Seeing Motherhood From Both Sides
I've been reflecting lately on what it means to be a mother of grown children.
There's a strange adjustment that happens when our children no longer need us the way they once did.
They have their own homes, careers, relationships, children, and responsibilities. Their days are filled with things that have very little to do with us anymore.
And that's how life is supposed to be.
We raised them to become independent, capable adults. We wanted them to build happy, fulfilling lives of their own.
But knowing that doesn't always make the adjustment easy.
Sometimes I find myself wishing my children would call more often, stop by for a visit, or make a little time for us to be together.
And when they're busy or have other plans, I sometimes take it personally.
I start wondering why I'm always the one reaching out. Why I have to ask when we're going to see each other. Why it sometimes feels like I have to find a place for myself in their busy lives.
And if I'm being truthful, there are moments when it leaves me feeling unloved, unappreciated, or simply unseen.
But then I think about my own mother.
My mother passed away last year, and since losing her, I've spent a lot of time reflecting on our relationship and the years we shared.
I remember being the daughter with a life of my own.
I had children to raise, work to do, bills to pay, and responsibilities that demanded my attention.
There were days when I was simply too busy or too tired to do much of anything else.
But that never meant I didn't love my mother.
I knew she was there for me. I knew I could count on her. And I did make time for her.
Still, she wasn't always at the center of my daily thoughts because I was busy living my own life.
And now, looking at my own children, I'm beginning to understand something.
Perhaps what I'm experiencing now isn't so different from what my mother experienced with me.
It isn't necessarily that our children don't appreciate us or that they love us any less.
They're simply living.
Just as we once were.
And sometimes, as mothers, we forget that.
We become so accustomed to being needed, to being involved in every little detail of our children's lives, that when those roles change, we don't always know where we fit anymore.
We begin measuring our importance by how often they call, how frequently they visit, or how much time they make for us.
And without realizing it, we can turn their busy schedules into something personal.
We tell ourselves they don't miss us.
That they don't think about us.
That perhaps we no longer matter as much as we once did.
But when I look back at my own relationship with my mother, I know that wasn't how I felt about her.
I didn't love my mother any less simply because I had a life of my own.
And I don't believe my children love me any less because they have theirs.
Of course, that doesn't mean we stop missing them.
It doesn't mean there won't be moments of loneliness or disappointment when we wish we could spend more time together.
Those feelings are real, too.
But I'm learning that I don't have to turn every missed visit or unanswered invitation into a question about how much I'm loved.
Perhaps part of empty nesting is learning to let our children live without interpreting their independence as our absence from their hearts.
And perhaps it's also time to stop trying so hard to remain needed.
I know I've been guilty of overgiving.
Sometimes I think I'm still trying to make up for the years when I couldn't be with my children as much as I wanted.
So I give more. I offer more. I make myself available, sometimes even when I have things of my own that need attention.
But our children are adults now.
We cannot go back and change the past, and we shouldn't have to spend the rest of our lives trying to make up for it.
We can love our children without constantly doing something for them.
We can invite them without feeling rejected when they have other plans.
And we can learn to enjoy our own lives without waiting for them to be available.
I still have dreams I want to pursue, places I want to see, friendships I want to nurture, and things I want to accomplish.
My life didn't end when my children grew up.
It's simply entering another chapter.
And maybe that's what I need to remember most.
My children having lives of their own doesn't mean I no longer have a place in them.
Just as my mother always had a place in mine.
Even when I was busy.
Even when we didn't see each other as often as we could have.
Even when life pulled my attention in a hundred different directions.
She was still my mother.
And I loved her.
Now that she's gone, I understand even more how precious that relationship was.
I only wish I could tell her some of the things I'm beginning to understand now.
Maybe that's one of the lessons of growing older.
We begin to see our parents differently because we're finally experiencing life from where they once stood.
And in doing so, perhaps we can become a little more understanding of our own children.
To all the empty nesters out there, perhaps our children aren't forgetting about us. Perhaps they're simply living the lives we worked so hard to prepare them for.
And while they're busy building those lives, we still have one of our own to enjoy.
We just have to remember how.
Have you found yourself taking your grown children's busy lives personally, even though you remember being just as busy when you were their age?
