Dear Friends:

There’s something sacred about a room (or group chat) full of mothers in different seasons of life. Some of you are in the trenches—diapers, bottles, and wondering if sleep is a myth invented by people without children. Some of you are professional chauffeurs, racing between practice, performances, and parent-teacher conferences like you deserve sponsorship and a trophy. Some of you are standing at the edge of a new chapter, watching your babies pack up their lives into dorm rooms.

And then there’s me.

I’m in the quiet. The “Did we leave a kid somewhere?” silence. The empty nester phase. And I’m going to say something that might sound a little wild depending on where you’re standing: this season is beautiful.

Not perfect. Not magically free of emotion. But beautiful.

Because somewhere between the chaos we swore would never end and the quiet we thought we’d never reach… we changed.

Psychology actually backs this up. There’s a concept called “role transition,” where your identity shifts as your responsibilities evolve. For years, motherhood is all-consuming—it’s not just what you do, it’s who you are. Then one day, without much warning, the role loosens its grip. That can feel disorienting… or it can feel like rediscovery. The healthiest transitions happen when we don’t cling to who we were, but allow ourselves to expand into who we’re becoming.

In other words: you’re not losing something, you’re unfolding something.

For me, it looks like this: my husband and I are dating again. And let me tell you, dating your spouse after years of “Did you sign that permission slip?” conversations is a whole different experience. We go to dinners where the food is hot when it arrives—and stays hot because no one is asking for ketchup, a refill, or your entire plate. We have lazy mornings with coffee on the porch that doesn’t get reheated three times. And some mornings? We stay in bed a little longer, playing footsy under the covers, laughing like we’ve got nowhere to be—because for once, we don’t. No one is yelling “Mom!” through the door like it’s an emergency hotline.

It’s slower. Softer. Intentional.

And yes, slightly selfish. In the best possible way.

But let’s be honest for a second, because I remember exactly what it felt like to be in the middle of it all. When someone told me “enjoy every moment,” I wanted to lovingly hand them a teething baby and a toddler who just discovered markers on walls and say, “You go first.”

So, here’s the real advice, woman to woman:

Don’t try to love every moment. That’s unrealistic and honestly a little insulting to your sanity. Instead, stay connected to your life while you’re living it. Even in the chaos, there are flashes—tiny, inconveniently timed, blink-and-you-miss-it moments—where you feel it. Joy. Pride. Even laughter in the middle of madness.

Catch those. That’s the good stuff.

And when you can’t catch it? When the house is loud, your patience is gone, and your hormones are acting like they’re starring in their own dramatic series? Give yourself grace. You’re not failing—you’re human.

Speaking of hormones… can we talk about the real MVP (or villain) of motherhood?

Because no one warned us that one day you’d cry because your favorite mug broke… and the next day you’d be ready to fight someone for breathing too loud. And then five minutes later you’re fine, folding laundry like nothing happened. Ma’am. What is this emotional rollercoaster and why didn’t we get a seatbelt?

Lesson learned #1: Never trust a feeling that arrives before coffee.

Lesson learned #2: If you hide in the bathroom for five minutes of peace, you are not a bad mother. You are a strategic one.

Lesson learned #3: “What’s for dinner?” is a question that somehow feels like a personal attack after 15+ years. (but the kiddos are just hungry)

Lesson learned #4: One day you will miss the noise… but not today. Today you are allowed to enjoy the quiet without guilt.

And for those stepping into this next chapter—whether it’s an empty nest or even a new beginning after divorce—hear this: your life is not shrinking. It’s opening.

You get to rediscover what you like. What you want. Who you are outside of being needed every second of the day. That’s not loss—that’s growth. And growth can feel uncomfortable before it feels freeing.

Scripture reminds us of this in a way only truth can:
Ecclesiastes 3:1 (NIV)

“There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens.”

Every stage you are in right now has purpose. The sleepless nights. The overbooked schedules. The quiet mornings. The redefining. None of it is wasted.

So, wherever you are—deep in the chaos, running the marathon, or sitting in the stillness—embrace it. Not perfectly. Not pressure-filled. Just honestly.

Laugh when you can. Cry when you need to. And for the love of all things holy, drink your coffee while it’s still hot when you get the chance.

Because life? It really is as beautiful as you allow it to be.

And if today that beauty looks like five minutes alone in your car before walking into the house…

I see you. And I support you.

From Your Friend, it’s me Lorie