Letting Go, Holding On: Mothering Through the High School to College Transition

The bags are packed. The checklist is complete. The car is full of boxes, snacks, and the

kind of nervous energy that only big life changes carry. And there you are, somewhere

between excitement and heartbreak, watching your child step into the next chapter of

their life.

Whether your child is going to college, taking a gap year, joining the military, or starting

their first job, this is a major moment in your life as a mom. It’s normal to feel a mix of

emotions, even if they don’t all make sense; you’re not alone.

This isn’t just their transition, it’s yours too. We spend nearly two decades in the daily

rhythm of raising our kids, packing lunches, carpooling, signing forms, reminding,

worrying, loving. Then, suddenly, the rhythm changes. The house is quieter. The

schedule emptier. And for many moms, there’s a strange ache that follows, even when

we’re proud, even when our kids are ready. This is grief. And it’s valid. Grief for the

routines, the roles, the seasons that are now behind us. Grief for the version of our child

we just finished raising. And sometimes, grief for the part of ourselves that was so

wrapped up in being “Mom,” we don’t know exactly who we are without it.

It can be easy to second-guess everything in these final days. Did I prepare them well

enough? Will they eat more than just ramen? Will they miss me? But here’s the truth:

You’ve been preparing them for this the whole time. Every conversation, every

boundary, every bedtime story; those things live inside them. Your voice will be the one

they hear in their heads when they’re lonely, when they’re making a decision, when

they need to remember who they are.

Not every child takes the traditional route. Some need time to figure things out. Some

pursue a different dream. Some stumble. That’s okay. Your love doesn’t depend on a

degree. It travels with them into whatever they’re building. Support their path, even if it

doesn’t look like the one you imagined. After all, they are not here to live your dream;

they are here to live their own.

One of the most personal parts of this transition is redefining your role. You’re no longer

managing their every move, and that’s a good thing, even when it feels like a loss. Your job isn’t to fix everything anymore. It’s to listen. To encourage. To hold space. To trust

them to try, fall, and try again. They may not text you every day. They may make

mistakes. But they will also surprise you. You’ll see glimpses of the adult you helped

shape, and that is a wonder to behold.

It’s okay to focus on yourself now, too. It’s necessary. What parts of yourself have you

set aside that now have room to grow again? What have you longed to explore, but

never had time for? This isn’t an ending, it’s a reimagining. You are still a mother, but

you are also a woman with her own becoming to do.

It’s okay to cry in the driveway after they leave. It’s okay to feel pride and heartbreak at

the same time. You haven’t lost your child; your relationship is simply evolving. You

don’t have to have it all figured out. Neither do they. Love doesn’t shrink with distance;

it stretches.

If you’re sitting in the quiet of their empty room, unsure of what’s next, know this: This

bittersweet moment is a reflection of how well you’ve loved. You gave them roots. Now

you're giving them wings. Letting go doesn’t mean losing them. It means trusting the

love between you to carry you both forward, in new and beautiful ways.

-Brandy Hussey, MMFT, LPC-Associate