few days ago, I was talking with a friend about feminism, women’s roles in the business world, and family, and at one point, she asked me, “Please tell me, what is the hardest part of parenting?”
Since she doesn’t have children herself, she asked me this question as an “expert” in the field, eagerly awaiting my answer with a curious sparkle in her eyes.
I had to pause for a moment and think because the question is not simple, and neither can the answer be trivial.
For some reason, I wanted to give a true and honest answer, not some cliché (like lack of sleep, breastfeeding, tantrums, starting kindergarten or school…)
Maybe because I wanted to answer the question for myself more than for her.

Pustiti. Let go. Loslassen.

That is the hardest part. Oh. the hardest part of parenting For the second summer in a row, Sofia is spending her vacation in Serbia with her grandparents, without mom and dad. Yes, the whole summer, all six weeks of vacation.
This year, she was so excited to go to her grandparents that the day before the trip, she eagerly said, “It feels like I have to wait another 100 days, not that I’m leaving tomorrow.”
While we were putting together a puzzle on the floor of her room the evening before she left for Serbia, she asked me, “Mom, will you be sad because I won’t be here for a long time?”
With a lump in my throat, I mustered the strength to smile gently and say:
“I won’t be sad. I’ll miss you a lot, every day and every moment, but I won’t be sad. Why should I be sad when I know you’ll have a wonderful vacation, and that’s a reason to be happy, not sad.”
Her face lit up instantly, she fell into my arms and said, “I’ll miss you a lot too, but I’m sure I’ll have a lot of fun.”
And that’s the whole point. To change your perspective and put your own needs, fears, insecurities, and worries aside and just be a support for a little being that is becoming more independent every day.
And yes, it’s hard to accept that you are no longer the center of her universe, and that she no longer says “mom” 300,000 times a day because she can do everything on her own.
Letting go.

Giving her the freedom to be herself, to try things, to breathe, and to discover who she is “without mom.”

And of course, mom will always be there, when and if needed. To listen, support, hug, help—whatever is needed. But mom doesn’t have to control every situation, environment, or detail.
Mom has to learn to let go. And that’s hard, oh how hard it is.

When is the right time to let go?

I don’t know; it’s very individual.
It took me eight years of parenting and a lot of practice, a lot of biting my tongue and pulling the emergency brake. I failed a million times, but the million and first time was successful.

I’d put it this way: it’s never too early, but it can definitely be too late.

Just look around you, how many parents in your environment still haven’t let go of their long-grown children, who are no longer children, many of whom have their own families.
But mom has to know where you are and when you came home, even though you’re over 30, because mom worries.
Mom has to live in the same yard as you and your family, or even better, in the same house.
You always have to answer the phone when mom calls.
Mom has to read your messages on your phone and know every moment where you are and with whom.
Because mom worries.
I have to disappoint you; this way, you’re not showing trust in your children, but rather highlighting your own “sacrifice.” And our children don’t owe us anything.
That’s the fear of losing control or, even worse, of becoming less important, obsolete.
Because if you have control and take on tasks, worries, and opportunities for your children, then they will always need you and will never be able to succeed in this or that without you.
Then you are always and forever important, irreplaceable.

You will be important and irreplaceable even if you let go, if you give them the air to breathe and experience life on their own.

You will always be their one and only mother, always there for them, but you don’t have to be in front of them, in the spotlight.

It’s better to be a few steps behind, in the shadows, not even to catch them if they fall, but to kiss the wounds so they heal faster if that’s what they ask of you.

And no, that doesn’t make you any less of a good mother. On the contrary.

Let go.

It’s not easy, but it’s necessary if we want our children to become strong, self-aware, and independent people, not mom’s parasites.

I see it this way: my job as a parent is not finished because you’re a parent from the moment the child is conceived until the end of your life; there’s no phase where you stop being that. But my formative part of the job, laying the foundation and nurturing, has already been done. Now it’s time to let go, to grow and develop into the wonderful person she has long since become. Last year at seven, this year at eight, she’s spending the summer with people who love her most after me and Marko. Before we know it, she’ll be going on trips with friends, and the day after tomorrow, she’ll be going to the beach with her boyfriend.
There were no tears when she got on the train, neither from her nor from me.
We don’t talk a hundred times every day; in fact, days go by when we don’t talk at all. I send a message every day as a little reminder that I’m thinking of her and that I love her.
And when she feels the need to hear or see me, she calls me, and then we chat and laugh together. We share our experiences and impressions from the past days, or we recount the plot of the latest books or chapters we’ve read. And I sleep peacefully when I see her smile in the photos or on video calls. Do I miss her? Yes. But I’m also very proud when she tells me, “Oh mom, I don’t have time to call you, I’m doing so many things, and it’s really fun.” And that confirms that I’m doing the right thing. For the first time since I became a mother, I don’t feel guilty about anything; I don’t doubt my decisions, I don’t think I’m a bad mother because my child isn’t clinging to my skirt, or because I feel good sleeping in on weekends or reading all day long, almost without a break. To me, that’s a sign that I’ve succeeded in letting go. Let go. Loslassen. Yes, you can too. Sincerely, S-Mama