What's Next?

I stand at the threshold of an unfamiliar phase in life—one I never quite prepared for. For the past twenty-five years, my existence revolved around giving—giving time, love, effort, patience, and energy—everything. My dreams, once vibrant and alive, took a backseat as my children became the center of my universe.

From the moment they were born, my days were dictated by their needs: sleepless nights, hurried breakfasts, school drop-offs, forgotten assignments, late-night fevers, endless grocery runs, and whispered reassurances in the dark. It was all-consuming, but I never questioned it. Motherhood wasn’t just a role; it became my identity. There was a time when my daughters needed me for everything. I was the fixer of lost homework, the keeper of forgotten passwords, the translator of teenage moods, and the human GPS for all the things that mysteriously disappeared inside our home. For years, I have been the silent force behind their well-being—packing their favorite lunches, adjusting my schedule around their needs, and ensuring they had everything before they even thought to ask.

And now, they are grown. Independent—although not financially yet. Their lives no longer orbit mine, and I find myself standing in a quiet house, a cup of tea growing cold in my hands, wondering—what’s next?

Can I Stop Being a Giver?

The instinct to give doesn’t vanish overnight. I still wake up wondering whether my daughter ate breakfast before rushing to school or if she remembered to take her water bottle—because it’s a desert where they live. My hands itch to pack a lunch box, to fold laundry, to be needed.

But here’s the hard truth: they don’t need me the way they once did. And that’s a good thing. That’s what I raised them for—to stand on their own.

Still, I struggle to see myself in any other way. If I’m not the giver, then who am I?

For years, I gave without question. Not because I had to, but because I wanted to. It brought joy, purpose, and fulfillment. But in doing so, I forgot something crucial—giving shouldn’t always be one-sided. It’s time to become a giver to myself.

Motherhood is a job where, if done right, you make yourself obsolete. No one tells you that.

I spent years in a role where my existence revolved around making things easier for my children. I gave without hesitation, without complaint, because giving was love. And now, I face a brutal truth—when you’ve been a giver for so long, you forget how to exist without someone to give to.

So, what do I do now? Who am I when no one is waiting for me to fix something, cook something, or remind them of something?

The Quiet Chaos of an Unscheduled Life

At first, I thought I’d finally enjoy this stage. I imagined long mornings sipping tea, uninterrupted showers, and finishing books that had gathered dust for years. But instead of peace, I found discomfort.

Because, let’s be honest—what do you do with a life that is no longer dictated by your children’s schedules?

I tried scrolling through social media like my daughters do, but I wasn’t built for passive existence. I tried binge-watching a show, but my restless energy wouldn’t let me sit still for long. I tried catching up on sleep, but my body had been trained to wake up at the slightest sound of a door creaking open.

I realized I had spent decades moving—physically, mentally, emotionally. Slowing down wasn’t relaxing. It was terrifying.

Can I Be a Giver to Myself?

One evening, I found myself standing in front of the mirror, studying a woman I had ignored for years. I touched my face, tracing the fine lines that had deepened while I was too busy tending to others.

I whispered the question out loud: What now?

My reflection had no answer.

But slowly, I started thinking—maybe I don’t have to stop being a giver. Maybe I just need to change the recipient.

For years, I poured myself into my daughters. Now, it was time to pour into myself.

Rewriting the Role

Giving to myself didn’t come naturally. I felt guilty, indulgent, even selfish. But I forced myself to start small.

• I take walks without a destination—just because I can.

• I signed up for a YouTube channel, even though I have no artistic talent.

• I cook meals just for me—not because I have to feed someone, but because I deserve something special too.

• I have stopped asking my daughters if they need anything every time they walk past me.

And then, something unexpected happened.

My daughters noticed.

The Day My Daughter Asked Me Who I Was

One evening, my 17-year-old daughter sat next to me on the couch.

“What’s with all the self-care mom stuff lately?” she teased, eyeing my book on meditation and the homemade face mask I had on.

I laughed, about to brush it off, but then I saw the curiosity in her eyes.

“I’m just…trying to figure out what I like now,” I admitted. “It’s weird when you’ve spent so long focusing on everyone else.”

She nodded thoughtfully. “So, what do you like?”

The question stunned me.

Not because it was complicated, but because I hadn’t considered it in years.

What did I like?

I had spent so much time being their mother, their supporter, their everything. But I had no concrete answer about myself.

That night, I made a list. Not of things I needed to do for them, but of things I wanted to do for myself.

The Journey Back to Me

• Rediscovering My Passions – I dusted off my old notebooks filled with unfinished stories. I wrote again, not because anyone asked me to, but because I had words inside me that deserved to exist.

• Saying Yes to New Things – I went to a yoga class, knowing I’d be the most uncoordinated person there, but doing it anyway.

• Letting My Daughters See Me as a Person, Not Just Their Mom – I shared more about my past, my dreams, my failures. For the first time, they saw me as a woman beyond the role of Mom.

• Setting Boundaries – I have stopped making my availability a default setting. If I am reading, I finish my chapter before jumping to help. If I am out doing something, I don’t check my phone obsessively.

• Embracing Change – Motherhood doesn’t end when they stop needing you daily. It just evolves. I have learned to enjoy the adult conversations, the independence, and yes, even the solitude.

• See My Loved Ones - Every year I go to India to meet my father, without thinking about anyone’s schedule.

The Final Realization

One day, as I was leaving for the fitness center, my 17-year-old daughter stopped me.

“Hey, do you want to go clothes shopping this weekend?”

There was something different in her voice. It wasn’t the voice of a child asking for a favor. It was an invitation. A mutual exchange.

That’s when it hit me—by choosing to nurture myself, I hadn’t lost my daughters. I had just shown them a new way to love me.

I remind myself: I am not just a mother. I am a woman with a life that still matters, with years ahead filled with possibilities.

So, what’s next?

Anything I want.