On Coping with Phen Going to Boarding School
We’re all coping in our own ways this week as we prep Phen for boarding school. None of us is saying it outright, but it shows up everywhere in how we’re acting.
Phen is ignoring the reality of it all as much as possible, a little more testy than usual.
Steve is working long hours, handling logistics when I press him, but otherwise staying steady in his lane.
Hawkins wants to hang with his brother every second he can, and he’s taking the brunt of Phen’s short fuse.
Alida is already eyeing what she can claim from Phen’s room, tearing up at random moments, and then — in the next breath — feeling relieved he’s leaving when he turns on her.
And me? I’m knee-deep in lists and checkboxes, making sure every possible item is ready, as if my organization could somehow cushion the ache of him leaving.
The truth is: this is how each of us is soothing ourselves. This is how we’re bracing for the new family dynamic that’s about to begin — one where my oldest might never again live under our roof, at least not as a child. And he’s only 14.
Two Things are Indeed True
I have never understood the phrase two things can be true more than I do right now.
One: This is an incredible opportunity. We wanted another option, and this school is just right. I am thrilled for what he’s about to experience.
And also: I am deeply, soulfully sad. The tears I’ve cried this week feel endless. I’m trying to let them out now in hopes of not being a total basket case on Sunday when we drop him off. But I probably will be. And when that happens, I’ll need to offer myself grace.
The Final Things
Yesterday, Phen and I drove to Durango for the last round of shopping — shoes, toiletries, school supplies. It was part torture, part fun, part surreal. And then, something we’ve been waiting on for almost a year finally came together: we bought a “new to us” Toyota Tundra (2006 + 150,000 miles). It felt good, grounding even, to focus on something exciting and practical in the middle of all this transition.
As I step into these last two days at home with him, I know I’ll keep doing the things that soothe me, whether they matter or not in the long run:
Creating a little regulation kit with calming cards, essential oils, a fidget, a playlist.
Labeling every piece of clothing.
Refolding the things he’s already folded.
Writing laundry instructions.
Setting reminders in his phone to wash sheets, call home, and remember he’s loved.
It might be obsessive, but it’s my way of coping with the heartbreak of watching my oldest grow up and step into a new life.
Because two things can be true: he’s ready. And I’m not.
