Showing all posts tagged empty nest

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.

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

Hello Fall

Author Julianne HarveyPosted on

Last week I wrote in my Ruby Finch Books newsletter about how much I love fall, but I realised there was more to say, so I thought I’d do an update here.

Every single year, as the calendar changes from the loosy-goosy days of summer to the more structured routine of September, I feel a lift in my spirits. I know there are some people who feel joy when the temperature rises, but I’m a fall girl through and through.

The fuzzy pajamas and thick warm socks. Boots with jeans and long-sleeved shirts again. A light jacket with a pocket to hold my car keys. Using the oven to cook dinner without thinking about how hot the house will get. Survivor and The Amazing Race on Wednesday nights. School starting up, which means a quiet house, where most days I’m the only one in it besides our two cats.

William is starting grade 12, which signals the beginning of the end of children at home. It feels strange – both sad and freeing in equal measure. For the last fifteen years, we’ve done a back-to-school routine like many parents before us involving fresh school supplies, first-day outfits, new shoes, lunch kits, and posed photographs in the same spot every year, with tears from William and wide grins from Ava.

But now we are at the end of this predictable series of post-Labour-day events. Ava left home in mid-August for her two weeks of Community Leader training at UVic, where she’s starting her second year in the theatre program, and William is beginning his final year of high school. When he graduates, we will have two adult children, and be on the edge of an empty nest.

My friend Susan posted about this phenomenon on Facebook, saying that there’s so much support for new parents, and so little for those at the end of the journey. And of course it’s not the END, in any final sense, as our grown kids will continue to need us for years to come. But this transition – from parents of kids who live at home and are considered minors under the age of eighteen, to having them be grown-up adults – is a big one.

I felt melancholy about it for a few days at the end of August, but once school actually began last week, the sadness evaporated and became something suspiciously close to contentment. It feels like I’m nearing the finish line on a job I’ve done well, with a lot of highs and lows in equal measure, but I showed up and I gave what I could and now I can glimpse a future that involves Jason and me without two kids at the centre of our marriage and family life.

Around two years ago this thought scared me shitless. Some of those fears are what I’m exploring in the new book I’m writing on The Negative Space – all the things we didn’t get or cannot see that make what we do possess have meaning and value. It’s pleasant to consider coming to the end of the day-to-day responsibilities and stresses of parenthood, while recognising that this transition, like every change in life, costs us something. We give up something, and receive something different in return.

This is also the first September in 6 years that I haven’t been a university student. Like the parenting changes on the horizon, being free of student deadlines and homework and classes is both unmooring and exciting in equal measure. I’ve started a publishing imprint and I’m busy building a company, offering online writing classes, launching a YA book next month, planning the publishing of my thesis novel in 2024, and writing a new memoir. It’s exhilarating to be doing work that isn’t designed to impress professors or agents or editors, but is something I can do simply because I believe in it myself. Having this be enough is like pure oxygen. It’s invigorating and restoring.

Well, I planned to write about our 3.5 week Europe trip this summer and what I discovered about myself, but this fall post became something else. And I love that. I’ll write again about the trip, because I’m still working through how I feel and what changed for me while travelling abroad, but for now I’m leaning into my Ruby Finch Books motto – intuitive courage – and trusting that where my intuition leads is worth following.

How are you feeling this fall? Any big changes on the horizon?

In Identity, Nurture, Parenting, Relationships, Uncategorized

Back to School

Author Julianne HarveyPosted on
Back to School

Can you hear that sound? It’s silence, the kind that falls after parents have ushered their beloved offspring to a new year of school (well, you might hear cheering from some and weeping from others – both moms and kids – but here the biggest joy of all is the QUIET).

Other years, when my kids were smaller, I used to feel a bit melancholy on their first day. I would get so used to them being home over the long days of summer that I would miss them for the first week.

Now that Ava is grade nine and William is grade six it’s a different experience. They need to return to structure and see their friends. Both of them require challenges, apart from staring at inane Youtube videos all day long. My kids may have mixed feelings about going back to school, but I can see how necessary it is for them.

As our children get older, things change. For Ava, who has four years left of high school before embarking on her own life away from us, these precious last years under our roof take on a fresh significance. She is supposed to grow in independence and begin constructing an identity outside of our family and it’s important for us to support her in this quest.

We have good friends who just said goodbye to both of their university-age daughters. They are now officially empty-nesters. I’ve been texting with my friend about this process and I know it will be here all-too-soon for us as well. The key is to be present and to notice the stage that is happening right now, but also to transition into a more hands-off parenting style so we are all able to celebrate the coming separation instead of fighting it or mourning it.

William is in that in-between age of eleven. He’s not quite ready for the angst of the teen years but also not really a child. It’s a delicate stage, where one foot is on each side of a divide. He longs to be older but also wants to remain young and safe. We are working on encouraging him to step out of his comfort zone and to take more risks. School helps with this.

Every parent-child relationship is different and will require planning and strategy in order to find success. The beginning of September can be a particularly raw time. It’s exciting in one sense and scary in another.

As parents, we get to practice letting go of our children once again. This is their time: to make new friends, to cry and have their feelings hurt, to take risks and soar, to be embarrassed, to learn that if the first five experiments fail you can keep trying until you get where you want to go.

Happy back to school season to all parents and kids. May it be a marvellous year of discovery, compassion, fun and important life lessons learned.