The week my youngest left for college, I sat in a house with three bedrooms, two dogs, and a lot of quiet.
My friends had been looking forward to this moment for years. The travel they'd been putting off. The hobbies collecting dust in the garage. The peace. And I get it, I really do. I had watched them glide into this next chapter like they'd been waiting at the gate.
I was not gliding.
I could not stop thinking about how much I was going to miss my boys. Not in a vague, wistful way. More like an I'm-walking-past-their-rooms-and-losing-it kind of way. The transition took time. More time than I expected, and honestly more than I was ready to admit.
Thank god for my dogs!
And for the fact that I no longer had to cook a full dinner every single night. (If you know, you know.)
Here's the irony: I'm a realtor. I've spent years helping families navigate exactly this transition. I know the questions to ask. I know the traps people fall into. I know what the data says about when to sell, when to stay, what the market looks like for people at this stage of life.
And yet there I was, standing in a house that no longer quite fit my life, with absolutely no idea what I wanted to do next.
I wasn't ready to make a real estate decision. I was still figuring out the life decision.
What I wish someone had told me is this: that's exactly right. The housing question can wait. The grief comes first. Because that's what it is, a kind of grief, even when you're proud of who your kids are becoming and excited for them. You're allowed to sit with it. You're allowed to take the time.
I've since talked to dozens of clients who were relieved to hear me say that out loud. So many of them came to me thinking they were supposed to have it figured out already. Supposed to be excited. Supposed to know whether to sell, to downsize, to move to the city, to stay put. And they were quietly ashamed that they didn't.
Here's what I've learned, personally and professionally: the empty nest isn't a real estate problem to solve. It's a life transition to move through. And when you're ready, the housing decision gets a lot clearer.
For some people, that clarity comes fast. For others, it takes a year. For me, it took longer than I'd like to admit, a lot of dog walks, and finally letting myself imagine what I wanted home to feel like, not what it needed to be for everyone else.
That question, by the way, is one of my favorite things to ask clients now. Not "what do you need?" but "what do you want?"
The answers are always more interesting than they expect.
