There’s something about that sentence that hits me differently now that my kids are growing up. It’s simple, almost too simple but it holds a truth that I didn’t get to experience when I was young.
When I was coming of age, “exploration” wasn’t something I was encouraged to do. My world was small, safe, and carefully contained but not in the way that made you feel nurtured. It was controlled. Fear ruled the decisions, and the message I received wasn’t go see the world and grow from it, it was stay here, where it’s safe, where I can keep you contained.
I didn’t have the freedom to figure out who I was without the weight of someone else’s expectations pressing on me. I didn’t have the comfort of knowing that if I tried something and failed, there would be arms waiting to catch me. When life got hard, “home” wasn’t a safe landing. It was just… a place I lived. And because of that, I learned early on to keep my dreams small enough to fit inside the walls I was given.
And now, as a mother, that’s the very thing I refuse to give my children.
I want my kids to know deep down in their bones that home is not a cage. It’s not a trap. It’s not a place they’re supposed to stay forever. Home is the starting line, not the finish. It’s the anchor, not the chain. It’s the place that gives you strength to take on the world, and the place that will still be here when you’re ready to rest.
Life is about experiences. It’s about standing in a city you’ve never been to before, feeling both small and infinite at the same time. It’s about saying yes to the job that feels too big for you. It’s about failing at something you thought you’d be great at and realizing you survived and learned anyway.
That’s why my truth #6 is letting go and not being afraid. Afraid they’ll leave and never come back. Afraid I’ll lose them to the big, wild world. Afraid of all the “what ifs” that parenthood so easily hands you.
Instead, I’m choosing to believe in this: they will come back.
Maybe not to live here forever. Maybe not every weekend. Maybe not for every milestone. But they’ll come back for the moments that matter Christmas mornings, family dinners, the random Tuesday night when they just need to sit in the kitchen with me and talk about nothing and everything at once. They’ll come back for the smell of their favorite meal cooking, for the way the couch feels too familiar to sit anywhere else, for the laughter that comes easier here than anywhere else.
I know this because I’m building that foundation with them now. Every day, I’m telling them, “Go. Try. Be brave. See the world.” And right alongside it, I’m saying, “I’ll always be here.”
It’s not always easy. There’s a part of me that wants to hold them close and never let them face the pain, disappointment, or loneliness the world sometimes brings. But I know that would be stealing something from them. Growth doesn’t happen in the safety of what you already know. It happens in the mess, in the mistakes, in the places that scare you.
I want my children to leave. Yes, you read that right. I want them to leave not because I want distance, but because I want them to build their own stories. I want them to collect memories that don’t have me in them. I want them to have their own “remember when…” moments that they can share over coffee years from now.
And when they do come home whether it’s for a week, a weekend, or just an afternoon I want it to feel like exhaling. I want them to walk in and feel the weight lift off their shoulders because they know they are safe here, wanted here, and loved here without condition.
Maybe they’ll move hours away. Maybe they’ll travel the world. Maybe they’ll plant their roots somewhere completely unexpected. That’s okay. Because the point of home isn’t to keep them it’s to remind them where they came from and who will always be in their corner.
So yes go explore. Go get lost. Go find yourself in places I’ve never seen. Go fall in love, go chase the dream that feels impossible, go live a life that makes you proud when you’re eighty and looking back on it. And when the road gets long, or your heart feels heavy, or you just need the kind of quiet only home can give you know where to find me.
I’ll be right here.
That’s not just something I’m saying for comfort. It’s a promise. A vow. A truth my own childhood taught me to treasure.
Because the greatest gift I can give them is not keeping them close. It’s sending them out into the world with the kind of courage I had to teach myself and the kind of safety I always wished I’d had.
Go explore. I’ll always be here when you come back.
-Masked Mom
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