The Biology of Letting Go

This August, I’ll officially become an empty nester. I stand at the trailhead carved with the words: midlife.

Years ago, when I imagined this stage from deep within the toddler trenches, sidestepping Legos embedded in the carpet and negotiating bedtime treaties, I felt wistful for the return of my independence. I fantasized about sleeping in again, about savoring my pour-over in peace. 

But now, with that freedom finally in hand, the relief I imagined is replaced with a deep ache.

When my son was four, we had this ritual: egg-and-cheese bagels at a café down the road. I remember a woman watching us once as we debated juice boxes. On her way out, she smiled and said we reminded her of herself, years ago, with her own little boy. I nodded politely, already moving on in my mind.

Now, I’m her.

The one watching preschoolers tug at their moms, feeling hers and my longing tug at my heart.

In two months, my youngest flies the roost to engineering school at Pitt. I'm so damn proud of her. And absolutely flattened by grief.

As I've come to learn, my maternal nervous system is registering a seismic shift — an evolutionary mourning. It’s the biological recognition that my role as protector and nurturer is changing shape. My brain, wired by decades of mothering, must now adapt to the contours of my new terrain.

In the wild, mother birds go through a similar transformation. As their fledglings grow stronger, the mothers feed them less, urging them closer to the nest edge. Guided by instinct, they know: prolonged dependence would only weaken their young.

Yet scientists have observed mother birds returning to their empty nests, calling out, searching. Even their biology resists the separation that nature prescribes.

I think my grief lives somewhere in that ancient pattern. For over two decades, my nervous system has tuned itself to the rhythm of motherhood. Every story read, every chubby cheek kissed, every late-night talk was part of a long arc pointing to this very moment.

And now that it's here? I'm learning to surrender at this new trailhead. In loss, I recognize becoming.

This new path asks something different of me. When I go within, I can hear my heart hum with stars, firelight, the scent of pine, and being lulled awake by the symphony of birdsong at dawn.

This is the season of rewilding. A dusting off of my own feathers as I see my children's wings stretch out. A migration into the sovereignty and power of midlife.

Whatever season you find yourself in life, we don't have to walk the path alone. I invite you to join me on our Women's Camping Weekends this summer, where we'll fortify the nest of our wild hearts, so we can take flight once more.

I’ve also been quietly working on something big: a brand-new international retreat in Santa Catalina, Panama, a place that has etched itself into my soul. This mindful adventure, designed for women 40+, is a week long, all inclusive experience that combines the wonder and awe of learning to surf mellow waves, snorkeling with sea turtles, unwinding with yoga, and embracing our wholeness in our tantric energy workshop series. We will explore what it means to enter midlife in full power, on our own terms.

More details soon. But for now, take a breath. The path is ahead. I’ll meet you there.

HS Graduation Day