Empty nest syndrome is seriously messing with my head right now and I’m not gonna sugarcoat it—it feels like someone stole half the soundtrack of my life and forgot to tell me.
My baby (well, 19-year-old “baby”) moved into her dorm at Ohio State end of last summer. We did the whole tearful goodbye, hauled 47 plastic bins up three flights of stairs, hugged too long in the parking lot. I drove home blasting sad Taylor Swift because that’s apparently my brand now. Thought I’d be okay after a week or two.
Spoiler: I’m not okay. The house is too damn quiet. Like you can hear the ice maker drop cubes at 3 a.m. and it startles me. No more “Mom where’s my charger???” echoing from upstairs. No random 2 a.m. DoorDash arrivals because someone got the munchies. Just… silence. And the dog keeps looking at me like I personally fired all the fun people.
What Empty Nest Syndrome Really Feels Like (No Instagram Filter Version)
It’s not one emotion. It’s like six emotions having a cage match in your chest.
One minute I’m weirdly giddy because I can finally pee with the bathroom door open without someone banging on it. Next minute I’m standing in Target holding a box of their favorite cereal and realizing I don’t need to buy the family-size anymore and then I’m crying in the cereal aisle like a total psycho.
I keep having these random flashbacks. Like I’ll smell Gain laundry detergent and suddenly remember folding 800 hoodies while yelling at them to clean their room. Or I walk past their old high school and get hit with this pang because those Friday night football games feel like they happened in another lifetime.
And yeah I still set the table for three sometimes. Caught myself last Tuesday putting out three plates then just stared at the extra one like “whoops my bad” and ate standing up over the sink instead.
The Dumb Stuff I Did Trying to “Fix” Empty Nest Feelings
I went kinda feral at first, not gonna lie.
- Bought approximately 9,000 candles from Bath & Body Works because “new home vibes” or whatever. Now the house smells like a Yankee Candle exploded and I have buyer’s remorse.
- Texted my daughter 14 times in one afternoon asking if she needed quarters for laundry. She replied with one emoji (the face-palm one) and I deserved it.
- Tried to “rediscover myself” by signing up for hot yoga. Lasted 17 minutes before I laid down in child’s pose and just stayed there thinking about how I used to drive carpool in yoga pants exactly like these.
Nothing really filled the hole. It just made me tired and poorer.
Okay But Here’s What’s Actually Helping (A Little)
I’m not fixed. Not even close. But these things have kept me from completely losing it.
I let the quiet happen now instead of fighting it. Sometimes I just sit in their old room (door open finally) and look at the posters they didn’t bother taking down. It hurts but it also feels honest.
Started cooking just for me and it’s weirdly freeing. Last weekend I made loaded nachos at 10 p.m. with way too much jalapeño because nobody’s here to complain it’s too spicy. Ate them in bed while watching reruns of The Office. Felt decadent and a little sad at the same time.
Joined this local empty-nesters meetup group through Meetup.com—half the people are just as confused as me. We drink cheap wine and admit stuff like “I sniffed my kid’s old hoodie and cried” and nobody judges. It’s actually really nice.
Also started journaling the dumb little thoughts so they don’t just loop in my brain at 2 a.m. Some entries are literally just “today the house smelled like silence and pizza grease and I don’t know which one made me sadder.”
And yeah I cut the texting down to like once every couple days. She’s thriving (or at least says she is). I’m trying to thrive too.
Wrapping This Messy Post Up
Empty nest syndrome isn’t something you beat in six easy steps. Some days it’s manageable, some days it knocks the wind out of you when you least expect—like finding their old retainer case in a drawer and suddenly you’re 12 years old again watching them lose teeth.
But the quiet is starting to feel less like punishment and more like… space. Space to maybe read a whole book without interruption. Space to nap on the couch at 4 p.m. if I want. Space to figure out who the hell I am when the main job title isn’t “Mom Taxi / Short Order Cook / Emotional Support Human.”
If you’re sitting in your too-quiet house nodding along, hi. You’re not weird or broken. This shit is hard.
Tell me your most ridiculous empty nest moment in the comments—I need the laugh/cry combo right now.
Gonna go attempt to keep that one sad pothos plant alive. Wish me luck.
(Quick helpful links I actually read when I was spiraling:
