In this ongoing series, a stay-at-home mom shares her experiences as her youngest daughter embarks on her senior year of high school and navigates the college admission maze. Alongside this journey, she reflects on her own path towards an empty nest and contemplates what her future holds as her role as a stay-at-home parent comes to a close.
August has always marked the transition from summer bliss to the hustle and bustle of back-to-school season for me. The days are noticeably shorter, and stores begin to fill their aisles with fall decorations and school supplies. This August, however, signifies an even more profound change: my youngest child is gearing up for her final year of high school. In just a year, I’ll be adjusting to life as an empty nester, at least part-time, while she ventures into the world of college.
Eighteen years ago, I made the pivotal decision to leave my position as managing editor at a small publishing house in New York. I was already raising a three-year-old and pregnant with my second daughter. My job had lost its luster, and the thought of a two-hour commute each way while juggling two kids felt overwhelming. My husband and I worried about finances, but we took a leap of faith—I would stay home for a year with our newborn, and then I’d seek a new job that would hopefully be closer to home. “Just one year,” I promised my husband as I prepared to submit my resignation.
That one year stretched into two, then five, and ultimately, eighteen. Even during financially tough times, I contemplated re-entering the workforce. I went on interviews and even received job offers, but each time, I hesitated. Despite the financial strain—something I recognized as a privilege—I genuinely cherished being at home. I immersed myself in my daughters’ elementary school activities, founded a small nonprofit, and eventually returned to my writing roots by freelancing for a local newspaper. I’ve authored and self-published three novels and contributed essays to various websites. Every year, I pondered whether it was time to go back to work, and every year, I found reasons to stay.
My younger daughter has needed my full attention. When people inquire why I don’t work, I gently clarify—I don’t work outside the home. I often find myself explaining at social gatherings that my daughter is my primary focus, and she truly is. She has required my attention every moment I can give, even during her school hours and especially when she’s home.
But now, she’s preparing to leave. We toured colleges last year, crafted her application list, and she’s done with standardized tests. She’s asked teachers for recommendations and detailed her extracurricular activities. While excited about college, she’s also nervous—she’s not fond of being away from home, not even for sleepovers, and dislikes disruptions in her routine. Yet, she’s eager to meet new people, manage her own schedule, and discover a new home.
I’m thrilled to support her as she takes this leap into adulthood. The big question looms: where will she choose to begin this new chapter? Will it be the small college across the country with its unique block scheduling? The liberal arts state school where she felt instantly at home? Or the larger private college just four hours away, overflowing with major options? What will she be doing a year from now?
And what about me? What will I be doing next year? While my friends have returned to work—many full-time—juggling daycare, friends, and babysitters while their kids were growing up, I took a different path. Some have advanced their careers, while others pursued further education to reintegrate into the workforce. I, on the other hand, have remained in my role at home.
Will I seek employment? Should I consider part-time or full-time work? Can I even find a job in today’s competitive market? Would volunteering in an area of interest be a better start? Or should I take time to adjust after my daughter leaves? Should I explore something entirely new or stick with my writing? I could write novels forever, but is that enough?
At 47, after dedicating 21 years to raising my children and giving them my all, my time is approaching. But what does that time look like for me? It’s the beginning of the end—for both of us.