It’s hard to believe I’m about to let my oldest spread her wings and leave the nest.
Is she ready?
My honest answer is no.
Do I feel like she’s been taught everything she needs to survive on her own?
Again…no.
Somewhere around the transition to high school, I look back and wonder if I started to miss the mark. I always wanted to be a great mother—but also someone she would still talk to. Somewhere along the way, I may have leaned a little too far into “friend” and not enough into “push her harder.” That balance is tricky, and no one hands you a manual when they hand you a newborn.
Is she a bad kid? Absolutely not.
She has the biggest heart. She’s compassionate. She loves children. She stands up to bullies and fiercely protects the people she cares about. Sometimes she loves too much, trusts too easily, and gives her heart away when it isn’t always deserved.
As we close out her high school years and step into the college chapter, it’s bittersweet—heavy on the sweet, if I’m being honest. It’s been a learning experience for both of us.
I’m incredibly grateful her school provides a college counselor to guide students through the process. My only frustration? Parents are largely cut out. We receive the same reminder emails the students do, but unless you’re having regular conversations at home, things get missed. I understand the intention—they want these kids to grow into independent adults. But research shows the teenage brain isn’t fully developed until the mid-to-late twenties (around age 25 on average). So expecting 15-, 16-, or 17-year-olds to make life-altering decisions without consistent parental involvement feels… ambitious.
Needless to say, I’ve learned a few things I hope can help other parents navigate this season.
First: Get access to your child’s email and Common App account. Better yet, create a new, professional email address with their name in it. Use the same email and password across platforms (write it down somewhere safe). This has been a lifesaver. I can track deadlines, spot scholarship opportunities, and gently remind her before the clock runs out.
And speaking of scholarships—apply for all of them. You truly can’t apply for too many. The worst that happens? You don’t get them all. The best? You do.
My one regret? Not doing more college tours. Maybe we’ll still squeeze a few in. As much as I want her to stay close to home (where I can “accidentally” drop off groceries), there’s a big world out there, and I want her to explore it. I want her to become the independent, fierce young woman she’s already becoming.
My mini-me—just a little smarter, a little sassier, with bigger goals…and the same big heart that loves big.
And maybe that means I didn’t do such a bad job after all.
