There’s something surreal about watching your youngest kid go off to college. My heart is full of conflicting emotions. The pride I feel is overwhelming, but there’s also this undercurrent of something deeper, something more complicated to describe. It’s not sadness, but maybe a quiet realization that life keeps moving, whether you’re ready or not. In other words, where the heck did the time go? I was just in college. Wasn’t I? As much as I want to hold on a little longer, I know it’s time to let go. But it’s a process, isn’t it? Letting go isn’t just an action; it’s a slow shift in perspective.
I’ve done this once before. My older daughter has already gone through this stage—graduated, found a job, and is now an actual adult human. Even though I’ve been through this before, that experience doesn’t prepare you for the second time. The last time. Sure, you know the steps, the logistics of moving them in, buying mini-fridges and bedding, and the “I’ll text you tomorrow,” that they never send. But it doesn’t lessen the impact. It’s another layer of realizing that they’re carving their own paths, becoming the adults you hoped they would be.
The pride I feel for both of my daughters is something I can’t fully express. To watch them grow, to see them step out of their comfort zones, and to know that they’re out there on their own—it’s everything you hope for as a parent. There’s an immense sense of relief in knowing you’ve done your part and given them the tools they need to succeed. But then there’s the flip side—the part where you realize they don’t need you in the same way anymore. Don’t get me wrong; they still have the password to my Starbucks app, a credit card for “emergencies,” and a full Amazon cart. But they’re out there, nonetheless.
And that’s the part I keep coming back to. My wife and I have spent the better part of our lives raising these kids, being their rock, and guiding them through all the stages of life. With one daughter graduated and the other already at college, we’re at a crossroads. What’s next for us? What will life look like when the house is finally quiet, and the only footsteps we hear are our own and the dogs?
In sobriety, this transition hits a little differently. Before I got sober in 2010, my daughters were just 7 and 3. My parenting was clouded by a haze of balancing everything while numbing myself. I wasn’t truly present—I was always either stuck in the past, regretting mistakes, or fixated on some future I felt powerless over. Sobriety changed all of that. Now, I find myself so much more aware of the little moments. I don’t live in the past or plan too far ahead anymore. Instead, I’m here, at this moment, watching my daughters take these steps into adulthood.
And I’ll be honest—it’s harder to let go now. When you’re fully present, time becomes a lot more real. You notice it slipping away, and the moments feel sharper and clearer. It’s like experiencing every conversation in full color when you used to see it in black and white. I know I have to let go, but being this present makes it tougher. At the same time, I’ve learned not to dwell too much on the past. My drinking days are behind me, and I don’t look back that often. Those years are part of my story but don’t define my relationship with my daughters today.
It’s strange to think about getting older, about retirement, about the idea that someday it’ll just be the two of us again. It’s not bad—there’s something exciting about rediscovering our relationship outside the role of “parents.” But there’s also a bit of fear in the unknown. What does that next chapter look like? Who are we when our kids don’t need us in the same way?
Embracing change isn’t always easy. There’s no “You’re Getting Old for Dummies” manual. We spend so many years with our heads down, focused on the day-to-day of parenting, that when we finally look up, we realize that time has gone by faster than we ever imagined it could. And now, here we are, in the middle of it. But unlike before, I trust that whatever comes next will unfold in its own time. I don’t need to control it. I just need to show up, like I have in recovery, one day at a time.
It’s easy to get sentimental, to linger in the “what ifs” and “remember whens,” but life keeps moving. I’m learning to let go of my daughters in stages, to accept that they’ll always be a part of our lives, just in different ways. They’ll need us less, but that doesn’t mean they won’t still need us. And maybe, in a way, we’ll need them more. To remind us of the chapters we’ve lived and to push us toward the new ones we have yet to write.
Life is all about change, and sometimes, letting go is the only way to move forward. But for now, I’ll extend their access to the Starbucks password, credit card, and Amazon cart. I’m not ready to let go completely just yet.
Jason Mayo Peer Advocate | THRIVE Everywhere