Letting Go Gracefully: A Designer Mom’s Reflection Before College Drop-Off
- jessica80703
- 7 days ago
- 4 min read
The Lasts Before the Firsts
Like many of us this summer, I’m finding myself in a season of transition—a season of beginnings and, well, endings. For me, it’s a summer of lasts before many more firsts, as we prepare for my son to leave for college.
We’ve been busy over here—making lists, ordering dorm essentials, planning our graduation trip to Japan. And somewhere between the Target runs and the duffel bags, I’m quietly bracing for the ache of watching him walk out the door. At a recent girls’ dinner, the tears slipped out before I could even explain what I was feeling. I’m proud. I’m undone. I’m learning what it means to let go, while still holding on.
It made me realize that other parents might be navigating similar emotions. I wrote this blog post in hopes that it resonates with you—and makes you feel a little less alone in the mix of emotions that come with change.
“Maybe it’s not that I forgot something… maybe it’s just the feeling of my heart being repacked into someone else’s suitcase.”
Designing for What’s Next
Packing his bags isn’t the only transition we’re making this summer—I’m reimagining his room, too. Not to erase it, but to evolve it. To grow it up alongside him. A better mattress. Real sheets. Furniture that feels a little more grown-up.
I think this is my own way of honoring the boy who lived here—and making space for the man he’s becoming. I'm starting to learn that it's not about letting go completely, but about loosening my grip just enough to let him step into what’s next. Easier said than done, right?
“I changed his diaper on this dresser. Now I’m folding college towels and smoothing new sheets over a bed that will wait for him to come home.”
A Home That Holds You
What else am I doing to savor our final summer before he heads off to college? I’m cooking. It’s always been my love language—and lately, I find myself pouring into it more than ever. A full table is my happy place.
Through every phase of life, I’ve tried to make our home feel like a hug—especially in the kitchen. When I design for clients, I always ask: Who will gather here? What memories will be made in this room? Because a kitchen isn’t just cabinetry and countertops—it’s the beating heart of family life.
And now, I find myself wondering: What will my kitchen feel like with one less plate to set? One less person to laugh with and ask about his day? Honestly, I don’t know yet. I’m preparing as best I can. But for now—for this moment, and this summer—there will be dinners aplenty.
Grief, Gratitude & Growth
I remember leaving for college myself—how my mom and I butted heads that summer over the smallest things. Looking back, I know it was just our way of managing the emotions neither of us could name. The push and pull of independence. The ache of growing pains—for both of us.
I held it together through the goodbyes, the dorm room setup, the awkward introductions. But the minute she walked out of the room, I crumbled. And then—just a few minutes later—she reappeared, holding something I’d left in the car. I ran to her, sobbing. She wrapped me in a hug and whispered, “Go get ’em.”
That moment is burned into my heart. It was her way of saying, I’m still here. I always will be. Now go live.
And now, here I am—on the other side. I’m the mom this time. I hope I can be that strong. That soft. That sure. I hope, when the moment comes, I’ll know just what to say. And that somehow, he’ll feel what I felt that day: unconditional love, wrapped in quiet courage.
What I’ll Tell Him (and Myself)
Have I thought about what I’m going to say when he leaves? You bet I have. I’ve played it out a hundred times in my head—how I’ll hold it together just long enough to look him in the eye and say, You’re ready. I love you. You’ve got this. I’ll tell him he doesn’t have to call me every day… but it sure would make my day if he did.
Lately, I’ve noticed our hugs linger just a little longer. There’s a quiet understanding in them—something unspoken, but deeply felt. Even when he groans as I reach up to ruffle his hair, he leans in instead of pulling away. It’s the beautiful, bittersweet rhythm of a mother and son standing at the edge of change. Part letting go. Part holding on.
“He says, ‘Mom, quit momming.’ I say, ‘Never.’”
Final Thought: The Table Still Tells Our Story
Home is never just a place—it’s the people we become inside its walls, the memories we make, and the love we carry through every chapter. It’s who we are, who we’ve raised, and how we show up for each other, again and again.
Even if the house feels quieter these days, our story keeps unfolding.
They say babies don’t keep. And it’s true. One minute, you’re rocking them to sleep in the glow of a nightlight, and the next, you’re standing in a dorm room, smoothing the comforter and swallowing back tears as you whisper goodbye.
But even as the rooms shift and the rhythms change, the heart of our home holds steady. The traditions, the laughter, the love—they don’t leave with the packed bags. They simply take on a new shape. And I’m learning to trust that. To believe that love expands beyond walls. That letting go doesn’t mean letting go of everything.
And maybe—for now—that’s enough.
If you’re walking this road too—or remembering it—I’d love to hear from you. Share your story in the comments or tag me on Instagram. Let’s hold space for each other. These transitions aren’t easy, but they’re beautiful.
You can also forward this post to a friend in this same season. We’re all in this together.
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