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Letting Go, Holding On: Mothering Through the College Transition
From healthy food to vaccine decisions, parents spend years teaching their children that choices matter. Eventually, parents have to step back and trust their kids to make informed choices for themselves. Children’s Health Defense’s Back-to-School Toolkit helps parents stay informed and involved as they guide their children toward becoming confident advocates for their own health and well-being.
There’s a quiet shift when your child becomes a young adult. It doesn’t happen all at once. It happens slowly through college applications, late-night conversations, teenage independence and the realization that you are no longer steering the ship.
I remember thinking, “It will get easier when he’s older.” The truth is, it doesn’t get easier. It gets different and, in some ways, harder.
Mothering an almost-adult is a different kind of love. Softer in some ways, heavier in others. You have less control, fewer answers and far more to worry about.
You can’t fix everything for them anymore. You can only listen, guide, pray and hope that everything you poured into them is strong enough to carry them when you can’t.
Over the years, you lose versions of your children. You lose the infant who needs you for everything. The toddler who follows you to the bathroom because being near you is enough. The curious school-aged child who has a thousand questions and wants nothing more than to be with you.
Then middle school comes, and the shifts begin. Suddenly, they don’t want to be seen with you. High school becomes about friends, independence and finding their place. Then comes the driver’s license, the car and the realization that they can leave without you.
That’s when it becomes real.
My son has always been my heart walking outside of my body.
From the beginning, I made intentional choices about how I would raise him — what he would eat, how he would think and what values would shape his life.
In our home, it wasn’t Takis and ramen noodles — it was sunflower seeds, carrots and homemade sriracha ranch.
It wasn’t just about food. It was about teaching him that what you put into your body matters, that choices have consequences and that he is responsible for his own well-being.
We have not vaccinated our son since he was 4. When he reached middle school, we sought and received a religious exemption that allowed him to continue his education while honoring our deeply held beliefs.
Those beliefs were not formed overnight.
After a series of life events, including traumatic pregnancy losses, I found my way back to my faith. In the middle of grief and fear, I learned to trust my convictions and let my faith become louder than the fear surrounding so many of the medical decisions I faced.
That journey shaped how I raised my son.
Now, as we look at colleges, those deeply personal beliefs have become part of the process. Every school he considers brings another question: Will they respect his religious beliefs? Will they allow him to remain true to the convictions we have taught him?
As I write this, we are still waiting to learn whether his exemption will be accepted.
That uncertainty weighs on me — not simply because of a health form or a college requirement, but because of what it represents. These are beliefs we have carried as a family and values we have spent years teaching our son.
And I can see what it does to him. It reminds him that he is different.
Being different as a teenager or young adult can be daunting. The desire to belong is powerful. I’ve watched young people make choices under pressure because they want to fit in, even when those choices don’t feel right to them.
As a parent, there comes a point when there is only so much you can do. You can teach. You can model. You can pray. You can hope that what you poured into them holds when you aren’t there to guide every decision.
That’s where I am now.
I’m no longer the decision-maker. I’m the navigation system — offering guidance, pointing out the turns and hoping he listens.
And perhaps that is why resources that help parents stay informed matter so much to me.
The Children’s Health Defense (CHD) Back-to-School Toolkit is one resource I wish every parent knew about. It gives parents questions to ask — not just about vaccine requirements and exemptions, but also about school food, technology, school-based health services, curriculum, books and student privacy.
CHD describes the toolkit as a way to help parents advocate for their children and make informed decisions about their health and education.
For me, that is what staying in the driver’s seat looks like now.
Not controlling every decision. Not hovering over every step.
But knowing what questions to ask, understanding our rights, paying attention to what our children are being exposed to and making sure they know they have a voice in decisions that affect them.
Whether your child is entering kindergarten, middle school, high school or college, letting go should never mean checking out.
Our children grow up. Our role changes. But we can still be informed, engaged parents — guiding them toward independence while making sure they understand how to advocate for themselves.
You think it will get easier as they grow. In many ways, it does. The constant demands soften. You get pieces of your life back.
But sometimes I miss the days when I was his whole world. When he followed me everywhere — even to the bathroom.
Now he comes and goes. Sometimes for food. Sometimes for money. And sometimes, thankfully, for a hug.
I’ll take the hug because motherhood is a series of quiet goodbyes. You lose the baby, then the toddler, then the little boy, then the teenager. Each version gives way to the next, and at some point every version of them walks out the door.
In that moment, you realize the goal was never to keep them little — it was to raise someone capable of becoming his own person.
Now my role is changing from protector to guide, from making decisions to offering wisdom, from holding his hand to trusting him to walk on his own.
This is the space no one prepares you for. The space between holding on and letting go.
Maybe motherhood ultimately means trusting that the faith, values, conversations and love you poured into them will travel with them when you can’t.
Because eventually, you have to open the door and watch them walk through it.
You have to let them go — even when your heart walks right out the door with them.
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