Is Self-Care Optional?
As the final weeks before my youngest leaves for college draw near, I can feel our home beginning to change. It’s a quiet shift—almost imperceptible at first—but it’s there. My oldest has already stepped into his senior year of college, and now this next departure marks the closing of a chapter that has shaped nearly two decades of my life. There is so much to feel.
I am incredibly proud of the young adults standing in front of me. I’m excited for the experiences, friendships, challenges, and possibilities waiting on the other side of this next step. And yet, underneath all of that happiness is a sadness that seems to appear in the most ordinary moments. Folding clothes that will soon be packed into a suitcase. Looking around a familiar room. Hearing the usual laughter and realizing how much I will miss its everyday presence. These feelings don’t have to compete with one another. I can be happy and heartbroken. Proud and sad. Excited for what’s ahead while still grieving what is changing. Maybe that is part of what this season is asking of me—to stop trying to choose one feeling over another and simply allow my heart to hold them all.
Taking care of my mental and emotional health during this transition means giving those feelings a place to land. Sometimes that looks like, breathwork, talking with a friend, taking a walk, or simply acknowledging, “This is hard.” I’ve found that sadness doesn’t need to be fixed. When I allow it to exist without apologizing for it or trying to rush past it, it becomes softer and much easier to carry. I also know that this transition calls for new rhythms. A morning walk? A quiet cup of coffee? A weekly phone call with my children... Rediscovering a corner of the house for reading, creating, or simply being still. These small rituals remind me that while my role is changing, my life is not ending. There is still so much life to be lived and discovered.
I am learning that I need support in all of this emotional processing, and I am beginning to treat self-care as something essential rather than optional. Massage therapy and yoga have become especially meaningful during this time. Massage offers a place for the body to release some of the tension that accompanies emotional change. There is something deeply comforting about skilled, intentional touch—the feeling of being able to exhale, soften, and let the body rest for a while. In those moments, I am reminded that care can be received, not just given. Yoga offers something different but equally valuable. Through breath, movement, and mindfulness, it encourages me to stay present rather than constantly reaching backward toward what was or forward toward what will be.
Both practices give me something I need right now: space. Space to breathe. Space to feel. Space to reconnect with myself. And just as importantly, space to care for myself with gentleness—whether that is through a quiet stretch on the mat, or scheduling a massage that allows my body and heart to reset.
Perhaps an empty nest isn’t really about an absence of love. Maybe it is about discovering how love changes shape. The love that once filled school mornings, sporting events, homework, late-night conversations, and a busy household doesn’t disappear when our children leave. It stretches. It travels. It finds new ways to connect across distance—and, perhaps most importantly, it creates room for us to rediscover ourselves.
So, as this next chapter approaches, I am trying not to hold too tightly or let go too quickly. I want to be present for the beautiful ache of it all, while also remembering to care for the person experiencing it. The sadness will come. The pride will remain. The love will stretch farther than I can imagine. And somewhere in between letting go and holding on—supported by rest, by movement, by breath, and by the healing quiet of touch—I believe I will find a new kind of home.
And I’ll be holding a space that your own self-care will offer the same kind of healing for all of you. The kind you need right now.
Written by Sara Beard, LMT
