If you have kids—or have had kids—you know that May is often called Maycember. December is always busy, but May comes in a close second.

This year, my youngest, my last, graduated.

Was I sad about it?

Nope.

But I will say what I’m struggling with is… well, I’m not exactly sure. Is it letting go? Is it control? Is it worry? Honestly, I’m not 100% sure of the right word.

What I do know is that I feel like I got fired from my job.

Like I walked up to the door of a job I’d had for 20 years, and there was a note hanging there that said, “Out of business.” No warning. No explanation. No transition plan.

Just… done.

Here’s the thing.

You have kids. They love you. They want to play with you all the time. They follow you everywhere. Then they get friends, but they still hang out with you too.

Then they get older.

And then I swear overnight it becomes, “I’m an adult.”

They’re gone all the time. They don’t want your advice. They’re making decisions that leave you thinking, “Ummmm… you might not want to do that.”

But here’s the kicker:

You can’t really do anything.

Sure, I could voice my opinion. I could tell them I think something is a bad idea. I could tell them not to do it.

But you have to let them grow up.

You have to let them make mistakes.

And there’s this fine line that feels impossible to navigate. If you’re too involved, too opinionated, too controlling, it can backfire. They can stop talking to you. They can stop sharing things with you.

So you sit there trying to figure out how to still be a parent while not parenting too much.

Meanwhile, the kid who used to be your shadow has dumped you like a bad girlfriend and kicked you to the curb.

At least that’s how it feels some days.

And the craziest part?

They’re “adults,” but lord knows they aren’t.

They’re just pretending.

But you can’t say that.

One minute I’m watching my child run around doing adult things, and the next minute they’re asking me how to address an envelope.

It’s mental whiplash.

I think sometimes they forget—or maybe they just don’t understand—that this is hard on us too.

We created you.

We named you.

We spent the last 18 years consumed with you.

And then we’re just supposed to say, “Okay, bye?”

Sure, I have past trauma from my own parents. I get that.

And I know a lot of my worries, insecurities, and fears probably come from that. I just want to do better. Be better. Have a better relationship with my kids than I had with my parents.

But good golly, I did not expect this phase to feel like this.

To suddenly be sidelined.

To suddenly feel fired.

I’m trying, though.

I’m trying to flip my mentality from:

Where are you?

Who are you with?

Where are you going?

Did you really buy that?

Do you think that’s smart?

To:

Just check in so I know you’re not dead.

And then keep my opinions to myself.

Because here’s the thing:

They—and we—are going to make a million choices that other people don’t like.

The house they buy.

The city they live in.

The job they take.

The haircut they get.

The way they like their steak.

I don’t have to like every choice they make.

I just have to love them.

It took me about a month to get to this point.

And honestly, I’m still struggling.

One week I feel like I’ve got this.

The next week I want to sit in bed and eat cookies.

But changing my mindset—and Jeremy—have helped a lot.

The goal of parenting was never to keep them forever.

The goal was to raise them.

To help them become successful, independent, self-sufficient adults.

To send them out into the world and hopefully leave it a little better than they found it.

And we’ve done that.

But boy, I didn’t know it would feel like this.

So in the words of Jeremy:

I didn’t get fired.

I’m just retired.

xoxo amber g