THE INVISIBLE WORK OF PARENTING TEENS AND ADULT KIDS—AND WHY MOTHER’S DAY FEELS SO HARD | EP. 251
Welcome to the Almost Empty Nest Podcast, where we moms of teens and college kids reframe what letting go really means to feel more connected, confident, and at peace. I'm your host, Master Coach Jennifer Collins.
If you've ever found yourself lying awake at night wondering if you're getting it right as a mom, or feeling like you're carrying so much that no one else can see, this episode is for you. Because the hardest part of parenting teens and adult kids isn't actually what we're physically doing.
It's the emotional weight that we're carrying, the constant letting go, and the pressure we put on ourselves to get it all right. In this episode, I'm going to show you why the stage of motherhood feels so heavy, and what's actually driving that quiet overthinking, self-doubt, and exhaustion, so you can start to feel more grounded, more confident, and a little less alone in the way you're showing up as a mom. Let's dive in.
Hello, my friend. It's Mother's Day weekend, and it's funny because just a few weeks ago, I was talking to my son, and I don't even know how it came up. It wasn't necessarily even in the context of Mother's Day, but somehow we ended up talking about one particular Mother's Day where we ended up having brunch at a bar.
Like, an actual bar. We found ourselves eating breakfast off of a sticky bar in a smelly taproom because we couldn't find anywhere else to go. And my son, now 19 years old, said that it was the best brunch he has ever had.
And my friend, for a really long time, I remembered that day so differently. My boys were pretty young at the time. I want to say later in elementary school.
And by then, I'd already been burned by Mother's Day more than once. And what I mean by that is I'd gotten my hopes up. I had this idea of what Mother's Day was supposed to feel like, that it would be a day where I was celebrated, that maybe I'd get a little bit of a break, maybe that things would feel special.
And what I found, year after year, especially when my kids were little, was that Mother's Day felt a lot like any other day, just with a little more disappointment layered on top. And that's not to say that my boys or even my husband didn't do nice things for me. They did.
And the school always sent home those sweet Mother's Day projects and cards. And there were some years where the boys actually picked out flowers at the school plant sale, which, by the way, is always strategically planned right before Mother's Day by some very smart moms. So it's not that nothing happened.
It's just that it never quite felt the way I wanted it to feel. So by this particular year, I decided, okay, if I want a Mother's Day that feels the way I want it to feel, I'm just going to plan it myself. I told myself, if you want the brunch, if you want to get dressed up with your boys, then you create it.
So I made a reservation for my own Mother's Day at what I thought was a really nice place. And I got the boys dressed up. And if you've ever tried to get young boys dressed up, you know that alone is a whole situation.
The arguments over colored shirts in our house were endless. But we made it happen. And then we got to this brunch place, and there was not a single other person in this restaurant.
It was almost like they didn't even know they were open. We sat down, and we looked at the menu, and it was one of those prefix menus with not a single thing any of us wanted. It wasn't even a brunch menu.
And it was way too fancy for the boys. And if I'm honest, it didn't even have anything I particularly wanted either. Plus, the place was empty.
And despite us being the only ones in the restaurant, the service was slow. Needless to say, the boys were complaining. And I could just feel myself getting more and more annoyed.
And finally, I said, you want to know what? Forget it. We're leaving. So we get back in the car on Mother's Day, trying to find somewhere else to eat, which, as you can imagine, is basically impossible.
Even here in New Jersey, where diners are literally everywhere, we couldn't find one without a line out the door. So we drove around for a while, everyone getting hungrier and grumpier. And I'm getting to the point where I'm just ready to give up.
Let's just go home. But then my husband sees a sign for a place advertising Mother's Day brunch. And the place looked a little sketchy on the outside.
But also, we had no other options. So we went in. And when I tell you, it felt like walking into a college bar the morning after a long night.
That's exactly what it was. It smelled like 10-day-old beer. And there, laid out on the sticky bar, was this buffet.
Greasy eggs and bacon and sausage. It all looked like food that'd been sitting out there for a really long time. And I remember thinking, seriously? This is what I get for Mother's Day? And meanwhile, my boys were thrilled.
My husband was too. All three of them were in heaven. And to this day, they all remember that as their favorite Mother's Day.
And for a really long time, I remembered it as the worst. On the one hand, nothing was actually wrong. We were together, we'd found food, and everyone was happy.
Except me. It just felt so disappointing. And I think Mother's Day has this way of doing that.
It sets us up to feel disappointed. Because if we're really honest, there's a part of us that wants this day to feel different. And we're not necessarily asking for a lot.
But we want it to feel meaningful. More than anything, we want to feel seen and appreciated. We want someone, our kids, maybe our partner, to take a moment to say, I see everything you do for me.
Sometimes we even plan the day for ourselves. Sometimes we tell them exactly what we want. Other times, we just hope.
But then when things don't go the way we imagined they would, it can feel really disappointing. Because it didn't feel the way we wanted it to feel. And I think this becomes even more layered as our kids get older.
Because on the one hand, I think we can start to lower our expectations in these messy teen and adult kid years. We see them caught up in their lives. And we tell ourselves not to expect too much.
But we still have a bit of hope that maybe they'll write a card. Or they'll call home. That they'll do something small that shows us that they get it.
And when even that doesn't happen, it hurts. And the worst part is that we often feel like we can't say anything. Maybe in part because we don't want to have to ask to be appreciated.
Or we worry that if we lay it on too much that it'll just create more distance with our kids. So instead, we carry the disappointment inside of us like a heavy weight. Add insult to injury, we see all those posts online.
Those Mother's Day brunches everyone else seems to be having. The photos of those smiling families. And even if you're the most grounded, self-aware person, it's hard not to feel something when you see that.
Especially when your experience doesn't quite match it. And my friend, if any of this resonates with you, I want you to know there is nothing wrong with you. You're not expecting too much.
You are a mom who has poured an incredible amount of heart and time and energy and soul into this role. But there's more that's actually going on underneath all of this. It's not just about the brunch.
Or the flowers. Or the cards. Or the phone call.
What we're really craving is to be seen for everything we carry. Because the truth is, motherhood, especially at this stage when we're parenting teens or stepping into the empty nest, it requires an incredible amount of work that no one can really see. I mean, we're still doing things that are visible.
We're stocking the fridge and making the meals, calling to check in. We make sure everyone has what they need. But the deeper work of motherhood is almost entirely invisible.
And I think that's the part that makes days like Mother's Day feel so emotional. Because what we want is for someone to recognize not just what we do, but what we hold. The mental load.
And the emotional weight we carry. Even when our kids aren't right in front of us. Until you become a mother, you can't fully appreciate what it feels like to have your mind and your heart so deeply connected to another human being.
And especially now when our kids are older and more independent, when they need us less in visible ways, that invisible work doesn't go away. If anything, it gets bigger, but quieter. It's more internal and less obvious.
And so we carry all of that into Mother's Day. We carry our love and our effort, our worry and constant effort to adjust. And we just want someone to look at us and say, I see how much you carry, mom.
Thank you. There are a few different ways that we carry this invisible labor as moms. And these are things that take up an incredible amount of mental and emotional energy, even if we're not always fully conscious of it.
The first is the emotional labor we carry for our kids. And what I mean by that is that we are the ones who worry. We're the ones who are constantly thinking about them, constantly checking in, whether we're doing that out loud or whether it's just happening in our own minds.
I've described it before as almost like a bat sending out sonar. We're constantly pinging for information. We're watching and listening.
We're paying attention to their tone and their moods, their behavior. We're looking for signs that they're OK. And this is happening all of the time, even when we're not with them, even when they're not talking to us, or even when they're away at school or living somewhere else.
And I still do this with my boys. I find myself thinking about them throughout the day. I'm thinking about how they're doing in the middle of finals.
I'm thinking about whether they've gotten everything done that they need to do before the summer. I'm wondering how things are going in their relationships. I'm wondering if I should call them, if it would be a good time.
I'm wondering if they're wondering why I haven't called. There is so much mental energy that goes into this. And so often moms will come to me and say, I just overthink everything.
But when you really look at it, this is a huge part of what's driving that. We're constantly engaged in this emotional monitoring of our kids because we care so much about their well-being. We just want them to be okay.
And we feel responsible at some level for their happiness and their safety. And the interesting thing is that so much of this is completely invisible because we've also learned that we don't want to be annoying. We don't want to be overbearing with our kids.
So we hold ourselves back from reaching out as often as we might want to. And we don't say everything that's on our mind, which means our kids don't even see the half of how much we're thinking about them and caring about them and checking in on them internally. The second major category of invisible labor is the work of letting go.
And this is something that we have been practicing from the very beginning. You practiced letting go when your child learned to walk. You had to release your grip so they could build the strength and stability to take those first steps.
You practiced letting go when you dropped them off at childcare or preschool for the first time. You practiced letting go the first time you left them with a babysitter. The first time they went to a friend's house alone.
And over time, that letting go has evolved. Now we're letting go of knowing where they are at all times. We're letting go of telling them what to do and having them actually do it.
We're letting go of managing their schoolwork, of knowing everything that's going on in their lives. And at this stage for me as an empty nester, I've let go of being with my boys every day. And there are weeks that go by that I don't even hear their voice.
We're letting go of being able to guarantee that our kids are going to make the right choices. We let go of guaranteeing that they're going to be successful. We have to let go of protecting them from every possible mistake or outcome.
And what makes this so challenging is that this is not a one-time decision. This is a constant evaluation. We are constantly asking ourselves, whether consciously or not, is this a moment where I need to hold on or do I need to let go? What does my child need from me right now? And how does that line up or not with what I feel comfortable allowing? My friend, there isn't a right answer.
Every child is different. Every situation is different. Our values are different.
Our tolerance for risk is different. And what we want for our kids might be different. And so we're constantly navigating this tension between two very powerful desires.
The desire to protect our child and the desire to empower them to become independent. And there are so many moments where those two desires are in direct conflict with each other in a way that feels incredibly uncomfortable. And this is another place where that overthinking can come in.
Because getting it wrong feels like such a high stakes consequence. It feels like if we let go too much, we're failing to protect them. And if we hold on too tightly, we're limiting their growth.
So we're constantly in this mental back and forth, trying to find the right balance. And again, so much of this is happening internally, inside us. This labor is invisible.
The conversations we do have and the boundaries we set, the moments where we do step in, those are just a tiny fraction of the amount of time we're spending in our own minds thinking about these decisions. So I've talked about the emotional monitoring that's invisible. And I've also talked about the work of letting go.
The third way we carry this invisible labor is in the way we're constantly reinventing ourselves as moms. If you think about it, who you were as a mom when you were pregnant is different from who you were when your child was an infant, and then a toddler, then a child in elementary school, then middle school, then high school, and now maybe a college student or an adult child. We as moms are constantly in transition.
The version of you that your child needs is always evolving. And so you are constantly being asked to evolve alongside of them. And a lot of this isn't even conscious, but you feel it.
You feel it in the moments where something isn't working the way it used to, and you realize you need to shift. You feel it in the frustration of not knowing exactly how to respond in a new situation. You feel it in those moments where you're asking yourself, what do I do here? I don't know what the right answer is.
We're constantly reading the room, constantly adjusting and trying to become the version of ourselves that our child needs in that moment. Are we the mom who's checking in and asking questions, trying to get them to open up? Or are we the mom who takes a step back and gives them space? Are we the mom who just handles everything because it's easier? Or are we the mom who starts asking for help or starts setting boundaries? So when you really step back and look at it, motherhood requires an incredible amount of emotional and mental heavy lifting, and so much of that work is invisible. It's not something that can be easily seen or measured or even fully understood from the outside.
And think about how heavy all of this is. The emotional labor, the constant letting go, the ongoing reinvention of who you are as a mom. It makes so much sense that we would carry all of that into a day like Mother's Day.
Because whether or not we say it out loud, what we want is to be seen for the depth of what it means to love our kids the way we do. We want someone to understand even just a little bit the magnitude of what this role actually requires. Because if you really think about it, in your own mind, your role as a mom isn't just about the tasks you do for your big kid.
It's about being the person who would do anything for your child. It's about being the person who would drop anything and drive hours if they needed you. It's about being the one who lies awake at night thinking about how to support them better, how to protect them, how to help them be happy and successful in their life.
That is how we experience motherhood. We carry all of that in how we define what it means to be a mom. And so, of course, there's a part of us that would love for that to be recognized and celebrated.
To have our kids look at us and really see not just what we do for them, but what we carry for them. At the same time, I want to offer something that might feel a little uncomfortable, but also maybe a little freeing. I don't think our kids can fully see it.
And that's not because they don't love us or even that they don't appreciate us, but because they haven't lived it. There is no way to fully understand what this feels like unless you yourself are in it. Until you're the one carrying that emotional labor.
Until you're the one balancing that tension between holding on and letting go. Until you're the one navigating how to reinvent yourself over and over and over again as your child grows up. It's just not something that anyone can fully understand from the outside.
And when you really let that sink in, it's actually freeing. Because instead of waiting for someone else to fully see and acknowledge all of it, we can start to consider what it would look like to simply see it for ourselves. Because if we're waiting for our kids to fully see and understand the depth of what we carry, we might be waiting for something that they're just not capable of giving us right now.
And again, that's not because they don't love us, but because they're in the middle of becoming themselves. Their job right now is to be focused on their own lives and their own growth. And in many ways, the very work we've done as moms, the letting go and the encouraging independence, the supporting them and becoming who they are, all of this emotional labor is exactly what allows them to be a little less focused on us.
And that can feel hard. Because it can feel like the more we've poured into them, the less visible we become. But what if, instead of making that mean something has gone wrong, we allowed it to be exactly what it is, a natural part of this stage of motherhood? But then, with this acceptance, is an invitation to ask yourself, what would it look like for me to see myself? What would it look like for me to acknowledge the full scope of what I carry every single day as a mom? Not just the things I check off a list, but the emotional labor, the constant decision making, the way I'm always thinking about my kids, always considering what they need, trying to show up in a way that supports them in the best way that I can.
What would it look like to actually give yourself credit for that? Because if you're anything like many of the moms I work with, what you're much more practiced at doing is focusing on where you're falling short. You're noticing the moments where you've lost your patience, the times you said something you wish you hadn't, those decisions that you're second guessing, and the ways you think you should be doing it differently or better. And all of that becomes so loud that it drowns out everything else.
It drowns out the love and the constant effort and intention you put into this role. So maybe, on a weekend like this, the most meaningful shift you can make is to stop waiting for something different from your kids and start giving something different to yourself. Maybe it's in putting down, even just for a moment, that constant self-evaluation and criticism, and allowing yourself to recognize everything that you do.
To recognize how much thought and energy and love you're putting into this role every single day, even when it's messy, even when it doesn't look the way you thought it would. I know how heavy this can all feel when you're carrying it alone in your own mind, when all of that emotional labor and all of that questioning, all of that trying to figure it out is happening in isolation. And what I've seen over and over again is that something shifts when you're in a space with other women who are experiencing the same thing.
When you can share yourself in someone else's story, and you can start to separate what's actually happening from the thoughts that are creating so much of your stress and self-doubt, and think of the power to have the tools to navigate all of this in a way that makes you feel more grounded and more aligned with who you want to be. This is why I created Mom 2.0, and now I'm so excited to be opening up Mom 2.0 Collective, which is a small group experience where you're not just learning these tools, but you're applying them in real time, in your real life, alongside other moms who truly understand this stage of motherhood. Because it's one thing to hear an idea on a podcast, and it's another thing to actually apply it to your day-to-day life.
In this program, you'll gain new tools and the support to empower you to navigate the decisions and emotions, the letting go, and the uncertainty of the stage of motherhood, and to do all of that in a way that helps you feel more confident, more at peace, and more connected to yourself and to your kids in this messy stage of motherhood. So if you recognize yourself in this experience, I would love to support you. Whether that's in a one-on-one setting or inside the Collective, this work is about helping you carry the emotional labor of motherhood in a way that feels so much lighter.
My friend, on this Mother's Day, I want you to know that I see you. I see how much you love your big kid and how you keep showing up even when it's hard. And for every late night, every moment of worry, every decision you make about whether to hold on or whether to let go, I celebrate you.
Happy Mother's Day, my friend.
If you enjoyed this episode, I'd love for you to check out my next free masterclass. There's a link in the show notes. You have more power than you think, my friend.
