In this too-big, too-empty house that was way too small for so many years
Years that seemed like they may never end and yet went by too quickly- and without our permission
If only we could rewind
So many years of schedules and sports and tasks and homework and projects and tests and assignments
Of early mornings and late evenings and toys and smelly athletic equipment all over the place
And now- what?
Where’s the pitter patter, the banging and crashing and yelling and screaming and whining/complaining and hugging and cuddling (so much cuddling) and good morning/goodnight kisses
and laughing and laughing and laughing
The calls to “Bring me this,” “Can you pick me up?” “Where are you?” “ Have you seen my…?” “This is due tomorrow” and “I’m HUNGRY!” are no more
The busy practice schedules and game lineups by which we set our calendar are missing, and the days and nights, and weekends are now wide open: fluid
EMPTY
There is no frantic pace nor time to be home or wake up early or drop everything to take or pick up
No hurried trips to the store for this or that and no creative menus to prepare and to watch be enthusiastically devoured
Gone are the excited bursts through the door announcing victories or accomplishments or team news or funny “Guess what happened today” or “Can you believe…” or “Promise you won’t get mad” or talks about heartbreaks or observations or big plans and dreams
Now there is SILENCE
The messy rooms are all cleared out, just spaces where echoes of childhood remain
There are no more shoes and fishing gear and book-bags and sports stuff on the porch (which would normally be a good thing)—except, sadly, there is no prospect nor anticipation for them to return
And so here we are Trying not to look back Not sure where the hell we are supposed to look
As we try to navigate, define or redefine this life that has wrapped and captivated and occupied and made us who we’ve been for so long
But not nearly long enough
There is accomplishment and freedom, pride and relief
But the “Big, Wide Open” is terrifying
Like coming up for air only to find that you long to dive back down deep and stay there
So now we wait And take it all in And take a deep breath And a million more
In this too-big, too-empty house where the silence is deafening. By Dr. Mary Jo Almeida-Shore
Dr. Mary Jo Almeida-Shore is a writer, editor, and mother of two grown boys. Dr. Almeida-Shore is a founding editor of the Miamisocialholic and has been a contributor to Us Weekly, Miami Community News, the Miami Sun Post, The Miami Herald’s Miami.com, Time magazine publications, NBC Universal, Haute Living magazine, and many more. Dr. Shore earned her Doctorate degree from Florida International University in Curriculum and Instruction. In addition to her journalistic endeavors, she has served as an educator for the Miami-Dade County Public School System: five years as a teacher and fifteen as a vice principal.
I had been riding high from the holidays with everyone home and the excitement of following our big kids around the country as we watched my daughter’s college team win game after game—until they didn’t. They made it all the way to the National Championship, but it was another team’s day to win it all.
Fiesta Bowl 2022
Georgia deserves a big congratulations, but this isn’t about football.
This is about feeling stuck with no apparent good reason why. When you’re muddling in the muck, but you can’t quite put your finger on the cause. When you don’t even recall how it started.
When you’re feeling unmotivated and lethargic, and you know you “should” snap out of it, but you can’t see a way out.
𝙃𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙛𝙚𝙡𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙬𝙖𝙮?
When it’s dark and it’s cold outside—day after day after day.
So you try to do all-the-things: (𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘶𝘱𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘶𝘴 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳.) ▪️Keep a daily journal of everything we are grateful for ▪️Stick to a routine ▪️Get outside in the sunshine…(if we can find it.) ▪️Eat healthier ▪️Exercise for at least 20 minutes a day 𝘼𝙣𝙙 𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙡𝙡, 𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜. 𝘼𝙣𝙮𝙤𝙣𝙚?
A few days ago, I created a post that read, “A beautiful day begins with a beautiful mindset,” but I couldn’t post it—I didn’t have it in me. Adding to the toxic positivity already splashed across social media felt fraudulent.
Last night I told myself I was done feeling this way. I was going to wake up with a more positive outlook, and poof…the fog lifted.
𝙒𝙚𝙡𝙡, 𝙣𝙤, 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙚𝙭𝙖𝙘𝙩𝙡𝙮…
I do feel better today, and I have been thinking about why. The obvious is that two days ago, I traded the dark, rainy days of the Pacific Northwest for the sunshine of the Sonoran desert in Arizona. But after much consideration this morning, I think there is a more compelling reason.
As a recovering “avoider” and a lifelong “stuffer,” —sometimes it’s still hard to share with anyone, let alone my husband when I am not feeling so great, especially after he planned this little getaway to the sun for us.
𝙄 𝙙𝙞𝙙 𝙨𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙚𝙙 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙝𝙚 𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙚𝙙.
And somewhere in the “I don’t know why I am feeling this way conversation,” I was able to unlock the floodgates.
Saguaro Cacti
My angst spilled into the dry river bed, which hugged our hiking trail as we wound through the saguaro cacti and the prickly pears. I left it in the dust, both literally and figuratively.
𝙄 𝙛𝙚𝙡𝙩 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙙. 𝙄 𝙛𝙚𝙡𝙩 𝙨𝙚𝙚𝙣. 𝙄 𝙛𝙚𝙡𝙩 𝙫𝙖𝙡𝙞𝙙𝙖𝙩𝙚𝙙.
And today, as I sipped coffee as the sun rose over the Sonoran foothills, I felt more at ease. I realize all my challenges can’t be washed away in a day, but I sure felt lighter as I watched the sun spread its vitamin D across the valley.
If you’re feeling this way, I encourage you to reach out and ‘𝙥𝙝𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙖 𝙛𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙣𝙙.’ Sometimes just knowing we aren’t alone makes all the difference.
Lisa hopes to share life’s stories through the ever-changing platform she founded, called The Evolving Nest. She writes and shares insights about her own triumphs and struggles during her 30-year marriage to her husband and best friend. Together they have 3 growing children, two of which live 1,500 miles away most of the year, and an adult son with autism who has the run of the upstairs to himself. Lisa also contributes to Her View From Home, various podcasts, and of course, her own website, The Evolving Nest.
How many years have I set New Year’s Resolutions only to start berating myself a few weeks later for my lack of follow-through?
Sadly, too many years to count.
So a couple of years ago, I decided there had to be a better way. I started channeling “my inner-Dr. Phil” and asking myself, “𝙃𝙤𝙬’𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙮𝙖?”
Well, year after year, New Year’s Resolutions have not worked for me—zero, nada, end of story.
Apparently, I’m not alone.
According to one study, only 9% of those who set New Year’s Resolutions successfully keep them for a full year.
With those odds, it’s crazy that millions of us keep making them—let alone consider the fact that the majority quit within the first month.
𝗦𝗼. 𝗪𝗵𝘆. 𝗗𝗼. 𝗪𝗲. 𝗦𝗲𝘁. 𝗧𝗵𝗲𝗺?
Hope, 𝙄 𝙜𝙪𝙚𝙨𝙨??
Thank goodness there is always hope, as it is a promise of better times ahead. Unfortunately, hope alone won’t get us where we want to go.
So what does work?
Well, of course, it’s different for everyone, but here are 10 intentions that have been working for me, so I plan to carry them into next year.
Optimistic about the year to come
1) Grace—Giving myself grace with the understanding that we are all on a journey, and at 50-something, some things are going to take time to unravel.
2) Presence—Making a daily intention to remain connected and to be present with my spouse, away-from-home kids, and the most important people in my life.
3) Authenticity—To stop playing small. We are all unique and have something special to offer this world. It is a gift from our creator to find out what it is and how it might serve others.
3) Permission—Continuing to give myself permission to focus on my physical, mental and spiritual well-being. If you’re like me and you haven’t been doing this—it’s time to put yourself on the list.
4) Consistency—this was my word for 2022. I put it as a weekly reminder on my calendar, encouraging me to keep going with what was serving me and let go of what was not. It has served me well; I plan to keep it for 2023.
5) Failure is not a 4-letter word—I have always learned more from what hasn’t worked for me than what has. So, now I welcome these sometimes painful lessons because they’re like a compass pointing me toward a better, more well-suited path.
6) Lifelong learning—Embracing the idea that it’s okay not to know how to do something…YET.
7) Listening to myself—Honoring my needs and giving myself permission to rest, go on an adventure, and simply be more in tune with what I need in the moment.
9) Awareness—Being keenly aware of the positive and negative messages I tell myself. Can we be done with negative self-talk once and for all? It has never served anyone. If this speaks to you, I pray you will leave behind all the negative messages you’ve been telling yourself.
10) Remember to have fun—Let’s do more things that bring joy to our lives and find reasons to laugh until our faces hurt. 𝘽𝙚𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙚: Joy is infectious and spreads easily—no mask required!
Lisa hopes to share life’s stories through the ever-changing platform she founded, called The Evolving Nest. She writes and shares insights about her own triumphs and struggles during her 30-year marriage to her husband and best friend. Together they have 3 growing children, two of which live 1,500 miles away most of the year, and an adult son with autism who has the run of the upstairs to himself. Lisa also contributes to Her View From Home, various podcasts, and of course, her own website, The Evolving Nest.
I was sitting at a Starbucks, coffee in hand, putting off some work for a few indulgent minutes on Facebook. I was robotically scrolling, only partially engaged with the usual mix of animal videos, self-help quotes, and messages from friends.
That’s when it happened to me.
That’s when this photo happened to me.
I froze, my scrolling index finger mid-air. I was riveted. I could not stop looking. I felt like I had found something of importance. I looked at it and felt… Awestruck.
Photo Credit: Annie Leibovitz
Not because of her beauty or fame but because I didn’t realize until I saw this photo that this is what womanhood can look like.
Real, authentic, vibrant, and strong. Bad Ass. Commanding. Awesome. And wrinkled.
And something in me cracked open a little.
I am navigating the changes that come with age. I have gone through 4 different sizes in the last few years as my body decides what kind of metabolism it would like to have today. There are the reading glasses that I resisted for a year, the lessening of stamina (staying up past 1 a.m. requires a day off to recover), and the new wardrobe that seems to have gravitated to tunics and flowing shirts to hide the belly fat and rounded hips that have appeared. I try and hold all these changes with grace and dignity, but I’d be lying if I didn’t admit to having sat down on the little bench in the Nordstom’s change room and crying with dismay at a body that I can’t seem to anticipate or understand.
I don’t mean to paint an entirely bleak picture. There are great things that come with age, too, like no longer seeking “permission” to be the person I really am, giving up the need for people-pleasing, having enough independence of spirit to leave the house without makeup or shaved legs, and knowing, exactly, how I like to spend my time. I am eternally grateful for those gifts and the ease that they bring. So it’s not so much that I am resisting the changes that come with age; I get that with the sagging bits comes the reward of newfound wisdom. It’s more that aging seems to have landed me in uncharted territory. I don’t quite know how I am supposed to be in it.
I am perplexed. I have achieved so much and live an extraordinary, expansive life. I have a delightful circle of loved ones. I have a remarkable career. I do the things I love; dance, travel, read, and theatre. I cultivate relationships that charm me. I eat glorious meals that I delight in cooking. But there is unrest in me and, perhaps, a little sadness. A part of me struggles with a loss of vibrancy, a giving up on the coltish-legged creature that once seemed fearless. I have a longing for the permission that I used to give myself to be glorious.
I used to enjoy the attention I got for my youthful rendition of beauty. Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t anything particularly noteworthy, just enough to fit the checklist that someone, somewhere, decided was the definition of who I should be; thin, blonde, nicely shaped, long-legged, exuberant, friendly, and full of possibility. I excelled in my profession, got invited to the big meetings, was offered top tables in restaurants, and skipped the lines. I traveled, bought a house, and stood as a vibrant example of thirty-something femininity. I was used to the attention that my confidence gave me. The world was mine to conquer, to delight, to engage. Yes, that confidence came at a price. I bristled at and occasionally faltered under the demands of perfection and got lost in the dark world where self-worth equates to body image, but I got noticed. I was one of those who had the right to be vibrant and boldly stride into whatever lay ahead. No matter what, I could count on being seen. At the interview, at the audition, on the first date. Then suddenly, it seemed almost overnight, I was unseen.
Not rejected, just unseen.
I am no longer in the world of 30-something-vibrant-flat-stomached-world-achievers (heck, I am now striding through the world of 50-something), and suddenly I do not register in people’s awareness as I walk by. I am no longer the sassy upstart that people used to see when they looked at me.
And that’s the problem. I am unsure of who I am at this age. I can’t find the checklist for a powerful, vibrant, sexy woman of 50+. I’m standing here with the old checklist, which is not working. I don’t want to look like the botox version of Barbie, but I also don’t want the diffuse, shrinking energy of a woman who is no longer in command of her vitality.
But where is it to be found? Where are the examples of women who wear their years, experience, and glorious ways of being with pride? Women who still exude vibrant possibilities. Women who have created a whole new phase of being that lies between Nymph and Crone. Women who leave you enchanted, wondering, longing, and are over the age of 50?
When I saw this picture of Helen Mirren, I became curious. I stopped and looked. I mean, I really looked. And then I became envious. Can you believe it??? Envious! The last time I felt jealous of anyone older than me, I was sixteen and wishing I could be a very grown-up twenty-one. But look at her – the command of her space, the energy that just leaps out at you, the defiance in her tattoo, and her exposed cleavage that just takes the whole notion of being matronly and flips it the bird.
Oh, the stories that she has to tell.
Oh, what I would do to pour her a glass of wine (or better yet, a whiskey) and get down to a long talk.
It’s not that I want to be her. It’s that in seeing her, I realize that I don’t have a vision, a mentor, or a knowing of who I want to be. I instantly loved this photo; strangely enough, I think I fell in love with myself when I looked at it. The old choices society wants to offer me just don’t cut it. The blessing of age is that I can see that they never did. It’s high time that I decide how this next decade or two (or four) will look and feel. I’m Re-Imagining myself, finding the new markers for MY new definition of this Self. I’m erasing the page and creating space to be the kind of woman that I would envy.
Tania Carriere, BA, MPA, PCC
If someone asks me about a new sizzle in my responses, the reappearance of my coltish legs from under the tunics, the haircut, and the sultry attitude, I’ll just respond…
Tania Carriere combines life coaching, leadership, wellness, and travel to help you be your best self through her retreat and consulting business, Advivum Journeys
She shares her experiences, insights, and inspirations around leadership, communication, change, purpose, and vision. Tania’s impactful keynote and facilitated sessions draw her audiences into reflection, self-awareness, and intention. You can read more by Tania on LinkedIn, Facebook, and Instagram
🎊 Starting off the year with an introduction—I have sprinkled this page with bits and pieces about my marriage⛪, family, and myself this last year, but I have never made a bona fide introduction as the creator behind The Evolving Nest.
Thank you so much for following along! I’m Lisa.✋ I grew up in the days when no one locked their doors and our parents had no idea where we were all day.“Just be home by dinner,” my mom would say. I went to middle, high school, and college all in the ‘80s—graduating from the University of Oregon in 1990. (If you’re a Gen❌er yourself, this alone tells you a lot about me.)
I am 53 and met my best friend and husband of almost 30 years in college.💘 We have three grown kids—25👦, 21👦, and 18👧—two are in college, and one is working hard. Our oldest has autism🧩; he’s super independent and has the best disposition in the universe.
Aside from my family—I love sugar-free vanilla lattes☕, travel adventures🌴, lying on the couch with my hubby binge-watching the latest, Jesus, coffee with friends/Girls Weekends, visiting our kids at college, listening to books 📘 while I walk, and connecting with other creators online. My guilty pleasures are eating nacho cheese sauce🧀 and sneaking mini-Reeses cups.
I started The Evolving Nest when our youngest was a junior in high school. (💡If you are nearing empty-nesting, and are thinking about a new venture, I highly recommend beginning something before your youngest leaves the nest.) Yes, it can be scary to try something new. I still find it hard to put myself out there at times, but rewards have been innumerable.🏆
The Evolving Nest is all about discovering YOU 💟. For many of us, it’s more about REDISCOVERING ourselves AGAIN. It certainly was for me, with some nuances that surprised me along the way.
Our lives are made up of many chapters 📕, and at midlife, we still have exciting adventures to write about. The Evolving Nest is just a catchy way to ask, “What’s next?”
What is your Part Two❓
This page initially started as a blog to share marriage stories from a variety of perspectives but it has grown and changed over time. (Just like us.😉) I still plan to share stories but also much more about making the most of the years ahead, adventures in empty-nesting, and so much more.
I’ll share tips from my own thirty years of marriage, as well as advice from experts on moving toward your passion, having fun empty-nesting, and keeping the passion alive and well in your marriage.
I hope this page inspires💫 you to better understand yourself, your partner 🥰, and what energizes💥 you to get out of bed each morning.
Thank you again for joining me on this journey, lisa@evolvingnestwithlisa.com
* I’d love to hear your thoughts about marriage, midlife, and empty-nesting. Please don’t hesitate to reach out, and if you’re a writer or aspiring to be one, I’d love to consider sharing your story on The Evolving Nest—Empty Nesting & More.
Lisa hopes to share life’s stories through the ever-changing platform she founded, called The Evolving Nest. She writes and shares insights about her own triumphs and struggles during her 30-year marriage to her husband and best friend. Together they have 3 growing children, two of which live 1,500 miles away most of the year, and an adult son with autism who has the run of the upstairs to himself. Lisa also contributes to Her View From Home, various podcasts, and of course, her own website, The Evolving Nest.
And, of course, my dog, sleeping peacefully in the sun.
These are signs of warmth when I need comfort, things that tell me I’m full when, really, I’m empty, and pictures of blissful rest that escapes me when I feel restless.
Not to lean too far into introspection, but I sometimes wonder if my infatuation over capturing the perfect still life is just exactly that: My infatuation with the Perfect Still Life.
Like somehow the Perfect Still Life subconsciously means to me that imperfections are absent from my life, that my circumstances are perfect in that moment, and that everything about and around me is “fixed”.
Let me tell you what, my people.
There is nothing picture-perfect about midlife.
That perfect cup of coffee and a cozy fire, that insanely delicious guacamole (that I didn’t make) and the dream of an uninterrupted nap in the sunshine – these things might be just what the doctor ordered, but the “perfection” they offer is simply a mist.
It evaporates behind the lens in real life.
I always need to start over with fresh coffee the next morning. Fires require tending or they dwindle. And everybody knows guac turns nasty overnight.
And a nap? Are you kidding me?
If I could EVEN still my mind enough to sleep midday, you and I both know 72,000 people would pick that moment to need something RIGHT NOW.
Friends, I don’t know – and I don’t want to know – what’s on your camera roll. But I’m guessing like most people, you capture the images you want to see because they speak to you.
Things that speak peace in your life. And things that spark hope. And things that inspire joy. And, of course, things that emote love and good cheer.
These things – the coffee and the food and the fireplace and the patch of sunshine on the floor – these are all good things.
Scratch that. These are all GREAT things.
But I’m convinced these snapshots are gifts that represent something far greater, far more sustainable.
Something far more PERMANENT for which I’m forever accidentally but undeniably searching.
And that something is the Perfect Love of God who shines through all the cracks of my imperfect life and a very broken world.
Photo by Canva
Friends, I offer you this thought: It’s absolutely right to celebrate all of your misty gifts, even while you still struggle with all the imperfections of your (not so) still life.
Enjoy your gifts in whatever images they present themselves tonight, and rest in God’s Perfect Love fully in those moments.
“Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights, with whom there is no variation or shadow due to change.” James 1:17 (NIV)
Whitney Westbrook writes about navigating midlife, mostly with grace. Because midlife is relentless and irreverent, and because we should all talk about it out loud more. Follow her for more misadventures and insights on all things midlife. https://www.facebook.com/SoVeryWhitney/
And I immediately shared it with my husband and close friends as that is exactly, me. Here, in the Willamette Valley of Oregon, we haven’t seen measurable rainfall since spring.
So the forecast alerting us to over an inch of rain this weekend, along with lower temperatures, is being met with enthusiastic hoorays from everyone.
Personally, my ‘Harvest Decor’ has been up since a few days before September (don’t judge), as it hallmarks the “cozy” time of year—and I just couldn’t wait.
But, when I really think about the symbolism of what “Autumn” represents, I’m definitely not the first to dive in and accept that this new season is upon us.
Over 20 years ago, Christian recording artist, Nichole Nordeman, wrote the song “Every Season,” in which she describes the physical, metaphorical, and spiritual purpose of each season of life.
It has become a sort of anthem for me, recognizing that God is with me, no matter where I’m at in life. The song begins with a vibrant description of summer—when life is full and abundant.
Sure, it may seem overcrowded with busyness at times, so there is not a lot of time for reflection—just going, going, going. Having gone through the struggles of many winters of life, “Summer” is where I long to set up camp to create and savor every memory I can make.
But now, I find this verse of the song resonating most:
“And even when the trees have just surrendered To the harvest time Forfeiting their leaves in late September And sending us inside Still, I notice You when change begins And I am braced for colder wind I will offer thanks for what has been and what’s to come You are autumn.”
You see, I’m one of those people who does not like to embrace “change.” I love tradition, routine, and yes, I’ll admit it—control.
CHANGE messes with all of that.
So, for longer than I care to admit, I thought I could beat CHANGE at its own game by preparing for it. I would imagine what a life would look like when my son and daughter eventually launched from our nest. I would ponder the traditions and holidays and how that might be obliterated because of their absence. I would say farewell in my mind to the precious ongoing memories that we make together, as our family unit of four reduces to just two.
As you can imagine (and perhaps even relate to), this line of thinking wrecked me. And not only that, because I had tried to get such a head start in preparing for CHANGE, it was destructive to the moments I had in those final years where we were all together. Instead of embracing those moments, I was fretting over how those moments might be my last.
I remember the first time I watched a parade with my mom and saw those strange flaps next to the eyes of the beautiful Clydesdale draft horses. As she’s the expert in all things equine, I knew she’d have an answer. She explained they are called “Blinkers” and blind the horse from seeing anything to the rear and peripherally. They are used to prevent the horse from being distracted or spooked, especially on crowded city streets.
I’ve thought a lot about those little leather patches, as I believe that has been what God has gently been attempting to use on me, “blinders” to keep my focus on the present. He’s been nudging for this all along.
Still, perhaps the introduction of Covid, forest fires, and a further dividing climate in our country has forced me to accept this perspective or risk plummeting fully into a life of constant anxiety and worry. Instead of using my imaginary telescope to zoom in on what might be furthest on the horizon, God has instead said, “Focus right here, Steph, I don’t want you to miss what I do TODAY.”
He’s also encouraged me to find joy in all the memories and traditions of the past, but not mandate they be part of the blueprints of the future. As the Ultimate Architect, He may actually have something so much better.
Another quote I love is, “Autumn teaches us how beautiful it is to let things go.”
Again, I’ve loved this statement because fall brings out all the “feels” for me. I ooh and ahh at every notice of vibrance in the changing colors and eagerly anticipate the first frost and opportunity to wear a sweater. However, it has been uncomfortable to attempt to unpack that sentiment and apply it to my life.
Now, I am finally recognizing its truth. CHANGE can actually be beautiful.
In my own life, it dug up lost dreams and passions that had been set aside because my family came first. I was offered a position to take over a third-grade classroom, and it was like a part of my soul emerged from its dormant cocoon. It was scary, exhilarating, and so far beyond what I believed I was capable of doing or any plan I might have construed—it ended up feeling like I had been made for just that position.
Likewise, my husband’s career transformed, offering more travel and responsibilities that ideally fit his personality but weren’t what was best for our family for two decades.
Trust me, as I share all of this, I still fail to keep this perspective on a daily basis. I’m constantly batting and pulling down those “blinkers” to see what others are doing at this stage of life or dwell in the concerns I have for what lies in the future.
But more importantly, I am starting to see the beauty in my own “Autumn” of life and perhaps the brilliance that comes from ‘change’ too.
“I have been married to my husband, John, for 24 years- the guy I had to coach through two girlfriends before he figured out I was the one. We have a son that is 22, and a daughter who is 19, so we are halfway experiencing the “empty nest” stage of life. I embrace all things family, home, and “cozy”, have serious attention deficit due to delight when surrounded by nature or animals, and get a kick out of hanging with our kids – even as they turn into young adults. Zephaniah 3:17 speaks of God singing over us, and in Genesis we find God instructing Abraham to name his first-born the word that literally translates to “laughter”. While I will have to wait for Heaven to implement any sort of singing others would benefit from, I can laugh- and certainly smile- and hope to use these gifts to navigate through the highs and lows of life.
“You’re posting all these stories about empty-nesting, and I haven’t even gone back to school yet—you aren’t really empty-nesters,” joked my twenty-one-year-old son.
As if I wasn’t already suffering from imposter syndrome as a want-to-be-blogger. Now, I was being called out by my own kid—for my ‘𝗻𝗲𝘀𝘁 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗯𝗲𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗲𝗺𝗽𝘁𝘆 𝗲𝗻𝗼𝘂𝗴𝗵.’
“Well, your sister is fifteen-hundred miles away, doesn’t that count for something?” I tossed back. (I can’t believe I am actually having to justify whether or not I can call myself an ’empty-nester.’)
“Not really,” he shook his head, not giving an inch, “and then there will always be John…”
“Yes, that may be true,” I agreed. John is our twenty-four-year-old son who has autism and still lives with us. He does not want to move out, and we love having him here, so it’s a win-win.
However, at times I do feel like we have a renter upstairs. John has a busy life with work and daily activities, so when he’s home, he likes to retreat to the peace and quiet of his ‘apartment’—“No Visitors Allowed.”
So maybe by some standard, we at least qualify as ‘quasi empty-nesters’?
All joking aside, this is a new season for us, with our youngest having just left for college—I know it is a new chapter in many of your lives as well. For most of us, there have been years of these little bursts of energy swirling through our lives, our homes, and most importantly, our hearts. So after the whirlwind of laughter, late-night snacking, football, soccer and basketball games, tennis matches, and band practice subside, there is most definitely…a void.
Of course, they’ll be back for the holidays—thank goodness. For turkey and stuffing smothered in grandma’s special gravy, their favorite apple pie, and opening gifts on Christmas morning. Sure it’s a magical time, but it’s still not the same as when they lived under our roofs full-time…(insert ‘a sigh’ here.)
Fortunately, in an effort to help me prepare for this new chapter in my life, my mother gifted me with a golden piece of advice a few years ago. She told me to “find something you would like to try, or you would love to do and get started BEFORE your youngest leaves for college.”
And, so I did that just that when I launched this blog, The Evolving Nest—Empty Nesting & More, about two years ago. Maybe for you, it’s not about writing or blogging or podcasting, but I hope you will see this time in your life as a chance to try something you’ve always wanted to do. Now, is a great time to rediscover interests you may have set aside while you were raising kids.
Ask yourself–
What did you use to like to do?
What do people ask you to get involved in or compliment you on?
What kinds of books, podcasts, and activities do you gravitate towards?
What lights you up?
What leaves you drained?
“Listen to the whispers,” a friend tells me, because everything you do or decide not to do, is leaving you clues.
I truly believe if we stay open to the possibilities, this season in our lives can be a time of amazing growth, new connections, and beautiful opportunities. The world is waiting-you are never too old, and it’s never too late—to discover who you were truly meant to be.
P.S.Just for the record, my son is back on campus. Maybe now, we can officially call ourselves ‘quasi empty-nesters.’
Lisa hopes to share life’s stories through the ever-changing platform she founded, called The Evolving Nest. She writes and shares insights about her own triumphs and struggles during her 30-year marriage to her husband and best friend. Together they have 3 growing children, two of which live 1,500 miles away most of the year, and an adult son with autism who has the run of the upstairs to himself. Lisa also contributes to Her View From Home, various podcasts, and of course, her own website, The Evolving Nest.
A few weeks ago, we took our youngest child to college. I confess I started counting down the weeks to that moment even as the summer days appeared endless.
This transitional season brought with it plenty of questions and grief for me. While I knew my son’s new place of residence was where God wanted him, I wasn’t ready to let him go. It meant recognizing the end of a parenting season, a change in our relationship, and a noticeable absence in our home. However, I clung to my long-held faith that he is God’s child first. Releasing him for God’s purposes is part of parenting.
So on move-in day, we drove those three and a half hours to a city with which our family is not familiar. It is nowhere near either my husband’s or my hometown. No relatives live there. It is a small town and agricultural and we are used to the city and suburbia. Three and a half hours felt like a way longer trip into foreign territory.
After moving him into his huge dorm in the middle of unfamiliar land and saying our goodbyes, we made the trek back home. Understandably, the sobbing commenced as I made a beeline for the car. The ride home felt just as long as the ride there.
As the flood of both emotions and tears continued, I wondered. Why did this trip feel so long when my own hometown is about the same distance? My oldest son goes to school there but it does not feel so far. How does releasing your child in an unfamiliar place equally far away feel so different?
I think of all the parents around the world releasing their kids at various times for God’s purposes. Some of those places are way farther than three and a half hours. I remember the mothers in scripture who did so not knowing how deep in their souls that separation would later feel. Their narratives have been lifted up by me as inspirational. But now I sit with them. I feel their conflicting emotions more than I could have expected.
Leaving our kids in a foreign place feels counter instinctual.
Our whole lives we sought to straddle the line of protection and empowerment. Of course, we know that it will all come to fruition at that moment far down on the horizon. And then we realize it has arrived. All that we believe about God, provision, protection, and purposes looms in front of us.
Those goodbye hugs symbolize all that we have known all along. There is a time to hold tightly and a time to let go. Releasing from the embrace, I watch him walk towards his home. And my husband and I go towards ours. In all of it, I know that it’s where we are all supposed to be.
Stephanie J. Thompson is an ordained pastor, speaker, writer, and mental health advocate. She is a member of the Redbud Writers’ Guild, and her pieces have appeared on various sites including The Redbud Post, Her View From Home, The Mighty, and Perennial Gen. Stephanie resides in the south suburbs of Chicago with her husband and three young adult children. A few of her favorite things include beaches, historical fiction, and iced coffee. When all three line up, she is in her happy place.
Shortly after saying a tearful goodbye to our daughter on a campus far away, her older brother decided to join my husband and me for a few days of golf, paddle boarding, and relaxing at our cabin in the mountains.
As parents, these are the moments we breathe into with gratitude—when time blesses our hearts.
Soon he will be headed off to school as well, but thankfully at a college less than an hour away. He is close enough to golf 9-holes with us in an afternoon, then grab a bite together, and still make it back to campus in time to hang with his friends for the evening.
As our adult children spread their wings, many parents, like us, are finding unique ways to stay connected with their kids.
Our oldest son, who has autism, has chosen to continue to live with us, and we feel truly blessed. We’ve turned the upstairs into “his apartment.” When we are all home, he comes downstairs to tells us “he loves us,” and heads back up to his sanctuary. Fortunately, he’s very independent and loves his daily routine of work and activities, which keeps him fulfilled and engaged.
I saved the best of our ‘𝘴𝘶𝘱𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘦𝘮𝘱𝘵𝘺 𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘵’ for last—my husband.
We. Are. Still. Here. Together.
We built this nest, and we are looking at this next phase as an exciting opportunity—rather than an empty one. We have been intentional about what we would like the next few years to look like, and are excited to experience this new chapter as it unfolds.
We are looking forward to more spontaneous outings, dinner with friends, and a renewed intimacy. We also know, just as we become accustomed to living with two fewer bodies in the house, the holidays will be upon us, and we’ll all be together again.
And isn’t that what is really important? It doesn’t matter if we are all ‘home’ in the same nest or not. We are a family because of our love for each other and because we choose to stay connected no matter where we all live. And that is the kind of nest that will never be empty.
Lisa hopes to share life’s stories through the ever-changing platform she founded, called The Evolving Nest. She writes and shares insights about her own triumphs and struggles during her 30-year marriage to her husband and best friend. Together they have 3 growing children, two of which live 1,500 miles away most of the year, and an adult son with autism who has the run of the upstairs to himself. Lisa also contributes to Her View From Home, various podcasts, and of course, her own website, The Evolving Nest.
