The first time I realised I might be different from other mothers, we were standing in a driveway on prom night.

Our children were dressed up, awkward and beautiful, posing for photographs before heading off to dinner. I was chatting with another mum about university plans — where her son was looking, where my daughter was considering.

She mentioned a school in Florida her son was thinking about. A local community college her daughter might attend. Then she said, almost wistfully, “Honestly, I hope they both decide to stay here. I’d be perfectly happy if they never left home.”

I remember nodding politely.

And thinking, Why wouldn’t they leave?

I love my daughter. Fiercely. I am proud of her independence, her ambition, her willingness to move eight hours away and build a life of her own.

But I have never understood the desire to keep her close simply because it makes me feel better.

When her final year of school approached, other mothers spoke about the coming emptiness as though it were a tragedy. They asked if I was ready. If I would cry. If I would miss her terribly.

I smiled and said I would miss her.

Which is true.

But I did not feel devastation. I felt readiness.

I have always believed children are meant to leave.

Not because we want rid of them.
But because we have raised them to stand.

When she chose to stay at university for the summer, some were surprised I wasn’t heartbroken. I shrugged. She is building her life. That is the point.

Perhaps I am odd.

I did not build my entire identity around motherhood. I did not centre my world solely on her schedule. Even when she was young, I encouraged sleep-away camps and independence. She thrived. So did we.

Loving your child and longing for an empty nest are not opposites.

They can exist side by side.

Pride does not always look like tears.

Sometimes it looks like stepping back and saying, Go on then. Live.

– Kate