Cautiously, I cracked open my daughter’s bedroom door.
“Hey, Ma,” Lina said as she stuffed her clothes — sweaters, tight jeans and size two skirts — into the largest suitcases we owned.
“Hello, beautiful daughter of mine,” I said. My eyes were watery, but I was not crying. Not yet.
Lina grabbed an armload of scarves she’d knitted and some bulky sweaters and hats she would wear while walking briskly in the New York air with her boyfriend, Lawrence. I stood in her bedroom doorway in our Los Angeles home, trying to imagine her clear, high-pitched laugh — the sound of a young woman in love — ringing throughout streets on the other side of the country. Her sweaters and scarves, along with her socks and underwear and mittens, would transfer to a dresser drawer in her boyfriend’s apartment in Brooklyn. There, she would nurture dreams of marrying him, her high school sweetheart.
But what about me? The single mother who’d raised, washed and kept her for 18 years, then a few more after college. I wanted to whine: Why do you have to move there? Can’t you just visit? It’s going to be expensive and hard. What if you guys break up?
But I didn’t say any of this.
“You gonna leave me one of those?” I smirked, nodding at the scarves.
She sniffed the thick yellow one, shrugged and tossed it to me: “Here you go.”
She’s really moving out this time, I thought. My best friend was really leaving me for good — not just going away to college. An involuntary whimper caught in my throat, loosening the pain plastered against my ribs. To lighten the moment, I told a lame joke. And then, pressing down any other sounds that could be construed as sorrow, I backed out of her room to let her return to the work of drawing a clean line between mother and daughter, between parent and child, between childhood and womanhood. She was pulling herself from my woven tapestry in order to make her own. I could hear her spinning it as she hummed.
I closed the door and made my way to my own room. But what about me? This question continued to echo in my mind even as I showered and got ready for bed.
How many parents secretly nurse this question even as they contemplate what should be done with the vacant room in their house? I slept curled in an anxious ball for days. When my daughter’s room was empty and she was gone, a hole the size of the moon ballooned in my chest.
What I would have given to be rocked like a child myself in those difficult and lonely moments! While most parents will feel this sense of loss when their child leaves home, making sure to nurture yourself and your own dreams and interests while your kids are still young will make their leaving much less painful.
What makes you feel good?
Parents, especially mothers, spend nearly every waking moment giving their time, attention, money and energy to their children, their spouses, neighbors and aging parents. Despite our social strides and gains, even women in marriages still disproportionately do the majority of the housework, caregiving and financial planning in their households.
That was my life until recently.
Wandering aimlessly around Lina’s room, my sadness bloomed. In a second marriage on its last legs, recently appointed interim chair of my department and now, with the rites of passage that nearly every parent experiences — the child leaving home — it was time for me to learn to look after numero uno.
Since my then-husband refused to go to therapy anymore, I decided to go alone. I had to find someone who could listen without judgment and without any expectation other than to help me process the tornado of emotions I was experiencing all at once.
“What makes you feel good?” my therapist asked, leaning back in her squeaky chair at the end of our third session and my verbal outpouring.
I blinked. When was the last time someone had asked me this? A year? Two? My daughter was living her life in New York and my unresponsive husband felt like a 300-pound weight around my neck. My hectic job was my only refuge, which was to say, it wasn’t really a refuge at all.
When I got home that evening, I made a list:
1. Walk at the beach three to five times a week.
2. Finish reading a book a month.
3. Dance and laugh anytime I want.
4. Get a massage once a month.
5. Spend time with friends and family.
6. Research getting a divorce.
Movement. Stimulation. Touch. Embracing a notion of liberation over emptiness. These were my medicines. My only child had finally flown the coop, and after six years of doing thankless work in the marriage, I refused to continue parenting my grown, unambitious husband.
Many women continue to absorb a long-outdated societal message that we must look after our partners at the expense of ourselves, as if we can’t feel good about an action or an accomplishment until said partner feels good first. Similarly, we’ve learned to “mother” even those who aren’t our children — our friends, adult family members, siblings, our students, co-workers and even our parents as they age. But who is seeing after us?
Yes, we sometimes receive our “thank you’s” and flowers on Mother’s Day and birthdays, but some real appreciation for our unpaid labor is long overdue.
Putting self-care language into gear
Thanks to social media, we’ve entered into a new era of self-care language, yet in action, why is it still so hard for us to remember these practices while nurturing others? Our lives have gotten even busier, technology has made our children secretive and rebellious and the political climate in our country is traumatizing us in ripples.
As a professor, writer, mother, grandmother and now caregiver for my elderly parents, I’ve learned that it’s up to me — us — to balance our natural inclination to mother others with our own needs and desires. And you don’t have to wait until your nest is empty! Your children will benefit from witnessing you prioritize you — at least some of the time.
After my divorce and adjustment to a childless home, every few months I follow the advice of my therapist and ask myself, “What makes me feel good?” Then, I return to my list and revise it when necessary. Movement, stimulation, touch, friendship, peace of mind and reciprocal companionships are always at the top of my list.
So, take a moment to sit down and listen to yourself — your innermost self — as you devise your special list. One thing that I always forget to put on mine is, “Ask for help.” I believe that as we ask for more help, our children, friends, partners and extended community will rise to meet our needs.
Because here’s the truth: We can’t pour from an empty cup. In a world that constantly pulls us in every direction, learning to parent yourself isn’t just self-care; it’s survival.
Author of “The Lost Songs of Nina Simone” and “Black Indian,” Shonda Buchanan is also an associate professor of English, creative writing and professional development at Western Michigan University and fiction faculty in Alma College’s MFA program in creative writing. Visit shondabuchanan.com.
