll be home. But after eighteen years of doing exactly that, it’s a hard habit to break. It's hard to fall asleep when he's not home yet at night. In high school, he didn’t go out much. Now, he’s out nearly every night with his buddies - which is exactly what I always hoped for: that he’d find good friends and live a full, happy life.

But if I’m being honest, the house feels a little quieter these days. The conversations we used to share on the couch, the shows we used to watch together - those moments happen less often now. And while I’m endlessly proud of who he’s becoming, I can’t help but miss who he used to be, too.

Luckily, I still have my 16-year-old daughter at home. But I know in just two years, she’ll be off chasing her dreams - definitely somewhere warm, with palm trees and sunshine and a college that suits her spirit because she is a beach girl at heart and these Chicago winters are not for her, lol. By then, my son will be starting his career, and the house will echo with a silence I’m not quite ready for.

Right now, we’re in the middle of that transitional season. Both kids are working, driving, out with friends more than they're home. The calendar that was once packed with sports schedules and school events has gone eerily sporadic. All that time I used to spend carting them around or sitting in the stands is now just... still. It feels, at times, like standing in the middle of the Grand Canyon - breathtaking, awe-inspiring, but undeniably vast and empty.

You spend nearly two decades with your life orbiting around your children - nurturing, guiding, supporting - and then suddenly, they’re orbiting their own lives. Which is exactly what you hoped for all along. But still... it comes too soon.

So I’m trying to ask fewer questions. I’m learning how to let them go live their big, beautiful lives while still being a soft place to land. I’ll be here when they need advice, help, or just a hug. And I’ll cherish the little moments we still get - like the Cubs game my son took me to last Sunday for some mother-son time, or the TV marathons I get to share with my daughter.

This stage is awkward, yes. But it’s also beautiful in its own quiet way. A reminder that love doesn’t end when the nest starts to empty - it just grows with them, wherever they go.