When my oldest left for college, I thought I was ready.
I’d spent years helping other families through this process — I knew the forms, the timelines, the essays. What I didn’t know was how it would feel when the checklist ended and the quiet started.
I’ve replayed that senior year so many times — not the grades or the acceptance letters, but the moments in between.
And if I’m honest, there are a few things I regret.
I'm a Helicopter Mom
Here’s something I don’t say out loud very often: I’m a self-proclaimed helicopter mom.
I hover. I check. I remind. I manage.
For years, I told myself this was what good parenting looked like — staying on top of things, making sure nothing slipped through the cracks, being involved.
But now that Jake’s been at college since August, I’m starting to wonder if all that hovering served my kids as well as I thought it did.
Or if it mostly just served me — my need to feel in control, my fear of watching them fail, my anxiety about whether I was doing enough.
So today, I’m sharing three things I regret about how I parented during Jake’s senior year — not to beat myself up, but because maybe you’re doing some of the same things right now.
And maybe, like me, you can still course-correct before it’s too late.
Regret #1: Trying to Protect Him from Every Discomfort
I wanted everything to go smoothly.
No missed deadlines, no forgotten uniforms, no late-night panic over an essay.
I called it “helping.” Really, it was control dressed up as love.
There was one night I remember — he’d forgotten an assignment for an online class and was spiraling.
I almost grabbed the laptop to fix it.
Instead, I stood in the doorway and watched him figure it out.
It was painful and beautiful all at once.
I regret not letting that happen more often.
Because every time I swooped in, I stole a chance for him to build confidence.
I wanted to protect him from stress, but I was really protecting myself from watching him struggle.
Love doesn’t mean making life easy. It means believing they can handle the hard parts.
What I’d Do Differently
I’d let him miss a few small deadlines early on — freshman or sophomore year — when the stakes are low and the lessons stick.
I’d ask “Do you need help?” instead of just diving in to fix it.
I’d bite my tongue when he forgot his water bottle for the third time that week and let him be thirsty at practice.
And I’d remind myself — out loud if I had to — that struggle isn’t failure. It’s practice.
Every time I swooped in, I sent the message that I didn’t think he could handle it. And that’s not the message I wanted him to carry into adulthood.
Regret #2: Rushing Through the Year Instead of Savoring It
That last year of high school felt like a sprint.
Senior photos, college apps, banquets, graduation meetings — all layered on top of the ordinary chaos.
I kept saying, “Once this is over, we can relax.”
But it never slowed down.
And then suddenly, it was move-in day.
I remember standing in Target with a cart full of dorm supplies, realizing I’d spent months chasing the to-do list instead of enjoying the kid standing next to me.
I regret that.
If I could redo it, I’d leave the laundry basket aisle and take him to lunch.
I’d laugh more, worry less, and freeze time for just one normal Tuesday night dinner.
Those ordinary moments were the real milestones, and I almost missed them.
What I’d Do Differently
I’d put my phone down during dinner. Every single night.
I’d say yes more to the random stuff — late-night Cookout runs, watching one more episode, sitting on the porch talking about nothing.
I’d take more pictures of the ordinary moments. Him doing homework at the kitchen table. Eating cereal in his jersey before a game. The mess in his room that drove me crazy but that I’d give anything to see again.
And I’d schedule something fun on the calendar that had absolutely nothing to do with college. A concert. A weekend trip. Something where we could just be together without a checklist.
Because here’s the truth: I don’t remember his GPA from senior year. But I remember the night we stayed up late watching old home videos and laughing until we cried.
That’s the stuff that matters.
Regret #3: Letting Fear Drive My Parenting
No one warns you how loud the fear gets once they’re actually gone.
I thought it would quiet down after move-in day — it didn’t.
It just changed shape.
Jake’s only been at college since August, and I’m still learning how to parent from a distance.
Instead of worrying about essays and deadlines, I’m worrying about everything else.
Is he eating real food? Sleeping? Making friends? Did he actually go to that tutoring session he mentioned?
I catch myself texting. “How’s it going?” “Did you find your classes okay?” “Are you alive?”
And sometimes he answers with a full sentence. Sometimes just an emoji. Sometimes, nothing.
That silence? It’s brutal.
You go from knowing everything about their day to knowing absolutely nothing.
And the instinct is to fill that silence with words — to keep checking, keep reminding, keep proving you still matter.
But I’m learning that silence doesn’t always mean something’s wrong.
It usually just means he’s living.
He’s figuring things out.
And maybe the best sign that he’s okay… is that he doesn’t need me to make sure of it every five minutes.
I’m still working on this one. Still catching myself reaching for my phone to check in when I’m anxious instead of when he actually needs me.
He’s fine. I’m the one still catching up.
What I’d Do Differently
I’d decide — ahead of time — how often I was actually going to check in. Once a day? Every other day? And then I’d stick to it instead of texting every time a worried thought popped into my head.
I’d trust that if something was really wrong, he’d tell me. Or his RA would. Or his roommate’s mom would call me in a panic and we’d figure it out together.
I’d remind myself that silence doesn’t mean crisis. It usually just means he’s busy living his life.
And I’d give myself permission to feel the feelings — the worry, the grief, the fear — without making them his problem to manage.
Because my job isn’t to keep him safe from every hard thing. My job is to raise a kid who knows how to handle hard things when I’m not there.
And honestly? He’s doing that. I’m the one who needs to catch up.
What I'm Learning with My Younger Son
My younger son is a junior now, and I’m trying to do this differently.
A few weeks ago, we talked about this program he wanted to apply to. It opened for applications, and I reminded him once that it was live.
Then I waited.
And waited.
Days went by. Then a week. Then longer.
Old me would’ve been hovering. “Did you submit it yet?” “You know spots fill up fast, right?” “What if you don’t get in because you waited too long?”
New me? I bit my tongue. Hard.
He finally submitted it — way later than I wanted him to. Later than felt comfortable. And honestly? He might not get in to the program because of the delay.
And that’s going to sting if it happens.
But here’s what I’m learning: that sting is his to feel, not mine to prevent.
If he doesn’t get in, he’ll learn something about timing and priorities that no amount of my nagging could teach him.
And if he does get in? He’ll know he did it himself, on his timeline.
Am I perfect at this yet? Absolutely not. I still catch myself jumping in. Still have to physically stop myself from “helping” when he’s figuring something out.
But I’m learning to pause first. And that’s progress.
The goal isn’t to be a perfect parent. The goal is to be a parent who learns, adjusts, and tries again.
Here's What I Want You to Know
These aren’t just my regrets. I hear versions of them from almost every parent I work with.
The mom who realizes she scheduled their entire senior year and forgot to ask what her kid actually wanted.
The dad who spent so much energy pushing for reach schools that he missed the signs his kid was burning out.
The parents who look back and wish they’d worried less about the outcome and enjoyed the process more.
You’re not alone in this. None of us get it perfect.
But here’s the good news: you can course-correct right now. Today. It’s not too late.
What This Looks Like in Real Time
If you’re in the middle of this right now — if your kid is a junior or senior and you’re feeling the pressure — here’s what you can do today:
Instead of protecting them from every hard thing:
Let them struggle with one thing this week. Pick something small — a missed assignment, a forgotten form, a scheduling conflict. Don’t rescue. Just be nearby if they need you.
Instead of rushing through the year:
Put one thing on the calendar that has nothing to do with college. A movie. A hike. Dinner at their favorite place. A drive with no destination. Something where you’re just together.
Block it off like it’s a doctor’s appointment. Protect it. Show up for it.
Instead of letting fear drive:
Decide right now how often you’ll check in when they leave. Once a day? Twice a week? Write it down. Set a boundary for yourself so you’re not constantly refreshing your phone waiting for proof of life.
And then — this is the hard part — trust that you raised a kid who can handle this.
Because you did. And they can.
What I Know Now
I can’t go back, but I can parent differently with my younger one.
I can pause before fixing.
I can breathe before worrying.
And I can choose to enjoy this version of him right now — messy, unpredictable, growing — because that’s what we miss most when they’re gone.
So if you’re standing in that same space — one kid launching, another not far behind — hear me:
You are allowed to feel the grief and the joy at the same time.
You’re allowed to miss them before they even leave.
And you’re absolutely allowed to get it wrong sometimes.
They’ll still turn out okay.
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