When will it end?

I was crying the other night and wondering why it felt like someone I loved had died.

Sadness has been stalking me over the last few months and I think it’s empty nester syndrome.

When people talk about being “empty nesters” it seems like such a fun, positive thing. All that freedom and no more tidying up the kids’ mess.

But I am struggling. When will this terrible grief end?

Even going to the supermarket sets me off. My heart hurts when I walk past favourite items that I would buy the kids when they lived at home.

Going to sleep in an empty house and waking up the next morning in one feels like someone has draped a weighted blanket over me. The heaviness lingers after I throw off the doona and face the day.

I thought I was a bit weird to feel grief when no one has died, but it turns out to be quite common.

Better Health notes: “Empty nest syndrome refers to the grief that many parents feel when their children move out of home. This condition is typically more common in women, who are more likely to have had the role of primary carer. Unlike the grief experienced when (for example) a loved one dies, the grief of empty nest syndrome often goes unrecognised, because an adult child moving out of home is seen as a normal, healthy event. Upset parents may find few sources of support or sympathy.”

Google tells me that psychologists reckon it may take me between 18 months and two years to make the successful transition from ‘mum’ to independent woman. I have a long way to go.

The last child living under my roof moved out in February, so I’m only a few months into the separation.

Tony Cassidy, professor of child and family health psychology at Ulster University, told the BBC that while Empty Nest Syndrome was not a clinical diagnosis, it was widely recognised that when children leave home parents – particularly mothers – experience a sense of sadness, loss, depression, loneliness, distress, and even a loss of purpose and meaning in life.

Yep, I’m struggling with all of that.

The kids are loving their new, independent lives and I am thrilled for them. I want them to be happy, functioning adults.

The trick will be working out how I reset myself as a happy, functioning adult without them living under my roof.

Maybe it’s easier to adjust if you’re still living with your husband, maybe you’re excited to have the house to yourselves?

Attending a body corporate meeting last night didn’t improve my mood. Wendy, who has been living in the building for 20 years and basically runs the place, is selling her apartment and moving on.

I have a sinking suspicion that her burden will become mine. The strata manager couldn’t make it to the meeting and I was voted in as temporary chair.

I used my moment of power to hustle the meeting along … and get everyone to agree to pay for my ceiling to be repainted … but I really don’t want the ongoing responsibility.

It’s not the sense of purpose I’m seeking.

Afterwards I took the dogs for a walk and as we approached the apartment block’s back door the most horrifying thing happened.

Charlie the Moodle (still on his very short lead) suddenly and inexplicably had a squirming baby possum in his mouth.

The baby possum was screaming. I was screaming. I wrenched on his lead and shook him and the possum darted off into the darkness. I was left fretting for its health and checking my dog’s teeth for blood.

So now I’m rattled AND sad.

Bring on the weekend.

Sorry for moping. Thanks for listening.

Song of the day: The Communards “Don’t leave me this way”