You spend two decades making sure they’re happy —
And then, suddenly, you’re supposed to hand the reins over to a city and a roommate and a meal plan?

Cool, cool, cool.
No emotional whiplash at all.

This weekend in New York, I hugged my daughter… the big kind of hug that tries (and fails) not to say I miss you every day. And then I watched her walk confidently into her new life — one she built without me choosing a single extracurricular.

We shopped. We met other parents. We had a fabulous dinner, I’ll be posting about soon (because a woman can love her kid and love a perfectly charred branzino). We did all the typical Parent Weekend things.

But the part that mattered most?

I got to celebrate her happiness — not because she owes me updates or validation — but because she’s building something extraordinary here.

And I was able to feel that joy fully because I’m building my own life too.

That’s the part no one warns you about.
How much work it takes to stop placing the weight of your emotions on your children.
How unnatural it feels to say, “Go live,” and actually mean it.

For 23 years, they were our entire world.
The center of every decision, every schedule, every sacrifice.

Now?
I’m learning how to be the center of mine again.

Not in a dramatic “Eat, Pray, Love” way (yet… never say never).
But in the everyday ways: creating, laughing, rediscovering friendships, dressing up just because, building something new.

Joy can come from them — of course it can.
But joy shouldn’t depend on them.

This weekend, I walked through the city alongside my daughter… not leading, not catching — just walking next to her. Proud of her independence. Proud of mine too.

Here’s to parent weekends that feel less like a reunion…
and more like a celebration of two people growing in parallel.

Different adventures.
Same team. 💜