For years, I braced myself for the moment my last child would leave home. I had read all the articles, heard all the stories, and yet, nothing prepared me for the gut punch of an actual empty nest. I walked past quiet bedrooms that once echoed with laughter. Meals that — had my house been full — would have disappeared in minutes instead of sitting as leftovers in the fridge. Now, I found myself standing in the middle of my house — silent, still, and strangely unfamiliar. 

I won’t lie. At first, I took it hard. I grieved . . . and I grieved deeply. I wasn’t just mourning the absence of my children — I was mourning the end of the version of me that had been their constant. Who was I without the chaos of carpool schedules, late-night talks, and the never-ending grocery runs? My purpose had been so tied to them that, when they left, I felt unanchored. And as a Black woman, I had always been taught to keep moving, to be strong, to push through. But what do you do when pushing through doesn’t feel like enough? 

So, I sat in my feelings . . . and, let me tell you, that’s a scary place to be. 

Then, one day, it hit me. My children hadn’t vanished. They had simply transitioned to a new phase of life. And maybe, just maybe, it was time for me to do the same. What if I saw this not as a loss but as an opportunity? What if I redefined what motherhood looked like at this stage? What if, instead of clinging to who I was, I embraced who I was becoming? 

And so, I did. 

I started small. I stopped filling my time with busywork just to distract myself. Instead, I allowed space for things I loved. I journaled. I traveled. I explored community organizations. I went on dates with my husband without worrying about what the kids were doing. And, most importantly, I reconnected with myself in ways I hadn’t in years. 

Something beautiful happened along the way. I learned how to parent differently. I realized that my children still needed me, just in new and evolving ways. Instead of managing their daily schedules, I became their sounding board, their cheerleader, their safe place. Our conversations deepened. They started calling for advice, not just on what to do but on how to feel. I wasn’t just Mom; I was a trusted friend and guide. 

Through this transition, I also learned that being the best version of me wasn’t just beneficial for myself, it was also a gift to my children. I actually believe that seeing me happy, thriving, and embracing my own journey gave them permission to do the same in their own lives. 

And let’s talk about the joy of rediscovering yourself! I learned to dance in my kitchen just because. I picked up hobbies I had abandoned when life got too busy. I took solo trips. I boldly pursued things I had put on the back burner for years. 

This empty nest? It’s not empty at all. It’s full of possibility, of rediscovery, of a love that stretches and grows instead of clings and controls. It’s the freedom to embrace the next phase with open arms, knowing that motherhood isn’t about holding on, but instead about letting go and still loving just as fiercely. 

So, to every Black woman standing at the edge of this transition, wondering who you’ll be when the house gets quiet — I see you. And let me tell you, you’re about to meet an incredible version of yourself. 

She’s been waiting.

What transitions and changes are you learning to embrace? Sending your children off to college? Picking up a new hobby in a new phase of life? Drop down in the comments and share your experiences!