Let Them Fly

Don't let yourself fall

In 42 and 53 days, we will have college graduates.

I hadn’t been counting down until just now—honestly, I haven’t really wanted to know exactly when my birds are going to fly for real.

With almost no help from us, they got to practice life in homes away from home these last four years. They had their ups and downs, of course. They learned to solve not just academic equations, but the daily, human problems of living—on their own two feet.

Very soon, they will leave these temporary training grounds and fly out into the wide, real world.

I could not be more proud or more excited. And at the same time—quietly, internally—I am also devastated. A little lost. A little heartbroken.

All of it, at once.

If you’re a parent who has already been through this—congratulations! The fact that you’re here reading this means you survived… even if barely.

If you’re about to watch one or more of your birds leave the original coop—know that it’s going to be okay. They’re going to do great. Really. Just enjoy watching them and trusting the process.

My only unsolicited advice: give them the freedom to be who they are. They can’t follow their true north if we don’t let them. I promise—they’ll appreciate it more than you know. (Spoken as both a daughter and a mother.)

And then there’s you.

You who are exactly where I am—in this in-between place of love and longing, letting go and holding on, excited and scared.

Let’s just stay here for a moment. In the ache of it. Because this feeling deserves to be felt before it’s understood.

We are living the full spectrum of being human. And that is not a small thing.

Today is Easter Sunday. I’m not Christian myself, but I’m moved by what this season points to—rebirth, resurrection. Something that looked finished beginning again in a new form.

That feels exactly right for this moment.

Because this letting go, this quiet unraveling—isn’t just about them becoming who they’re meant to be. It’s about us, too.

This also happens to align almost perfectly with Spring in Chinese medicine—the season of the Wood element: growth, movement, life pushing forward again after a long, dark winter. The restlessness is normal. So is the confusion. So is the discomfort of something changing in real time.

Growth is not supposed to be easy. Neither is staying the same.

So here we are—tender, proud, a little undone—learning to let our loved ones fly while remembering that we can fly too.

It may feel like we’re done raising our kids, but we are never done raising ourselves.

Maybe the most important time to mother ourselves is right now.

Let them fly, but let’s not let ourselves fall.

We don’t have to.

With love and gratitude,

xoxo

Kit

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