The Beautiful Heartbreak of Letting Go

With last weekend being Mother’s Day and on the latest episode of Girl, You Ain’t Crazy, Amy and I found ourselves talking about one of the hardest transitions of motherhood - letting go. Not the dramatic, movie version, where your child moves away while this sentimental music plays in the background. Also, not in the dramatic (aka traumatic) “I hate you” teenage way. They leave because they’re supposed to…because you managed to raise a human who can survive without you reminding them to eat veggies at some point during the week, to switch up (and launder) the uniform of shorts, hoodie, and Crocs, and most importantly, to get out of bed without you shaking them every ten minutes. Reflecting on those years, it’s shocking that none of my children ended up listed on FB Marketplace under “free to a good home.” Because the hoodie-Crocs era combined with the inability to wake up before noon tested every ounce of my character. And yet, motherhood has this strange way of making you miss even the phases that nearly took you out.

As an empty-nester, I’ve realized something painfully ironic about motherhood: If you do your job well, they leave. It’s both beautiful and heartbreaking.

Motherhood begins with total dependency. Your baby needs you for absolutely everything. Your body becomes home before they’re even born. Pregnancy changes everything - your sleep, your hormones, your priorities, your relationship with your own body. Then comes breastfeeding and the realization that not even your personal space belongs to you anymore. There’s always someone touching you. Needing you. Calling for you. Climbing on you. Asking for snacks that you haven’t even pulled out of the grocery bag and put in the pantry yet. Sometimes all you want is five uninterrupted minutes alone to breathe… or pee… or drink your coffee before it gets cold… or eat a snack without tiny human negotiations attached to it. You fantasize about these moments while simultaneously feeling guilty for wanting them.

The days are long and the nights are longer. Somehow you’re expected to appreciate every second because “it goes so fast.” Which is incredibly annoying advice when you’re running on two hours of sleep and someone just cried because you cut their toast wrong. And one day, it does go fast. The toys disappear, the car seats disappear, the little voices disappear, and eventually, the people who once needed help surviving start building lives that no longer revolve around you.

That transition was hard in ways I never fully expected. Motherhood changes identities. For years, being “Mom” was an active, all-consuming role. You are the caretaker, scheduler, referee, therapist, chauffeur, snack provider, and emotional support system all at once. Then one day, your role quietly changes. You become less of a manager and more of an unpaid consultant (who they may or may not listen to). Depending on your child’s personality, there’s usually a season when they decide you’re deeply uncool and profoundly annoying. Not my firstborn, but hypothetically speaking, there may have been another child who treated my mere existence as a personal attack and major inconvenience.

Teenagers and young adults are fascinating because part of becoming themselves involves pushing away from you. They test boundaries. They challenge opinions. They roll their eyes so aggressively and sigh “OHMYGOD” so frequently that you worry about a permanent injury. But you know what? Some of that is necessary. They are figuring out who they are outside of you.

Motherhood requires an incredible amount of emotional resilience during that stage because you remember the little human who once thought you hung the moon and proudly wrote love notes to “the best mom ever.” Then they acted personally offended that you asked them to text when they made it to their destination safely. Love this journey for us, Moms.

Here’s the beautiful part, though (and it does happen)…They come back. Not as children. Not because they need you in the way they once did. They come back as adults who choose you. That relationship is one of the greatest gifts motherhood has given me. There’s something special about getting reintroduced to your children as grown people. Watching them become funny, thoughtful, caring, and capable humans with lives, opinions, and stories of their own.

Somewhere along the way, you stop being just the person who raised them. You become someone they call because they want your advice or as one of my sons says, “I just need to vent.” Someone they spend time with voluntarily. Someone they enjoy being around (by all appearances anyway).

Miracles really do happen.

Becoming a Mother Made Me Appreciate Mine Even More

Becoming a mother also gave me a completely different appreciation for my own mom. I still can’t believe they let me leave the hospital with an entire human and no instruction manual, no practical exam, no certification, nothing. I had to take both a written and driving test to get a license, but for motherhood? They basically handed me a baby, wished me luck, and sent me into the world sleep-deprived, hormonally unstable, and fully responsible for keeping another human alive. Absolutely wild when you think about it.

Somewhere along the way, I realized my mother was figuring it out in real time, too. As kids, we assume our parents know everything. As adults, we realize they were just humans carrying enormous responsibility while hoping they didn’t mess us up too badly. Motherhood humbled me in that way. It made me revisit so many moments from my childhood with softer eyes and a deeper understanding.

I understand now why mothers are tired in their bones. Why they worry constantly. Why they sometimes lose patience. Why they love so fiercely. And why, even as grown adults, we still somehow want our mom when life hurts.

Motherhood Gets More Complicated When You’re Parenting With The Wrong One

While motherhood is already hard, co-parenting with The Wrong One adds a layer of emotional exhaustion I don’t think people fully understand unless they’ve lived it. There’s this idea that parenting should feel like teamwork - two people building the same foundation, reinforcing the same lessons, supporting one another through the difficult seasons.

But sometimes motherhood looks more like damage control.

Sometimes you’re trying to raise emotionally healthy children while simultaneously navigating conflict, inconsistency, resentment, manipulation, or outright sabotage from the person who’s supposed to be your parenting partner. It shakes your confidence. Because children naturally want to love both parents, and as mothers, many of us carry the impossible burden of trying to protect our children emotionally while also trying not to become “the bad guy.” You want to instill values, structure, accountability, kindness, and stability… while knowing those lessons may not always be reinforced elsewhere. And that can feel incredibly lonely.

There were moments in motherhood where I questioned myself constantly - not because I didn’t love my children enough, but because parenting without true partnership can make even strong women second-guess everything. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s this: Children eventually grow up enough to see the truth for themselves. They may not understand every sacrifice, boundary, or difficult decision in the moment. But over time, consistency matters. Stability matters. Love matters.

And motherhood often requires loving your children enough to endure being misunderstood for a while. Maybe that’s the lesson motherhood keeps teaching me over and over again. Love isn’t control. It isn’t perfection. It isn’t being appreciated in real time. Sometimes love looks like exhaustion. Sometimes it looks like sacrifice. Sometimes it looks like letting go. Sometimes it looks like holding the line when nobody understands why.

Somehow, despite all the chaos, heartbreak, noise, worry, and uncertainty…we would still do it all again.

‘Tis motherhood.