Vulnerable Thoughts
Launching Babes isn’t for the weary, that’s for sure. It’s a complex set of endings and new beginnings. Marked by all the big feelings. Theirs and ours. They are fueled by excitement and youthful optimism. We are powered by nervous jitters and pragmatic life experience. And these two things colliding makes for days that feel pretty hard to self regulate.
But I think what’s at the bottom of it all for me is fear. Not fear about them. They are ready. We’ve made damn sure of that. In all of our days living and loving together in the trenches of ordinary. I give us a lot of collective credit for surviving and mostly thriving in all the days that led us here. Big thumbs up, giant pats on the back all around.
The fear I’m talking about is a total inside job. It’s the quiet whispers that say, “What could possibly be better than being a Mom in the years that have already passed me by?” The sinking gut feeling that, “My empty house is now a reflection of the gaping hole I feel in my daily life.” The nagging doubt of, “Who do I want to be now…and (more realistically) who can I be at 53 years old?” And my personal favorite, that haunts me late at night, “Oh how I wish I could just go back and change a few things…”
Pals, the good and hard news is this: all of these feelings are universal. Because when we launch our Babes. We are letting go of an actual, flesh and bone part of ourselves. Our literal DNA is walking away to a new life. We are mourning a deeply rooted identity that took years of hard earned experience to cultivate and grow. A role that gave us true purpose and profound meaning outside of ourselves—and stretched us in ways we couldn’t possibly be so infinitely refined in any other scenario. We’re literally losing our chosen career. And no one’s throwing us a retirement party. Or thanking us for our years of service. Or providing us with a 401k and final bonus. There is no fanfare. Acknowledgement. Or kudos. Not even a cake and balloons.
In fact, what we get is quite the opposite. We feel gutted and alone. Un-noticed and not quite so useful. Lost and a little shell shocked. Quietly wondering where we fit now. All while we help our Babes find their place. In their new transition.
And, Pals, I’m not going to pretend that I have any or all of the answers. And I’m not really sure if that’s the point anyway. Maybe the point is to sit in the quiet aftermath. With our own selves. Without the need for outward recognition or consideration. But with the quiet, hard earned steadiness we earned on the job with no fanfare back then, either. And instead of focusing on what was. To turn our eyes to what could be. Something we might not have even thought of yet. And not with the fear that threatens to squelch us. But with a curiosity we’re gonna have to earn, too. Maybe we can even borrow a little of our Babes’ youthful optimism and excitement about their own new chapter. Somehow letting them teach and guide US as we launch for a change.
Because it feels good and right and whole. To know that we don’t have to figure it out today. Our Babes sure don’t feel that pressure. And I don’t see them obsessing about it. They’re just out there living their best launced lives For them. Not AT us.
And maybe that’s all we need to learn today.