Lucie Masson | Women’s Coach April 24, 2026
I hadn’t expected to be so emotional this time, as last year had been a completely different experience. This morning, we woke up at 5 a.m. to catch an early flight to Kerala. She wanted to sleep in my room to feel the comfort of our affection before leaving the nest. It’s quite rare for me to agree to such a request at her age, but this time, I felt it was important that we both felt connected. We began our journey with a pleasant sense of adventure, just the two of us, in the early hours of the morning. The trip was incredibly smooth and peaceful. As we approached her destination, memories of her camp last summer came flooding back to her, as well as how she had felt when my husband and I left her after dropping her off: she had cried and tried to hold me back so much that the ashram volunteers had to restrain her from coming back with us in a taxi.
Last year, I found it unfortunate, but being busy myself, I hadn’t really reflected on the emotional process. This morning, she explained how painful it had been to let me go, but that as the days went by, she had felt increasingly comfortable and happy at the ashram. That’s why she was ready to repeat the experience this year. What was different for me this time was that I had gone alone specifically to drop her off and that I was offering her my undivided attention with greater emotional maturity. During the hour and a half taxi ride from the airport, we held each other tightly, as if melting into the affection we felt for one another. We filled our hearts like a balloon with pure energy. Then I reminded her of the invisible bonds mothers share with their children, and that every time she thought of me with love, I would receive her thought in my heart, and vice versa. As she continued to tell me how much she loved me, a pang of sadness rose at the thought of leaving me at the end of the journey.
Of all the clients who come to therapy because they were sent to boarding school at such a young age or even earlier, I now know that it is essential to let her live and express her emotions in a loving setting rather than suppressing them with a simple “It will be good for you, you’ll see.”
No, however nice the place may be, they will always miss their family and the warmth of home when they leave, whether or not that’s part of our plans. It’s a fleeting emotion, but it needs to be addressed to be integrated and processed as part of the growing process. This time, I wanted to invite her to be fully in touch with her sadness, to acknowledge the process of this small loss in her heart. I told her she had the right to be sad. She looked at me and said she wanted to cry. At that precise moment, I recognized my own aversion to hearing an unpleasant outpouring that would simultaneously trigger guilt about leaving her for so long, regret about making this decision, and the selfishness of needing time to myself. It took me two seconds to become aware of these thoughts within me, analyze them as my own fears, and let them go.
Instead, I gently told her that it was normal to feel this way, that she had the right to be sad and to cry now. She immediately buried her face in my arms and took a few minutes to fully experience her emotion in the loving space I had created for her, with complete permission to experience whatever she needed to experience in that precise moment. What I was offering her at that moment was love in the form of acceptance of her feelings. After what seemed like two minutes of this state, she lifted her head with a big, mischievous smile and said, “I remember when we were naughty with the supervisors, hiding under our beds to avoid gym class!” It was at that moment that I knew the process was complete; she had moved through the sadness, cried, hugged me, felt acceptance, and integrated it. It had only taken 2 minutes for her to experience and integrate the emotions of separation and sadness.
When we finally arrived at camp, she was jumping for joy, so excited to see her friends. I could barely hold her during registration because she was so full of excitement and anticipation. As we were leaving, we said our goodbyes, she repeated how much she loved me, and then ran off to her new surroundings. To put her at ease, I told her I would stay at reception for an hour, but in the end, she didn’t need to come back for a final kiss. The sadness had passed, and she could now move on to the next chapter of her life.
Walking back to the airport alone, with four hours to kill, I myself began to feel melancholic, seeing the empty seat she had just vacated next to me. I could feel tears welling up in my eyes. Not tears of regret, guilt, or sadness. Simply the melancholy of being separated from her for two weeks. This time, it was my turn to acknowledge my emotions. I didn’t touch my phone or my computer. I didn’t want to suppress my feelings. I decided to let this melancholy flow through me like a warm summer rain, warm with the love I share with her, and moistened by the tears of separation. Even though I know she’s fine where she is and I have no problem with that, I let the emotion complete its cycle within me, observing it: how I feel it and where, what I see, and what’s happening inside. Every nuance of feeling is permitted and fully accepted as part of my whole being. Yes, I left her in a distant land, and it saddens me not to hear her voice or her laughter anymore. Yes, I accept that strangers may see me cry because I accept myself crying, and I accept that the process purifies my eyes and my heart.
So, the next time you feel an emotion trying to take hold of you, remember that it’s a part of you, and that it’s the part of you that experiences life’s highs: give it the space and attention it deserves, give yourself permission to experience it, stop what you’re doing, and watch it take whatever form it chooses without identifying with it or thinking there’s a cause or effect, and let it run its course where it needs to. Then you’ll be ready for the rest of your life’s events.
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