Holding On and Letting Go

The Hardest Part of Motherhood

Caroline has been at Camp Greystone for a few days now, and I'm already missing her chatter and boundless energy fluttering around the house. I just got a letter from her telling me she’s doing high ropes and learning about farming and gardening. Sunday, Brady and Tyler head off to their fourth and fifth years respectively at Camp Carolina. I'm sitting here, thinking about how this annual ritual never gets easier… watching your children confidently walk toward independence while your heart simultaneously swells with pride and breaks a little.

This will be our fifth year of summer camps as parents, and every single summer, I'm struck by the same bittersweet truth: watching your children grow into their independence is simultaneously the most beautiful and most gut wrenching part of motherhood.

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Bryan and I didn't grow up going to sleep-away camps, but we had wonderful childhoods filled with neighborhood adventures, family vacations, and summers that stretched endlessly in the best possible way. When we first heard about these camps from other parents, we were intrigued by this experience we'd never had — the chance for our kids to spend three weeks building independence in the mountains of North Carolina.

I'll be honest, the idea of sending my babies away for three weeks initially felt absolutely crazy. That first year, I cried the whole way out of the gate at drop-offs. And maybe a little while packing the trunks. And maybe the night before when I imagined that goodbye hug.