As my son was preparing to head off to college, I found myself standing at the threshold of an empty home and a new chapter of life I wasn't quite prepared for. Looking back now, I can see just how tightly I was gripping the steering wheel of his life, convinced I knew the exact route he should take.
I had spent his last 4 years of high school (and let’s be honest- the last 18 years of his life) mapping out his path. My vision and dreams for him were built in the quiet moments and loud arguments alike, believing that if I could just hold on tightly enough, I could steer him clear of pain, detours, or regret, and straight towards the path for success, happiness, and fulfillment. I had the perfect college vision for him. Of course, he had other plans in mind for himself- and it sent me into a tailspin.
I realize now, beneath that need for control was love laced with fear: fear of the unknown, fear of him struggling, fear that I may somehow be the cause of any future pain or regret because of something I coulda, woulda, shoulda done better, fear of no longer being needed.
If I could go back and have a heart-to-heart with that anxious, well-meaning Jewish mother, here's what I would say.
The Illusion of Knowing What's Best
In those emotionally charged months before my son left home, I had created an elaborate vision of what his college experience should look like. I could see it with perfect clarity: a U.S. college with a vibrant sports culture and active Greek life (not something we grew up with in Canada). This vision wasn't just a preference. I believed with absolute certainty that any deviation from this path would be catastrophic- a detour that would cause a chain reaction of setbacks that could derail his entire future.
Ridiculous, I know. What an enormous burden to place on a single decision! Now I look back and recognize those thoughts as the ramblings of someone consumed by fear rather than wisdom.
Where My Vision Came From
My idealized college scenario wasn't random. It was deeply rooted in my own experiences- partly what I had enjoyed most during my own college years, and partly what I felt I had missed out on.
Growing up in Canada, the college experience is quite different. And the dream for my kids was to experience American College life. I was unconsciously trying to ensure my son would have the "perfect" experience that existed only in my imagination.
I failed to see that I was projecting my own desires and regrets onto his life. I wasn't seeing him as a separate person with his own dreams, preferences, and path to forge.
The Turning Point: Letting Go
After doing some deep personal work, I came to a profound realization: his path was just that—his.
My role as the primary decision-maker for his big life choices had fundamentally changed. Even if I was "right" about certain choices (which is debatable), he needed to learn and grow through his own experiences.
Just because his journey wouldn't mirror my idealized version didn't mean he was making a mistake. In fact, his choices might actually lead him to the life he was meant to live—one I couldn't possibly map out for him.
Finding Peace in Trust
What ultimately brought me peace was learning to trust. Trust in him and trust in the foundation we had built together. I had to remind myself that I had raised a son who could think critically, who was kind, compassionate, and an incredible human being. I had done my part. It was now time for him to make his own decisions and for me to be present as little or as much as he needed. My new role was to help guide him when asked, not dictate his choices.
What I Would Do Differently
If I could go back, I would:
- Listen more, talk less. I would ask more questions about what he wants and truly listen to his answers without immediately filtering them through my own preferences.
- Recognize my fears for what they were. Much of my certainty about what was "best" came from anxiety, not wisdom.
- Give myself grace. The transition to an empty nest is emotionally complex- more than I ever realized- and it's normal to struggle with the transition. I wish I had cut myself more slack.
- Focus on our relationship rather than the specifics of his choices. What matters most isn't which college he attended, but that we maintained our connection through this transition.
What I Would Keep the Same
Despite my overstepping, there are things I'm glad I did:
- Caring deeply. While I needed to adjust how I expressed it, the love and concern behind my actions came from a good place.
- Being engaged in the process. Even though I needed to step back from controlling the choices, being present and supportive during this transition was important for both of us.
- Eventually doing the inner work to understand my own emotions and find a healthier perspective so I could respond intentionally instead of react emotionally.
The Wisdom I Found
The most valuable lesson I’ve learned is that our children's lives are their own. We can guide, support, and love them, but ultimately, they must choose their own adventures. And that's exactly as it should be.
When I finally released my grip on that imagined future, I discovered something beautiful- my son, and the man he was becoming.
Watching him make his own choices and forge his own path brings a joy I never could have anticipated. His life might not look exactly as I once pictured it, but it's authentically his and that's what matters most.
So, to my past self and to any parent facing an empty nest, my advice is to trust the work you've done. Trust the person you've raised. And know that whatever choice they make, it's their choice, their life, and ultimately, their journey to discover who they're meant to become.
