When I became an empty nester, I didn’t know how to be by myself. I had to learn how to be just me.

For years, my life ran on a nonstop loop of various sporting events, travel to tournaments, and coordinating team dinners. My son and daughter both played travel sports. I was usually the team manager, organizing hotels, carpools, and group texts. Our weekends were booked for years. My house was the hub for prom, homecoming, and all the in-between moments. I worked, yes, and enjoyed it, but everything always came after my role as “Mom.”

Then one day, the house was quiet.

I thought I’d be ready for the empty nest phase. I had friends who raved about the freedom. But I wasn’t prepared for how unsettling it would feel.

When the noise stopped, the questions began

It’s not just that the kids were gone. It’s that everything that made our life feel full — the chaos, the laughter, the messy rooms, the mudroom full of shoes — was suddenly gone, too. I found myself lingering in the kitchen, waiting for someone to walk through the door. I missed the clutter. I missed the noise. I missed them.

And then I started missing me.

When you spend two decades being everything for everyone, it’s easy to forget who you are outside of that. I didn’t feel sad every day. I just felt like I was adrift. Untethered. Like I had checked all the boxes, and now I didn’t know what came next.

I had to slow down long enough to figure things out

Initially, I stayed busy because that was what I knew. But eventually, I ran out of things to organize. I no longer had to pack the car with chairs and coolers. There were no games, no events, no post-practice dinners — just space.

And it turns out that space makes you listen.

That’s when I started writing again. I remembered how much I loved telling stories — especially the stories of women like me who were figuring out this next chapter.

I still love the title “Mom,” but I’ve loosened my grip on it

Don’t get me wrong, I still love being a mom. But I’ve learned I can’t hold it the same way I used to. My adult kids don’t need a team manager. They need a sounding board. They need to know how to get their car repaired, which insurance to choose, or how to cook their favorite meal. They need space to grow. And I needed to realize that being a great mom now looks different from what it used to.

I no longer center my life around them. I cheer them on from the sidelines of their lives, but I’ve finally stepped onto the field of my own.

I started to live for myself

This isn’t a story of an impulsive reinvention. I didn’t sell everything and move across the world. But I did reinvent — quietly at first, then boldly. I let go of the version of me who only knew how to give. I started choosing things that lit me up.

I launched a podcast to spotlight women navigating life after 50, which has also become a regular television segment. I became a lifestyle expert on TV. I started writing professionally. I built a TikTok community from scratch, proof that midlife is not a slowdown, but a second wind.

The truth is, I never stopped being me. I just buried her under everyone else’s needs. And now, I’m carefully, and sometimes clumsily, unearthing her again.

I’m not chasing some youthful version of myself. I’m claiming the wisdom I’ve earned and the freedom I nearly forgot I had.

This isn’t the end of anything. It’s just the first time I’m living fully as me.

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