WHAT HAPPENED TO MY EMPTY NEST? A Mother's Day Special by Shari & Matt Becker
By late February, my husband and I had just started settling into our empty nest. We had gradually reached the point at which our enjoyment of peace, quiet and adult interactions almost outweighed our longing for the flurry of activity that comes with raising three boys. As the coronavirus rapidly spread through Europe the first week in March, our middle son, Matt, made his way back from Spain and into our basement to quarantine for two weeks. Our youngest son, Justin, flew home from Nashville, cutting his freshman year of college short. Zach, the oldest of our three sons, joined us by the end of the week, prepared to work remotely indefinitely. “What happened to my empty nest?,” my husband cried out in mock despair as we all found ourselves shocked and disoriented by this unexpected turn of events.
I recognized that it wasn’t going to be easy to navigate this unchartered territory as a family. I had no idea what the path was going to look like, but I knew we were all going to have to make some adjustments and accommodations in order to survive living together again. Two months later, Matt and I have learned a lot from our encounters as mother, working hard to maintain a healthy and positive attitude in our home environment, and young adult son, forced by the pandemic to leave his friends and beloved college life to return to his family home. In these times of vast uncertainty, one thing remains certain: there are always two sides to a story.
WHERE ARE MY BASKETBALL SHOES?
Mom’s Perspective
My Story:
“Where are all my shoes that used to be in the cubbies?”
Uh Oh. I read the incoming text from Matt in the produce aisle of Whole Foods the day before Passover. Sweating, masked and anxious, I wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible. I responded, mindlessly, “No clue. Garbage?” I’m getting hotter, sweatier and more anxious as I try to recall what, if anything, I did with the multiple pairs of size 14 basketball shoes that had occupied a large portion of our basement cubby space. This area was in the direct line between the garage and the staircase leading from our basement to the kitchen, the pathway I took every day to enter and exit our house. My husband and three young adult sons habitually walk into the basement and kick their shoes in the general direction of the cubbies, creating an unsightly collection of random footwear in the middle of the floor.
I knew the interaction with Matt wasn’t going anywhere good and felt the tension rising in my body. Did I really throw away all of his basketball sneakers? I usually am more of a saver than a ditcher, but I began to have a vague recollection of moving some old, beat up, boat-sized athletic shoes out the basement door and into the trash. As I made my way through Whole Foods, it began to sink in: One pair at a time, over the course of the three years Matt had been in college, I had emptied the cubbies of his sneakers. Unfortunately, this was not the first time I had inadvertently discarded Matt’s prized belongings. Somehow, his collection of NBA T-shirts had also gone missing a few years ago. This was going to be war. Or, at the very least, a scrimmage.
My Emotional Experience:
I was definitely not in the best location or state of mind to respond to Matt’s follow-up inquiries. I couldn’t take in the significance of what I had done as it was unfolding and felt myself fluctuating between regret, disbelief, guilt and frustration. In a state of defensiveness, I justified why I had thrown them away, claimed to not remember (I honestly did not have a clear recollection of removing them from the cubbies), and blamed him for not being more responsible for his own belongings. Matt’s text responses became more belligerent, as he accused me of throwing away other important items over the years. He was extremely upset with me. I felt absolutely terrible that I had thrown away his basketball shoes and that there was nothing I could do to change that. Although I felt compassion for his loss, in that moment I also felt unappreciated by him for all the hard work I put into maintaining our family home and justified in throwing out the shoes, knowing I had asked him multiple times to clear his belongings from the cubbies. I was at least able to detach enough from the conversation to notice that it was not going well. If there was any situation I wanted to be in less than a supermarket the day before Passover during the pandemic, it was this one.
Room for Improvement:
At the moment, I was full of ideas for how Matt could have handled the situation better: He could have taken better care of his possessions by putting them in his room, he could have clearly told me he wanted to keep his sneakers and asked me to put them somewhere for him. In addition, he could have waited until I got home to discuss the subject. In hindsight, out of Whole Foods and without my mask, I can honestly say that while I wish he would have put his sneakers in his room for safe-keeping, I truly understand why he would be upset with me for throwing them away without confirming with him first. I can also understand how his texts would have escalated the way they did, given my defensive responses. I wish I had been more aware of my inability to respond optimally after his initial text came in, recognized that this was a “hot topic” and told him that I would be available to discuss the situation later in the day, after I had recovered from food-shopping. I also believe that while I hadn’t intentionally done this to hurt him, I owed my son an apology after discovering how much the shoes I had casually discarded meant to him.
Matt’s Perspective:
What happened:
A few days into my unexpected time at home because of the quarantine, I decided I wanted to play basketball outside. Because of my frustrating history of ankle injuries, I always wear basketball shoes no matter the level of intensity with which I am playing. I went to the cubbies in the basement to find a pair, but there were none to be found. It was strange to see them missing from their usual spot, but I was not too worried because there were plenty of other places to which they could have been moved. I was also not very surprised because my mother had asked me to move them somewhere else several times because she did not understand how often I used them, so I thought she must have moved them out of the way. I checked all potential spots, and at some point realized that all of my basketball shoes – ranging from the beaten-down ones from middle school to the pair I wore my senior year – were gone. I have never been fascinated with shoes, and never owned any fancy or expensive pairs, but these shoes had sentimental value to me. Every game I ever played was in one of those pairs of shoes, and not being able to find them was very frustrating. I then texted the person who I knew was responsible for this, hoping that she put them somewhere I somehow forgot to check, but deep down I knew they were gone forever.
How I felt:
For the past decade, basketball has been my ultimate distractor. Many of my best memories are closely tied to the sport, and most of my social life at home was built around my team. Even playing by myself has always been therapeutic to me, and during today’s challenging times I could not think of a better activity to put my mind at ease. The absence of my shoes was frustrating on both a physical and emotional basis. I could not play without my shoes, and more importantly, I could not distract myself with basketball. Some of those shoes were gross and barely resembled basketball shoes after so much usage, but I kept them because of what they meant to me. The shoes I wore for my first tryout, first game, last game, and everything in between were gone and could never be replaced. I was angry because I knew I had asked my mother not to throw them out many times. I was a bit unhappy with myself for not moving them out of the way but was much angrier with her for going against my wishes and throwing out something that was important to me.
How we could’ve handled it better:
I have noticed that I hold my mother to an impossible standard emotionally because of her career. I expect her to always know how everyone feels and why they feel that way, so I thought she should know why I wanted these shoes around for my whole life. I failed to recognize that my mother, as great as she is, has never picked up a basketball or any other sports equipment in her life. To her, sports are what boys do to stay busy, and the emotional connection formed within a team is a foreign concept. I wish that I had expressed why these shoes matter to me instead of just telling her not to throw them out, not only because it would save the shoes but also so that she could relate to my emotional connection to the game. I also of course wish that she had consulted with me before throwing my belongings away, but I have since come to understand that to her they were just old and useless sneakers.
WHY ARE YOU ALWAYS IN THE KITCHEN?:
Mom’s Perspective:
My Story:
I’ve been spending most of my time during the pandemic in my yoga studio, a beautiful space off my bedroom where I can easily transition from my yoga mat to my new “office,” a chaise, surrounded by various forms of technology that allow me to do therapy sessions via video and phone. The week after Matt was released from his basement quarantine, I walked into the kitchen during my short break between stressed-out patients while Matt was preparing his lunch. Matt had multiple flames on high as he heated several frying pans, and containers of food were strewn across the countertops. First, I told him the flames were too high (they were). Shortly afterwards, I started moving containers around, asking if he was done with them. I am not exactly a neat freak, but I do like my kitchen countertops clean. Not surprisingly, Matt became impatient with me and asked me to leave the kitchen. In fact, he asked me to stay out of the kitchen whenever he was cooking.
My Emotional Experience:
I was being banished from my own kitchen by a kid who wasn’t even supposed to be home. I resented being told when I could and couldn’t be in this space and felt hurt that Matt would not want me to spend time with him while he was preparing and eating his food. After all, this was my boy who had written “I love my Mommy because … she always keeps me company” next to his handprint on a tile during pre-school and trust me, I have the tile to prove it. This was starting to look like it would be a loooonnnnnngggg shelter-at-home period.
Room for Improvement:
The kitchen has traditionally been my territory, although I shared the domain with Acklima, our long-time nanny, as the boys were growing up. Acklima and I spent countless hours at the stove, counter and sink: taking orders, making customized plates of food for our growing boys, cleaning up, repeating the process. My sons are now young men of 23, 21 and 19, and they are capable of preparing food for themselves. I set myself up all those years as a short-order cook and those expectations are hard to change. I admit that I have always enjoyed the domestic role of Chief Nourisher, AKA Jewish Mother. Two of my boys (and my husband) happily allow me to continue in that role today, while Matt enjoys cooking for himself at times. While part of me appreciates his independence, I also long for the days when he needed me to provide the meals he enjoyed eating. It’s time for me to respect his request for a boundary and allow him the space to be an adult in his childhood home and kitchen.
Matt’s Perspective:
What happened:
My mother enjoys cooking for my brothers and I, and she is great at doing so. However, I sometimes like to cook my own food, particularly breakfast and lunch. I like to experiment, and am certainly not very talented, but in general I know what I am doing. My mother would stand in the kitchen whenever I cooked and would make herself anxious about what I was doing the whole time, and in the process she made me anxious as well. She would tell me exactly what to do and would make sure I did things that I viewed as simple and obvious. I told her that I could not cook with her in the kitchen because it made me anxious, and she was not happy about that request. I could not understand why she was unwilling to leave the kitchen for just 20 minutes a day while I cooked, but apparently, she could not fully comprehend why I needed to cook without her around.
How I felt:
At school, I could walk around my dorm or suite and do anything without voices coming from over my shoulder. In the middle of March, I was supposed to be at school with my friends and was grumpy to not be there and instead, be back at home. The lack of independence, which is something I really enjoy at school, was very challenging to deal with, especially during a time in which I was supposed to be on my own. I also felt the physical symptoms of anxiety whenever my mother would tell me what to do in the kitchen; I felt she was being patronizing by reminding me to do simple things like putting oil in the pan a few seconds before I was planning on doing so. I missed my freedom. Having just a few minutes during the day to cook by myself could have gone a long way toward reducing my frustration about not having my own space.
How we could’ve handled it better:
My mother certainly respects my desires to have some independence. I thought it would have been easier to have my own space in the kitchen than it actually was. Perhaps it would have been easier if I had communicated better. I wish I had asked more nicely for my mother to give me space in the kitchen. I also wish I had made the connection about why independence in the kitchen was so important to me. I also wish she was a bit more mindful about my situation and my sudden lack of independence due to the quarantine.
RANDOM FOOD SH*T
Mom’s Perspective:
My Story:
I generally pride myself on a high level of self-care that enables me to function fairly well most days. There was one Tuesday, however, that I failed miserably in taking care of myself. I started the day with another adventure to the food market, this time with curbside pick-up. After at least an hour of unloading produce and meats, walking up and down the stairs with handfuls of items, cleaning containers and placing them in various refrigerators and freezers throughout the house, and of course, washing my hands after each round, I was exhausted. I put off eating lunch and taught a 1 PM gentle yoga class. Still not motivated to eat, I foolishly went straight into a not-so-gentle Zoom workout with my trainer. I started the workout at 2:30 feeling weak and ended it an hour later feeling extremely unwell.
I went down to the kitchen to get myself some food and found Matt and my youngest son, Justin, in the kitchen, making their lunches. “I don’t feel well and need to make myself food immediately,” I told them. Fortunately, I must have looked so terrible that Matt didn’t argue with me about being in the kitchen while he was cooking for himself. He did, however, let me know that “we have no food.” That was the last thing I needed to hear. I tried to stay calm and non-reactive, but it was hard in that moment. I described the amount of food I had just purchased and reminded him there were many frozen Trader Joe’s options. He seemed impatient, as I clearly didn’t understand what he was looking for. “There’s no random food sh*t in this house!” Now that was a term I didn’t comprehend. “What on earth is ‘random food sh*t?’" I asked as I tried to get my blood sugar stabilized. He responded, “Pop tarts and sh*t.” Now I was starting to get the picture.
My Emotional Experience:
I was agitated and frustrated. I told Matt I wasn’t going into any supermarket that sold pop tarts and that he was free to order anything he wanted on Amazon. I had no desire to fight the healthy food fight. If we were six weeks in and they were only now looking for supplies of junk food, we were doing pretty well. I just couldn’t bear the prospect of entering a large supermarket with long lines and empty shelves. In that particular moment, I couldn’t bear much of anything. I felt depleted - physically, mentally and emotionally.
Matt and I had very different takes on the communication around his request for “random food sh*t.” Matt is a tall guy with a deep voice. I experienced his comment almost as a verbal assault in that moment. I think some of it had to do with the way I felt physically, and some of it was related to feeling unappreciated for all I do in our family home. In my mind, I had spent tremendous effort, time and energy acquiring high-quality food that I would use to make nutritious and filling meals for him and his brothers. I don’t mind buying anything they want or need, but I do mind an approach that feels entitled and lacks appreciation and gratitude.
Room for Improvement:
In an ideal communication exchange, Matt would have expressed his appreciation for the food we had in the house and kindly requested that we also stock the house with specific items to grab and go (not that we’re going anywhere …). I needed a list of what they wanted, more specific than “random food sh*t” and “pop tarts and sh*t” and time to get it in a way that felt safe to me. Alternatively, they certainly know how to access my Amazon account and are free to order their own culinary delights.
On my end, I admit that my food shopping preferences lean heavily towards the perimeter rather than the interior aisles. I stock the house with produce and nutritious items, such as nut butters, not exactly young adult male fan favorites. Especially when the boys are away, I rarely go into a regular supermarket or buy processed food such as pop tarts and sh*t. Knowing the kind of junk food the boys want in the house is not my forte’. If they ask for me something specific or go with me to the supermarket, I am willing to fill the pantry with chemicals and preservatives galore. With Matt quarantining in the basement and the chaos of the pandemic descending, I hadn’t taken into account that the boys might appreciate an assortment of pleasurable food items. That being said, I don’t believe it was my responsibility to read the minds of my young adult sons or provide them with every form of junk food they could possibly crave during lockdown.
However, I could have improved the situation by eating properly during the day, knowing that taking care of my own needs will increase my chances of clearly and calmly responding to any conversation. In addition, I was easily provoked in that moment, in part, because of lingering, low level resentment about how much I had been doing around the house and feeling unappreciated for all of my efforts. If I had been more aware of my underlying feelings and addressed the issues more directly at an appropriate time with my family, perhaps I would have been less likely to react emotionally to the comment about random food sh*t.
Matt’s Perspective:
What happened:
On a day in which I lifted weights, biked for a half hour, and ate two healthy home-cooked meals, all I wanted at night was an unhealthy snack. I went to the pantry and found an assortment of beans, grains, powders, and nuts but nothing that looked appetizing. The fridge contained almost exclusively dairy-free milks, fruit, and meats. The freezer was the only place with some unhealthy food, but I was feeling too lazy to cook any of it. I asked my mother why we did not have anything that tasted good that I could eat without putting effort into preparation, and the answer was that she preferred to eat a very specific type of way. Normally I could go buy my own food, but with the quarantine in place she did not want me going to supermarkets. Delivery services could get some food to our house in a few days, but I wanted something when I was hungry. I asked my mom why there was nothing good to eat in the house, and she became upset because of all the effort she puts into supplying our family with food.
How I felt:
One summer, I emulated my mother’s “perfect” eating habits. They did not work for me, as she is a small woman and I am an active 6’2 man. I was always hungry and lost more weight than I healthily should have, and I learned a valuable lesson about the difference between perfect eating habits and sustainable ones. I need to eat a lot to maintain my size, and that is not easy to do with “perfect” foods. Back at college, I have 24/7 access to just about any type of easily prepared food I could ever want. Many college students are too lazy and busy to be able to cook something for themselves, so campuses cater through easily accessible packaged snacks at all levels of healthiness. Our home is a totally different environment, however, and my mother is not a mind-reader in terms of what I want to eat, so I immediately realized that I needed to communicate what food I want in the house if I am unable to shop.
How we could’ve handled it better:
This situation was avoidable and was pretty easy to navigate. I should have been more communicative about what I wanted to have in the house, but the unpredictability of the situation, which was compounded by both of our hungry states, obviously made that challenging. The conversation about what food to have in the house usually consists of my mother asking what she should get for when I am home and me telling her that she knows what I like. Assuming that she would know what I want is a lot to put on her, especially for something that is often in flux such as food preferences. Normally this could have been solved by me going to purchase my own food, but this situation should have been resolved by me expressing a more detailed description of what I wanted and my mother making it clearer that she was confused about what I wanted.
MOVING FORWARD
Our Perspective:
Throughout this time in which our lives are completely disrupted, we have both found that the most important skill for navigating conflict is taking the other person’s perspective into account. Our experiences have shown us that patience, careful listening, communicating clearly and giving the other person the benefit of the doubt are all critical for successfully building and maintaining relationships between parents and young adult children. We hope our stories and insights provide inspiration and support as you continue to persevere through these challenging times.