It’s a Thursday, an odd day for a seismic event. My daughter has just turned out of the driveway and out of my sight. This time, it’s not to fetch groceries or run an errand.
She’s leaving for university starting a new, shiny, and wonderful life without me by her side.
I want to run after the car screaming “Don’t leave me!” I want to cling to her with every fibre of my being.
It’s Friday morning. I am melancholy. The perfect word for how empty the house suddenly feels without her in it. Even though she’s been away before, this time I feel as if I’m rattling around the rooms, a loose stone in an enormous shoe.
Speaking of which, I spy hers in the lounge. A fight we’ve had for years: “Put your shoes away!” Instead of irritation, I feel sorrow. The unmade bed, the forgotten dishes on her bedside table, the shambolic chaos of her cupboards and bathroom floor. They’re little cuts that hurt rather than annoy.
After 18 years of nappies, cuddles, tears, anger, tantrums, joy, discovery, laughter, loss and interconnected everything, my child is an adult.
She gets to control what she does now. I must let go of those last threads that I didn’t know I held.
I finally understand the idea of bittersweet. I have loved watching her grow up, loved seeing her become the woman she is today, and loved being the person she wanted to live with in the divorce.
Letting her go, though, has been sharp. I want to call her, ask her if she wants a coffee, check in and see if she’s okay, ask if she’s done her homework.
I have no framework for becoming me again. Co-dependency comes standard with parenting.
It’s our job to allow our children to lean on us and learn through us, but now I’m severed. How do I let go?
I asked Cindy de Bruyn, my psychologist, how to navigate this weird chaos. How do I let go of someone I built from scratch?
“You need to focus on building a life that works for you without being a caregiver. Socialise, create a routine, try out different things. Play around and discover what interests you today,” she said.
Cindy reminded me that this is a huge change, and I am allowed to grieve the loss of the old life. “Have self-compassion because it is hard, but also allow the natural process to happen. Remember that the more independent they are, the better you’ve done your job as a parent.”
This thinking can help when our kids make what we believe are inappropriate life choices. As in, no, that is not a financially sound career choice, please don’t do that. Oh, okay, you’re going to do that anyway.
“Accept them for who they are and let them do what they need to do, because you want them to come back home,” Cindy said.
I do. I want her to come back home and leave her shoes in the lounge and forget to put her dishes in the dishwasher and leave her laundry on the bathroom floor.
Because in those moments, stolen outside of her new, beautiful life, I will wrap myself in the memories of what was, while admiring the person she has become.
It’s hard. I’ve cried. I’ve possibly hugged a shoe, but I’m okay. I can let go.
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