THERE’S been a wave of understandable negative noise around A-levels and we feel immense compassion for everyone who is finding it tough right now, writes Sarah Sylvester.
However, we are compelled to wave a small hand in the air and whisper quietly for one thing that is not as newsworthy, but carries with it trepidation and uncertainty.
What does it feel like to watch our only daughter pack up her room and leave for university?
We’d like to share some thoughts, as they tumble from our brains.
Firstly, we didn’t think of ourselves as natural parents. We felt love and connection, however having the responsibility for another human being was odd and super scary.
We had to grow up quickly and come to terms that we really didn’t know ourselves at all.
The first few years were a blur of firsts; steps, words, tantrums, cuddles, teeth, nursery.
Once one first was achieved, it paved the way for another and another.
During that time, we felt like we were constantly holding our breath and hoping we didn’t mentally or physically drop her.
As teenage years hit, it was clear to us that she knew her own mind and was destined for greatness, if only she would give herself a break and stop punching herself in the face for what she felt was lacking; appearance, self-worth, self-confidence.
She excelled at acting which is just as well given what she will be studying for three years.
Secondly, we didn’t choose to have one child. Fertility issues threw a spanner in the works of a sibling and that must have held its own challenges for her.
Suffice to say the specialist that we saw after six years said; “Well in my medical opinion it is quite clear that you were not meant to have children and the fact that you have one is quite the miracle. How you managed to do that is quite remarkable”.
With hindsight, parenting didn’t have to be natural but rather remarkable and a miracle, but we’re digressing.
As she approached her adult years, we offered support through the extreme highs and lows of sixth form, and then the pandemic hit.
As the output of the global crisis unfolded, we became a small secure unit made of impenetrable steel, nothing could get to us.
We lived in close proximity for weeks and relished in the gift of having each other and the opportunity of life.
Not everyone was that fortunate. So when the chance came to study acting, something that she loved, she jumped at the chance.
We applauded her charge and determination and watched in awe and wonder as she paved the way for her next adventure.
An adventure that would not include us.
When we realised she would be leaving home, it was like having the rug pulled out from under us.
We’d worked diligently to raise her well and now it was time to let go of our greatest achievement.
We were initially unsure what that would mean for us. Would we exist as people without her?
We’d identified as parents for so long, which would never change, however that identification would have a new definition. We’d still be Mum and Dad, just in a different way.
We asked her about stability just before she left and she reassured us that just the very thought of us would always comfort her.
We would always be her safety net however she needed to discover her own net and we needed to let her go and allow her to do that.
We thought that the firsts would only come in the early years but here we were faced with many more.
So as we rest into “empty nesting”, we’re feeling fearful yet excited.
We’re not going to lie, after the rug was pulled we fell to the floor and bruised our bottoms.
However, what we failed to notice straight away was a beautiful wooden floor underneath that we can walk on, creating new footprints.
We told you to live your best life and we need to give ourselves permission to do the same.
We take the next breath with you sweetheart and as we close our eyes and lift our chin, we see new surroundings filled with hope emerge.
Hope and possibility.
Sarah Sylvester
