Forward into Next

Can a career full-time mom consider herself retired when the last child leaves the nest? Thinking of myself left behind in an empty nest saddens me to the core. Retirement seems hopeful...

“It is certainly OK, and natural, to want more. But what I find most exhilarating…is the possibility that it’s also OK to let go of wanting. It’s OK to not write a best seller, to not hold a prestigious title, to not start your own brand. It’s OK, even, to not try to find yourself, that most American of quests.”

- Sarah Menkedick, The New York Times Book Review | June 16, 2024

---

As I write this, Daughter is on her own in New York City for college orientation, just days after graduating from high school in a quiet southern California suburb, the bouquet of flowers handed to her while she was still in her cap and gown still fresh and bright on the center of our family dining table. And I am fretting with the decision to let her tackle this on her own.

Speaking of empty nesting (did I mention that Daughter is last in a series?) lately, I’ve been plagued by what to do with my life, with my next. And I’m especially confounded on what to call it. Often I write empty next instead of empty nest, which makes me feel hopeful about whatever awaits on the other side of full-time motherhood.

I always figured I would be back to work by now, after the intensity of mothering of little ones was mostly done. But the business of raising three kids really was a full-time job, even as they grew more capable of their own care and feeding, and I found that everything that pulled me in so many directions — the drop-offs and pick-ups and classroom volunteering at three different schools, the shuttling to birthday parties and sports and music lessons, the continual restocking and resupplying of an active household, of keeping clothes and home clean and pets happy — was also what I wanted to be doing. Because all of it afforded me something precious: snatches of time with my children, collected and weaved together to form our lives; the opportunity to find a community of other mothers who were doing the same, and who would come to be a lifelong support system for us all.

I switched off that desire to return to the last job I’d had before kids, which was a sixth-grade teacher. This I chose deliberately and without regret. I simply couldn’t show up in the way that I wanted to for both groups — my own children and the classroom children — and so, the choice was simple.

Now, 27 years after that decision, with domestic duties winding down, I find myself surprised that what I want to gear up for is completely different than I had imagined. I had pictured something enticing, perhaps even a bit exotic after full-time motherhood. A return to teaching, at the very least. But also, perhaps tackling some of the items that populated my wish list: a master’s degree (something dreamy like art history) or, mastery of the Italian language, finalmente. Maybe write that memoir?

Whatever I would choose, it had better be damned great, what with all this life experience I now have.

But when I really stop to think about it, and breathe and pray and meditate, what I want in this next phase of life is the luxury of choice and spontaneity and, if I’m being perfectly honest, the option to be selfish, with my time, with my interests. To write, to travel, to rest. To connect with others, and give back. To drop everything so Husband and I can hang out with our kids, scattered across the country. To craft a schedule that is enough to keep me occupied and provide a sense of purpose, but not so strict as to be confining and bossy. One that allows for the indulgence of unscheduled joys as they arise.

We have a name for the phase in life that I want for myself now, one that is a natural part of our cycle. Retirement. A moment of clarity dawns as I recognize this desire. That is clearly what I want for this next part of my journey.

But am I entitled to swim in the pool of retirement having been a career full-time mom? Isn’t there a different term for this? Empty nester is a much more accurate description of where I am now, and one that everyone understands instantly. This phrase reveals my life, my choices past and current.

Presenting myself as retired sounds a little fraudulent, deceptive. And automatically leads others to wonder what I’m retiring from, to raise their eyebrows ever so slightly in quiet judgment at the answer.

Is empty-nesting for a full-time parent really so different from retiring? And if not, why do I feel that the terms are not interchangeable?

Photo by Thomas Kinto on Unsplash

On the same day I drafted this essay, I had an ironic and point-making interaction with, of all things, a new primary care doctor. A change in insurance required a new healthcare team.

With some hesitation but also a dash of introvert spunk, I ticked the retired box on the new patient paperwork, in the section collecting details on work history. On the line provided to explain career, I wrote the word home.

This, turns out, created much confusion.

“It says here you’re retired, but you wrote in home as your career,” the doctor asked.

“Well, I’ve been raising kids full-time, by joyful choice, for close to thirty years,” I said, looking forward to the opportunity to elaborate on my kids.

“And before that?” He pressed.

Like, in 1995? I asked myself.

“Well, that’s going back quite a long time ago,” I responded, in a tone of firm kindness, hinting that perhaps this topic had run its course, that maybe we get back to the business at hand.

Still he wanted to know. What did I do before kids?

The kids are my masterwork, the pinnacle, my magnum opus, I wanted to scream! What could I possibly tell you about my work life that would be more significant than the three of them?

“Well,” I said after a calming breath, “I was a teacher for a while and before that, I worked in corporate public relations.” But since then, the world has changed so very much. My service in those industries — particularly public relations — now seems irrelevant. Hardly worth mentioning in the context of my life now, and certainly not in this specific situation.

I left that appointment both baffled (how could then possibly relate to now?) and also, sadly validated (the casual, all too frequent dismissal of full-time motherhood). My first attempt at calling myself retired didn’t land easily, as I had expected. It led to an awkward explanation of the past three decades of my life, one that felt inappropriate and demeaning.

Full-time motherhood was a choice, not a detour.

“We must let go of this half-century-old notion that the self can be “found” only after the roles of “mother, wife, daughter” have been rejected,” writes Menkedick in her New York Times essay. “The radical is in a feminism that examines care as profound, powerful work and centers rather than marginalizes mothering…”

Calling myself an empty nester, especially when meeting new people, frustratingly feels like an invitation for dismissal. How can we change this for full-time parents and other full-time but unpaid caregivers watching over loved ones in need, to recognize and celebrate the choices of these caregivers and to cheer them on in their next?

Thinking of myself left behind in an empty nest saddens me to the core. It triggers a yearning for the years of having my children within arm’s reach, our days hectic but beautiful, all the seasons of our lives stretched out before us in undulating possibility, now tucked away in memory.

But retirement? Not from motherhood but from the full-time part of it — that seems hopeful and uplifting. It offers new adventure. And rings with accomplishment, as I think of my son and my son and my daughter, each on their next path in life, and recall with grateful joy the milestones they achieved to get there.

Here’s to empty nest retirement, and also, to opportunity. And here’s to calling it whatever makes your heart happy, and guides you forward joyfully into your next. Whatever that next may be.