The Joy and Ache of Not Being Needed

Here’s the epiphany I had on my yoga mat after sending both of my kids off to school this week:

After dropping my daughter off for her first day of senior year of high school, I unrolled my yoga mat. For the first time all summer, I wasn’t just doing yoga—I was enjoying it. Somewhere between breath and stretch, it hit me: the lightness I felt wasn’t about the pose. It was about not being alert to others' needs for the first time in three months.

The hyper-vigilance I’d carried all summer while my whole family was back under one roof had lifted. It sounds like I'm complaining, but I'm not-- it was an amazing summer. The whole pack was home, including our precious Daisy, our 13-year-old golden doodle. 

I basked in the presence of everyone and even declined a very fun trip away with my college friends because I couldn’t bear the thought of missing out on any of it.    While there were so many great things about the summer, I wonder if maybe one of the reasons I loved it so much is that I felt consistently needed by my brood for the first time in a while.

When my kids started school, I felt a huge sense of melancholy. The old saying about the moments are long and the years are short, never felt truer as I said goodbye to my 20-year-old son and 17-year-old daughter.

But that morning on my yoga mat, I realized something else: not being needed felt good too. Which left me wondering—what happens when the itch to be needed shows up again?

Because, if we’re honest, most of us find a lot of fulfillment in being needed. It gives us purpose, direction, even identity.

But here’s the tension: the whole point of raising kids is for them to need us less the older they get. So what do we do with that void? Where do we turn when the pull to feel useful sneaks back in after the serenity of freedom begins to wane?

The Autumn Trap

Fall hands us the perfect opportunity to explore this. After summer’s beautiful chaos, who doesn’t welcome the structure of school?

But here’s the trap: instead of leaning into the gift of a quieter house, we just replace one form of busy-ness with another. We over-schedule, obsess about our kids' futures, or fill every moment with tasks that look important but mostly keep us spinning.

It’s like swapping our kids’ dependency for our own addiction to productivity. And worse case scenario, this addiction can become behavior that undermines our kids' independence: swooping, rescuing, and doing too much for them are examples.

Why do we do this? Maybe guilt. Maybe the belief that a “good” parent is one who is constantly sacrificing. Constantly doing for... Maybe because “busy” feels safer than stillness?

Looking back, I can see how often I fell into this pattern—every move I made in the service of raising “exceptional humans.” I wouldn’t have admitted it then, but it was always there.

The greeting card I bought ten years ago and still haven't sent. See more at: Momming Ain’t Easy

A Different Question

As I sit here surrounded by Fall's first whispers—crisp air and a cool breeze that sent me inside for a blanket—I'm breathing deeply post-yoga, taking in the promising aroma of leaves that hint at autumn's approach. My house is messy, my to-do list is long, and the kids’ rooms are still full of the chaos they left behind.

But what if I just shut their doors? What if I don’t have to do it all right now?

I take another deep breath and let this revolutionary idea sink in: this moment of not being needed is not a loss. It’s a gift.

The real question isn’t how to fill the space. It’s how to embrace it. How do I find joy in not being needed—without rushing back into old patterns?

The Answer I Keep Coming Back To

The answer, at least for me, has come through a trail of spiritual breadcrumbs: (See: When the Universe Forces You to STOP: My Most Powerful Spiritual Breadcrumbs. It’s simple but not easy: learning to slow down. (See: What the Turtle in my Driveway Taught Me.)

To pause. To savor. To let the exhale last a little longer.

And maybe—just maybe—to discover that my worth isn’t tied to how needed I am.