My Son Turns 18 in July, and I Didn't See These Feelings Coming

Hi, lovelies. Our Teen Time column has been bringing in lots of questions lately, some of them pretty personal. Our reader Mirjam wrote to me too and asked whether my oldest turning 18 is hitting me as hard emotionally as it's hitting her.

I told her that right now, my oldest wrapping up school hits me much harder. Only two of my three kids need to be woken up and called to breakfast now, and that changes the rhythm of our days so visibly. And now there's almost always a kid at home in the morning again while I work from home.

But then I immediately asked her, since the upcoming 18th birthday is moving her so much, whether she'd write a guest post about it herself. And she said YES <3 Here's her touching story.

Turning 18: A Pile of Mixed-Up Feelings

Turning 10 fascinated me, because it made me realize I'd already been a mom for a whole decade. Fourteen made me a little queasy, because I remembered that was the moment when I started turning more toward the outside world myself. Eighteen, for my firstborn, is a pile of mixed-up feelings, like the unsorted mountain of laundry waiting for me on the floor of a teenager's room. The kind of pile where it makes sense to look closely and sort it out, so the light things don't turn gray.

It's a bit like the end of the daycare or elementary school years. Like a pants button that's under strain. So much strain that the buttonhole is stretched wide, the fabric around it pulled into wrinkles, one side of the button digging into your belly, and a few threads already snapped. At the end of July, at midnight, it will pop open. That makes room to breathe in deeeeeep, all the way into your belly, and, on the exhale, to let go of many of the things that have been with us for the past 18 years.

For me, that means trusting that the thrill of riding backward down the halfpipe has worn off, because he's already learned that a broken jaw, with an illness that followed, can drag on for nine months and really limit you.

It means hoping he knows it's important to check the street for cars even when he's out with friends and his attention is more on looking cool. The guardian angel who made sure that a collision between his bike and a car, with no helmet, ended in nothing worse than dented metal and a gash on his chin won't always be on duty.

And it means hoping that the next time he drinks too much on an empty stomach and stops responding, there will be people nearby who call an ambulance.

And hoping that no huge testosterone surge hits him in a car of his own someday, one with bigger consequences than what he's already been through.

The Fulfillment I've Known Is Slowly Trickling Away

On top of that, the fulfillment I've known is slowly trickling away. Ever since I was 11 years old, my focus has been on having kids. I never lost sight of my plan of finishing school, then vocational training, then getting pregnant, and I was able to make it happen, with a bit of delay.

This child made my absolute dream come true: he made me a mom, heart and soul. Pregnancy and birth were a blessing. I went back to work part-time after eight weeks, and my parents took care of him during that time. I still exclusively breastfed for six months and enjoyed every free minute with him. I felt fulfilled, content, and like I was exactly where I belonged.

I remember feeling very uneasy when he was about a year and a half old, because I'd said one sentence louder and more firmly than necessary. Other people also kept noticing, with surprise, that I could predict his reactions in so many situations. Homeopathy worked incredibly well for him, because I could name and describe his traits, preferences, and character better than my own.

Before his brother arrived, almost three years after him, he sent the whole family into a huge state of shock with a seizure that left him apathetic. Against medical advice, we decided against epilepsy medication. I'm still amazed at how steady I was in that decision, even though I had to wait over three years for confirmation that it was the right path.

Parenting Separately Since the Toddler Years

Then things got more turbulent. We separated when my first child was four and my second was 16 months old. We worked it out well. Of course it was exhausting despite huge support from family and friends, but I was fulfilled and content. The tightly scheduled days kept me focused. The day had structure, and by 8 p.m. both kids were in bed, with me sitting with them until they fell asleep.

When I wanted to get out, there was always a family member who could babysit. Even before kids, my free-time habits weren't the kind that couldn't be combined with parenthood. We spent a lot of time sitting together at home instead of going out in the evening or to clubs. We took trips to kid-friendly places, visited other families, got creative, browsed cute little shops, baked, cooked, took the occasional weekend in a big city or at a spa, vacations in the Netherlands … Trips to a big city for just the two of us, my boyfriend and me, were possible too.

The pandemic was mostly restful for me. During the first lockdown, we got to spend four months at our second home. I didn't have to figure out what was right and wrong. We grew together in a different way, and the first steps toward pulling away got pushed back or happened only very slowly.

Parenting and Being There, Even When They Weren't

After that, things moved fast. Being able to switch off at 8 p.m. with the day's tasks done (even if it was just while doing the dishes, when I could simply concentrate on my own stuff) was history. Even when they were in their rooms, I heard voices, wanted to confiscate phones, wondered how much responsibility makes sense, and argued endlessly about what time phones get turned in at night. Sometimes I argued until it was my bedtime too, and my head still couldn't really settle down.

Or I'd think about how late a curfew should be, and how much it messes with ME that I can't settle down until everyone's home … how much I want to control and influence what happens at school, and what's probably necessary there, where it makes sense in the teen years to let them handle some things on their own, and where there are clear rules (eating together, family time, earning your own money, screen time).

Now My Firstborn Is Becoming a Legal Adult

In all of this thinking, I never took the legal rules as my starting point. With 18, it's somehow different. Basically nothing will change, except the feeling. The relief of that button popping open is there in a lot of ways, on both sides. But so is the wistfulness that 80% of our time together is already behind us, time that fulfilled me so much and that was my purpose in life.

With my kids in their teens, a huge pool of possibilities opens up for me that I could use every day, because I'm interested in a lot of things. Basically, tending my nest and flying out now and then is totally my thing. But I only need the flying out in moderation to be content.

Right now, for example, I might be home for five hours and nobody needs anything from me. Even when I ask, nobody's hungry, and cooking would make sense exactly when I'm leaving the apartment. They won't starve, and I'd enjoy making them something. I just don't want to put off leaving, or come home in between to prepare something. It's not that I wouldn't know what to do with myself, but my kids still have my highest priority, and our time together is limited.

About 90% of my oldest's behavior mirrors mine. That makes our bond tighter, but it also makes me wish harder that he has the advantage of a male brain, which, despite a million more influences, puts his head into clearer lines than mine and makes things easier for him 😉 With 18, it will probably get even less structured, and there will be even less contact. That's all sensible and good. I'm sure that I/we were able to give him plenty that makes a good foundation.

So Much Gratitude When I Look at Him

When I look at him, I'm incredibly grateful for everything we've experienced together. I'm grateful that during the intense years, I put my kids absolutely first. For example, I only took jobs with little responsibility, and I got to model that value with little money and a whole lot of love.

I admire his ability to name his feelings and communicate them. I find his openness to mindful relaxation methods very valuable (even if his willingness to use them only has a few slots right now). I feel confident that in his safe surroundings so far, he's gathered so many experiences that at the right moment his head will win out over the rush of the moment. At other times, though, I wish he'd trust his heart and gut more.

I'm glad that in some areas he has clear ideas and is ready to open other people's eyes. I hope that I (we) can keep being his safe harbor, no strings attached, and that as the pressure eases, his urge to please me turns into simply feeling cozy and connected.

Still, I never would have believed that a process I've never questioned, and that I find absolutely natural, healthy, and valuable, would challenge me this much to live through and work through.