Empty-Nest Syndrome
| January 27, 2026I raised my kids well — so why do I feel so empty and alone?
“Come, my partner. You helped create! You’re also a borei nefashos rabos. You created many people in this world and therefore, you’re going to get a tremendous gift. Quiet woman, you didn’t make big noise in the world. You’re not famous. But to me, you’re very important because of your achievements.”
—Rabbi Avigdor Miller ztz”l, on one of his taped lectures
I
love this quote; it makes me feel fulfilled.
My kids are grown, and baruch Hashem, are all married and living their own busy lives.
Isn’t that what I always wanted? Always hoped for?
I raised them, nurtured them, taught them to fly. Then they created their own nests, leaving mine empty.
My brain thinks all is good, but my heart feels differently. I didn’t make noise in the world, I’m not accomplished or famous, and I often don’t feel fulfilled.
One afternoon, I feel the need to see sand, water, something besides concrete and the smell of simmering trash. I find an inlet, not quite a beach, but it’s nice and quiet and fits the bill of sand and water.
I’m surprised to see a busload of kids, around 12-14 years old, learning how to paddleboard, since the waters here are so still. Wouldn’t they prefer a beach?
I don’t really pay attention to them until they take off into the water. The last girl, standing up a little wobbly at first, finally gets the hang of it. As she starts to paddle away, with pure joy on her face, she yells out, “This is the best ever!”
That’s when I cry, for my dreams, for what feels to me to be a life that has really passed me by. (Did I mention I never learned to swim?)
Oh yes, I have my accomplishments: my children, my grandchildren. Yes, that’s wonderful, but is it really enough? I can’t live vicariously through them. And I don’t really see them on a regular basis.
I do still have what to give, but no one seems to need any of it.
I prepared my kids well for life. Why am I not satisfied? Why do I feel so empty and alone?
This is the beginning of my next chapter. But how? Where? What? I’m not a book where you can just turn the page and it’s all there in black-and-white.
But that’s okay, I realize, because life isn’t made up of separate chapters or acts or episodes (well, maybe it’s comprised of scenes; I’ve been known to make a few!). It’s a story that ebbs and flows, has its ups and downs, in which we despair over the negatives and revel in the positives.
The children visit, and I see glimpses of their younger selves in their own children. It becomes clear to me then that all the work I put into raising them comes out in these small, nuanced ways. That all these little things add up to a beautiful legacy.
And I know that when my story does eventually end, I’ve set up those around me to write a sequel.
(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 979)
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