Empty Nest Reality: What No One Tells Parents

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3 days ago

When I was in my 20s and living with a friend, I'd leave cookies in our kitchen, and within a couple of days, the box was empty. For the few years we lived together, I assumed my roommate was sharing in the consumption. It wasn't until I moved into my own apartment and chronicled the expediency with which I devoured a box of cookies that I understood she had never placed her hand in my 'cookie jar.'
Back then, I questioned her about my revelation, and she confirmed her distaste for cookies. Maybe I always knew this, but, for years, I validated my cookie binge by imagining she was helping me finish a box (or two).
This sweet epiphany shaped my perception of the world. Afterward, I told friends they had to spend time living on their own to figure out who was eating the metaphorical cookies in their lives. Living on your own is an insightful look into who you really are. There's nobody there for you to resent because they left dirty dishes in the sink or to blame for making you stay up too late binge-watching 'Columbo' episodes from the '70s.
Conversely, you can't give someone credit for eating the snack food you unintentionally finished in a day or seriously believe the apartment is clean because you're the tidy one. In short, it unmasks you.
For the first time in over 25 years, I'm living alone. This is both a luxury and a reckoning. When I was in my 30s, and my children were young, my husband passed away, and I was instantly tasked with balancing a chaotic life.
When you're a working single mother, who is also the sole full-time parent in a household layered in a film of grief, you don't have time to think about who is 'eating the cookies.' You simply exist to satisfy any immediate task, whether it be work- or kid-related.
During those years, I envisioned a day when my children would be on their own, but it was a concept, like having a fast metabolism or retirement, that seemed either mythical or for much older people.
There was no moment for substantial reflection in my chronically busy life, yet there was still time for me to cook up a fantasy version of myself. This figment, born out of my depressed imagination, was the 'ideal me,' the person I could have been if I wasn't saddled with responsibility. The 'imaginary Alison' was more creative, relaxed, successful, civically engaged, well-traveled, and a pile of other hopeful adjectives. I reminded myself that when my kids were adults, I'd finally be able to become this upgraded version of myself.
My empty nest years seemed to arrive faster than I imagined, and my kids were both adults. OK, emerging adults who used my Seamless and Apple Pay, but still spent most of the year at school. I was heartbroken. But I was also curious to see who I would become without the constant responsibilities of single parenting.
On the drive back from dropping off my youngest at college, I hoped I'd instantly unearth that 'imagined version' of myself. Maybe they'd impress me by composing an opera or by scaling Mount Everest, even though I'm not a musician and am mildly afraid of heights.
The next morning when I awoke, I hadn't transformed. Although, I immediately noticed my phone charger was still on my nightstand (with a fully charged phone!). Within a week, I came to the revelation I probably only had to do laundry once a week instead of once a day. Yet I must confess that during my first solo trip to the supermarket, I filled my cart with Yodels, Ring Dings, ice cream and frozen dinners, because I no longer had to set a 'good example' and could finally indulge.
Since I'm middle-aged, this sort of 'Home Alone' behavior lasted about a month, before I found myself popping antacids and going back to yoga. But parts of me were being revealed.
Yes, my kids required me to do more housework, and my grocery bill decreased by 75%, but when they lived with me, I had to model 'proper adult behavior,' which kept me healthier.
However other discoveries took longer to untangle. For instance, did raising kids stop me from being more creative, active or social? Possibly. OK, definitely, but it also deepened my life by making me more selfless. I often used my kids as an excuse for why I wasn't accomplishing certain goals like writing more, and yes, they were eating some of the 'cookies,' but now when I fill a Saturday with unnecessary errands or plop down on the couch and just waste a day watching movies, I have nobody to blame but myself.
Truthfully, when I look at my social life over the past year, it looks like someone who is decades younger than me. My calendar is overflowing with trivia nights, book groups, hanging out with my boyfriend, impromptu drinks with my fellow empty nester friends, and although I've taken in a ton of culture, it occurs to me that I was probably more productive when my children were living with me.
Naively, I believed if the kids weren't around, I'd be doing more. But my kids weren't stopping me from accomplishing goals — in fact, they were inspiring me.
However, despite being one year into empty nesting and finally unmasking the unrealistic version of myself that taunted me for over a decade, I still feel like there is a ghost of my former self haunting me. When I pass by my kid's old elementary school and see the parents lined up, I get anxious that I'm late to pick up my kids, even though it's been years since they've attended that school. Then, I instinctively look for familiar faces in the crowd of parents, but they're all younger than me.
It's during those moments when I need to readjust to the reality that being a 'single mom' is no longer the starring role of my life. Although my adult children still need me a lot, we need to give ourselves the space to get by on our own. In doing so, we may also give ourselves the gift of discovering who emptied the cookie jar.