As One Child Builds a Life Away from Home and Another Prepares to Leave, Gelato Mama Finds Herself Facing a Question She Didn’t Expect: “Where Will I Be?”

At 46 years of age, my midlife is creeping in. I have no desire to mark it with a tiny two-seater in a color that screams “yikes,” little interest in an intense pickleball hobby laced with Botox and, as of now, no tattoo to time-stamp my disappearing youth. Midlife for me is being defined by the expected but still abrupt and completely rude departure of my children.

Currently, I’m just a half empty-nester. My son abandoned me last year when he headed off to Washington to do nothing but live his very best life. Nothing screams “I miss you, Mom” like a thumbs-up reply to a text I sent him three days ago.

My daughter is class of 2027, and while I roll into her senior year having done it once before, it’s hitting a bit different knowing the youngest is on her way out.

Most of my adult life has been defined by the role of mama, mom, bro. As a young(ish) new mom, I hadn’t yet really figured out who I was when I discovered I was pregnant with my son. But his birth anchored me. Motherhood guided me, provided purpose and gave me the two greatest love stories of my life.

But as I tiptoe to the edge of my soon-to-be empty nest, I can’t help but wonder what life will be defined by now. I don’t know what’s on the other side. I don’t have a big career to boast about. There’s no second home or secure retirement plan. No whimsical midlife hobby to take up.

There’s just … the unknown. A great, giant patch of unknown, and it’s the first time in my life I don’t feel driven by an external force that existed without my will. 

I think about this a lot as I imagine my daughter out there next year, navigating the great unknown herself. Recently we were exploring college campuses, and alongside the nervous excitement, there was a palpable anxiousness that swept over her. I felt her brain twisting and turning like a complicated Tinkertoy puzzle, wheels spinning inevitable fear-driven thoughts.

I took her hand, assured her that these feelings, these fears were normal. You have a whole year stretched out in front of you, I said, to just take one step at a time. You’re not ready yet. But you will be, my daughter. I promise, you will be.

But I’m scared too. Who will I be when my anchors are both dropped into another sea? In tandem with my daughter, I’ll take one step at a time into the scary and trust the words I preached to her. I’ll be ready; I’ll remember that motherhood is only a part of who I am.

I’m not sure what is waiting, but today I’m dreaming of mountains and rivers, a backyard with a clothesline and a house with a spare bedroom or two. One for me, and the others always ready for my anchors at sea.

Follow Emily’s blog at gelatomama.substack.com.