An empty nest was the best boost our sex life’s ever had
As research claims not ALL parents are heartbroken when the children leave home, three mums share their stories
losing my lovely girls, I was losing my identity as a mother. At the same time my marriage fell apart. As the girls started leaving home my husband and I realised we had drifted apart. Apparently, it’s not uncommon when children move out.
We were great parents, but we’d lost our way as a couple. The cracks that seemed imperceptible with the girls at home suddenly opened up into a chasm. It was a horribly difficult decision but we realised we would be better off apart.
My husband moved out just as our youngest daughter, Beatrice, left home, aged 18, for a gap year before going on to Leeds university. overnight I was suddenly living alone — for the very first time in my entire life — and I hated it.
It’s only now, four years later, that I can see light at the end of the tunnel. I have moved house: 18 months ago I swapped my sprawling five-bedroom home in Newbury for a two-bedroom cottage in Hungerford.
I’ve embarked on a new career as a life coach, using my experience as a mother to help others, and organise events where women share theirs.
But if I could turn the clock back to that glorious time when my girls were all at home I would in a heartbeat.
I have five older brothers and I always knew I wanted a huge family. I gave up my job as manager of a publishing company when Genevieve, who’s now 29, was born in 1986.
I was blown away by how much I loved her and rushed to have more children. Charlotte, now 27, Madeleine, 25 and Beatrice, 22, soon followed.
I wanted to be the very best mum I could be and that meant staying at home. They became my life. We baked cakes, kicked leaves, fed the ducks in the park. But most of all we talked, laughed and argued — incessantly.
As the girls grew up, I started taking on part-time jobs — I worked for Newbury Cancer Care Trust and as a presenter for BBC Radio Berkshire. But my family always came first.
I even enjoyed the teenage years. Sure, we had battles, but we would always kiss and make up. Every single day brought new challenges. When Genevieve was 13 and getting stroppy, I told her: ‘I’ve never had a teenage daughter before. I don’t really know what I’m doing. Give me a break.’
It did the trick. our house was always full of the girls’ friends. We built an extension especially so they could throw parties.
And then came the moment in 2004 when, aged 18, Genevieve embarked on her gap year before going to Bristol university. Waving goodbye to her at Heathrow Airport was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. As her dad and I walked back to the car, I wept and wept.
I was worried for her, of course. She was off to India, where she knew no one, to work in a school. But I knew this was the beginning of the end for me. one by one, my other three girls would be leaving home.
I tried to plan ahead. But nothing could have prepared me for the emptiness I felt when Beatrice left home in 2011. I had put everything into my family and now it was falling apart. My whole purpose in life had gone. I felt paralysed with anxiety.
When the girls called, I pretended everything was oK so as to not worry them. Not a soul guessed.
But when my hair started falling out and I got a huge rash on my face, I realised my body was falling apart — reacting to the terrible sadness. The stress had stopped my adrenal gland working properly so I felt constantly depressed and exhausted.
Very gradually, through meditation and yoga and a complete change in diet (I had been eating junk food since the girls left home), I battled my way back to health.
It was Beatrice who spotted something was wrong. Home for the holidays, she was horrified to see how ill I looked. I knew I had to get a grip and the girls rallied around. It was almost as though our roles reversed. for 18 months they mothered me, visiting and checking up on me regularly. I still miss them like crazy, but I’m excited about the future. I adore my new career and can visualise a new relationship one day.
I don’t regret putting my children first, but I’ve learnt the hard way that, however much you love your children, you need to put yourself first.
IT’S MY TIME TO HAVE FUN NOW
TESSA CUNNINGHAM, 56, lives in Winchester, Hants. She has two daughters and is divorced. My daughters joke that, when they left home, I replaced them with a boyfriend.
After driving my younger daughter off to university three years ago, I did what any sensible mum does when given her freedom: I grabbed the chance to have fun. In my case I joined a dating website. By Christmas I had a new relationship and a whole new life.
I wasn’t trying to replace my girls — How could I? But, after bringing them up alone since my divorce in 2009, I was determined to make up for lost time. So I’m not a bit surprised by this week’s news that — far from being miserable when children fly the nest — most mothers feel a lot happier.
our children may not want to hear it. But having our homes to ourselves is wonderful on so many levels.
I can do all those things that stopped dead when Ellen, now 23, and Elise, 22, were born. I can stay in bed all day, I can eat when I like and I can veg out in front of TV all night without worrying I am setting a bad example.
After years of putting my girls first, it’s suddenly my time. To spare their feelings, I try to hide the fact that my life is fuller than it’s been in years. But from the rather disgruntled comments, I think they get the message.
When they ring I’m rarely at home. I’m at the cinema, at a restaurant or, now that summer is here, out on my boyfriend Richard’s speedboat. Last year, aged 55, I learnt to water-ski.
Do I look ridiculous? yes, probably. Would I have dared do it when my girls were at home to tease me? Probably not. And that’s what makes it extra fun. They are no longer breathing down my neck — ready to criticise in the way only teenage girls can.
Don’t get me wrong. I adore my girls. But as any mother knows, sweet little girls morph into moody teenagers, complete with dodgy boyfriends, filthy bedrooms and homework crises. All I ever seemed to do was nag.
But if those teenage years served one useful purpose, it was to make me good and ready to say goodbye.
Now when I walk into the bathroom I know the floor won’t be littered with discarded tights and knickers. My make-up is exactly where I left it not squirreled away in a daughter’s bedroom. Best of all, now we no longer share a home, we enjoy each other’s company. If anything I love them and appreciate them even more.