When the house is quiet & your heart is loud...

Hi there lovely Lady,

You stand in the doorway of their room.

The bed is made. The posters are gone. There’s a random sock behind the bedside table that missed the packing frenzy — of course there is.

You love that they’ve launched. You prayed for this. You smiled for the photos. You told everyone how excited you are for their new adventure.

And yet, later, at the supermarket, you find yourself staring at the family-sized pasta wondering who you’re even buying for now — and suddenly you’re blinking back tears in aisle three, we've all been there, you're not the only one.

"If I'm being completely honest with you (which is always my goal), I'm actually crying as I'm typing this blog post, as this has actually happened to me, 3 times over, as each of my children left home and ventured out on their own.

Empty Nest doesn't necessarily mean that they all go at once, but can effect you with each child leaving home, until they are all gone, then it really hits hard...."

If that’s also you, you are not dramatic, broken or ungrateful. You’re a mum saying goodbye to a whole era of your life, whether it be bit by bit (child by child) or happens all at once.

Why the empty nest hurts (even when you wanted this)

The empty nest season is a strange mix of pride, relief, sadness and disorientation.

You’re not just adjusting to a quieter house. You’re grieving:

• The version of you that was “someone’s mum” 24/7

• The daily contact and little in-jokes

• The certainty of being needed in obvious ways

Your identity has been wrapped up in drop-offs, dinners, laundry and late-night chats for decades. It makes sense that when those rhythms disappear, your heart wobbles.

The good news? God isn’t standing over you saying, “Get over it.” He is the God who sees mothers weep (Hannah, anyone?), the Jesus who notices tears and moves towards them with compassion.

Jesus meets you in transitional grief

There’s a kind of grief that comes from death and obvious loss. Then there’s transitional grief — the ache that shows up when life changes shape, even if the change is good.

Think of Mary Magdalene outside the empty tomb. She was devastated, thinking Jesus’ body had been taken. In her confusion and heartbreak, she didn’t even recognise Him at first. But Jesus spoke her name, and everything shifted.

In your empty-nest season, Jesus is still the One who:

• Notices the tears you wipe away before anyone sees

• Knows the particular sound of your voice when you whisper prayers over your kids

• Calls you by name — not just “Mum”, but your actual name — and reminds you that you are His beloved daughter, not just someone else’s parent

You don’t have to hold yourself together to be spiritual. You get to be honest and held.

A devotional moment: blessing your adult children

Let’s turn this grief into a holy, practical moment.

Step 1 – Picture them with God

Sit somewhere quiet. Close your eyes and imagine each of your children (or step-children, bonus kids, spiritual kids) standing before God.

Not as five-year-olds in school uniforms, but as the adults they are now.

Ask God silently:

“Show me how You see them right now.”

Notice what comes to mind — a word, an image, a sense.

Step 2 – Write a blessing instead of a worry list

In your journal, instead of writing your worries about them, write a blessing over each one. For example:

• “May you know how deeply loved you are, beyond any achievement.”

• “May you find wise friends, honest mentors and safe places to ask hard questions.”

• “May you remember that you can always, always come home — to us and to God.”

You’re not pretending there are no risks or challenges. You’re choosing to partner with God’s heart for them, not just your fear.

Step 3 – Pray it out loud (even quietly)

If it feels okay, read your blessing for each child out loud. Your words carry weight in the spiritual atmosphere, even if they’re whispered in a quiet lounge room.

Letting God care for you, too

Empty nest seasons don’t only affect “them out there”. They impact you – your sense of purpose, rhythm and even marriage dynamics.

Gentle practices for this week

Try one or two of these, not all of them:

1. The chair of honour

   • Choose a comfy chair and decide: “This is where I sit with God.”

   • Once a day, sit there for five minutes with a hot drink. No to-do list, no scrolling. Just breathe and say, “Here I am, Lord.”

2. A tiny pleasure ritual

   • Pick a small daily delight — a walk at the same time, a special tea, a chapter of a novel.

   • Let it become a marker that this season can hold joy, not just absence.

3. One new connection step

   • Message a friend who “gets it” and say, “Want to grab coffee and talk about grown kids and this weird season?”

   • God often comforts us through community, not just in private prayer.

4. A mini marriage reset (if applicable)

   • If you’re partnered, plan one simple thing to do together that isn’t logistics: a walk, board game, shared show.

   • You’re getting to know each other again without kids as the centre of every conversation.

Reflection questions for the empty nest heart

Use these as journal prompts or conversation starters with a trusted friend:

1. What moment recently surprised me with unexpected tears? What was I really grieving in that moment?

2. Which parts of my “mum identity” feel hardest to lay down?

3. What do I miss about the kids being at home — and what do I secretly enjoy about this new space?

4. Where can I see small hints that God is writing a new chapter for me, not just for them?

5. Who could I invite into this journey so I’m not trying to navigate it alone?

A prayer for mums in transition

“Jesus, You know what it is to release people You love into their next season.
You watched Your disciples walk into an unknown future, and You loved them all the way through.
Today I bring You my mixed-up heart — the love, the pride, the ache, the loneliness, the relief.
Thank You for the years I had with my kids under this roof.
Be with them in every new decision and challenge. Whisper to them when I cannot.
And please be with me, too.
Show me who I am with You in this new season, and grow a fresh joy inside my empty nest.
In Your name, Amen.”

You are more than the season you’re leaving. You’re also the woman God is shaping for what’s next.

Until we chat again...

Blessings and hugs to you my dear friend.

Dianne xx