WHY MOMS OF TEENS NEED TO STOP WAITING TO BE CELEBRATED — ESPECIALLY IN THE ALMOST EMPTY NEST YEARS | EP. 154
Welcome back to the Almost Empty Nest podcast. This episode is a love letter to moms of teens where I invite you to stop waiting to be celebrated. Welcome to the Almost Empty Nest podcast with Small Jar Coach.
This show is for moms of teens who are ready to let go with love, release anxiety, and rebuild connection with their teen and themselves as they approach the empty nest. I'm your host Jennifer Collins, a master certified coach and a fellow mom walking this path right alongside of you. You don't have to navigate this season alone.
If you've ever ended up disappointed, resentful, or just tired of hoping someone else would appreciate you in the way that you hope, you are not alone. In today's episode, I'm sharing my own messy and honest journey with Mother's Day, including one very memorable brunch gone wrong, and what I've learned about expectations, appreciation, and the truth about where our worth really comes from. This isn't about blaming others.
It's about finally seeing ourselves. So if you've been hoping to feel appreciated, this episode will show you that you don't have to wait anymore. Let's dive in.
Hello, my friend. I just want to take a moment to wish you a very happy Mother's Day. I don't know about you, but I feel like Mother's Day over the course of my life as a mom has been a bit of a journey for me in terms of my experience of this holiday, especially now that my adult boys are both 18 or older at this point.
When my sons were first born, and honestly, even the year I was pregnant with my first son, I already considered myself a mom. I remember being about seven months pregnant that Mother's Day, and I expected my husband to dote on me. I mean, I was so self-indulgent when I was pregnant that first time, and I think it's hard not to be.
The experience of pregnancy that first time is so surreal. You have the situation where so much is going wrong with your body, and every time you talk to the doctor about it, they're like, yeah, that's normal. And if you have complications on top of that, or just the constant nausea and discomfort, it's a lot.
In retrospect, I think it is totally appropriate to lean into a little self-indulgence when you're pregnant. But of course, then I realized during my second pregnancy how good I had it that first time around. Because when it's your first pregnancy, you can nap whenever you want.
If you want to do something to take care of yourself, you just do that. No guilt necessary. But with your second pregnancy, you're chasing a while feeling nauseous and exhausted.
And God bless the moms who have more than two kids. My oldest was born in midsummer, so that first real Mother's Day, when I wasn't just pregnant but actually a mom of a toddler, I remember feeling totally overwhelmed. My son wasn't even a year old yet.
He was about 10 months, just starting to crawl. And he was an intense kid. I remember that first year of motherhood being really exhausting for me.
And I'll admit it, I was a bit of a During that time, Mother's Day for me was this holiday that I felt kind of entitled to. The biggest reason was that I felt like I deserved a break. To be honest, I wanted the day to be about me and what I wanted.
I remember actually saying to my husband that all I wanted was just to sleep in. I wanted not to be responsible for anyone else for a change, even if it was just for the morning. It became a bit of a point of contention between me and my husband back then because whatever my expectations were, I'm not sure he always lived up to them.
So as much as I'm a little ashamed to admit it now, I was often disappointed in those early Mother's Days because I felt like I just deserved to be let off the hook. As my boys got older, I really appreciated that their schools would get them involved in doing some kind of craft for Mother's Day. Throughout the years when they were in preschool and elementary school, I would get all of these homemade cards and crafts.
They were always so sweet. I have them stashed all over my house and every once in a while I come across one and they always make me smile. One of my favorite Mother's Day memories happened when my youngest was in kindergarten.
His school had a tradition of selling flowers the week before Mother's Day. You'd give your kids some money and they'd pick out flowers at the sale and bring them home as a gift. Well, somehow my youngest talked the women running the sale into letting him buy a whole bunch of big plant baskets.
On credit. He must have picked out six or more giant hanging baskets of flowers. He didn't have enough money, but he seemed to have convinced the volunteers working there that I was good for it.
At the time, I was working at the school in an administrative position, so not only did he negotiate with the volunteers as this kid in kindergarten, but he convinced two parent volunteers to help him deliver all of these baskets to my office. I was in a meeting when suddenly the door burst open, literally kicked in, because my little guy was holding one of the baskets with both arms so he didn't have a hand for you to open the door properly. He marched in with this entourage of volunteers behind him, his arms full of flowers, and he announced, Mommy, these are for you.
It's one of those memories that still makes me laugh. I can even hear his little deep voice. And I can still see that precious, thoughtful, and over-the-top little man in my now 200-pound, 6-foot-2, 18-year-old.
That moment is something I will never forget. It was thoughtful and hilarious and over-the-top in the best way. And when I think of Mother's Day, that is a memory I will carry with me forever.
So today I want to spend some time on what I think might be one of the most emotionally loaded parts of Mother's Day, and honestly, one of the most loaded parts of motherhood. And that is a deep, human desire to be seen and appreciated for all we do. We're not looking for a parade or a trophy, just a little acknowledgement.
Having someone we love do something that says, I see you, I know how much you give, and you matter. And here's the thing, we feel this way all the time. This longing for appreciation isn't just about Mother's Day.
We feel it when we're making dinner, again, or when we're dropping off that forgotten homework or fixing some problem that could have been avoided. Those little and big things that we do for our kids every single day. We hope that they see us and appreciate us.
But it feels like Mother's Day sets us up with this heightened hope, really an expectation, that now they're going to show their appreciation, that they're going to take a moment to reflect on everything I do and be grateful. And even if we try not to expect it, maybe even if we tell ourselves it's no big deal, it's hard not to end up feeling disappointed on some level at the end of the day. And if I'm being honest, my experience of Mother's Day hasn't always been amazing.
I sometimes felt frustrated that no one made a big deal about Mother's Day plans. How about a brunch? Even a dinner? How about we go out and celebrate this big holiday about me? I felt like it wasn't too much to ask. I remember one Mother's Day in particular where I remember having felt annoyed in past years that we never went to brunch.
So that year I decided, you know what, I'm going to book my own reservation. If I want something, I should just make it happen. Get over it.
I can make my own reservation. But by the time I had that thought, it was somewhat late. I guess other people's families make these brunch reservations months in advance.
So at the time I thought of it, none of the restaurants we normally go to had any room. But finally I found a place with a noon opening. Actually, I'm pretty sure it had multiple openings, so maybe this should have been my first hint that this wasn't a good spot.
But I made a reservation, so I was happy. I made my boys get all dressed up. It's what other people seemed to do when I saw their Mother's Day brunch photo, so I wanted that too.
My kids were still little, so they kind of had to do what I told them anyway. I let my husband deal with whatever complaining happened, and I'm sure there was some. But we all got dressed up, and we showed up at this restaurant.
It was really a lovely place, but it was also absolutely empty. It's almost like they were surprised we showed up. Then we sat down and we realized it was a pretty expensive prefix menu.
I don't remember what the dollar amount was, but let's just say it was something like $100 per person, maybe more. All I know is that at the time it felt so ridiculous because my boys were young, both still in elementary school, and to pay that much for two kiddie meals felt outrageous. And not only that, but the menu wasn't even meant for kids.
There was prime rib and Dover sole, stuff I didn't even want to eat. So the boys immediately started complaining. There was nothing any of us wanted to eat, the price of the meal was ridiculous, and the place was empty.
And I just remember thinking, this is not it. This is not what I wanted. Somehow they let us just walk out.
Maybe they didn't want us there either, but anyway we left. So now it's Mother's Day and we're driving around, everyone's hungry, and we need to find some place to eat. And we're running out of time before someone has a meltdown.
Every place we drive by seems to be packed. Even the diners, because we live in New Jersey, even the diners are packed with people waiting outside to be called to their tables. So it seems hopeless.
Finally, my husband sees this place that seems to be advertising breakfast. My friend, this place was sketchy. It was like we'd gone from one extreme to the other.
It looked like some kind of biker bar, and not even a nice one. But there were no other options, and we were desperate. So we decided to go in.
This place was also empty. It smelled like a frat house. The floors were sticky from the night before.
But they had a breakfast buffet on the main bar. The boys took one look at the spread, with the greasy looking eggs, and the sausage, and the bacon, and the french toast. And the three of them, both of my boys and my husband, all saw this and they said, awesome, breakfast.
I remember thinking, this is my worst nightmare. First of all, gross. The food looked disgusting.
The place was disgusting. We looked ridiculous, all of us dressed up in this seedy bar. But I took some degree of solace in the fact that we'd avoided any meltdowns, and the boys were happy.
But Mother's Day was kind of ruined. And at the time, I decided, forget it. I don't even want to celebrate anymore.
And you know, I think even to this day, my boys remember that experience as one of their favorite and most memorable Mother's Day. And you know, it took me some time, but I think now, probably 10 or 12 years later, it's one of mine too. Because this story seems to encapsulate what Mother's Day can end up feeling like sometimes.
Not the Instagram perfect brunch photo, or the most thoughtful gift, or the most beautiful bouquet of flowers. But that inevitable intersection between what we'd hoped the day would feel like, and what actually happens. It's about wanting so badly to feel celebrated.
To feel like someone thought ahead and showed love in a way that felt meaningful. And instead, ending up at a bar with sticky floors, eating cold French toast, and wondering where you went wrong. It's funny in hindsight, but in the moment, I was bummed.
I'd tried to take the high road and take responsibility for giving myself the experience I thought I wanted. But even that let me down. Somehow, even though I made the plan, I still ended up feeling disappointed.
And that's what makes this and honestly, so much of motherhood feel so loaded. Because so often, what we hope will happen doesn't. Not just on Mother's Day, but across so many seasons and circumstances of raising our kids.
We hope they'll listen. We hope they'll be kind to their sibling. Respectful.
Grateful. Responsible. Productive.
And sometimes they are. Sometimes they surprise us with big hugs or thank yous, or a moment of maturity that reminds us why we give so much of ourselves to this effort. But a lot of the time, especially in these teen and baby-adult years, they're distracted.
They're selfish, self-centered, moody, withdrawn, rolling their eyes, before we've even finished our sentence. They're messy and human and tired, just like we are. In our day-to-day role as a mom, the appreciation we really want feels pretty far down even our own list of priorities.
More than the thank you even, we just want them to be safe, to be happy, and to grow into capable, kind, and thriving human beings. But even those hopes, the ones that feel so fundamental, can be difficult to achieve. And when they're not okay, when they're struggling in school, or spending all day in their room, or falling short of what we know they're capable of, it's hard not to take that personally or feel responsible to fix it.
We start counting all of the things we should have done differently. We question whether we've been too lenient or too strict. We overthink, we blame ourselves, we try harder.
So we have these expectations for our kids that aren't always met. But we also have expectations for how the experience of motherhood should feel. That we should feel close to our kids.
That they should want to talk to us. That the work of raising them shouldn't feel this hard. Expectations versus reality.
It's honestly a war raging in your head whether you realize it or not. Because on the one hand, you know they're just kids. You know intellectually their brains aren't fully formed until they're 25.
You'd like to think they're doing their best. And you know they're still learning and that sometimes they'll make mistakes. You might even know that your kid's job right now in part is to push away and to figure out who they are separate from you.
But on the other hand, here you are, showing up day after day, trying your best, making everything work for them, supporting them in ways they probably don't even realize. Caring their pain. Believing in their potential, even when they don't.
Cheering them on. Helping them every single day, even when they don't ask. Or even when they don't think they need your help.
You've sacrificed sleep, time, money, career opportunities, and a million small freedoms. All for them. And yet, if we're being really honest, as much as we've done all of this for them, motherhood wasn't something that just happened to us.
We chose this. Maybe not every detail. Not every twist and turn.
But on some level, we said yes to this life. We brought these humans into the world, not just for them, but for us. For our family.
For our vision of what we wanted for our life. We wanted to be mothers. Maybe, again, not every second of it.
I know I would have preferred not to sign up for the tantrums, or the college essays, or the late nights worrying about when they'd get home. But we signed up for this role. And with that choice came enormous responsibility.
But you know, it's like in Spider-Man when Uncle Ben says, with great power comes great responsibility. Motherhood may not come with a cape or tights, but it absolutely comes with power. The power to shape a life.
The power to create safety. To model love. To guide another human in the world.
And with that great power comes an incredible weight of responsibility. Not just to show up, but to keep showing up. To give even when you're empty.
To love even when it's hard. To put someone else's needs so ahead of your own, more times than you can count. And you do it again and again.
You do it without question. Without fanfare. Most of the time, without a thank you.
The responsibility of motherhood has required so much of us, emotionally, physically, spiritually. This sacrifice is so real and true. But at the same time, I'd like to remind myself that this experience, this whole wild, beautiful, exhausting experience of motherhood, has always, in some ways, been about us too.
This role has become the most meaningful part of who we are. It's shaped our identity, our purpose. It's filled spaces in us we didn't even know were empty.
It's taught us things about ourselves we could never have learned in any other way. So yes, motherhood is about our kids, but it's also about us. And I think that's why it hurts so much when we don't feel seen.
Because this work isn't just about helping with homework and making dinner and carpooling and grocery shopping. It's about the emotional investment we've been making in something that means everything to us. It's about loving so fiercely that we sometimes forget that we are also a part of this equation.
That this isn't just their childhood. It's our motherhood. It's our story too.
And when we lose sight of that, when we make it all about them and none of it about us, we start to believe that someone else has to decide when we're worthy of acknowledgement. We hand over our worth unknowingly, hoping that someone else will reflect it back to us. We wait for that thank you, that word of kindness, as if those things are the proof that we've done this right.
As if someone else's recognition is the final stamp of approval that says, yes, you are a good mom. You matter. You are enough.
But what happens when that thank you doesn't come? Does that mean you're not worthy? Of course it doesn't. But it can feel that way. Because we've given the power of acknowledgement to everyone but ourselves.
You might forget that you are the only person who has lived every moment of your motherhood. Every heartbreak. Every triumph.
Every 3am wake up. It has always been you. And maybe that means you're the one who has to acknowledge it.
Not because others won't. Not because they shouldn't. But because they can't truly, fully understand what it's been like for you to carry this role.
This is why, as much as we might hope for it, we can't wait for someone else to celebrate us. I know it would be so nice if they did. If someone else made the brunch reservation at the right place, by the way.
It would also be so nice if our kids remembered to write a really thoughtful card. Maybe even bring a flower. We'd even be happy with a simple, you're amazing, mom.
Thank you for everything you do for me. But the truth is, reality might not live up to this hope or expectation. And not because your kid doesn't care.
Definitely not because you're not worthy. But simply because everybody else is human and distracted and they can't read your mind. Even the people who love us the most might not realize what we're hoping for.
Because often, we don't even realize what we're hoping for until it doesn't happen. And so we wait for them to get it right. For them to make us feel special.
For someone else to prove that what we do matters. But what if the only person who can really give you the appreciation you're hoping for is you? What if you didn't need someone else to tell you that you're doing a good job? What if you already knew? Because here's the thing, my friend, you're the only one who knows every detail of what you've sacrificed. How deeply you love.
You're the only one who knows how hard you've tried and how much you've grown in the process. How much you're always trying to do and be better. You're the only one who can fully understand what this role has meant to you.
So why wait? Why wait for someone else to see it and to validate it, when you could give yourself that acknowledgement right this minute? What would it look like this Mother's Day to simply say to yourself, thank you for showing up, for loving as hard as you do, for being the kind of mom who always does her best and tries again and again and again to do the best and be the best you can be? Because here's the truth, you don't need someone else's permission to feel proud of your love and effort. And you don't need a holiday to feel celebrated. You get to give that to yourself, not just on Mother's Day, but every single day of the year.
So how do you do this if you're not waiting for the card or the brunch or the words we wish someone would say? What do you do instead? You begin by turning inward. This isn't about creating some perfect new gratitude ritual, simply about self-awareness and self-reflection. Ask yourself, what have I made possible for my family just by being who I am? Think of every single member of your family and recognize how you have supported them tirelessly.
How you've given parts of yourself so freely, so instinctively, that even you forget to honor that effort and intention. But this isn't about creating a list to prove your worth to anyone else. This isn't a resume you're creating.
You don't need to justify your value. This is about you seeing yourself, really seeing yourself, so you don't forget who you are in this story you've been so busy holding together. This isn't about asking to be celebrated or about letting go of how other people should celebrate you.
This is about choosing to honor yourself, not for what you've done, but for who you've been all along. When you see yourself clearly, when you allow yourself to feel proud and feel honored, to feel love for the way you've shown up, even when that looks like a hot mess sometimes, because I know it does for me as well, when you're able to do this with such love and self-awareness, something shifts. It's not that you'll never want or hope for that thank you or acknowledgement again.
Of course you will. We all do. But the difference is, you won't need those thank yous to know you're enough, that you are already worthy.
Believe me, my friend, I spent a long time waiting to feel appreciated. There were plenty of Mother's Days that left me feeling disappointed. I've reminded my boys to say thank you more times than I can count and have tried, really tried, to manage my own expectations and to let go of the hope that someone else would get it right.
But even that didn't always work. What I eventually realized is that I am the only one who can truly create the feeling of appreciation for myself. Other people can say kind words, they can do thoughtful things, and they might even be trying their best.
But what I've learned is that even when they do show up, I can still feel let down because of the story I'm telling myself, that it's not enough. And when I believe it's not enough, it starts to feel like I'm not enough, like I'm not really appreciated, even when maybe I am. And that's the part we miss.
Feeling appreciated doesn't come from what someone else does or says. It comes from what we believe about ourselves. You know, I keep thinking about that quote from Spider-Man, with great power comes great responsibility, and how this encapsulates motherhood.
It doesn't come with a cape or a theme song, but it holds the power to shape lives, to be the steady, invisible force that makes everything work. And with that power has come great responsibility, the kind that doesn't always come with a thank you. My friend, you don't need a cape to be a hero, and you don't need someone else to throw you a parade, to know you've done something extraordinary by being a mom.
So my invitation to you this Mother's Day is to stop waiting for someone else to tell you that you are worthy, that you are always trying your best. And this effort is beautiful. And that is enough.
So let this be the year you stop waiting to be celebrated, and start honoring yourself for who you've become, for who you are always striving to be. Happy Mother's Day, my friend. I want you to know that I see you, and I celebrate you, and I am deeply grateful for you being on this journey with me.
Knowing you're out there, listening week after week, reminds me of the power we have, not just to support each other, but to finally recognize ourselves. So let this be your reminder. You don't need anyone else's permission to feel what you really want to feel.
Take this power back for yourself. You deserve it. Until next time, my friend.
If you enjoyed this podcast, please leave a review. And check out our coaching program, Mom 2.0, at www.thesmalljar.com. You have more power than you think, my friend.
