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Unexpected Feelings When Your Homeschooler Gets Accepted to University

Unexpected Feelings When Your Homeschooler Gets Accepted to University

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 Today, my homeschooler gets accepted to university—his preferred program for the fall, engineering at the University of Victoria. That sentence should read like pure celebration. And it is. But the truth? This moment arrived carrying far more than simple joy. What Even Are These Feelings? From a woman who transacts in emotions, who holds other women’s emotions, who speaks on emotional regulation every day—I’m not sure what these feelings even are. Elation. Anticipation. Excitement. Pride. Gratefulness. Sadness that this day has finally arrived. He’s my baby. My youngest. My last. All the feels wrapped up in tears and hugs and the quiet ache of knowing that a long season of life is shifting once more. Sometimes the most honest thing we can say isn’t “I feel happy” or “I feel sad.” Sometimes it’s simply: This is a lot. And I’m letting myself feel all of it. This is the work I do with women every day—helping them listen inward, honour what’s real, and trust their emotional experience rather than trying to tidy it up into something more presentable. Today, I’m practicing what I teach. When a Homeschooler Gets Accepted to University Once upon a time, I saw my son play with Legos for a decade. I watched him tinker with small machines. Build furniture. Try to understand why things weren’t working, then unbuild blenders and computers to figure them out. Then learn how to build a computer himself. I watched him understand the strategy behind chess and play—and win—against others decades older than him. Watched him crack the code behind all sorts of games. And I watched him fall in love with physics. From Usborne books when he was seven, to university-level physics and math classes when he was fifteen. When I asked him if the workload of those classes was just too much—because they really are exceptionally a lot—he acknowledged that yes, they are. But he really loves learning these things. The proof? He’s self-motivated. And he keeps trying to capture my raptured fascination with his stories from math and physics classes. Today, that same child was accepted into engineering at the University of Victoria. And in just a few months, he’ll have a hefty ride to class every day for the next five years—because the university is ten hours away. (And of course, he can’t leave home to do that;) The Long Arc of Homeschool Motherhood If I’m honest, there were moments I could have marked a calendar and begun a private countdown to this season—the season where the last child begins to leave. Culturally, we talk about this as a milestone. The “empty nest.” The transition. Or just a rite of passage. But for me, this isn’t about cultural narratives. This is about the truth that I always wanted to be a mother. Not just a mother, but a present one. An engaged one. A mother who chose to build a life that allowed me to be with my children fully—especially through homeschooling. A mother who wanted to savour the days, even the hard ones. Homeschooling has never been easy. It has been meaningful, beautiful, stretching, exhausting, sacred work. There are days when you question everything: Am I doing enough? Am I missing something important? Perhaps I am failing my kids without realising it? Why does this feel so hard when I care so deeply? If you’ve homeschooled—or even deeply parented—you know this interior dialogue well. When Motherhood Becomes More Than Motherhood In my work with homeschool moms, I see another layer often present beneath the surface. Many women I walk alongside did not experience secure, emotionally safe childhoods. They grew up unsure of whether they were truly seen, heard, understood, or emotionally prioritized. Other people’s emotions took up most of the space in their homes. Their own needs were minimized, dismissed, or simply overlooked. Then they become mothers. And suddenly, motherhood becomes not just a role—but a mission. A redemption story. A chance to finally do it differently. To create the childhood they themselves needed. To pour in everything they never received. That depth of investment can be profoundly beautiful. It can also be incredibly heavy. You carry the invisible weight of wanting to get it right. You want your children to feel safe, known, cherished. And of course, you want to protect them from harm. And you want to give them every opportunity. You want to ensure that your love translates into their lifelong well-being. So when people casually suggest, “You should get a hobby for when your kids leave,” it often misses the point entirely. This was never just a phase of life. This was your life. When Your Homeschooler Gets Accepted to University — and Actually Leaves You hear it all along: They grow up so fast. One day they’ll leave. You nod. You know it intellectually. But then the first one leaves. And it’s not theoretical anymore. Then the second. Then the third. And suddenly you find ...
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