Letting Go, Holding On: The Emotional Rollercoaster of College Send-Offs

It’s been a week since my daughter moved into her home away from home.

The first day she was gone, I thought I was doing ok—keeping myself busy, distracted, moving through the day until a song came on in the middle of the store and stopped me in my tracks. The kind that doesn’t just play in the background, but wraps itself around your heart. The lyrics spoke of missing someone who should be here, and without warning, my eyes filled with tears. At that moment, I wasn’t thinking about groceries anymore and I did what anyone would do-I left my half filled cart in the middle of the store and booked it to my car  before the floodgates really opened. 😭

I couldn't help but think about her growing up, through the years...18 years of snapshots and memory reels. In that moment it really hit me—she’s really gone. Not forever, but gone from the rhythm of my every day.

How all her shoes won't be scattered by the door.

How the house feels too quiet without her laughter and sass.

How I won't go into my closet and find my clothes missing because she wore them but forgot to put them back.

How my bathroom no longer smells faintly of my perfume—the one she always calls, "Mom's signature scent”—because she isn’t here to sneak a spritz before heading out.

If you’ve sent a child off to college, or kindergarten, or watched them drive away to start a new chapter, you know this feeling. You prepare for it, you brace yourself, but still, something small and unexpected can catch you completely off guard.

We tell ourselves we’re ready. We’ve done this before. But the truth? Each goodbye feels different. Each absence leaves its own shape of quiet in the house.

Don’t get me wrong—I’m proud. I’m excited for who she’s becoming and where she’s headed. But pride and joy can sit right alongside a deep, aching missing.

Parenting is this constant dance between holding on and letting go. We never quite master the steps.

So if you find yourself blinking back tears in the middle of the grocery store, or lingering over a toothbrush left behind, know this: you’re not weak, you’re not silly, and you’re definitely not alone.

Love doesn’t shrink when they grow—it stretches. It changes shape. It aches in new ways.

To all the moms letting go this season: you are doing beautifully. Even when it hurts.

We’re in this together—with grace, grit, and a whole lot of love.

xoxo,