Happy Wednesday, Fab Friends over 40.
If you are sending your first child to college this fall, let me tell you something I wish someone had told me last year: it gets better. Not necessarily easier, but better.
Sometimes, you do not realize how much you have changed until you do it all over again.
Yesterday, I moved my daughter into her townhouse at WVU for her sophomore year. As I drove home last night, I could not help thinking about how different this move-in felt from the one a year ago.
The difference surprised me.
Last year, I was a first-time college mom. This year, I was still a mom who does not particularly enjoy leaving her child an hour and 30 minutes away. But I was a little more confident, a little more prepared, and a whole lot less panicked.
That gave me hope for all of you who are doing this for the first time.
Last year, I was the mom who planned everything
The summer before my daughter started college, we planned her dorm room like we were filming an episode of HGTV. We shopped for the perfect bedding, bought mattress protectors, picked out decor, organized, made lists, and bought things I was convinced she absolutely needed.
Then came move-in day. We had exactly two hours to get her dorm room moved in. Students in WVU shirts were running around with carts, helping families unload cars. There were parents everywhere. There was excitement and chaos and noise. Underneath all of it was the enormous realization that I was leaving my daughter at college.
I did not even have time to fully process it. After those two hours, we dropped her off for Adventure WV, a seven-day freshman adventure trip involving camping, hiking, and white-water rafting.
And the kicker? No cell phones.
I literally dropped my daughter off at college and then had no contact with her for an entire week. For a first-time college mom, I can tell you: the silence was deafening.
I worried about everything. Was she okay? Was she homesick? Was she making friends? Was she eating? Was she sleeping? Was she scared?
Meanwhile, she was having the time of her life. She made friends, challenged herself, and had experiences I could not have given her from home. To this day, she says Adventure WV was one of the best decisions she made as a freshman.
That experience taught me one of the hardest lessons of motherhood: sometimes our children need us to let go before we are ready to let go.
Fast forward one year
Yesterday's move-in was completely different. There was no two-hour window, no crowds of students rushing toward our car with carts, no frantic unloading, and no pressure to make everything perfect.
It was just me and my daughter, moving into her two-story townhouse at our own pace. We made one trip to Walmart for the necessities: cleaning supplies, toiletries, snacks, and a new desk. Approximately $450 later, we were ready to finish moving in.
Her room was cozy, comfortable, and pretty. But this year, there was no pressure to make it Pinterest-perfect. Honestly, I loved that.
Last year, we spent weeks planning the perfect dorm room. This year, we bought a comforter at TJ Maxx the day before move-in because her perfectly planned Twin XL bedding from freshman year was not going to fit a queen-sized bed.
That is sophomore year. Less Pinterest, more practicality. Maybe that is a pretty good metaphor for this whole experience.
A few things I wish I had known before the first move-in
You do not have to make the room perfect. Your child needs a comfortable place to land, not a magazine spread. There will be a forgotten item, a missing chair, or a detail that gets handled later. That is not a failure. It is part of them learning to make a space their own.
No amount of planning can take all the emotion out of move-in day. The goal is not to control every detail. The goal is to help your child begin well, then leave enough room for both of you to discover what this next season can hold.
Let the loose ends belong to them. It is tempting to stay until every box is unpacked and every wall is decorated. When you leave a few decisions for them, you are giving them a quiet vote of confidence. You are saying, “I know you can handle this.”
Expect your feelings to arrive at inconvenient moments. You may hold it together in the parking lot and cry when you see a favourite snack in the grocery store two days later. There is no right way to feel about such a big change. Pride and sadness can sit side by side.
Make a small plan for yourself after the drive home. It does not need to be a grand reinvention. Call a friend, make dinner with your partner, take a walk, or watch something comforting. You are allowed to care for your own heart while your child begins building a life away from home.
Trust that the relationship is changing, not disappearing. You will still be their mom. They will still need you. The difference is that you are slowly learning a new way to be there, and loving them through it.
The moment that got me
When we finally got to the point where I needed to leave, her room was not finished. There were no curtains. We still needed to order a desk chair. Nothing was hanging on the walls.
Last year's me probably would have been scrambling to fix all of it. But this year, my daughter looked at me and said, “Don't worry, Mom. I can do that tomorrow.”
Weirdly enough, that was the hardest part. Not leaving. Not the drive home. Not even the quiet house waiting for me. It was hearing her say that she could take care of it without me.
She did not need me to finish the room. She did not need me to make everything perfect. She knew what needed to be done, and she knew she could figure it out.
That is what we have been preparing them for all along, is it not? Yet, when they actually start doing it, it can hurt a little. Independence is the goal, but watching it happen is another story.
To the mom doing this for the first time
If you are standing in the middle of a living room that looks like a dorm room threw up all over it, I see you.
If you are surrounded by bedding, storage bins, laundry detergent, snacks, command hooks, and approximately 700 things your child insists they need, I see you.
If you are excited for them but secretly wondering how you are going to walk past that empty bedroom when you get home, I see you.
If you are terrified that the sadness will never go away, I want you to know something: it changes.
Last year, the empty room felt like a hole. This year, I know that the room is not really empty. My daughter is still here. She is just not here in the same way. And neither am I.
You do not just become an empty nester. You become someone new, too.
I think that is the part we do not talk about enough. When our children leave home, we are not simply losing a role. We are gaining space.
For years, our lives revolve around schedules, sports, school, homework, meals, activities, appointments, and keeping everyone else on track. Then suddenly, there is a little more room.
It can feel lonely. It can feel uncomfortable. But it can also become an incredible opportunity.
Your child is figuring out who she is. You get to figure out who you are now, too. Maybe you want to change careers, start a business, travel, get healthier, make new friends, take a class, pick up an old hobby, or simply sit quietly and figure out what makes you happy again.
You do not have to have the answer right away. I certainly do not. But you can start asking the questions. If you are ready to make space for those questions, the Find Your Purpose reflection is a gentle place to begin.
What year two taught me
The biggest difference between freshman and sophomore move-in was not the townhouse. It was not the queen-sized comforter. It was not the $450 Walmart trip. It was not even the fact that I knew what to expect this time.
It was me.
I trusted her more. I trusted myself more. I knew that leaving her did not mean abandoning her. It meant believing in her.
I realized that letting go is not one big moment. It is a thousand tiny moments. It is letting them take the trip without their phone. It is letting them figure out how to make friends. It is letting them solve problems. It is letting them hang their own curtains. It is hearing, “Don't worry, Mom. I can do that tomorrow,” and then walking out the door.
To every first-time college mom: you will survive this
You might cry. You probably will. You might cry in the car, when you get home, or when you walk past the empty bedroom. Six months from now, you might cry because you find an old sweatshirt shoved underneath the bed.
Cry. You are allowed.
But also, start living.
Your child is beginning a new chapter. You get to begin one, too. The first year may feel like survival. The second year may feel like adjustment. Somewhere along the way, you may discover that you are not just surviving this new season. You are thriving in it.
Yesterday, I hugged my daughter goodbye at 10 p.m. and drove home knowing she was going to be just fine. She had a room to finish, a desk chair to order, curtains to hang, walls to decorate, and a life to continue building.
So do I.
Maybe that is the real beauty of an empty nest. It is not about learning how to live without our children. It is about learning how to love them from a little farther away while finally giving ourselves permission to discover what is waiting for us, too.
Your child is not the only one starting a new chapter. You are.
If you are a first-time college mom reading this today, I promise: you can do this. You will miss them. You will worry. You will probably cry. But you will also laugh again. You will make plans. You will rediscover pieces of yourself. One day, you will look back and realize: I did not just survive letting go. I found myself again.
With love,
Stacey
