Hide, Ride, then Hit Your Stride: a 3-Step Approach to Empty Nesting
(Note: This story was adapted from an earlier version written four years ago, in July 2019.)
Maybe you’re going through it now.
Your youngest (or only) child has just moved out of the house and your nest is empty. How’s it going? Do you cry every time you walk past their empty room? Or are you jumping for joy at your newfound freedom?
Having mixed emotions is normal. So is a time of adjustment.
It’s been six years since my husband and I transitioned to our empty nest. I recall looking forward to all the free time I would finally have. I was also terrified of all the free time I would finally have.
Would I be able to fill that time with anything worthwhile? Would my life still have meaning without the flurry of activities that surrounded the kids? I fretted that my life, like our nest, would feel empty.
Looking back, I can see that the adjustment to an empty nest happened in three stages. For me, each one was a necessary part of the process. The first two stages were a matter of survival, while the third one helped me thrive.
Before I explain these three stages, let me digress with a little biking backdrop.
On the trail.
Once our nest was empty, we filled much of our newfound free time with biking. It filled up our spare hours and was good for our health and our spirits. (In fact, when we’ve taken part in organized rides, we’ve noticed most bikers are empty-nesters and retirees. Now we fit right in!)
We spend time in Minnesota every summer where there are several lakeside and wooded bike trails we love. There are different trails, and each results in a unique experience.
The straight path.
As we ride around Lake Bemidji, the four-mile stretch through the state park is as straight as an arrow. It follows an old rail bed and provides occasional lovely views of the lake. I enjoy the peacefulness and predictability of this long, straight path.
But to be honest, the long, straight paths can get boring. There aren’t many surprises since you can see what’s ahead for miles. The monotony makes the trail seem longer than it is in reality.
The bendy trail.
By contrast, the most exciting trails are the curvy ones that wind their way through the woods. My favorite, the Migizi Trail, bends and twists through pine and birch forests. Not knowing what’s around the next curve adds to the thrill of the ride. Will I find something wild and wonderful that will take my breath away? Like a deer. A fox. A patch of wildflowers. Or a stunning sunset over the lake.
Or might danger be lurking around the bend? Like another rider on the wrong side of the path. Water across the trail. A skunk. A bear. Or a fallen tree.
And…turtles?
One frequent surprise on our Minnesota trail rides is turtles. When I stop to take a picture, they usually scurry away.
One time, I came across an overly fearful one. She pulled her head, legs, and tail into her shell and didn’t move. Frozen with fear and unwilling to face the scary person with the iPhone camera, she just sat there.
Choosing a path.
The trails and turtles are a perfect illustration of the three steps I took in transitioning to my empty nest. Perhaps you went through these steps as well, or are going through them now.
Which stage we enter, and how long we linger there, depends on our own needs, situation, hopes, and dreams. We each choose our own path.
First, we might hide.
When my last baby left home, I admit I crawled into my shell for a couple of weeks. I cried for no apparent reason. I lacked the motivation to do anything more than necessary. I didn’t want to go anywhere. Like that overwhelmed turtle, I couldn’t move.
Each of us handles emotions of loss, fear, and uncertainty on our own terms. There’s no right or wrong amount of time to grieve our losses. If hiding in your shell is right for you for a time, then that is what you should do.
But if you feel yourself becoming smaller and the shell becoming bigger, it might be time to seek help or call a friend. There are many *books and online resources that specifically address the challenges of empty nesting. Seeking help can be the first step to moving on in your journey.
Next, we get out and ride.
Riding a straight path is an improvement over “turtle-in-the-shell” mode; at least we’re moving forward. We’re finding our ruts and staying the course. There is comfort in routine, and there is nothing wrong with that. Routines create a sense of order. When our lives turn upside down overnight by the departure of our last child, keeping a sense of order is a necessary part of survival.
For me, “riding the straight path” was working at my job, tending my gardens, going to church, and cleaning my house. It included Netflix, books, and music. Whatever feels comfortable and routine to you, whether it’s work or play, keep doing it! Stay the course and move along. Riding the straight path is peaceful and predictable.
As in biking, this path can also be monotonous, offering little in the way of potential and possibility. The excitement and surprises our kids brought to our lives are missing, leaving us in a midlife rut. It might be time to aim for step three of the empty-nest transition.
Finally, we hit our stride.
If you truly want meaning and purpose during the empty nest years, then it’s time to branch out and chase your dreams. Like the curvy bike trail with surprises around every bend, maybe something wonderful awaits you! What new hobby, side hustle, career, or adventure did you put on hold while you were busy raising your kids? Now is your time!
After spending a year in our predictable patterns of life, I put on my “Brave” helmet and took a chance on myself. I had dabbled in writing before, but signing up for an online writing class was a big step outside my comfort zone. I was filled with doubts and fears, but taking that challenge has provided me with more rewards than I ever imagined.
As a couple, we also saw new possibilities in our empty nest. We explored new cities, landscapes, and other attractions by car, bike, boat, and on foot. We tackled our bucket list of dreams, checking off goals along the way.
Possibilities continued to present themselves. We prayed for guidance and protection as we rounded each bend in the road, and prepared to stop and re-route if we hit a roadblock. We often reached out to friends to help us overcome life’s hurdles.
Along that curvy path, we found unexpected events—some difficult; others joyous. I cared for and said goodbye to my parents. We became grandparents two times over. We struggled through a pandemic. We found our cabin up north. I retired from my day job and published *my first book.
Hitting our stride on this curvy, bendy trail of life brings hills and valleys, thrills and chills. But taking it all in—the quiet and smooth, the rough and risky—is all part of the ride…the empty-nest joyride!
How are you facing your empty nest? Are you hiding in your shell? Or venturing out?
Does the path you’re riding on bring you peace, comfort, and predictability? Or does it inspire you to seek fresh adventures?
Are you willing to step out in faith when you’re not sure where a winding path will lead?
Share your fears, your routines, and your dreams in the comments below!
*(This post contains affiliate links. If you go through them to make a purchase I will earn a small commission. I post these links because I value these books and not because of the commission I receive.)
(This story was originally published on 8/27/23 at lindahanstra.substack.com.)