Empty Rooms, Open Doors: Their Next Chapter, Your Fresh Start

Ahhh the whisper of sweater weather is in the air. And with it comes changes and new beginnings. For many of you, ‘back to school’ means out of the nest. So many changes ahead. Life is different now. 

You (consider) pouring a 9am Rose (but don't. Go for the coffee) and crank up Cat Stevens to truly immerse in the self-torture of wandering around the house and feeling the new space. Cue in “Everybody Hurts” for an extra shot of guttural agony. 

Suddenly, ‘Rose all day’ feels more like desperation or a life line instead of all those enabling social media memes that made you feel you were part of a ‘joie de vie’ club. You wonder ‘what’s next? What’s my purpose? What will I talk to my husband about for the next 40+ years?” Sounds like I’ve been there and walked in your shoes, doesn’t it?

I haven't. Not yet.

I have a 14-year-old who just started grade 9 in a brand-new city. I’m not winning any parenting points at the moment. However, I feel the pain of kiddos leaving for university, college or a gap year – anywhere that isn’t home. I’m a master-catastrophizer. I’ve already come up with “3 reasons to build a bomb shelter” before my feet hit the floor in the morning. I’m constantly ‘future-paining’. I can’t help it. Seeing my friends go through this, I am bracing for my turn. 

But it doesn’t have to be this way.

3 steps to embracing the change that don’t involve wine or bomb shelters.

Step One: Grieve the Loss (Yes, it is a loss of sorts)

They’ve left and even when they come back, it won’t be the same. You’ll still have the privilege of doing their laundry and picking up after them, but they will always be packing up to leave after the weekend or a holiday.

You can pretend you’re fine but a) we don’t believe you and b) you’re only making it harder on yourself. Embrace the pain. Sit with it. Allow the grief. Cry in the car, the grocery store or any other unsuitable place for emotional displays. As long as you allow yourself to feel it and not beat yourself up for feeling this way. Sure, you’ve set them off on their own. Good for you. But it leaves a hole. You’re not weak, you’re strong for letting yourself feel it. Get 'through' it.

Support tip: Journaling/morning pages, meditating, or morning walks with friends or neighbours are helpful (and free) therapy. If you find yourself really struggling, lean on professionals who can walk with you through it. This is no time to be a martyr.

Step Two: Reclaim the Space (Literally and Figuratively)

That spare room doesn’t have to remain a dusty museum of trophies and high school swag. You’re allowed to make it your yoga nook, reading lounge, or, let’s be honest, a place where no one touches your stuff. Until Thanksgiving, reading break, etc.

And reclaiming isn’t just physical. It’s about your time, energy, and identity. For years, your calendar revolved around other people. Now you get to ask: What do I want to do with my days? If you’re still working, it can be a quiet space to unwind as you come home to an emptier house.

Step Three: Redefine Yourself (Scary but Necessary)

Motherhood doesn’t end, but it does evolve. You’re no longer on call 24/7. And in that shift is space to rediscover yourself. Many women I know admit this is both terrifying and exciting. I’m all for ‘exciting’, personally. I'm not big on terror.

Start small: Sign up for a class you’ve always put off. Take the trip. Paint, write, garden, lift weights (please do this anyway), whatever has been sitting on your “someday” list. Guess what? Someday is now.

Step Four: Find Your Flock

One thing I’ve noticed: women going through this need each other. The ones who lean into connection, whether it’s book clubs, documentary nights, hiking groups, or pickle ball. They don’t just survive the transition, they grow in it.

The nest isn’t vanishing; it’s just transforming like everything is meant to do. And the more we share the messy, funny, heartbreaking parts, the more permission others have to do the same. Damn, we're literally heroes!

Sure, you’ll miss the noise, the mess, the constant laundry. But in its place? Space for you. Space to rediscover who you are when you’re not in chauffeur-cook-caretaker mode.

Cry when you need to. Celebrate when you can. Eat cereal for dinner just because you feel like it. This isn’t an ending; it’s a beginning you never knew you needed. And look at the great job you did getting them out of the nest. 

So cue in your guilty secret playlist and crank it up. This space is yours now!