Jan. 13, 2026

Letting Go As Kids Grow

Letting Go As Kids Grow

Letting go is one of the hardest and most beautiful parts of parenting. In this deeply personal episode of We Are the Hansons, Myia Hanson opens up about the emotional shift that happens as our children grow—when the days of constant care slowly give way to independence, opinions, distance, and change.

From the first steps to the first goodbyes we never saw coming, this episode explores the quiet grief, unexpected pride, and deep love wrapped into learning when to hold on and when to step back. With honest storytelling and the wisdom that only comes from raising a large, real-life family, Myia reminds us that letting go doesn’t mean losing our kids—it means trusting what we’ve built in them.

If you’ve ever felt your heart ache as your child outgrew a phase, a habit, or even your arms, this conversation is for you. Letting Go as Kids Grow is a reminder that parenting doesn’t end when children become independent—it simply evolves.

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There's a moment no one prepares you for as a parent.

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It doesn't come with balloons or a ceremony, no announcement,

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no warning. It's quiet, almost invisible. It's the moment you

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realize they don't need you the way they used to,

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not because you failed them, but because you succeeded. And

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somehow that can break your heart and heal it at

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the exact same time. Welcome back to We are the Hansens.

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I'm Maya, and if you're new here, welcome. This podcast

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is about the real stuff, family, love, relationships, the moments

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that shape us, especially the ones no one talks about enough,

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the messy middle, the tender transitions, the things we feel

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but rarely say out loud because we're afraid people won't understand,

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or worse that they'll judge us for feeling them at all.

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Today we're talking about letting go as kids grow up.

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Not the big letting go like when they leave for

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college or get married or move across the country, but

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the thousand tiny letting goes that happen long before that,

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the ones that don't come all at once, not dramatically,

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but slowly, quietly, in pieces so small you almost miss them.

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Until one day you turn around and realize everything's different

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if you're raising littles, if you're watching teens spread their wings,

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or if you're standing in the strange in between space

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where your house somehow feels fuller and emptier at the

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same time. This episode is for you, and I'll be

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honest with you. This one's personal. I've been living in

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the space lately, watching my kids become who they're going

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to be, feeling proud and heartbroken in the same breath,

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celebrating their independence while secretly wishing I could freeze them

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right here, right now. I've been thinking a lot about

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what it means to let go when everything in you

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wants to hold on, not because you want to control

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them or stop them from growing, but because you love

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them so much that the thought of them not needing

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you feels like losing something you can't get back. So

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let's talk about it. Let's talk about the parts of

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parenting that feel like grief even when nothing's actually wrong,

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because maybe, just maybe, if we name it together, it

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won't feel so lonely. I remember when the house was

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loud in a very specific way, not just noise, but

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the kind of chaos that means lifeless, happening, the kind

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that told you everyone was home and safe and exactly

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where they were supposed to be. Little feet running down

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the hallways at speeds that defied psychics. How is it

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possible for such small humans to make so much noise?

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Toys clattering across the floor, always underfoot, always exactly where

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you'd step in the dark. I used to think I

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never miss stepping on legos at three in the morning.

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I was wrong. Cries that needed immediate attention, needs that

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couldn't wait. Mama, Mama, mama, that word echoing throughout every room,

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pulling you in ten directions at once, hands reaching for me,

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always reaching up, Mama, Up, hold me, carry me, don't leave,

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stay right here. Back. Then motherhood felt heavy in my

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arms and lighten my heart. The weight of their bodies,

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the softness of their hair, that specific smell only your

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own children have, the one that changes as they grow.

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But you never forget the way They'd fall asleep on

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my chest, and I'd be pinned there for hours, afraid

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to move, afraid to wake them. My arm's going numb,

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but not caring, because this moment was everything. My arms

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would ache, my back would scream. I'd shift positions, trying

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to get comfortable, and they'd stir, and I'd freeze, holding

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my breath, praying they'd settle back down, but I'd stay,

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even though my body was exhausted. Those moments felt eternal

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and fleeting all at once, like trying to hold water

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in your hands. Every day was exhausting, every night fell endless,

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the bedtime routines that stretched on forever. One more book,

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one more song, one more glass of water, one more hug,

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one more I love you, Just one more minute, Mama, please,

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And you'd give it to them, because how could you not,

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even when you were running on empty, even when you

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had nothing left. I remember thinking, will I ever sleep again?

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Will my body ever feel like mine? Will I ever

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finish a cup of coffee while it's still hot? Will

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I ever have a conversation that doesn't get interrupted? Seventeen

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times I remember counting minutes until bedtime, watching the clock,

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willing time to speed up, bargaining with the universe for

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just five minutes of quiet, and then, once they were

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finally asleep, standing at their door in the dark, watching

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them sleep, watching their little chest rise and fall, their

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faces peaceful and perfect, wondering how could I miss someone

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who was still right there, wanting the day to end,

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and never wanting it to end, counting down to bedtime,

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and then wishing I could rewind and do it all

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over again. People would say it to me all the time,

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strangers in grocery stores, older women with kind eyes and

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knowing smiles. They'd look at my kids, messy and loud

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and hanging off the shopping cart, and they'd say, enjoy it.

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It goes so fast. And I wanted to believe them,

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I really did, But when you're in the middle of it,

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fast feels impossible. The day's drag, long and sticky and full,

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full of tantrums and messes and negotiations and power struggles

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over things that don't matter, but somehow feel like life

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or death in the moment, But the years, the years

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vanish like smoke. One day you're buckling them into car seats,

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checking and rechecking the straps, adjusting the mirrors. The next

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day they're adjusting the mirrors themselves because their legs are

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longer than yours. When did that happen? One day you

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realize you're no longer picking them up automatically, not because

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you don't want to, not because the love has changed,

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but because they're suddenly too big, too heavy, too tall,

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too old for that. And somewhere along the way, without

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you noticing, they stop asking, and no one tells you that.

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The last time you carry your child, you won't know

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it's the last time. There's no ceremony for that goodbye,

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no warning, just one ordinary Tuesday or Thursday, when you

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set them down and walk away and you never picked

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them up again. You didn't know. You couldn't have known,

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because if you had no one, you would have held

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on longer. You would have memorized that weight, you would

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have said something marked it. Somehow, that's what gets me.

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All those lasts happened without announcement. The last time they

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fit perfectly in your arms, the last time they called

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you Mama instead of mom, the last time they believed

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in magic without question, the last time they needed you

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to check for monsters under the bed. You don't get

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to know. Keep moving forward, and one day you look

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back and realize it's gone. I think about all the

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things I took for granted, The way they climbed into

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bed with us on Sunday mornings, wiggling their way between us,

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cold feet pressing against my legs, The way they'd hold

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my hand crossing the street without me asking, The way

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they'd show me everything they made at school, so proud,

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so eager for my approval. The way they practice words,

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trying so hard to say them right, looking at me

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to confirm they got it. I remember thinking these phases

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would last forever, that there would always be another bedtime story,

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another scraped knee to kiss, another four to build in

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the living room. But there is it. There's a last

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time for everything, and you never see it coming. It's

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only in hindsight that you realize that ordinary Tuesday was

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actually extraordinary because it was the last one. Now I

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try to be more present, to notice the things that

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are still here, to appreciate what we have right now,

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instead of mooring what's already gone or worrying about what's coming.

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But it's hard because even as I'm holding on to

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this moment, I can feel it slipping away. I can

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see something changing in real time, growing, evolving, becoming. And

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I'm so proud, but I'm also so sad, and both

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of those things are true at the same time. Letting

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go doesn't begin when they move out. It doesn't even

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begin when they're graduated or get their own license. It

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begins in tiny, almost invisible moments, moments so small you

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might not even notice them the first time they happen,

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but they add up, they accumulate, and one day you

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wake up and realize everything has shifted. The first time

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they walk to school without looking back, you stand there

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on the porch, watching, waiting for them to turn around

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and wave like they always have, but they don't. They

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just keep walking, and you tell yourself, it's good, it's progress,

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it's independence. But part of you wants to make them

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turn around, just to see their face one more time

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before they disappear around the corner. The first time they

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close their bedroom door when they used to leave it open,

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that closed door feels like a statement, like they're creating

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a world in there that doesn't include you, and you

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have to respect it. You have to let them have

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their privacy, their space, their own thoughts that aren't automatically

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shared with you anymore. When they stop asking you to

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tie their shoes, when they learn how to do their

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own hair, when they pack their own lunch and you

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don't even know what they're eating anymore, when they don't

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need help with homework, or worse, when they need help

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and don't ask because they'd rather figure it out themselves

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or ask someone else, anyone else. When they start correcting you,

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when they roll their eyes at your jokes, when they

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say things like I've got it, mom, I can do

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it myself. You don't have to, and those words you've

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been waiting to hear for years, those words that mean

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you've done your job. They're supposed to make you proud,

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and they do, they really do, But they also land

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somewhere tender, somewhere you didn't know you were still protecting,

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because tendance sounds like success. Independence is what you've been

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working towards since the day they were born. But it

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feels like loss. It feels like watching them walk away

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from you, one small step at a time. And you're

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supposed to cheer, you're supposed to celebrate, and you do,

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but sometimes you do it with tears in your eyes

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that you hope they don't see. They start forming opinions

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that don't sound like yours. They develop taste, you don't understand.

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Music that sounds like noise to you but means everything

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to them. Books and movies and shows that you haven't

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watched together. Friends whose names you can't keep straight, whose

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faces you've only seen in photos on their phone. They

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have inside jokes. You're not part of references, you don't

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get a whole language that developed when you weren't looking,

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And slowly, gently you move from being the center of

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their universe to being part of it. Still important, still loved,

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still needed, just differently, just not everything. And that shift

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is so gradual you almost don't notice it happening until

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one day you're standing in the kitchen and they're telling

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you about their day, and you realize you only understand

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half of what they're saying, not because they're leaving you out,

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but because they have a life now that exists beyond you,

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a life that's theirs. That's when it hits you. This

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is what you were preparing them for. This is the

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goal for them to not need you, for them to

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be whole and complete and capable without you. That was

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always the point. But knowing that doesn't make it easier,

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It just makes it necessary. The house changes as kids grow,

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not all at once, but gradually, like season, shifting so

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slowly you don't notice until suddenly you're cold and realize

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summer's over, and you miss the exact moment it turned

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to fall. It gets quieter, not peaceful, just different. The

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noise that used to drive you crazy becomes the noise

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you miss. The sound of arguing over who gets the remote,

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the sound of laughter from another room, the sound of

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the footsteps running up and down the stairs, the sound

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of life happening all around you, loud and messy and constant.

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Now there are hours of quiet, long stretches where no

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one needs anything, where you can hear yourself think, where

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you can actually finish a task without interruption. And you

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should love this. You spent years dreaming of this. But

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instead the quiet feels too loud. It feels like something's missing.

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Bedrooms stay clean longer, beds stay made, toys stay put,

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Lights stay off during the day because no one's home.

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They're at school, at practice, at friends' houses, outliving their lives.

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The fridge stays fuller longer, because suddenly they're eating out

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with friends more than they're eating at home. The pantry

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stays stopped, the laundry pile shrinks. All those things you've

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complained about. I'm drowning in laundry. I can't keep food

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in this house I just clean that you'd give anything

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to complain about them again. You stop stepping on toys

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in the dark. You stopped finding socks in weird places.

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You stop discovering empty juice box is behind the couch,

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And somehow that small relief, the one that you prayed

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for when you were exhausted at two in the morning,

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when you were cleaning up yet another spill, when you

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were picking up the same toys for the seventeenth time,

229
00:17:18.680 --> 00:17:21.480
it makes you a little sad. You start standing in

230
00:17:21.519 --> 00:17:25.640
doorways longer than necessary, looking at rooms that feel frozen

231
00:17:25.680 --> 00:17:30.480
in time, their childhood bedroom that still has posters from

232
00:17:30.519 --> 00:17:34.519
when they were twelve, even though they're sixteen. Now you

233
00:17:34.599 --> 00:17:37.880
know you should take them down. You know they've outgrown them,

234
00:17:38.200 --> 00:17:42.119
but you can't not yet, because once you change that room,

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00:17:42.720 --> 00:17:46.200
you can't go back. I found myself lingering in rooms

236
00:17:46.440 --> 00:17:50.279
that used to feel chaotic, running my hand along walls

237
00:17:50.279 --> 00:17:54.119
that still show the marks of their growing pencil lines,

238
00:17:54.759 --> 00:17:59.480
tracking height, scuff marks from shoes. They've outgrown that one

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00:17:59.519 --> 00:18:03.240
spot where they drew on the wall and cram when

240
00:18:03.240 --> 00:18:07.200
they were three, and you were so mad, But now

241
00:18:07.240 --> 00:18:10.680
you can't bring yourself to paint over it, touching walls

242
00:18:10.759 --> 00:18:15.319
covered in memories, hearing echoes of laughter that aren't there anymore,

243
00:18:15.799 --> 00:18:18.400
The way they used to chase each other through the

244
00:18:18.440 --> 00:18:22.640
house playing tag, The way they'd call for me from

245
00:18:22.759 --> 00:18:29.279
every room at once, Mom, Mom, Mom, Mom, like a chorus,

246
00:18:29.880 --> 00:18:33.920
like a symphony of need. Sometimes I hear that echo

247
00:18:34.079 --> 00:18:37.920
so clearly it takes my breath away. I turn around,

248
00:18:38.039 --> 00:18:42.400
expecting to see them there, small and needing me. But

249
00:18:42.440 --> 00:18:45.680
the house is empty, and there's this strange grief that

250
00:18:45.759 --> 00:18:49.799
comes with it. Not because something is wrong, not because

251
00:18:49.839 --> 00:18:53.920
they're gone. They're just at school or with friends, or

252
00:18:54.000 --> 00:19:00.200
in their room with the door closed. They're fine, everything's fine,

253
00:19:00.400 --> 00:19:05.319
better than fine. But something beautiful has moved on. Something

254
00:19:05.359 --> 00:19:08.240
you can't get back, no matter how much you want it.

255
00:19:09.000 --> 00:19:12.039
And you can't go back. Even if you could. You

256
00:19:12.039 --> 00:19:16.119
wouldn't want to, not really, because going back would mean

257
00:19:16.319 --> 00:19:21.480
they'd lose everything they've gained, all their confidence and independence

258
00:19:21.799 --> 00:19:25.720
and capability. You wouldn't take that from them, You wouldn't

259
00:19:25.759 --> 00:19:29.400
wish them smaller. But you're allowed to miss it anyway.

260
00:19:30.079 --> 00:19:34.400
You're allowed to grieve what was, even while celebrating what is.

261
00:19:35.160 --> 00:19:37.720
I walk through the house sometimes and it feels like

262
00:19:37.799 --> 00:19:42.599
a museum of childhood. Every room holds a different memory.

263
00:19:42.720 --> 00:19:46.119
The corner where they took their first steps, the wall

264
00:19:46.200 --> 00:19:50.119
where they measured their height every birthday, the window seat

265
00:19:50.240 --> 00:19:54.480
where we'd read together on rainy days. These spaces hold

266
00:19:54.559 --> 00:19:57.960
so much history, so much love, so much time that's

267
00:19:58.000 --> 00:20:01.039
gone and can never come back. And I wonder if

268
00:20:01.079 --> 00:20:05.200
they remember, if those memories are as precious to them

269
00:20:05.559 --> 00:20:08.079
as they are to me, or if they've moved on

270
00:20:08.400 --> 00:20:13.559
so completely that those moments are just stories. I tell myself.

271
00:20:14.319 --> 00:20:17.640
Part of me hopes they remember. Part of me hopes

272
00:20:17.759 --> 00:20:20.920
those years shape them as much as they shaped me.

273
00:20:21.720 --> 00:20:24.720
But another part of me knows that even if they

274
00:20:24.759 --> 00:20:30.000
don't remember every detail, the love remains. It's woven into

275
00:20:30.039 --> 00:20:33.799
who they are, into how they see the world, into

276
00:20:33.839 --> 00:20:36.759
how they love others. That's what I hold on to

277
00:20:37.039 --> 00:20:40.079
on the hard days, when the house feels too empty

278
00:20:40.920 --> 00:20:44.359
and the quiet feels too loud, the knowledge that those

279
00:20:44.480 --> 00:20:49.799
years weren't wasted, that every moment mattered, that every sacrifice

280
00:20:50.279 --> 00:20:52.640
was worth it, that the love I poured into them

281
00:20:52.799 --> 00:20:57.599
didn't disappear, it transformed, It became the foundation they're building

282
00:20:57.920 --> 00:21:00.880
their lives on, and even if they don't say it,

283
00:21:01.200 --> 00:21:08.319
even if they don't realize it yet, it's there, solid, unshakable, permanent.

284
00:21:08.799 --> 00:21:13.559
Letting go is tug, a war between pride and ache,

285
00:21:13.599 --> 00:21:18.039
between who they were and who they're becoming, between holding

286
00:21:18.079 --> 00:21:21.440
on and letting go, between the parent you are and

287
00:21:21.480 --> 00:21:23.960
the parent they need you to be. Now. You want

288
00:21:23.960 --> 00:21:27.079
them to be confident, You want them to be strong.

289
00:21:27.640 --> 00:21:31.440
You want them to need you less. That's the whole point, right,

290
00:21:32.160 --> 00:21:35.559
That's what you signed up for, to raise them to

291
00:21:35.680 --> 00:21:39.880
not need you, to raise them to leave, to prepare

292
00:21:39.920 --> 00:21:43.960
them for life that doesn't revolve around you. And yet

293
00:21:44.039 --> 00:21:46.920
every part of you wants to freeze time, to press

294
00:21:47.000 --> 00:21:50.680
pause right here where they're still young enough to need you,

295
00:21:51.319 --> 00:21:55.119
but old enough to be interesting, to hold them just

296
00:21:55.200 --> 00:21:58.920
a little bit longer, in this perfect in between space

297
00:21:59.039 --> 00:22:03.880
before they're full grown and gone. You celebrate their independence publicly.

298
00:22:04.440 --> 00:22:08.559
You post pictures on social media with captions about how

299
00:22:08.599 --> 00:22:12.359
proud you are. You brag to friends about their accomplishments.

300
00:22:12.680 --> 00:22:16.599
You smile at their milestones, You clap and cheer and

301
00:22:16.680 --> 00:22:22.880
take photos to remember this moment. But inside, privately, quietly,

302
00:22:23.559 --> 00:22:28.400
your mourning, mourning the version of them that fit perfectly

303
00:22:28.440 --> 00:22:32.400
in your arms, the one who needed you for everything,

304
00:22:32.640 --> 00:22:36.279
the one who taught you hung the moon and could

305
00:22:36.359 --> 00:22:40.799
fix any problem and new all the answers, the one

306
00:22:40.799 --> 00:22:43.839
who ran to you first when they were hurt or

307
00:22:43.960 --> 00:22:47.279
scared or excited, The one who said I love you

308
00:22:47.319 --> 00:22:51.160
seventeen times a day without you even asking. No one

309
00:22:51.240 --> 00:22:55.200
talks enough about this part of parenting, the quiet grief

310
00:22:55.359 --> 00:22:59.880
of success, the bittersweet ache of watching them grow, the

311
00:23:00.119 --> 00:23:03.599
way you can feel proud and heartbroken in the exact

312
00:23:03.680 --> 00:23:08.319
same breath. Because if you say you're sad they're growing up,

313
00:23:08.799 --> 00:23:11.720
people think you want to hold them back, that you

314
00:23:11.759 --> 00:23:15.160
want to keep them small, that you're one of those

315
00:23:15.240 --> 00:23:20.480
parents who can't let go, the clinging ones, the ones

316
00:23:20.519 --> 00:23:24.359
who make it about themselves. But that's not it at all.

317
00:23:25.000 --> 00:23:27.680
You don't want to stop them from growing. You don't

318
00:23:27.680 --> 00:23:31.319
want to control them or limit them or keep them dependent.

319
00:23:32.400 --> 00:23:35.279
You just want to come with them. You want to

320
00:23:35.319 --> 00:23:39.319
stay close while they go far. You want to still

321
00:23:39.839 --> 00:23:43.440
matter in the way that you used to matter, and

322
00:23:43.559 --> 00:23:48.519
learning to accept that role is changing that you're not

323
00:23:48.640 --> 00:23:53.400
less important, just differently important. That takes time, that takes

324
00:23:53.559 --> 00:23:59.000
grieving what was before you can fully embrace what is learning.

325
00:23:59.000 --> 00:24:02.119
How to be present without being in the way, How

326
00:24:02.160 --> 00:24:06.079
to offer support without controlling, how to give advice without

327
00:24:06.119 --> 00:24:09.799
demanding they take it. How to love them loud enough

328
00:24:10.039 --> 00:24:13.559
that they feel it, but quiet enough that they have

329
00:24:13.680 --> 00:24:17.839
room to breathe. That's one of the hardest lessons of parenthood,

330
00:24:18.599 --> 00:24:23.640
maybe the hardest, because everything in you wants to protect

331
00:24:23.680 --> 00:24:28.279
them from heartbreak, from failure, from making the same mistakes

332
00:24:28.319 --> 00:24:31.680
you made, from all the pain you know is coming

333
00:24:32.279 --> 00:24:35.480
that they can't see yet. You want to wrap them

334
00:24:35.599 --> 00:24:38.599
up and keep them safe and tell them exactly how

335
00:24:38.599 --> 00:24:43.240
to avoid every pitfall. But you can't. You have to

336
00:24:43.319 --> 00:24:47.039
let them learn. You have to let them fall. You

337
00:24:47.119 --> 00:24:50.000
have to let them figure it out, even when it

338
00:24:50.119 --> 00:24:53.880
kills you to watch. There are nights I lie awake

339
00:24:54.000 --> 00:24:59.640
worrying about choices they're making, about friends I'm not sure about,

340
00:25:00.480 --> 00:25:05.119
about past they're taking that feel risky, and I have

341
00:25:05.200 --> 00:25:09.119
to remind myself that my job isn't to prevent every mistake.

342
00:25:10.079 --> 00:25:12.640
My job is to be there when they make them,

343
00:25:13.480 --> 00:25:17.480
to help them process, to help them learn, to show

344
00:25:17.519 --> 00:25:21.160
them that failure isn't fatal, and mistakes are just stepping

345
00:25:21.200 --> 00:25:25.519
stones to wisdom. But knowing that intellectually and living it

346
00:25:25.559 --> 00:25:29.039
emotionally are two different things. I can know in my

347
00:25:29.200 --> 00:25:34.119
head that they need to struggle, that struggle builds character,

348
00:25:34.519 --> 00:25:38.680
that resilience comes from working through hard things, not from

349
00:25:38.759 --> 00:25:43.039
avoiding them. But my heart, my heart wants to fix

350
00:25:43.079 --> 00:25:46.359
it all. My heart wants to smooth every rough edge

351
00:25:47.000 --> 00:25:50.720
and remove every obstacle. My heart wants to protect them

352
00:25:50.759 --> 00:25:55.000
from pain always. So I'm learning to sit with the discomfort,

353
00:25:55.920 --> 00:25:59.759
to bite my tongue, to trust, to believe that they

354
00:25:59.799 --> 00:26:03.200
can handle more than I think they can. To remember

355
00:26:03.240 --> 00:26:07.839
that I'm raising adults, not children. That my goal is

356
00:26:07.880 --> 00:26:11.079
to work myself out of a job. That the better

357
00:26:11.279 --> 00:26:14.880
I do at preparing them, the less they'll need me.

358
00:26:15.720 --> 00:26:21.200
And that's both terrifying and beautiful. Letting go requires trust, deep,

359
00:26:21.640 --> 00:26:27.720
sometimes terrifying trust. Trust that what you poured into them matters.

360
00:26:28.279 --> 00:26:32.759
Trust that those thousands of small moments, the bedtime talks,

361
00:26:33.359 --> 00:26:39.039
the car ride conversations, the dinner table debates, that they

362
00:26:39.079 --> 00:26:43.559
add up into something that they took root. All those

363
00:26:43.599 --> 00:26:47.599
teachable moments you weren't sure they were even listening to,

364
00:26:48.519 --> 00:26:52.559
all those times you modeled kindness even when you didn't

365
00:26:52.640 --> 00:26:57.440
feel kind all those times you chose patients over frustration,

366
00:26:58.240 --> 00:27:03.160
or at least try to, all those apologies when you

367
00:27:03.240 --> 00:27:07.720
got it wrong, all those conversations about values and characters

368
00:27:08.839 --> 00:27:12.720
and doing the right thing even when it's hard. Trust

369
00:27:12.720 --> 00:27:17.079
that the values you modeled took root, even when you

370
00:27:17.119 --> 00:27:20.559
weren't perfect, even when you messed up and you had

371
00:27:20.599 --> 00:27:23.960
to say I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said it, that

372
00:27:24.480 --> 00:27:28.960
I was wrong. Maybe especially then, because teaching them that

373
00:27:29.039 --> 00:27:34.160
adults make mistakes too, that we're all still learning, that

374
00:27:34.440 --> 00:27:38.440
grace and growth are life long. Maybe that's the most

375
00:27:38.440 --> 00:27:42.400
important lesson of all. Trust that even when they stumble,

376
00:27:43.039 --> 00:27:46.480
they know how to stand back up, because you taught

377
00:27:46.519 --> 00:27:52.079
them how, not by shielding them from every fall, but

378
00:27:52.119 --> 00:27:55.880
by being there when they did fall, by brushing them

379
00:27:55.920 --> 00:27:59.240
off and telling them it's okay to try again, By

380
00:27:59.279 --> 00:28:04.240
showing them that failure isn't fatal, that mistakes are just information,

381
00:28:05.319 --> 00:28:10.160
that resilience is built, not born. It's realizing that your

382
00:28:10.319 --> 00:28:13.680
job was never to keep them close. Your job was

383
00:28:13.720 --> 00:28:18.039
to prepare them to leave, To build wings, not cages,

384
00:28:19.160 --> 00:28:23.319
to give them roots and wings, to make them strong

385
00:28:23.440 --> 00:28:28.079
enough and brave enough and capable enough that they don't

386
00:28:28.119 --> 00:28:32.200
need you anymore, not the way they used to. And

387
00:28:32.240 --> 00:28:38.039
that realization it's both empowering and devastating because it means

388
00:28:38.039 --> 00:28:41.960
you did your job well, you succeeded. But it also

389
00:28:42.079 --> 00:28:45.319
means your role doesn't stay the same. It doesn't end,

390
00:28:45.519 --> 00:28:49.920
it evolves, it shifts. You're not done being their parent,

391
00:28:50.799 --> 00:28:55.519
You're just learning to parent them differently. You move from

392
00:28:55.799 --> 00:29:01.960
protector to supporter, from director to witness, from decision maker

393
00:29:02.279 --> 00:29:06.640
to advisor, from the one who solves their problem to

394
00:29:06.720 --> 00:29:09.680
the one who listens while they figure it out themselves.

395
00:29:10.599 --> 00:29:15.680
From center stage to quiet presence in the wings, still there,

396
00:29:16.240 --> 00:29:20.480
still watching, still ready if they need you, still loving

397
00:29:20.519 --> 00:29:24.720
them with everything you have, but letting them take the lead.

398
00:29:25.880 --> 00:29:29.319
And somehow that might be the bravest role of all,

399
00:29:30.240 --> 00:29:34.440
because it requires you to trust, to believe, to have

400
00:29:34.599 --> 00:29:39.160
faith that what you built will hold, that they'll remember

401
00:29:39.200 --> 00:29:42.160
what you taught them, that they'll come back to the

402
00:29:42.240 --> 00:29:46.720
values you instilled, that when they need you, they'll ask,

403
00:29:47.440 --> 00:29:50.480
And when they don't ask, it's not because they don't

404
00:29:50.519 --> 00:29:53.680
love you. It's because you did your job so well

405
00:29:54.279 --> 00:29:57.240
they can stand on their own. Here's the beautiful thing.

406
00:29:57.279 --> 00:30:00.440
No one tells you. They come back maybe not in

407
00:30:00.480 --> 00:30:03.400
the same way, maybe not as often as you'd like,

408
00:30:03.960 --> 00:30:07.839
but they come back with stories from their world you're

409
00:30:07.839 --> 00:30:11.680
no longer at the center of, with questions they trust

410
00:30:11.720 --> 00:30:17.680
you to answer, with moments where they need reassurance that

411
00:30:18.119 --> 00:30:21.680
they're doing okay, that they're on the right path, that

412
00:30:21.759 --> 00:30:25.440
it's okay to not have it all figured out, that

413
00:30:25.480 --> 00:30:29.359
they're allowed to change their mind, that they're enough exactly

414
00:30:29.440 --> 00:30:32.519
as they are. And when they do come back, when

415
00:30:32.559 --> 00:30:35.799
they call just to talk, when they text you a

416
00:30:35.960 --> 00:30:39.759
meme that made them think of you, When they show

417
00:30:39.880 --> 00:30:44.480
up at your door with laundry and stories and that

418
00:30:45.039 --> 00:30:49.279
specific kind of hungry that means they've missed your cooking,

419
00:30:49.640 --> 00:30:54.079
you realize something profound. Letting go didn't create distance. It

420
00:30:54.200 --> 00:30:57.880
created space. Space for them to become who they are,

421
00:30:58.559 --> 00:31:02.119
space for them to discover their own thoughts and beliefs

422
00:31:02.119 --> 00:31:05.720
and values, space for them to mess up and learn

423
00:31:05.759 --> 00:31:11.559
and grow without you hovering, and in that space something new, gross,

424
00:31:11.599 --> 00:31:16.640
something beautiful. Trust. They don't come back because they need

425
00:31:16.680 --> 00:31:20.079
you to fix everything anymore. They come back because they

426
00:31:20.160 --> 00:31:23.799
want you to know them, the real them, not the

427
00:31:23.920 --> 00:31:27.839
version that fits what you expected, not the child they

428
00:31:27.960 --> 00:31:32.079
used to be. But the person they're becoming, and they

429
00:31:32.119 --> 00:31:36.400
trust you enough to show you that person flaws and

430
00:31:36.440 --> 00:31:41.680
all questions and all confusion and all that's when you

431
00:31:41.759 --> 00:31:45.319
understand that is what you were working toward all along,

432
00:31:45.720 --> 00:31:48.559
not for them to need you forever, but for them

433
00:31:48.599 --> 00:31:51.720
to choose you, to want you in their life, not

434
00:31:51.880 --> 00:31:57.160
because they have to, but because they genuinely enjoy your company,

435
00:31:57.240 --> 00:32:02.160
because you've become someone they respect, someone they trust, someone

436
00:32:02.200 --> 00:32:07.160
they want to share their life with, and that that's

437
00:32:07.200 --> 00:32:11.400
a gift, one that only comes from letting go, one

438
00:32:11.440 --> 00:32:14.319
that only comes from trusting them enough to walk away

439
00:32:14.599 --> 00:32:18.240
so they can learn to walk back on their own terms.

440
00:32:18.839 --> 00:32:24.319
I've noticed something beautiful happening. Lightly. The conversations are different, now, deeper,

441
00:32:24.799 --> 00:32:28.079
more real. They tell me things they never would have

442
00:32:28.160 --> 00:32:31.559
told me when I was hovering, when I was trying

443
00:32:31.559 --> 00:32:35.000
to control every outcome, when I was more concerned with

444
00:32:35.359 --> 00:32:39.119
being right than with understanding them. Now they come to

445
00:32:39.160 --> 00:32:43.799
me with their doubts, their questions, their fears, not because

446
00:32:43.839 --> 00:32:46.599
they need me to fix them, but because they know

447
00:32:46.680 --> 00:32:51.319
I'll listen without judgment, because they trust that I can

448
00:32:51.359 --> 00:32:55.799
hold their uncertainty without trying to solve it. Because they've

449
00:32:55.880 --> 00:32:59.799
learned that I loved them, not in spite of their imperfection,

450
00:33:00.720 --> 00:33:05.799
but including their imperfections, all of them. That's the relationship

451
00:33:05.839 --> 00:33:09.480
I've always wanted, not one where they need me out

452
00:33:09.519 --> 00:33:13.319
of dependency, but one where they want me out of

453
00:33:13.480 --> 00:33:17.440
genuine connection, where they choose to share their life with me,

454
00:33:17.640 --> 00:33:21.000
not because they have to, but because they want to,

455
00:33:21.559 --> 00:33:25.200
because I've become someone they genuinely enjoy spending time with,

456
00:33:25.799 --> 00:33:29.599
someone they respect, someone they trust with their real self,

457
00:33:30.480 --> 00:33:36.519
not just the polished version. And I realize now that this,

458
00:33:36.519 --> 00:33:39.799
this is what I was working toward all along. Not

459
00:33:39.960 --> 00:33:43.880
to be needed forever, but to be wanted. Not to

460
00:33:43.920 --> 00:33:46.400
be the center of their world, but to be a

461
00:33:46.440 --> 00:33:49.680
safe place in it, not to control their path, but

462
00:33:49.799 --> 00:33:53.839
to walk alongside them on their journey. That's what letting

463
00:33:53.880 --> 00:33:57.680
go makes possible. That's the gift waiting on the other

464
00:33:57.799 --> 00:34:01.759
side of the grief. As parents, we don't stop loving differently.

465
00:34:02.119 --> 00:34:05.359
We learn to love wider. We learn to hold space

466
00:34:05.400 --> 00:34:09.000
instead of holding hands, to be the safe place they

467
00:34:09.079 --> 00:34:12.960
can return to without feeling trapped, to be the steady

468
00:34:13.000 --> 00:34:16.840
ground they can count on while they explore the world.

469
00:34:17.400 --> 00:34:20.639
We learn to listen more than we speak. To ask

470
00:34:20.719 --> 00:34:24.239
questions instead of giving answers, to say, tell me more,

471
00:34:24.280 --> 00:34:27.440
instead of here's what you should do. To resist the

472
00:34:27.639 --> 00:34:31.119
urge to jump in and solve when they just need

473
00:34:31.239 --> 00:34:34.320
us to sit with them in the problem. We learn

474
00:34:34.360 --> 00:34:37.800
to offer guidance without control, to share our wisdom without

475
00:34:37.840 --> 00:34:41.039
demanding they follow it, to say this is what I think,

476
00:34:41.480 --> 00:34:45.159
but you have to decide for yourself, to respect their

477
00:34:45.280 --> 00:34:49.280
path might look different from ours, and that's not just okay,

478
00:34:49.320 --> 00:34:53.360
it's necessary. We learn that letting go doesn't mean stepping away.

479
00:34:53.679 --> 00:34:57.000
It means standing steady while we step forward, being the

480
00:34:57.039 --> 00:35:00.880
ground beneath their feet, not the ceiling of their heads,

481
00:35:01.360 --> 00:35:04.719
being the foundation they can build on, not the walls

482
00:35:04.760 --> 00:35:08.639
that keep them in. And some days that's harder than

483
00:35:08.719 --> 00:35:12.679
anything we've done before, Harder than the sleepless nights when

484
00:35:12.679 --> 00:35:16.480
they were babies, harder than the tantrums and terrible twos,

485
00:35:17.119 --> 00:35:20.719
because at least then you knew what they needed, You

486
00:35:20.760 --> 00:35:24.360
could fix it, you could make it better. But now

487
00:35:25.360 --> 00:35:28.639
now you have to watch them struggle and not rescue them.

488
00:35:29.079 --> 00:35:31.559
You have to let them make choices you disagree with

489
00:35:31.840 --> 00:35:36.119
and not intervene. You have to trust the process because

490
00:35:36.159 --> 00:35:40.480
it requires a restraint. It requires biting your tongue when

491
00:35:40.519 --> 00:35:43.440
you want to warn them. It requires watching them make

492
00:35:43.519 --> 00:35:46.199
choices you wouldn't make, and not saying I told you

493
00:35:46.440 --> 00:35:50.079
so when it doesn't work out. It requires trusting them

494
00:35:50.119 --> 00:35:53.360
to learn on their own lessons, even when you could

495
00:35:53.360 --> 00:35:56.719
save them the trouble, even when you know exactly what's

496
00:35:56.760 --> 00:35:59.440
going to happen and they can't see it yet. But

497
00:35:59.519 --> 00:36:02.559
here's what I'm learning. The more space I give them

498
00:36:02.599 --> 00:36:06.079
to grow, the more they invite me in, the less

499
00:36:06.119 --> 00:36:09.440
I push, the more they lean in, the more I

500
00:36:09.480 --> 00:36:12.360
trust them, the more they trust me with their real

501
00:36:12.480 --> 00:36:17.599
thoughts and feelings, not the sanitized version, not the version

502
00:36:17.639 --> 00:36:20.719
they think I want to hear, but the truth, and

503
00:36:20.760 --> 00:36:24.639
that truth, even when it's hard to hear, even when

504
00:36:24.679 --> 00:36:29.360
it's not what I expected. That's the relationship I've always wanted,

505
00:36:29.559 --> 00:36:32.280
One built on mutual respect, One where they know I

506
00:36:32.320 --> 00:36:35.199
see them for who they are, not for who I

507
00:36:35.360 --> 00:36:38.440
hoped they'd be. One where they feel safe enough to

508
00:36:38.480 --> 00:36:41.920
be honest. One where they choose to include me, not

509
00:36:42.199 --> 00:36:45.639
out of obligation, but out of genuine desire to share

510
00:36:45.679 --> 00:36:48.320
their life with me. There's one thing I've learned through

511
00:36:48.360 --> 00:36:52.000
all of This food is a way of anchoring family.

512
00:36:52.400 --> 00:36:55.320
No matter how old they get, no matter how far

513
00:36:55.440 --> 00:36:59.719
they roam, no matter how much their world expands beyond you,

514
00:37:00.280 --> 00:37:04.199
there are certain smells that pull them home, certain tastes

515
00:37:04.360 --> 00:37:08.239
that means safety, Certain rituals that say you belong here,

516
00:37:08.760 --> 00:37:12.719
Certain dishes that hold a thousand memories in every bite.

517
00:37:13.079 --> 00:37:16.280
The food we made when they were sick, the food

518
00:37:16.280 --> 00:37:19.840
we celebrated with, The food that said I love you

519
00:37:19.960 --> 00:37:23.000
when words felt too small. So I want to share

520
00:37:23.000 --> 00:37:26.280
a recipe today, one that's been part of our family

521
00:37:26.400 --> 00:37:29.440
during every season of growth. The one I make when

522
00:37:29.480 --> 00:37:33.719
someone needs to feel held, when the house feels too quiet,

523
00:37:34.039 --> 00:37:36.760
when I miss them, when they come home and need

524
00:37:36.840 --> 00:37:40.800
to remember what home tastes like. Blow simmered Sunday chicken

525
00:37:41.079 --> 00:37:45.000
and dumplings. This is a comfort food, the kind that

526
00:37:45.039 --> 00:37:48.239
doesn't rush, the kind that fills the house with warmth

527
00:37:48.360 --> 00:37:51.679
and memory and the promise that, no matter what changes,

528
00:37:52.039 --> 00:37:55.840
something stay the same. The kind that says you're home.

529
00:37:56.400 --> 00:38:00.480
One whole chicken or four to five bone and thigh,

530
00:38:01.000 --> 00:38:06.000
eight cups of chicken broth, one onion diced, three carrots sliced,

531
00:38:06.719 --> 00:38:12.719
three celery stalks chopped, three clove scarlic, minced salt, pepper,

532
00:38:12.880 --> 00:38:18.239
thyme to taste. Two bay leaves for the dumplings. Two

533
00:38:18.239 --> 00:38:22.119
cups of all purpose flour, one tablespoon of baking powder,

534
00:38:22.800 --> 00:38:28.079
one teaspoon of salt, three force cup whole milk, three

535
00:38:28.119 --> 00:38:32.960
tablespoons butter, melted. Let the chicken simmer slowly with vegetables

536
00:38:33.000 --> 00:38:37.639
and seasoning. Low and slow, not rushed. This isn't a

537
00:38:37.679 --> 00:38:41.760
recipe you can hurry, and that's the point. Some things

538
00:38:41.800 --> 00:38:46.400
are worth the weight. Let the flavors deepen like time

539
00:38:46.480 --> 00:38:50.239
does with us, like relationships do, when you give them

540
00:38:50.320 --> 00:38:54.000
space to develop. Let the broth becomes something more than

541
00:38:54.039 --> 00:38:58.079
the sum of its parts. Let the transformation from ingredients

542
00:38:58.079 --> 00:39:01.960
into something that feeds more more than just hunger while

543
00:39:01.960 --> 00:39:05.360
it simmers. Make the dumplings. Mix the dry ingredients in

544
00:39:05.400 --> 00:39:10.000
a bowl, then fold in milk and butter gently. Don't

545
00:39:10.000 --> 00:39:13.800
overwork it, don't overhandle it. Some things are better when

546
00:39:13.840 --> 00:39:17.039
you don't force them, when you let them be what

547
00:39:17.079 --> 00:39:20.320
they're meant to be without trying to control every step.

548
00:39:20.519 --> 00:39:24.639
The dope will be shaggy, imperfect. It's okay, that's how

549
00:39:24.679 --> 00:39:27.920
it's supposed to be. Drop a spoonful gently into the

550
00:39:27.920 --> 00:39:32.840
simmering broth, Watch them think, Trust they'll rise. Cover the pot.

551
00:39:33.159 --> 00:39:36.400
This part is important. You have to cover it and

552
00:39:36.480 --> 00:39:40.039
leave it alone. Resist the urge to peak, resist the

553
00:39:40.159 --> 00:39:43.880
urge to stir, resist the urge to check if it's working.

554
00:39:44.559 --> 00:39:48.920
Just trust the process. Trust the transition is happening even

555
00:39:49.079 --> 00:39:53.320
when you can't see it. Let them rise, let them soften,

556
00:39:54.079 --> 00:39:57.639
Let them become what they're meant to be, because some things,

557
00:39:58.079 --> 00:40:02.760
like dumplings, like children, like family, are meant to be

558
00:40:02.840 --> 00:40:08.599
held gently, given space to grow, trusted to become. After

559
00:40:08.639 --> 00:40:12.960
about fifteen minutes, uncover the pot. See how they've transformed,

560
00:40:13.559 --> 00:40:17.000
How they've absorbed the broth and grown and become tender.

561
00:40:17.599 --> 00:40:21.400
How they've become exactly what you hoped, even though you

562
00:40:21.440 --> 00:40:26.320
couldn't control the process. Serve it warm, Gather whoever is home,

563
00:40:26.840 --> 00:40:30.000
whoever can make it. Don't wait for everyone to be there,

564
00:40:30.360 --> 00:40:34.000
don't save it for a perfect moment. Make this moment

565
00:40:34.119 --> 00:40:39.000
perfect by being together whoever's here. Ladle and into bowls,

566
00:40:39.239 --> 00:40:42.760
Pass the bread, sit around the table, put the phones away,

567
00:40:43.199 --> 00:40:46.000
and let the table do what it always has done best.

568
00:40:46.599 --> 00:40:50.320
Bring everyone back together, create a space where everyone belongs.

569
00:40:50.480 --> 00:40:55.079
Remind you that no matter what changes, this this is constant.

570
00:40:55.320 --> 00:40:57.960
This is home, even if it's just for an hour,

571
00:40:58.480 --> 00:41:01.719
even if it's just for this me. This is an anchor.

572
00:41:02.239 --> 00:41:05.840
This is what holds. This is what they'll remember when

573
00:41:05.840 --> 00:41:09.280
they're far away and missing home. Not the perfect moments,

574
00:41:09.639 --> 00:41:13.159
but these moments, the ordinary ones, the ones where we

575
00:41:13.320 --> 00:41:18.280
gathered around food and love and told each other without words,

576
00:41:18.559 --> 00:41:22.840
you matter, you belong, You're always welcome here. Letting go

577
00:41:23.079 --> 00:41:27.000
doesn't mean losing them, it never did. It means loving

578
00:41:27.039 --> 00:41:30.800
them enough to trust who they're becoming. It means stepping

579
00:41:30.880 --> 00:41:34.800
back so they can step forward. It means being proud

580
00:41:34.840 --> 00:41:38.199
of who they are, not just who you'd hope they'd be.

581
00:41:38.719 --> 00:41:42.079
It means accepting that your role is changing, that you're

582
00:41:42.119 --> 00:41:45.119
not the center of their universe anymore, and that it's

583
00:41:45.280 --> 00:41:49.119
not a failure. That's success. That's what you were working

584
00:41:49.159 --> 00:41:52.599
towards all along, to raise them to not need you,

585
00:41:52.960 --> 00:41:56.199
to raise them to be whole and complete and capable

586
00:41:56.239 --> 00:41:59.400
without you. And if you're in that in between space

587
00:41:59.480 --> 00:42:03.159
right now, missing who they were while learning to love

588
00:42:03.239 --> 00:42:06.719
who they are, you're not alone. So many of us

589
00:42:06.840 --> 00:42:11.079
are here, walking the same path, feeling the same ache

590
00:42:11.079 --> 00:42:14.920
and pride twisted together so tightly you can't tell where

591
00:42:15.119 --> 00:42:18.280
one ends and the other begins. You're doing it right,

592
00:42:18.679 --> 00:42:21.079
even when it doesn't feel like it, even when you're

593
00:42:21.119 --> 00:42:24.760
crying in the car after drop off because they didn't

594
00:42:24.760 --> 00:42:28.039
look back, Even when you're standing in their empty bedroom

595
00:42:28.119 --> 00:42:32.000
wondering where the time went, Even when you're scrolling through

596
00:42:32.039 --> 00:42:35.679
old photos wishing you could go back just for a day,

597
00:42:36.480 --> 00:42:41.880
Especially then, because that grief, that ache, that bittersweet feeling,

598
00:42:42.440 --> 00:42:45.519
it's proof that you love them well, that you were present,

599
00:42:46.079 --> 00:42:49.920
that you showed up, that these years mattered. You can't

600
00:42:49.960 --> 00:42:54.639
miss what you didn't love. You can't grieve what wasn't precious.

601
00:42:54.840 --> 00:42:59.320
Let yourself feel it. It's not a weakness, it's love

602
00:42:59.360 --> 00:43:02.639
in a different form. Thank you for being here with

603
00:43:02.760 --> 00:43:06.000
me today. Thank you for letting me into your space,

604
00:43:06.400 --> 00:43:11.400
your car, your kitchen, your morning routine, wherever you are.

605
00:43:12.119 --> 00:43:14.840
Thank you for trusting me with your time and your

606
00:43:14.880 --> 00:43:18.639
heart and your story. Because I know if you're feeling this,

607
00:43:19.400 --> 00:43:23.280
you understand, and there's something healing about knowing we're not

608
00:43:23.400 --> 00:43:26.679
alone in this, this has been We are the Hansens,

609
00:43:26.960 --> 00:43:30.880
and wherever you are in your parenting journey, whatever phase

610
00:43:30.960 --> 00:43:36.480
you're in, whatever age your kids are, whatever challenge you're facing,

611
00:43:37.039 --> 00:43:41.960
remember this. Hold on gently and let go bravely. Love

612
00:43:42.039 --> 00:43:45.800
them loud enough that they feel it, but quiet enough

613
00:43:46.119 --> 00:43:49.559
that they have room to Breathe trust what you built,

614
00:43:49.800 --> 00:43:53.400
believe in who they're becoming, and know that letting go

615
00:43:53.519 --> 00:43:56.920
doesn't mean goodbye. It just means hello to something new.

616
00:43:57.480 --> 00:44:01.960
Every phase of parenting asks something different of us. When

617
00:44:01.960 --> 00:44:06.360
they're babies, it asks for our bodies, our sleep, our

618
00:44:06.480 --> 00:44:11.239
constant presence. When they're toddlers, it asks for our patients,

619
00:44:11.480 --> 00:44:15.639
our energy, our willingness to repeat ourselves a thousand times.

620
00:44:15.920 --> 00:44:20.000
When they're school aged, it asks for our time, our attention,

621
00:44:20.400 --> 00:44:23.920
our involvement. But when they're growing up, it asks for

622
00:44:24.000 --> 00:44:29.639
our courage, our trust, our willingness to step back. And

623
00:44:29.719 --> 00:44:32.679
that might be the hardest thing it asked for yet.

624
00:44:32.840 --> 00:44:35.320
But here's what I want you to hear. You're not

625
00:44:35.400 --> 00:44:39.239
alone in this. Every parent who's ever loved a child

626
00:44:39.559 --> 00:44:44.559
has walked this path, has felt this ache, has struggled

627
00:44:44.599 --> 00:44:48.599
to let go while holding on, has celebrated growth, while

628
00:44:48.679 --> 00:44:53.480
mourning what's lost, has felt proud and heartbroken in the

629
00:44:53.519 --> 00:44:57.880
same breath. This is universal. This is part of loving

630
00:44:58.000 --> 00:45:00.960
someone enough to let them be become who they're meant

631
00:45:00.960 --> 00:45:04.039
to be. So be gentle with yourself on the days

632
00:45:04.079 --> 00:45:06.599
you want to hold on too tight, on the days

633
00:45:06.639 --> 00:45:10.800
you're grieving versions of them that don't exist anymore, on

634
00:45:10.880 --> 00:45:15.079
the days you're scared of all things that could go wrong,

635
00:45:15.559 --> 00:45:20.119
on the days you wonder if you did enough, said enough,

636
00:45:20.519 --> 00:45:26.000
loved enough. You did, you are, you will. The fact

637
00:45:26.039 --> 00:45:29.639
that you're worried about it means you care, and that care,

638
00:45:30.360 --> 00:45:35.239
that love, that intention. It matters more than perfection ever

639
00:45:35.320 --> 00:45:36.000
could