There are moments in life that you think you understand, until they become your own reality. While we’re taught to be empathetic, there are some experiences that simply can’t be fully grasped until they become your own. I remember a friend coming to me when I was living in Switzerland, her husband was having an affair. I listened and was supportive, but I told her honestly, “I can’t fully comprehend what you’re going through, because I don’t know what it feels like to have your whole life ripped apart like this.” And, if I’m being really honest, a part of me was quietly judging her for staying and trying to work things out.

But just a few weeks later, everything changed.

I found myself in the same position, except I didn’t feel heartbroken; I went straight into survival mode. For me, staying was never an option. I’m not someone who can live with betrayal, let alone forgive and forget. I knew instantly that I had to start rebuilding our lives. My mindset was very different from hers, and I make no apologies for that. I would rather start from scratch than wake up each day beside the person who had not only betrayed me but also betrayed our children. I know not everyone feels this way, but for me, there was no alternative.

That experience brought us closer. Despite our different mindsets, we leaned on each other as our lives unraveled abroad. When your partner no longer wants the life you built together, everything unravels fast. And more often than not, there’s someone else in the picture.

You’re left trying to keep things going for your children while privately dealing with the shock and upheaval.

And so, back to the start: I couldn’t fully understand what that felt like until I did.

I remember years ago watching Madonna on The Oprah Winfrey Show talking about the pain of her daughter leaving home. She said she’d never experienced anything like it before. For some reason, that moment stuck with me. So, when my own daughter turned 18, I actively encouraged her to go out and see the world. She took a year off to travel before heading to university, and I genuinely wanted that for her.

She’s an incredible young woman. One thing I was always clear about with both of my children was that they would never become the parent in this dynamic. I once read that children of divorced parents can sometimes feel responsible for their parent’s emotional well-being, that they may try to step into the caregiver role. I saw glimpses of that in my daughter after the divorce, and I sat her down and said, “I am the parent. It’s my job to take care of you.” And I did exactly that.

I always knew that I was raising children who would one day go out into the world with confidence, curiosity, and courage. And when that time came, I wanted to be the one cheering them on, not holding them back. For my daughter, that meant going to Australia. When we were both saving for her trip, she told me, “Mum, people at work can’t believe you’re okay with this. I’ll admit, I had moments of doubt. But deep down, something inside me always knew it was the right thing to do. They think you’re being cruel. Like, why would your mum want you to go to the other side of the world?”

But I did want her to go. I wanted her to see what life had to offer. When she left for her trip, it was a big moment for both of us. I wrote her a letter to open on the plane. In it, I told her how proud I was, how brave she was, and how much I admired her for doing something so big. I also told her something that has always stayed true for me: I want this more for you than I want to keep you with me. I never want to hold either of my children back because of my own emotions or what’s happening in my life. If I ever felt I was doing that, I would see it as a failure on my part.

Raising children who are ready to go out into the world and cope on their own is, in my view, the greatest achievement of any parent. That’s what parenting is about: raising capable adults. So when the time came, I didn’t hesitate. She was 18, and we both worked multiple jobs to make it possible. She bought her ticket to Australia, fake ticket, missed flight, the lot, and she still did it. And it changed her forever. She’s capable of anything she sets her mind to.

People who say travelling isn’t educational have clearly never travelled properly. Travel prepares you for life. It puts you in situations you’d never face if you stayed safe at home, and it teaches you one of life’s greatest skills: resilience. When you’re somewhere unfamiliar, and you can’t call Mum or Dad to fix it, you learn to think on your feet. You figure it out. You grow. You come back stronger. That is resilience.

I remember getting a call from her one day where she said, “Mum, I never knew it was so hard to adult.” It made me smile.

I’ve always told both of my children: I am here. I will always be here. I will catch you if you fall, but you won’t fall if you don’t try. And trying, that’s the exciting part.

Now, my daughter is going into her third year at university. She’s been to over 30 countries, some more than once. She studies, works, and travels, and she makes each trip happen on her own. She has a confidence I admire every day. If I had kept her by my side, she wouldn’t have become the woman she is today. She wouldn’t have had the experiences, both good and difficult, that have shaped her. But because she’s had the freedom to grow, she’s also built the confidence and resilience to handle whatever life throws her way.

She’s making plans for the future, her way. And it makes me smile. Sometimes, I even shed a little happy tear. It hasn’t always been easy for her, but she’s amazing. And I couldn’t be prouder.

Now, let’s talk about my boy. These days, it’s mostly just him and me. He’s just completed his A-levels, and we’re waiting on his results. Somewhere along the line, almost overnight, he morphed into a man, or at least the size of one. It feels like he was nine years old just a minute ago, and then I turned around and suddenly there he was: tall, broad, and helping me reach things I can no longer get to without a step stool. I didn’t realise how small I was until my children started to overtake me. My daughter has always been tall for her age, but my son shot up to six feet in what felt like a blink. Now, they both laugh at me struggling to reach the top shelf (thanks, kids).

I recently went on a trip with a friend. The last time I visited this particular place (San Sebastián), it was during the unraveling of my marriage, and I was there with my ex and my children. It’s one of the most stunning places I’ve ever been, but this time, it felt different.

Maybe because I had that memory of being there with the kids, I found myself really missing them. This phase of life feels like a real transition.

While I was away, my son messaged me: “When you get back, can we start driving?” It reminded me of when my daughter first learned. She did it, but wasn’t too fussed. I’ve always believed that driving is something you do when it feels right, when you’re ready. I didn’t learn to drive until after she was born. Back then, I was living in America, and quite honestly, I only learned because I needed to get to the mall! Nothing motivates a woman quite like shopping (well, it worked for me anyway).

As most parents would agree, learning to drive is a huge milestone. It’s a shift; you see your child growing up in front of you. Sitting in the passenger seat while they’re in control of a car is equal parts terrifying and incredible. It’s emotional. You realise they’re no longer just your baby; they’re capable of handling something big and a bit scary. And you know the next step will likely be their own car, and then you’ll barely see them!

I always joke that 17 is the year of change, and the most expensive one yet. There’s the car, the insurance, the big 18th birthday holiday, all of it. And while I do believe in them paying their own way, it’s not always possible, especially if further education is in the mix. You have to help where you can. Right now, we don’t know what my son will do next, university or something else, but it’s looming.

While I was away, I found myself thinking a lot about this. There’s a real possibility that he’ll go to university. My daughter has chosen not to come home this summer; she’s landed herself an internship and will be working in London. I won’t see her all summer. And while we speak almost daily, it’s still a reminder that this is part of growing up. So, what happens next, for me?

Both my children chose universities far from home. So, if my son goes too, three will become one; it’ll be just me in the house. After more than 20 years of raising children, what does life look like when I’m on my own? This question sat heavily with me in San Sebastián. I read recently that by the time your child turns 18, you’ve already spent about 85–90% of the in-person time you’ll ever spend with them. That hit me hard.

When my daughter left for Australia, we were both mentally prepared. We’d worked together to make it happen. But this feels different. The thought of them both being gone fills me with all kinds of emotions, and maybe a little sadness, and I’m not entirely sure why. I want them out in the world, doing amazing things, chasing dreams. That’s the goal, right?

Maybe the sadness is about me. Maybe it’s because I now have to think about myself, what I want, what comes next for me. I’ve spent years building a career I can do remotely, preparing for this very chapter. But is it actually what I want? Is that why this feels heavy, because now I have to figure out who I am again, without the role of daily parenting?

The truth is, this is the beginning of my empty nest journey. I’ve heard people talk about this stage of life before, but now it’s my reality, and the struggle is real. I’m just starting to ask myself: How do I navigate this new chapter?

Like I said in the first chapter, I’d heard others speak about this, but I didn’t really understand what they meant. How could I, when I hadn’t experienced it myself? Now that I’m here, I know everything is going to be just fine. In fact, there’s something quite exciting about it. But while I was away, I kept thinking: It’s going to be me, and me alone. Instead of always thinking about someone else, I might finally have to think about me. And not just think about myself, but hold myself accountable for being me. How does that feel? Am I happy with who I am? Am I okay with the choices I’ve made? Is everything working out the way I thought it would? Did I ever really give it that much thought?

I’m beginning to understand why some women struggle with this transition, especially those who’ve raised large families. When everyone leaves, you’re left to rediscover who you are outside of being ‘Mum.’ Once I’ve helped my son move into the next phase of his life, what’s next for me?

I’m starting to make plans, and I know it’s going to be exciting. But I’m also learning to give myself permission to miss them and to be kind to myself because transitions require gentleness. This is how I’m choosing to approach this next phase: with excitement. So many doors are open to me now. My children are still my children, and they’ll always need me, just not in the same way they once did. And that’s not a loss; that’s life progressing.

I can’t end this article with a neat conclusion because I don’t know exactly what’s ahead, for them or for me. What I do know is this: I need to shift my mindset and embrace this next season as a time of possibility. I have a wonderful family, and I’m so proud of both of my children. Now, it’s time to take the love, time, and energy I’ve poured into raising them and begin shaping something just as beautiful for myself.

Let’s see what the future brings, exciting times ahead.