January, 2026
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When You Least Expect It- Feelings
When you least expect it, the quiet settles in. A heaviness creeps up from somewhere you can’t quite name, and suddenly you realize what’s missing: your son or daughter has just walked out the door and headed back to their own life. Home for them might be across the country, a few hours down the highway, or simply across town—but the moment they cross that threshold into their world, something inside you shifts. The house feels different. You feel different.
I learned this ache early on. When my oldest moved in with his dad—because sometimes divorce makes decisions you never wanted to make—I cried every single time he left. Even weekend visits or school breaks, no matter how joyful, ended with that familiar tearing sensation, as if I were losing an arm or a leg. Sometimes both. And even now, with him grown and thriving, that same hollow feeling still rises after a visit. Love doesn’t age out of longing.
Then came the day my youngest moved out after living with us for 30 years while building his career. I thought the grief might swallow me whole. The sobs that came from my gut were unlike anything I expected—raw, primal, overwhelming. I remember thinking, I can’t do this for the rest of my life. So, I worked at it. I learned to understand the good-byes, to soften the edges of the separation. And while it has gotten easier, the ache never fully disappears.
Today, as he pulled away to return to his own life—his career, his home, his independence—I felt that familiar gnawing in my stomach. And he’s not even two hours away. Distance doesn’t measure love; it only measures miles.
The truth is, we both know we need our separateness. He calls regularly, and I do my best to wait for those calls, to respect the boundaries of his adult life. But I’m still a mother. Sometimes I text or call first, and yes, sometimes it annoys him. But reaching out is part of how I love and letting go is part of how he grows.
This is the dance of parenting adult children—holding on, letting go, and learning to live in the space between.
I’ve noticed on Facebook that I’m far from alone in these emotions. So many mothers are feeling that same post‑holiday ache as our families slip back into their routines and the house settles into its quieter rhythm. We all understand that change is part of our evolution, but that doesn’t mean we automatically know how to navigate it. Growth doesn’t come with a manual.
As I write this, the tears have softened a bit. Maybe it’s because I’m reminding myself that tomorrow will come, and with it, the life my husband and I share in this home—just the two of us. I have a purpose that extends beyond motherhood. I am still me, and that identity deserves space, attention, and care.
If sadness shows up between the smiles, if tears mingle with moments of joy, that’s okay. That’s real. That’s living. And living fully means embracing the whole spectrum—the love, the longing, the laughter, and the letting go.
Caring is sharing, and sharing is caring—words I’ve repeated often because they continue to ring true. When something stirs inside me, I feel compelled to express it, to put it into language that others can walk through, reflect on, and maybe even find themselves in.
Some people turn to scripture, poetry, or music to soothe the swirl of emotions that life stirs up. I turn inward. I sift through my own thoughts, my own stories, and from that place I create the tools that help me keep moving—one step, one breath, one moment at a time.
#yesican Coaching with Karen
D5 Creation