Trixy Life

When your child turns eighteen, something shifts. It is not always dramatic or sudden, but it happens. One day, you are making doctor’s appointments and planning their meals, and the next, you find yourself stepping back as they make their plans, decisions, and even… (gasp)… mistakes.

Last year, my daughter Elisa started college. She was eighteen, officially an adult, and ready to step into the next chapter of her life. She did not go far, just about twenty minutes away, but it was enough to feel the difference.

For the first time since she was born, I was no longer right there to help guide her day-to-day. It was a big emotional shift, not because I did not believe in her, but because I needed to learn to reframe my role.

From hands-on to hands-off

For nearly two decades, I was very involved in Elisa’s life. Like most parents, I tried to keep her safe, supported, and on the right path. From toddler falls to teenage drama, I was there. I am sure I was not perfect, but I always had her best interests at heart.

As she grew older, she began making more of her own choices, gradually and naturally, but college brought a whole new level of independence. It was no longer me reminding her to wear sunscreen or to go to bed at a reasonable hour. Now, it is her decision whether to take a walk in the Arizona heat at 2 PM or stay up too late binge-watching Netflix.

And that is both amazing… and a little unnerving.

Not because I do not trust her. I do, but because this shift, from the one who protected, planned, and prompted to someone cheering from the sidelines, is not always easy.

The balance between care and space

Parenting a teenager is already a delicate dance between being present and stepping back, but parenting a young adult? That is a whole new rhythm. You want to say something, to offer advice, to help, but you also know that unsolicited input is not always welcome.

So I try to strike that balance. I remind myself that Elisa is smart, grounded, and capable. She has shown time and again that she knows when to reach out. And when she does, we talk, we laugh, and we figure things out together. That, to me, is a sign that we have built something strong.

Still, I am a mother, I notice things, I worry sometimes, and even when the worries are small, like a late night out or a skipped meal, they tug at the same place in my heart that used to worry about scraped knees and forgotten jackets.

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Learning to let go without letting it take over

One thing I have learned is that letting go does not mean disappearing; it means shifting roles or offering support without managing, it means trusting your child, but also trusting the foundation you helped them build.

Here are a few things I try to do when I feel that urge to jump in too quickly:

1. I take a breath (or two)

Before sharing my opinion, I pause. I ask myself: “Is this really about her safety? Or is it just about me wanting to feel better?” Most of the time, I realize it is okay just to let her figure it out.

2. I remember she knows she can call me

Elisa still checks in when she is unsure or needs a second opinion. That alone means a lot. It tells me she feels safe coming to us, and that we are still part of her inner circle, even from a distance.

3. I trust who she is

She is not reckless; she is curious, energetic, and socially engaged. She thrives in environments where things are happening, where people are talking, and where she can keep learning and growing. I remind myself: this is exactly the kind of life I hoped she would build.

4. I share, and try not to lecture

When I truly feel the need to express myself, I strive to keep my comments concise and respectful. Instead of, “You should not do that,” I say something like, “Have you thought about it this way?”

I am not going to lie, this is one of the hardest things I have ever had to learn as a parent. Staying quiet, holding back, watching from a distance… it goes against every instinct I have developed over the past eighteen years. I am still figuring it out, and some days, it takes all my strength not to jump in.

I am learning to trust the bond we have. She listens, even if she does not always follow my advice. And for now, that has to be enough.

The quiet worry

Of course, some things still make me anxious. And I think that is just part of being a parent. It is not about control, it is about care. You spend so many years looking after someone, and that instinct does not just disappear because they have a student ID and a dorm key.

Sometimes I worry about things she has no control over. Not because she is doing something wrong, but simply because life is unpredictable. I know that fear is normal, but I also try not to let it take over. When I get overwhelmed, I talk to Pietro. He has a more logical approach, less “what if” and more “let us look at the facts.” And honestly, just saying things out loud helps me breathe again.

Seeing myself at her age

Sometimes I think back to when I was nineteen. My world was smaller. My freedoms were fewer. And yet, even then, I made choices that make me raise an eyebrow now. That is part of growing up. You try, you fail, you adjust. And you remember.

So I try to offer Elisa the same grace I needed at that age. Not everything she does will be perfect. But I can trust that she will learn, just like I did.

When do you say something?

That is a tricky one, right? As a parent of a legal adult, where do you draw the line between supporting and interfering?

Here is what I have found helpful:

• Step in when safety is involved. If something truly feels risky, I speak up.
• Stay out when it is just about preferences. Her version of “normal” does not have to match mine.
• Ask questions instead of offering unsolicited advice. It keeps the conversation open.
• Trust your parenting. You did not get them this far by chance.

Some reminders I go back to when I feel that old urge to step in too much:

• She is her person. I am here, but she is leading now.
• She is learning how to be an adult, and that includes making her calls.
• My job is not to control but to connect.
• Being available is better than being in charge.

Loving from a distance

Letting go is a process, not an event. Some days it feels natural. Other days, I miss her laugh at the dinner table, her late-night snack raids, or just the everyday closeness.

But I also feel proud. I see her becoming herself, fully, freely, joyfully. And I remind myself: this is exactly what we raised her for. Not to stay under our roof, but to build her own.

So I keep trying. I keep learning. I keep loving her loudly but gently, from a step further back than I am used to.

Because she is not mine to control, she never really was. She is hers. And she is doing a pretty amazing job of becoming who she is meant to be.

Thank you for being here with me.

See you next time,

Valentina