I knew this season was coming.
I just didn’t realize it would arrive all at once.
Within the span of two weeks, our son got married and our baby girl left for her first year of college.
One minute, our house was full of wedding plans, boxes, packed suitcases, people coming and going, and all the ordinary chaos. The next, it was eerily quiet.
There’s hardly any laundry to do.
The stairs are void of backpacks and shoes.
No one is yelling from another room asking where something is. No one needs a ride. No one is rummaging through the kitchen late at night.
The country songs weren’t lying.
Don’t blink.
You’re gonna miss this
After spending years wishing everyone would put their stuff away, I now miss the stuff.
Most parents will tell you this season is bittersweet.
They’re right.
Either one of these moments would be a major life transition for a parent, especially for a mom. Watching your child get married and begin a family of their own. Dropping your youngest off at college and driving away without them.
But both, back-to-back?
It has been an emotional roller coaster.
And yes, I was prepared.
I knew the dates were coming.
The counseling appointments were strategically scheduled before and after.
Both of my kids are thriving. They’re happy. They’re stepping into lives we prayed they would someday have. I believe they are exactly where God has prepared them to be.
This is good.
Really good.
But none of that changes the fact that it has also been hard.
And I think sometimes we have a difficult time allowing those two things to coexist.
We Can Do Hard Things. But What If I Don’t Want To?
A friend of mine often reminds me, “We can do hard things.”
And she’s right.
We can.
But if I’m being completely transparent, sometimes I don’t want to do the hard thing.
I don’t want to grind.
I don’t want to persevere.
I don’t want to keep pushing through.
Sometimes I want the thing God is doing in my life to feel easy.
Clear.
Comfortable.
I want growth without stretching.
Change without loss.
New beginnings without endings.
But that isn’t usually how life works.
Some of the best things we experience require us to release something we loved.
A child grows up.
A relationship changes.
A season ends.
A door opens somewhere new, which means another one has to close.
There’s a story in 1 Samuel that has felt different to me lately.
Hannah desperately wanted a child. She prayed and wept and asked God for a son. And eventually, Samuel was born…the answer to years of longing.
Then Hannah had to release him.
She had promised Samuel to the Lord, so while he was still young, she brought him to the temple and entrusted him to Eli’s care.
The thing she had prayed for became something she eventually had to surrender.
I can’t imagine that moment was easy.
But difficult didn’t mean wrong.
Her grief didn’t mean God had stopped being faithful.
And her sadness didn’t erase the goodness of what God was doing.
Maybe that’s something I’m learning too.
Sometimes grief isn’t evidence that something is wrong.
Sometimes it’s evidence that something mattered.
Not Every Hard Thing Is Bad
A few days ago, another friend sent me a DM.
She said something I haven’t been able to stop thinking about:
“Not every hard thing is bad.”
What makes those words even more significant is the person who sent them.
She’s a forty-year-old mom who had just been diagnosed with a brain tumor.
And somehow, in the middle of her own uncertainty, she reminded me of something I desperately needed to hear.
Not every hard thing is bad.
Hard and bad are not synonyms.
Sometimes they overlap, of course. There are hard things that are devastating, unjust, painful, and deeply wrong. I don’t want to minimize those realities or slap a positive spin on suffering.
But sometimes something can be completely good…and still be incredibly hard.
My son getting married isn’t bad.
It’s beautiful.
Watching him love his wife, build a home, and begin this next chapter is something I have prayed for.
My daughter leaving for college isn’t bad.
It’s exciting.
She is growing, learning, becoming, discovering who she is outside the walls of our home.
This is what we raised them to do.
This is what we wanted.
This is what we prayed for.
And somehow, it still hurts.
Because letting go is hard.
Moving on is hard.
Watching a chapter close is hard.
Standing in the unfamiliar space between what was and whatever comes next is hard.
And maybe we don’t always need to talk ourselves out of that.
Maybe we don’t need to rush to gratitude so quickly that we bypass grief.
Maybe we don’t have to say, “But they’re happy!” every time our eyes fill with tears.
Both things can be true.
I am incredibly grateful.
And I miss them.
I am proud of the lives they are building.
And I miss the shoes on the stairs.
I love seeing them become independent.
And sometimes I would give anything to hear someone yell, “Mom!” from upstairs again.
Good doesn’t cancel grief…and grief doesn’t cancel good.
Maybe Hard Isn’t Always a Warning
I think we’ve sometimes learned to treat discomfort like a warning sign.
If something is hard, maybe we made the wrong choice.
If we’re sad, maybe something is wrong.
If we’re grieving, maybe we should go back.
But what if hard isn’t always telling us to stop?
What if sometimes hard simply means we are crossing a threshold?
We are releasing.
We are growing.
We are making room for something we can’t fully see yet.
There are seasons when faith looks brave and bold and confident.
And then there are seasons when faith looks a little more like reaching for the hem of Jesus’ robe and refusing to let go.
That’s where I am right now.
I don’t know exactly what comes next.
For over two decades, so much of my life has been shaped around being their mom: the schedules, the needs, the school calendars, the laundry, the constant movement of people through our home.
And suddenly there is space.
More space than I asked for.
More quiet than I’m accustomed to.
More unknown than I’m comfortable with.
I could fill it quickly.
I could distract myself from the ache.
I could rush to figure out what the next version of my life is supposed to look like.
But maybe I don’t have to know yet, which is also hard because I struggle with ambiguity.
Maybe my invitation right now is simply to stay close to Jesus in the transition.
To trust Him with the people I love.
To trust Him with the chapters that have ended.
And to trust Him with the blank pages that are unwritten.
Because while I don’t know what comes next, God does.
And the same God who was faithful in the noisy house is faithful in the quiet one.
The same God who carried me through the years of raising children will meet me in the years after they’ve gone.
The same God who was present in the beginning is already waiting in whatever comes next.
So yes.
This is hard.
Maybe it will be hard for a while.
But hard doesn’t mean bad.
Look Again
Sometimes we are so quick to escape uncomfortable emotions that we never stop to ask what they might be revealing. There are no perfect answers here, only an invitation to get curious about the hard places in your life and what Jesus might be asking you to notice there.
Is there something in your life right now that is good and hard at the same time?
Have you been interpreting discomfort, grief, or uncertainty as evidence that something is wrong when it may simply be part of transition?
What might it look like to stop trying to figure out what comes next and simply stay close to Jesus in the space between what was and what will be?
Keep Reading
If you’re navigating change, letting go, or learning to trust God in a season you didn’t quite feel ready for, keep reading:
Change Is Hard but Necessary
A reflection on grief, growth, and trusting God through life’s unexpected transitions.
Extending Grace for Who You Were
Our hindsight should bring clarity, not condemnation.
Freedom to Love
What Olivia Dean’s concert reminded me about growing older, following Jesus, and loving our neighbor.
Hi! I’m Torrie. Thanks for stopping by.
If this article encouraged you, provided language for what you’re feeling,
or challenged you, I’d love to hear your story in a comment below.