Showing all posts tagged empty nest

In Books, Identity, Movies/TV, Nurture, Parenting, Personal Growth, Relationships, Speaking, University, Writing

3 Words for 2025

Author Julianne HarveyPosted on

Last month, I wrote a post reflecting on 2024, and as I usually do every January, now I’m sharing the three words I’ve chosen to focus on in 2025. I know a lot of people choose one word, but I find that too narrow. Maybe I’m just a slow learner, but I like to see how my three chosen words work together over the course of the year to change me.

For this year, I picked these 3 words: Deeper. Simpler. Quieter.

I’ve decided that 2025 is a year to turn inward. To create, to dream, to plan for the future. I’m working on stillness right now, and building in more space for myself. I can feel myself longing for deeper roots, both within myself and in my relationships and my career.

I love the agricultural concept of allowing the soil to lie fallow in order to regenerate. When I got quiet at the end of 2024 to imagine what my next year would look like, I realised I wanted a period of quiet and simple depth. I longed for a year where I focused more on writing than on publishing.

I returned to university in 2017 as a mature student, and after I finished my BA in Creative Writing I continued on for a master’s degree, graduating in spring 2023. I started my publishing company Ruby Finch Books immediately after this, learning the indie publishing world so I could release two novels (Jamesy Harper’s Big Break in 2023 and Post Civ in 2024). At the same time, both of my kids were finishing high school and moving out of our house and into university, which required me to practice my skills in letting go (and in general, I prefer to hang on rather than let go).

For 2025, I want to slow down and catch my breath. I’ve also decided to live into my longest-held dream of adapting my books into screenplays and TV scripts to try to get them made. I wrote about this in my January Substack newsletter, and I’m calling this adventure Ruby Finch Pictures even though I don’t know exactly what form this will take yet.

It’s important to keep our dreams alive. I didn’t know how to indie publish a novel before I learned that process, and now I’ve done it twice and I’m thrilled to have these books out in the world and available through many libraries. This work will continue, and it’s good work. But I also want to form a production company and see my stories come to life on the screen. This dream is going to take some time, but it’s worth pursuing.

I’m loving settling into this year, our first one as empty-nesters, and prioritising quiet, simplicity, and depth. I’m working on my first murder mystery novel, A Body at the Fair, and I’m adapting two of my books for the screen. I’m teaching writing and nurture, both online and in person at conferences and through libraries, and Jason and I are creating a new routine and existence that’s just for us as a married couple and not for us as a family of four.

This year feels like a completely fresh start already, and we’re only a month into it. How about you? What words are you hoping to live into this year?

In Books, Identity, Nurture, Parenting, Personal Growth, Relationships, Speaking, Writing

Goodbye 2024

Author Julianne HarveyPosted on

I like to take some time every December to reflect on the year that’s ending, before I look ahead to the new one about to begin. I know there’s nothing particularly unique about this practice, and turning over a calendar page doesn’t really change anything, but a new year still serves as an invitation to set new goals and dream fresh dreams.

Since I began Ruby Finch Books in June 2023, I’ve been relying more on my intuition. And our intuition flourishes in the quiet. It needs us to mute the many other noises and distractions of our world in order to get cozy enough to hear it whisper.

Our intuition is the way our soul can speak to us. And at the end of this year, I’m loving the time and space I’m taking to ask my soul what it’s longing for. I still feel amazed when I hear my soul speaking to me. Or maybe it’s more accurate to say that I’m amazed I’ve finally quieted down enough to listen to what it has to say.

My three words for 2024 were savour, intentional, and receive. All three of them worked on me at various points of the year. I noticed that I really improved at awareness of the present moment I was in. I tried to experience life through my senses more: to awaken my five senses and invite more wonder at being alive. Not in every single moment, because that’s not possible (and some moments are crummy). But in general, I attempted to notice my food as I was eating, my relationships as I was talking and laughing with people I love, and my life as it was unfolding moment by moment and day by day.

Part of this involved savouring, and some of it was setting my intention. Receiving was by far the hardest thing for me to learn. I wrote about it in July. But now, in December, I can see how far I’ve come with this concept. I don’t struggle so hard over my own worthiness. I can feel the love and care and nurture offered to me by others, and it’s so beautiful and inspiring that it can bring me to tears.

This month, we are preparing for our upcoming empty nest when both kids are off to university in January. I’ve gone through lots of different stages with my feelings about this big transition, but now that it’s imminent, I’m feeling mostly at peace. Having a sweet new kitten to spoil is helping. And so is taking the time to imagine a whole new life for just Jason and I at home once again.

I really did love this first full year of running my new company Ruby Finch Books. I published Post Civ, which is the book I’ve longed to write for my entire life, and got it out into the world this fall. It was so exciting to see wait lists for the book at my local library. And to talk to readers who loved it as much as I do. I look forward to more of these discussions next year.

I worked with a lot of libraries in 2024 and can’t wait for more of the same in 2025. Librarians and patrons are truly the best people. And I presented workshops on nurture and wellness to hundreds of teachers at conferences in BC and Alberta, and worked with a lot of writers in my online classes and through Alexandra Writers for the Writing Well series (plus I presented at a big writing conference in Calgary this summer). It’s such an honour to teach. I’ve been so inspired by the people I’ve met through my classes.

I’m excited about my three words for 2025, which I’ll write about here in January. I want to thank each and every one of you for reading my words this year. You mean a lot to me. If anything I write about resonates with you, please drop me a line and tell me. It’s lovely to feel connected to real-live people reading what I’m writing here. And if you haven’t had a chance to subscribe to my free monthly Substack newsletter and podcast, I invite you to join me over there as my company continues to grow.

Goodbye 2024. Thank you for what you taught me. What is your soul saying to you as we close out this year and prepare to move into a brand new calendar year?

In Identity, Nurture, Parenting, Personal Growth, Relationships, University, Writing

Empty Nest

Author Julianne HarveyPosted on

In January, Jason and I will have an empty nest when our youngest child, William, heads off to university in Victoria. We are not the first family to go through this phenomenon, and we won’t be the last, but it feels like a big change and I’m trying to make space to process it.

I’ve been struggling this fall with how to parent grown-up children. It requires a loosening of the strings that have held us tightly together as a family unit. But I don’t know how to navigate this stage.

Ava came home earlier this month for a few days during fall break. I did some Christmas baking and bought some festive holiday candy and treats like I always have. I planned an outing to a favourite Belgian waffle cafe to celebrate all of us being together. But somehow it felt different this time around.

The KitKat house I gave the kids sat unopened on the table. Every other year, Ava and William unwrapped this gift and then built it together, while Christmas music played. But this Christmas season, I put the kit away in the closet and I realised that both kids have other things going on now. This childhood tradition was just that: from their childhood, and now we were in a new stage.

I found this disorienting and lonely. I felt silly for trying to keep everything as it was, when very shortly both kids will be moved out of the house and be living in dorms with other students. But there are no rules for these big life transitions. We have to figure out how to behave as the changes are unfolding. And I’ve never been particularly skilled at letting go.

I’m experimenting with not texting Ava as much while she’s at school. She’s now in her third year of her theatre degree, and she’s busy, and somehow this year feels different in our relationship compared to last year. It’s strange to nurture my kids from a distance. To love them and miss them, but actively work at letting them know that it’s healthy for them to grow away from me.

Jason seems way better at this than I am. Maybe this is because his role as a dad was always a little more emotionally distanced than mine was as the mom. So now I’m trying to learn from him. I know it’s time to step back, and to focus more on my own career and what I might need now that the day-to-day hands-on parenting stage is over.

Some days this feels like freedom, and other days it feels like a loss. Like something really good and precious is over and can never be retrieved.

To fill the void, we decided to fill our empty nest with another kitten. Meet Pippin, who joined us earlier this month, at just 8 weeks of age. He’s cuddly and adorable, and he fills me with joy.

In Identity, Nurture, Parenting, Personal Growth, Relationships, Speaking, Travel, Writing

Recalibrating Identity

Author Julianne HarveyPosted on

I just returned from a trip to Kelowna, BC where I was speaking at a teachers’ conference. In previous years, Jason has come with me on this work trip, but this year I decided to go alone. I listened to music, and some episodes of the Smartless podcast, but realised partway through the 5 hour drive that being alone in the car helped me to recalibrate a sense of my own personal identity.

As women, and mothers, so often our identity becomes intertwined with the identities of those we love and nurture. It can become challenging to separate out our individual needs and desires, because we exist in a context of our other relationships (and identities).

While driving to Kelowna, I found myself weeping for no apparent reason. I decided to let the storm of feeling pass through me, so I cried on and off while I drove. This continued even after I checked into my hotel room and ordered myself dinner.

As the evening progressed, I started to realise what was causing this storm of tears. I pulled out my journal and began to write. I worked through some things that had been building up during the summer. Questions about this new stage of life we’re about to enter as parents and as a family when William leaves for university in January.

I’m certain these feelings would’ve made themselves known whether I was at home or in Kelowna, but there’s something powerful about prioritising our own solitude from time to time. Over the two nights I was away, by myself, I could feel my identity recalibrating back into something I could recognise as my own.

Earlier this summer, we did a family driving trip down the coast to Los Angeles, one of my favourite places on planet earth. We had days of sun and soft sand and salty ocean air and palm trees and In-N-Out milkshakes. It was glorious. But it was a family trip, which meant all of our decisions were made together, with everyone’s needs and interests considered.

In the middle of August, I had a work trip to Alberta to speak at a writers’ conference and teach classes at a number of different libraries. For that trip, it was just Jason and I, which meant I left my Mom identity behind but remained in my Marriage identity. We had a wonderful trip, and I’m glad we went together, but I needed the alone time in Kelowna to understand the difference between solo trips and together trips.

When we give a lot of ourselves to others, it’s important to take time out for ourselves. I’ve been teaching this over the last six months in the form of nurture classes for writers and Nurture Starts with You sessions for teachers. But sometimes I fail to give it enough attention for myself.

It felt strange to say to Jason that I wanted to go to Kelowna on my own this time. He had loads of work to do and was happy to stay at home to look after Ted since William happened to be visiting his sister and some friends on the island when I was gone. But during my trip I realised how much it mattered that I listened to my own intuition. I gave myself time to feel things and a little bit of space and distance to better understand some relationship dynamics that were challenging to see up close.

This solo trip restored me to myself. It gave me time to reflect, and to cry, and to plan for the coming months. It helped me recalibrate my own sense of who I am.

How about you? As we say goodbye to summer and approach the brand new fall season, what steps could you take to recalibrate your own identity?

In Nurture, Parenting, Personal Growth, Relationships

Grown-Up Kids

Author Julianne HarveyPosted on

In the last couple of weeks, my daughter and my son had birthdays that pushed them into a new category: grown-up kids.

I remember feeling amazed when Ava turned eighteen, and could legally vote as an adult in Canada, but at that time William was only fifteen. I couldn’t envision a future where both kids were adults. But now, Ava is twenty-one, and finishing up her second year of university, and William has turned eighteen, and is about to graduate high school.

It’s the end of raising children. I feel both weepy and thrilled, in equal measure. I can’t help looking back, and remembering when they were small and sweet and asked a zillion daily questions and begged me to read just one more bedtime story. I recall my friend with older children saying she missed their little voices in the house. I didn’t know what she meant at the time, but I certainly get it now.

Every ending has a new beginning baked into it. The final chapter of anything feels like a loss when it’s underway, but with a bit of time to get used to the idea, we can begin to envision a new future. I’m trying to summon a sense of pride for the job I’ve done in being a mother to these two precious kids, and I’m longing for that pride to at least compete with the grief I feel that my day-to-day responsibility for their well-being and care is now ending.

I do know that the job of raising kids doesn’t magically end on their eighteenth birthday. Young adults have their own complex set of challenges and stressors, and they need support through these years and all of the many stages still to come. But it’s different now. They both drive, and have part-time jobs, and income of their own. William is out with his friends several times a week, and Ava lives on campus in a dorm eight months out of the year.

It’s time for Jason and I to adjust to the imminent reality of an empty nest. It feels exhilarating to imagine my children navigating their way in the world with confidence and excitement. It’s also scary, especially in those fraught moments when things don’t go their way and it feels like the road is sharply uphill. As parents, we always knew that the job was to take dependent infants and turn them into independent adults. But it seemed like such a long time from birth to eighteen. And now I realise, like so many wise parents before me, just how short those years really are.

Right before Ava’s birthday, our thirteen-year-old cat Flower stopped eating and drinking. He went from healthy(ish, as he had feline diabetes for the last two years) to weak and barely able to lift his head in a 36-hour time-frame. When I took him to the vet, the diagnosis was kidney failure compounded by a bronchial infection and his dangerously low blood sugar. Suddenly we were having a discussion about the end of his life.

Flower was Ava’s beloved pet, that we brought home as a kitten when she was seven. I had to call her in Victoria to break the news, and she walked onto the ferry a few hours later to come home so we could be together when we said our last goodbye to him. William’s cat, Little Rose, went to sleep in that same vet’s office exactly three years and six months before her brother Flower. It felt poetic that the dates lined up so evenly. Sometimes, even when we are in great pain, we can find a trace of beauty in the suffering.

When Ava went to her counsellor to talk about Flower, the counsellor said, “You said goodbye to your childhood pet and then turned 21 in the same week. It feels like the end of childhood for you.” That hit me square in the heart.

We can’t stop time from marching on. We can’t stop our kids from growing up, and turning into adults. We can’t keep our lovely pets alive forever. But we can grieve our losses, and dream into the future, and search carefully for the new beginning that’s hidden inside of whatever stage is ending.