What do I need when my child no longer needs me?

It's Thursday afternoon, I'm sitting at the dining table drinking coffee. My 7-year-old daughter is at gymnastics and my two boys, aged 11 and 14, disappeared into their rooms after school and haven't come out since. I could read, call a friend, clean the windows, sit at my desk, go for a run – but instead I'm staring into space and missing my children.

The two children sitting one floor above me. Are they okay? Did I overlook something when they came home from school? Do they feel neglected? Should I check in on them?

I leave the coffee and knock on the first bedroom door. My son is sitting at his desk, gaming and chatting happily with his friends. «Mum, what's up?» «I just wanted to see if you needed anything.» «Nah, I'll come down if I need anything.» He pushes his headphones back over his ears and continues talking to his friends. A sign that I'm not needed here.

I knock on the other child's bedroom door. The child is sitting on the bed listening to rap music. «Mum, what's up?» – «Are you OK?» – «Yeah, sure, what's up?» – «You disappeared into your room so quietly. Do you want to play chess?» «No, not right now, Mum.» He says politely but firmly, and the conversation is over.

A strange contradiction

Isn't that paradoxical? I have all the time I used to dream of, and instead of drinking my coffee in peace while it's still warm, I ask my son if he wants to play with me.

As a mother of three children, I was used to always having something to do in the afternoons, always having to take care of something. Someone always wanted something from me or needed to be taken somewhere. There were words to learn, picture books to look at, or I had to stop squabbling children from hitting each other with recorders.

Letting go is easier said than done. It's a strange time of mixed feelings.

When things got really bad, I had to play shopkeeper and spend the whole afternoon asking for eggs and flour. Those were afternoons that dragged on like chewing gum. These role-playing games are what I miss the least, closely followed by constantly having to accompany someone to the toilet. How often did I wish I didn't have to do anything!

The process of becoming independent begins early on

I don't know where the time has gone, but suddenly I don't seem to be needed anymore. That hurts. So much so that this feeling overshadows the joy of my old, new freedom. Because the pain confronts me with the question: What do I need if I am no longer needed?

I knew that the children would grow up one day. I also knew that they would no longer want to go on family outings or would prefer to go on holiday with their friends. You are prepared for the fact that puberty will come at some point and then the big separation will begin.

But what is rarely mentioned is that the process of becoming independent begins much earlier, not at the age of 15 or 16, but at the onset of pre-puberty, at the age of 9 or 10. At a time when they are still young, or at least not that old. When you should definitely not greet them with a kiss before school, but they still need their teddy bear in their arms when they go to sleep at night.

Letting go – but how?

Then suddenly, the Sunday afternoon walk in the woods is called into question. «Do I really have to come? Can't I stay at home?» You're looking forward to the weekend, wanting to enjoy some time together – and then you see your child's long face.

Anything that isn't an amusement park is boring. Eating cake? Boring. Visiting grandparents? Boring. The playground? That's for babies. Sure, but surely there must be something you can do together?! They'd rather meet up with their friends. Or just hang out in their room all afternoon.

Letting go has nothing to do with disinterest. Parents should never be indifferent to what their children are doing or how they are feeling.

Of course, I don't want to force my children to do anything. It's important to be independent, and that includes spending an afternoon alone at home. Children can cope, they don't open the door to strangers and they're not going to set the place on fire. Right?

Added to this is the guilty conscience: Is my son perhaps playing all afternoon? Or is he secretly watching a series that is not yet appropriate for him? Shouldn't I be taking better care of him?

The first steps towards freedom

Letting go is easier said than done. It is a strange time of ambivalent feelings and inner turmoil: Can I really take care of myself now? Where is the line between neglect and healthy selfishness?

I started small, like when you do weight training and gradually increase the weight. Simply going to the post box or quickly picking up some bread from the bakery were the first steps towards freedom. And what can I say? How liberating it was to just be able to go and not have to wait for the child to put on their shoes and look for their hat.

The next steps were more difficult. The first few times I met a friend for coffee around the corner and kept glancing furtively at my mobile phone. Was it really not on silent? I didn't want to miss a call from my child. After an hour, I hurried home to find a perfectly content child with a bowl of muesli and a book: «Why are you home so early, Mummy?»

At the latest when your eldest child cycles off to training on their own and you no longer have to wait in stuffy gyms for their table tennis match to finish, you suddenly find yourself with a free afternoon again. Before you know it, you have these afternoons even when the children are at home. Because they are happily occupied and no longer need us to entertain them. Shouldn't that be the goal of my efforts: that my children will one day be able to get along without me?

We will not become redundant

Of course there are warning signs when things aren't going well. Of course there are reasons to worry – and they should be taken seriously. But basically, when children get older, it's normal for them to start withdrawing and looking to others who they think are cooler than Mum and Dad.

Those who establish their own lives early on – the sooner, the better – do not fall as deeply into the empty nest syndrome.

The good news is that this does not mean we are becoming redundant. Our children still need us. Just in a different way. As equals. Sometimes they still need us to give them advice, for example on how to deal with strict teachers or annoying classmates. But they also need us as sparring partners with whom they can practise discussing, standing up for their opinions, putting up with frustration and dealing with criticism. We are the ones they can – and should – rub up against.

What we must never forget: letting go has nothing to do with disinterest. Parents should never be indifferent to what their children do or how they feel, regardless of their age. Letting go during puberty means giving your child more freedom, but still being there for them when they need you.

Suddenly, the years pass quickly

And yes, it hurts when our growing children show us how time flies – and remind us that certain things will never come back. My son is now 14 and will be an adult in less than four years . How quickly the last four years have passed – and how quickly the next four will fly by! In four years, he can get his driving licence, excuse himself from school and even drop out without my consent if he wanted to.

How can you stand it in the long run? All those little goodbyes? That separation, which sometimes begins as early as age 9, but accelerates radically again at age 12 or 13 at the latest? That melancholy that overwhelms you when you see the big shoes standing in the hallway and remember the clumsy toddler feet?

There is no standing still in life, especially when you have children. When our children grow up, it is our job to let them go their own way. That is not easy. But those who establish their own lives in good time – the earlier, the better – do not fall so deeply into the empty nest syndrome. And at the same time, they show their children how important it is to take care of their own needs.

Who needs me when my child no longer needs me? Who will I hold on to when I no longer have a child's hand to hold? How about myself?