A Passage from a Momma on Raising Littles to Young Adults

I have two visions that instantly come to mind when I hear the analogy of being “in the weeds” of something. The first, the peculiar beauty of prepping a garden. Among the weeds – chaotic, tangled, relentless – you pull, dig, and sweat, only to turn around and see more. The second, walking through tall, prickly weeds – the kind often found on the side of roads or in the wild. Thistles blended in with med-leg tall grass that, even when walking through raising your knees as high as you can, you can’t escape the pokes and cuts from the overgrown ground covering.

Raising children feels much the same at the beginning. It’s chaotic, relentless, and somewhat of a tangled-up mess – full of constant interruptions and all with very little sleep. But one day, almost without warning, the weeds give way to wilderness – wild, sprawling, untamable, unknowing beauty.

This is the story of motherhood, from the chaos of raising littles to the wonder (and almost desolation mixed with pure joy) of watching them become adults.

The early years:

The early years are a blur of diapers, sleepless nights, sippy cups, and tiny fingers and toes. Moms often live in survival mode in these years – measuring time in naps and goldfish crackers. There are joys, of course. First steps. First words. Chubby arms flung around your neck. Eyes that can look into your soul and see your truest heart – with such innocence and vulnerability. But there’s also the overwhelm of never having a moment to yourself, of feeling invisible in the work that no one else sees.

You tell yourself: This is a season. You hear other moms say it goes fast. But, in the middle of it, it’s hard to believe.

Then one day, a chubby toddler mispronounces “spaghetti” or “windshield wipers” for the last time – and you don’t know it’s the last until it’s already passed.

The middle years:

Sippy cups turn to glitter glue, kid scissors, and Lego sets. School starts. Lunchboxes line the counter. There are homework battles and t-ball games, spelling tests and science fairs. You really start to see who they are becoming as personalities bloom, strong wills take shape, creativity grows, and curiosity enhances.

This transitions into awkward school dances, sleepovers, school sports, deeper questions and brutal truths.

Here, motherhood is less physically exhausting, but more emotionally complex. You’re no longer the center of their universe, and that hurts in quiet ways. You wrestle with guilt: Am I doing enough? Too much? You start to let go in small, almost concealed ways.

They begin to grow taller but still come to you for band-aids and bedtime stories. These years are the in-between – half weeds, half wonder.

The teen years:

The wildness of adolescence. Humans with car keys and curfews, opinions and a stronger longing for independence. The chaos returns, but it’s different now. More emotional rather than physical. You laugh with them more…but you also worry more. You argue more. And you hope, deeply, that the roots you planted hold strong.

The wilderness is on the horizon – thrilling, terrifying, beautiful. You watch them make mistakes, love hard, fall down, rise up. You offer advice, sometimes unsolicited. You wait up late. You let them go – not all at once, but piece by piece.

The young adult years:

As much as every evening being filled with something seemed once daunting, you realize it’s coming to an end.  No more cheers across a field or court. No more “mom, where’s my (fill in the blank)” every time they’re preparing to go somewhere. No more daily “say my prayers momma” or snuggles in bed. No more in person “good morning, mommas.” You watch in awe and maybe a bit of trepidation as they become ready. Ready to leave. Ready to grow in different ways. Ready to explore the world more through their own lenses and less through yours. Or maybe they’ll stay, but they’ve changed. Either way, nothing is the same. 

You’ve spent years loving deeply to prepare them to soar. To discover – the world and themselves. To chase their dreams. To find their own versions of “home” and safety. And when it happens, you feel such triumph – and yet also a bit of heartache. 

You look at them differently – and them you. You feel different – knowing they do too.  It’s what dreams are made of, yet it pulls so hard on your heartstrings. You watch them and see all the years flash before your eyes. The first looks, the tiny hands, the messes, the tiny cries – now turning into “last looks”, empty spaces, and genuine adult life decisions. They’re ready and you have to dig deep to be ready too.

What’s next:

When the noises fade and the house stills, as moms we’re left with space – emotional, physical, spiritual. The garden of motherhood is quieter now, with the “being in the weeds” in the past and more of the “adult children wilderness” ahead. You look back on the years and realize that in all that mess of raising humans, something beautiful grew in you too. You’re also part of the wilderness now. Stronger. Softer. Wiser. More weathered. Still growing.

The googled definition of “wilderness” is summed up as an intriguing sense of freedom possible to live in, but requires careful planning, specialized skills, and an understanding of considerations. While some may find it a sustainable lifestyle, it’s not for everyone and involves significant challenges. We’re here.  We’re moms. Living through and in our own version of wilderness, with an intriguing sense of freedom, still with significant challenges and unknowns. 

And now with young adult children in a wilderness of their own. Needing us, but on different terms. Loving us, but in different ways. Some moments we see them as the tiny humans we were once “in the weeds” with. Other moments seeing them as the fully grown, amazing, strong adults they are growing into – ready to take on the world.

Someone once said to me as a mom with littles “you think this phase is hard; trust me, each phase only gets harder!”  No truer words spoken. It’s just a different kind of hard. No more cries at 2am because they need nursed back to sleep, but phone calls at 2am asking “what do you think I should do with my life” or “is this the person you could see me with forever?” Small words have a bigger impact. Tiny advice may have an impact in life altering decisions.  A little bit of love and hugs in passing has to last for days – until we meet again.

Motherhood is a journey from weeds to wilderness – not neat and wrapped up in a pretty little bow, but deeply sacred. It’s full of heartache and hope, exhaustion and exhilaration. It’s the slow work of holding on while letting go.

And in the end, the reward isn’t perfect children or pristine homes – it’s love that roots itself so deeply that no distance or time can take it away.

To the mom in the weeds – hold on.

To the mom in the wild – breathe deep.

No matter the phase, you are a part, if even a smaller part than once was, of raising a warrior. While also becoming one of your own.

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