Eliza Hartley
I always thought retirement would bring me closer to my kids.
With more free time and fewer responsibilities, I imagined long visits, shared meals, and regular catch-ups. After years of juggling work and family life, I was finally available—fully present and ready to embrace this new chapter with them.
But things didn’t turn out that way.
Instead of visiting more, my kids seemed to get busier. Their lives moved forward while mine slowed down. I found myself waiting for phone calls that didn’t come as often as I’d hoped, checking my calendar for visits that never quite lined up. It stung more than I wanted to admit.
At first, I struggled with the loneliness. I questioned what I had done wrong or if I had expected too much. But then, something shifted. Instead of focusing on what was missing, I started looking at what this stage of life could offer me.
For the first time in decades, my time is truly my own—and I’m learning how to make the most of it.
1) I stopped waiting for them to make the first move
For a while, I kept expecting my kids to reach out first. I told myself that if they wanted to see me, they would call, plan a visit, or at least check in more often. When that didn’t happen as much as I had hoped, it was hard not to take it personally.
But then I asked myself—why was I putting all the responsibility on them?
They have busy lives, just like I did when I was their age. Work, relationships, and daily responsibilities can make time slip away faster than we realize. Instead of waiting around and feeling disappointed, I decided to be the one to reach out.
I started sending simple messages, making plans when I could, and letting go of the idea that they had to be the ones to initiate. It didn’t mean they didn’t care—it just meant life was moving fast for them. And when I stopped waiting, I also stopped feeling so stuck in my own expectations.
2) I let go of the idea that our time together had to look a certain way
For a long time, I had a picture in my head of what retirement would be like with my kids. I imagined them coming over for long Sunday lunches, dropping by for coffee, or calling me just to chat. When reality didn’t match that vision, I felt disappointed—even a little hurt.
One day, my son called me while driving home from work. The conversation was short, just ten minutes of him telling me about his day.
Normally, I might have brushed it off as too quick, not “enough.” But then I realized—this was his way of staying connected. It wasn’t a long visit, but it was something.
That’s when I started appreciating what was actually happening instead of focusing on what wasn’t. A quick call, a text message, or even sharing a funny meme—it all counted.
When I stopped measuring our relationship by how often they visited, I started seeing all the little ways they were still showing up.
3) I realized my happiness couldn’t depend on them
For a long time, I wanted more from my kids—more visits, more time, more reassurance that I was still a central part of their lives. But the more I focused on what I wasn’t getting, the more unhappy I became. My well-being was tied to something I had no control over.
One afternoon, after a week of feeling particularly lonely, I sat down and asked myself—what if I stopped expecting them to fill this space in my life? What if I started filling it myself?
That’s when I began exploring things that made me happy outside of them. I picked up old hobbies, joined a local group, and even started taking long walks just to clear my head. The less I depended on them for my happiness, the more at peace I felt with whatever time we spent together.
4) I learned that loneliness isn’t about being alone
There’s a reason some people feel lonely even in a crowded room, while others can be perfectly content spending time by themselves. Loneliness isn’t just about how many people you have around—it’s about whether you feel connected, understood, and engaged in something meaningful.
At first, I thought my loneliness came from my kids not visiting as much as I had expected. But then I noticed something—on the days they did visit, I still felt an emptiness when they left.
It wasn’t just their absence that was making me feel this way. It was the fact that I had built my whole world around them, and now that world had shifted.
That’s when I knew I needed to build something new.
Instead of waiting for connection to come from them, I started looking for it elsewhere—through friendships, new experiences, and even quiet moments where I simply enjoyed my own company. The less I feared being alone, the less lonely I felt.
5) I stopped feeling guilty for putting myself first
For years, my life revolved around my kids. Their needs, their schedules, their happiness—everything came before my own.
It became second nature to prioritize them, and I never questioned it. But when they grew up and built lives of their own, I realized I had never really learned how to prioritize myself.
At first, doing things just for me felt selfish. If I spent a day out enjoying myself instead of waiting for a call or planning around their visits, a small voice in my head would whisper, “Shouldn’t you be making yourself more available?”.
But then I thought about how I always encouraged my kids to chase their dreams, invest in their friendships, and live full lives. Why wasn’t I giving myself the same permission?
I started saying yes to the things that made me happy—whether it was joining a class, traveling somewhere new, or simply spending an afternoon lost in a good book. The more I embraced this time for myself, the more I saw it for what it really was: not an ending, but a beginning.
6) I embraced the freedom I didn’t know I had
For so long, my schedule revolved around other people.
First, it was my kids—school drop-offs, soccer practice, and late-night talks when they needed advice. Then it was work—deadlines, meetings, and responsibilities that filled my days. Even after retirement, I unconsciously kept waiting for something (or someone) to give my days structure.
One morning, I woke up and realized—for the first time in decades—my time was completely my own. No obligations, no schedules dictated by anyone else. Just me, with the freedom to decide how I wanted to spend my day.
At first, that thought felt strange. But then I leaned into it. I started taking spontaneous day trips, trying new activities, and even enjoying slow mornings without a plan.
The more I let go of the idea that my time had to be filled in a certain way, the more I saw this stage of life for what it really was—a chance to live on my own terms.
7) I reconnected with parts of myself I had forgotten
Somewhere along the way, I had become just “Mom.” It wasn’t something I resented—I loved being there for my kids—but over the years, other parts of me faded into the background.
The hobbies I once enjoyed, the dreams I had before raising a family, even the simple things that used to bring me joy—I had put them all aside without even realizing it.
One afternoon, while cleaning out an old closet, I found a box of paintings I had done in my twenties. Seeing them again stirred something in me.
I used to love painting—I would lose hours mixing colors, experimenting with brushstrokes, creating something just for the sake of it. When was the last time I had done that?
That night, instead of watching TV or scrolling through my phone waiting for a message, I pulled out an old canvas and started again. It wasn’t about being good at it or doing it for anyone else. It was about reconnecting with a part of myself that had been waiting in the background all these years.
8) I stopped seeing this as the end of something
For a while, I saw this stage of life as a loss. Less time with my kids, fewer visits, an emptiness I wasn’t sure how to fill. It felt like something was ending, and I didn’t know what came next.
But then it hit me—what if this wasn’t an ending at all? What if it was simply a shift, an opening to something new? My kids weren’t pulling away; they were living their lives, just as I had once lived mine. And now, I had the chance to do the same.
Instead of waiting for things to go back to how they used to be, I started embracing what was in front of me.
New passions, new friendships, new ways of connecting with my kids that didn’t rely on constant visits. The more I let go of what I thought this time should look like, the more I appreciated it for what it actually was—a beginning in its own right.
The bottom line
Life doesn’t stand still, and neither do our relationships. The way we connect with our kids evolves, just as we do. Holding onto the past or expecting things to stay the same only creates frustration. But embracing change opens up new possibilities—ones we may not have even considered before.
Instead of measuring love by visits or phone calls, it helps to see it in the small moments—the thoughtful messages, the shared laughter, the quiet understanding that distance doesn’t diminish connection.
When we stop waiting for life to happen a certain way, we give ourselves permission to truly live.
This time isn’t about loss; it’s an invitation. To rediscover who we are beyond being a parent. To nurture passions, build new relationships, and create a life that feels full—regardless of how often our kids visit.
