It’s cold in Rochester, NY, a good reminder that in spite of the temperature swings in the Mid-Atlantic, it’s still winter, after all. The sun is shining and I’m parked in The Shed, the newest and one of the most gorgeous spaces at Rochester Institute of Technology.

My youngest son, soon to be graduating and entering his new grown-up life, is interviewing for a job that would take him a plane ride away from me. It’s thrilling to watch his process, to see him think expansively about his future, his career, his art, his life path and at the same time, remain grounded and committed to his current obligations.

His brother, himself already a seasoned young adult, has his feet firmly planted on the “treadmill” of work, home, relationships, pets, health, grocery shopping, chores, hobbies, and fun. His launch into adulthood took a nontraditional path that isn’t always talked about or promoted in our success-driven, competitive academic culture that’s exploded in highly funded school systems. His education, while not delivered in a university or college setting, has been no less impactful or meaningful, although it was much less recognized and celebrated. His educational institution was business; retail, to be exact. His ownership of his own learning and development has also been extraordinary to witness, and has served him so well, earning him a healthy income, an early and fruitful start on his retirement savings, and a strong career with deep, transferable skills.

It may seem so easy, transitioning our relationship into one where I’m hands-off, more of an advisor (when sought), less of a guide. It wasn’t easy for me, though. I’d raised them as a single parent from the time they were wee little boys, before my youngest was anywhere near school age. Gripped with something close to absolute terror when my marriage ended, frightened that I would screw these boys up so badly they’d be forever damaged, I dove headfirst into co-creating the type of family we all wanted to be in. So from their earliest ages, they knew they had a voice, and with that, choice in how we wanted to live, how we wanted our home to feel, who we wanted to be with each other. Also, I learned real fast that no one can “have it all;” some things simply have to give when you have two adult hands in the household, and not four or more. So I made clear decisions about what I would focus on and what I would let go of.

What an education for me. Letting go certainly wasn’t a strong suit of mine and there’s plenty of claw marks on things I struggled to release. But with each challenge, each shift in our family, each new independence my boys reached, I gained more appreciation and delight as I watched them grow into their autonomous human selves. Without me even knowing it half the time, life and circumstance helped me release a little more ego around being their universe and universal problem-solver and solution-finder. It became more important for me to show them how to think through problems, find solutions, learn how to research, weigh options, and make decisions. With each new skill gained, I was “fired” a little bit more. Until, of course, that time when I was fired for good, and my 18 year old son announced to me and the world at large, “I’M 18 AND AN ADULT. I DON’T HAVE TO LISTEN TO YOU ANYMORE.” Just like that, the switch was flipped, and I found myself scrambling to catch up with the newness of this relationship, one I wasn’t nearly ready for and never wanted to be. I never wanted to give up my role as their one and only, but of course, you know, that always comes whether I’m kicking and screaming my way into surrender or fumbling for a bit of graciousness to embrace this entirely new way of being.

In the end, I asked for grace. I asked my older son — ever the trailblazer, as the oldest ones are — for patience, for forgiveness, and for humor as I learned how to adjust my role. I needed time to find a new vocabulary, many new perspectives, and it took a lot of experimenting. There were times when he would be talking to me, relaying some aggravation from his day, and I found myself asking, “OK. I might misstep here so is it OK if I make a mistake?” Or, “Do you want me to simply listen? Or do you want me to respond and tell you what I think?” Giving him choice made all the difference to him. Asking for his permission to make a mistake (and in asking, receiving his implied forgiveness) gave me the freedom I needed to try something new. More importantly, it gave us time to adjust. Because even though his young adult brain flipped a switch the day he turned 18, people are humans and not robots, and we both needed time to adjust.

It’s been fantastic to watch these young men confront, engage with, and navigate all the adulting things: learning how to manage their time so that they can go to their respective classes and jobs; figuring out their rhythm of buying and cooking food, paying bills, taking care of their cars, pets, and relationships; how to manage their needs to work out, have fun, foster relationships. As you know, it’s … a lot. And while we think of all that as “adulting,” I’ve discovered my deep experience as an adult in watching their processes and letting it all just be; how to open my hands and let them go while, and at the same time, holding space for them deep in my heart. How to be present without opening my mouth to solve or offer or fix. That, my friends, is the hardest part of learning how to adult that I’ve learned.

Perhaps it’s not really the end stages of adulting after all. Maybe I’ve just entered a crone phase! At any rate, I continue to delight in the surprising and nuanced growth still available to me with my now adult young men. What a gift.