This week the house felt… different.

Not quieter in the way people usually mean when they talk about becoming empty nesters. It wasn’t just the lack of noise. It was the lack of purpose.

For years, my calendar revolved around school schedules, kids’ events, helping with homework, shopping for what my kids needed, packing lunches, and figuring out what everyone wanted for dinner. Somewhere along the way, being “Mom” became such a big part of who I was that I forgot there would one day be fewer people needing me every hour of every day.

Now the house is still.

Too still, sometimes.

I keep walking past their bedrooms that are clean, because I cleaned them after they left so they would have a clean room to come home too on breaks. I catch myself wondering if I should text my kids just to say hello, then stop because I don’t want to interrupt whatever they’re doing at college.

I’m proud of them.

I’m excited for them.

And if I’m being honest… I miss them more than I words can express.

People keep telling me this means I’ll have more time to travel, to explore new hobbies, to read, and to write.

Maybe they’re right.

But writing has always come from my heart, and right now, my heart is broken. It’s learning how to live in a different season of life.

Maybe that’s okay.

Maybe every new chapter—whether in life or in a novel—feels a little uncomfortable at first.

I’ll keep writing.

One page at a time.

~Nina Soden #TheRedheadedAuthor

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