When The Empty Nest Gets Re-Invaded

We’ve all been through it: jobs, marriages, divorces, menopause, moves. Rinse and repeat. By midlife, transition isn’t an exception; it’s the baseline.

But watching a 20-something stumble through it? That’s a whole other level of messy.

My son is in that liminal space between where he went to university and where the hell he’s going next. Esther Hicks once defined transition as (and, I paraphrase) “no longer where you were, but not yet where you’re going.” Translation: purgatory with Wi-Fi.

We’ve all lived there; waiting for the job offer, the divorce papers, the house to sell, the new routine to finally click. Transition is life’s holding pattern, and whether you’re twenty-three or sixty-three, it’s always uncomfortable and unsteady.

Transition From College To Adulthood Is Messy Business:

And while I’d love to swoop in with my “crone wisdom” and offer solutions, we all know how that goes. Unsolicited advice? About as welcome as a 6am vacuuming session in their shared apartment. They have to stumble, screw up, and eat the bad takeout of life all on their own — just like we did.

As I wrote in my poem Untethered Threads:

“I hold the answers, yet speak them not,

For wisdom now must be self-taught.”

The irony, of course, is that we’ve built our lives on troubleshooting. We’ve been the managers, the fixers, the ones who patch up the skinned knees and the broken hearts. Standing back while our kids hit their own walls goes against every fiber of our parental DNA.

Parenting Adult Children Means Biting Your Tongue:

And therein lies the ache. We know the potholes. We’ve fallen in them. But the hardest part of parenting grown kids is zipping your lips while they march straight toward one.

Except sometimes, “all on their own” includes moving back into our homes.

When 20-Somethings Move Back Home:

Cue the record scratch.

Let me just say: there is a good argument for not having 60-somethings and 20-somethings under the same roof.

• Why are they awake after 10pm?
• Why are they asleep after 9am?
• Why is there suddenly no food left in the fridge when I just went grocery shopping yesterday?
• And why, for the love of god, is everything so loud?

The Clash Between Empty Nesters And Boomerang Kids:

I didn’t realize how deeply I had settled into my empty-nest rhythm:

• A refrigerator that borders on barren.
• Peanut butter toast as a perfectly respectable dinner.
• Going to bed embarrassingly early, and waking up at the crack of absurd.

Four years of this and I’d grown used to — no, dependent on — the quiet. Then suddenly, it’s disrupted by a tornado of youth who believes “snack” means three full meals between meals.

The clash is real. We are both uncomfortable. Both compromising. And yet, the distance between our worlds feels less like a gap and more like a canyon.

Why Separate Nests Save Everyone’s Sanity:

And here’s the kicker: this isn’t just my story. So many midlife parents are juggling the same dynamic right now, watching their kids inch into adulthood while trying to protect the fragile peace they’ve finally built in their own homes. It’s a collision of love and logistics, and it’s trickier than anyone admits

And while I love my son, and any of us would say the same about our kids, here’s the real Jack’s Smack:

This particular phase of transition is best survived with different mailing addresses.

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