I am a big fat liar.
Though I didn’t have a clue that I was lying. I really didn’t have a clue.
I have said, even as recently as last year – and had the audacity to include my statement in my book – that I would not suffer “empty nest syndrome” when my sons left home.
Lie.
We took our firstborn to West Virginia University on Friday. I had been making lists, shopping, helping him pack. The day at WVU was a proud and wonderful day: setting up his room, seeing the smiles of friends stopping by, walking the campus as a family. He was happy, and ready.
We were happy and proud, and relieved that we had gotten him there, healthy, confident and able.
But we couldn’t stay with him in that vibrant new world. My husband and I and, thankfully, our 16-year-old headed for home without the big brother. As our enthusiasm quieted and the miles marked our separation, a terrible sadness came over me.
My boy. The one who first made us a family. The sparkler, shiny-eyed still.
Yes, a room in my nest is empty and I’m feeling it. Big time.
I didn’t get this. I assumed empty nest happened to parents who were more dependent on activity and interaction (e.g., extroverted, like my husband) or, worse, parents who had no life of their own. I formally apologize to all parents for these reductionistic assumptions.
I have a life. But I have also given life, and that’s where the plot thickens. I watched my son see the world for the first time, smiled back at his baby smiles, then the belly laugh, his trademark gravelly voice, the wide-legged toddler walk, the swords and Ninja Turtles, the showing mommy everything he could do – over and over, his gift for making and keeping friends – and attracting girls, his kindness and loyalty to his little brother – balanced, of course, by their countless wrestling matches, his teams: the Vikings, Twins, Cubs and, now his home team, the Mountaineers, his wit, his relaxed, fun-loving nature – maddening at chore time, his maturity when it counted, the bond of his friendships when they, only this Spring, had to bury one of their own.
“My son is alive,” I remind myself. He is so alive and so well and so ready to be where he is. We’ve done well. So why is the reward so painful?
A paradox. I see life from the other side now. I get why my parents were so pathetic about wanting the phone calls and every detail about everything. Yesterday, I repeatedly checked my cell phone like a girl desperate for a call from a certain boy, but also determined not to call and sound needy.
Yes. I have become the stereotype. I miss my boy.
I remember what I told that boy, then a preschooler, as he looked to me for comfort after his best friend moved: “It hurts, but the hurt shows how much love you feel, and that’s a good thing.”
The words that comforted my little boy come back to me as a gift, a reminder that, though his room is empty, I am so, so full. There is much love in this house.
Fr3d // Sep 22, 2009 at 4:44 pm
One major truth I came to realise as a parent, one I kept repeating to my slightly more Extroverted spouse, was that a parent’s goal is to create and raise an adult fully capable of surviving and coping in our modern world. To that end, I taught our son, an only child, how to cook, hand-sew, use a sewing machine, how to shop, the use of small tools and the importance of a home medical kit.
He’s on his own and actually looking forward to the possibility of parenthood.
Loving and letting go is the hard part. The strength to let go is what brings them back.
Now, he calls me up for favourite recipes.
Kirsten // Oct 6, 2009 at 5:48 am
Laurie, I just finished your book on Introvert Power. The one thing that didn’t ring true was your comment that you would not feel the pain of an “empty nest”. I notice that I seem to feel the loss of a confidant much deeper than those who have scads of friends and one moves away. I think we introverts choose to love very carefully but wholeheartedly – and that includes you and your son!
I just have to say that your comment above was the only thing that didn’t ring true – the rest was spot-on! Your book was fabulous. I felt that you were peeking into my life and not only that, you were telling me that I was OK! I have friends who tell me I have a “10 mile stare” – I can walk right by people and never know they are there because I am so busy in my head. I’ve always got great work reviews except for the invariable “doesn’t play well with others” clause. I cannot remember people’s names or faces well at all. Crazily enough, however, most people would call me an extrovert, except I have realized that the toggle switch has to be bullied into that position: it firmly rests in the introvert position when I stop trying.
Thank you for writing such a validating book, and for un-pathologizing (is that a word?) introverts. Because of your book I have gained great insight into the career change I am making and I see how well it dovetails with my Introvert power. I am excited about moving forward and I finally understand that I am not a failed extrovert, but a beautiful and darn good introvert.
Laurie // Oct 13, 2009 at 3:06 pm
Hi Kirsten,
Yeah, fooling myself, huh? I guess you don’t know until you know. As #9 in my family of origin, I saw the procession of my older brothers and sisters leaving home for college (perhaps clearing some room for me!). That was very much a part of our culture. My mom did suffer empty nest, but as a mother of 10, I knew that for her, mothering was her primary identity — her full-time job.
I think my mistake has been in my definition of empty nest. As an introvert with an internal energy source, I haven’t relied on my kids to recharge my batteries. And I didn’t experience an identity loss with the parting of my son.
I just missed him. I really, really missed him.
Okay, and I felt an emptiness. That’s what I didn’t expect. I discovered that the empty feeling is not just about loss of an energy source or loss of identity. It’s about loss — period. The end of an era, the absence of his warm body and light-filled smile.
Epilogue: Distance (though he’s already had one “home with laundry” trip and a wonderful road trip taking him back to school) has its gifts as well. He is choosing his contact with me — it’s not just a given. And I take in his updates, both reported and communicated in his mood and voice — I get a better sense of his world. I knew this part: introverts need these “updates” in order to keep people in mind, to maintain intimate connections. And carrying them inside us, feeling their presence, enlivens and — yes — energizes us.
Thank you, Kristen, for giving me an opportunity to dig deeper into this question. And I love your friends’ “10 mile stare” comment — boy, I can relate!
Best, Laurie
Laurie // Oct 13, 2009 at 3:33 pm
Hey Fr3d — What a good parent you are! Too, too easy to just do for our children — ultimately, that doesn’t help them at all. I love what you said, “Loving and letting go is the hard part. The strength to let go is what brings them back.” And, you know, I’m starting to see that. My son, the kid who didn’t come to me with life concerns when I was right there — is actually calling!
dnash51 // Nov 11, 2009 at 3:57 pm
I read the comment in your book and never for a second thought that it wouldn’t affect you. I don’t have any kids, but I’m very introverted, and it was a big shock to me that I was so unnerved leaving home for college years ago. I thought I would be elated; instead I felt very alone in the world. Strange how introverts need time alone to recharge, but we also need time with our families to connect.
Kirsten // Nov 16, 2009 at 7:48 am
Hi Laurie,
What a wonderful reply you wrote! How are you doing now? I hope your son is still bringing dirty clothes home and having you drive him back to school. Who’d have thought you could be thankful for laundry!
I wanted to write again to tell you an experience I had. I am training to be a life coach – I have a background in psychology and ultimately ended up in business, but I’m back where I started again. Since I read your book I have been struck with the potential usefulness of using the introversion/extroversion scales as a coaching tool.
As an example – in one pre-taped exercise, I was listening to an extroverted coach take on an obviously introverted client. The whole approach was to get the client to take baby steps (”just reach out to one person a day….”) toward a more extroverted life in her workplace. I am sorry the call was pretaped, because I was just squirming in my seat. I wanted to jump in and tell the client that she was OK as she was and that she should perhaps try and let others do the more extroverted activities relating to this particular position.
I know you are in practice and wondered how you use the introvert/extrovert scale and questionnaire with your clients. Is it something that you use all the time – and does it help your clients to know about their tendencies toward one type?
Once again, thank you for your book. I have loaned it to an introvert friend and now she won’t give it back, so I will have to get another copy! I have read a few other books on introversion but keep coming back to yours as the gold standard.
Kirsten
Laurie // Dec 3, 2009 at 8:40 pm
Just catching up on comments — there’s something wrong with my email alerts. Ah, computers…
Anyway, I always enjoy hearing from you, and dnash51, thanks for your perspective on what it’s like for an introvert ot leave for college. There is something about the comfort of family — was so nice to have my college boy home for Thanksgiving week and to just BE together — no pressure to talk, just shared comfort, movies and, of course, food.
Kirsten, thanks for checking in. I am doing better with the empty nest thing. In fact, I’ve found my conversations with my son to be richer — sharing ideas, talking about his vision for his future, etc. Ironically, the distance has fostered closeness.
I cringed with you as you shared what it was like to listen to the coaching in “how to be more extroverted.” The extroversion = health assumption is so ingrained that, sadly, those of us in the position of helping sometimes contribute to the problem.
I do use the Myers-Briggs in my work with clients (though my practice has shifted to working with writers). I think the inventory can be extremely helpful — preventing the kind of situation you witnessed. I think of solitude as food for introverts and social interaction as food for extroverts, and I try to help my clients get the nutrition they need.
Your clients will benefit from your sensitivity to personality differences.
All the best,
Laurie