I've been the CEO of my children's lives for nearly two decades. It's time to focus on my own.

• I gave up my career to become a stay-at-home mom and turned into the CEO of my children's lives.
• I chose their schools and extracurriculars, and made sure their lives went smoothly.
• I recently realized it was probably time to resign as their CEO and just be a mom on the sidelines.

A few weeks ago, my 18-year-old daughter was planning a weekend beach trip with friends.

She's self-reliant, dependable, and not a partier, so I completely trust her to get the job done in situations like this.

I knew she'd be OK, but I still wanted to step in anyway, searching for the perfect hotel and safe beaches for them to visit. I had a pile of work on my desk, unrelated to my daughter's trip details, but this wasn't the sort of thing that would usually stop me from helping.

I've been the CEO of their lives

When I gave birth to my daughter in 2007, I ended my writing career and became a full-time stay-at-home mom.

It wasn't really a decision for me. I knew I'd never be able to put my children in daycare. I wanted to be the one guiding them, after all, I'm the one who could love them best. And I did it.

Then two years after my daughter was born, I had my son. During their toddler and early childhood years, the three of us spent our days baking, crafting, going to the playground, and learning to garden. We went to playgroups and raised goats and chickens. I threw myself into this new identity.

As my children grew, it became clear that I was in charge. I wasn't just a mom, I had become the CEO of their lives. I went full-tilt boogie during their school years, carefully choosing their charter school, teachers, and extracurriculars.

When my daughter started high school, I shifted to college planning. Even though she was excelling in her hardest AP classes, I tracked her assignments and grades and pointed out whenever she fell below 90%. I liked reminding her that every B on her transcript would be a door closing. When a good friend heard I repeated that phrase to my kids, she said, "Oh, Nicolle, that's harsh. In our house, we say 'An A is not the only way.'" I was chagrined, though only a little.

It was time to be in charge of my own life, not theirs

My daughter's high school years flew by, and before I knew it, she was starting her senior year. When it came time to apply to colleges, I was shocked to find she had been working with a local college counselor she had found on her own. At first, it was unsettling to lose control of such a big decision in her life, and yet, after years of managing so much for her, I was also a little relieved. Still, I wondered to myself how someone else was going to handle this gargantuan task. I couldn't help weighing in when she showed me her list of schools.

"Didn't we decide you'd apply to some Ivies?" I asked her.

"We did not decide," she replied, "I decided that I want to enjoy my life in college, and the thought of attending an Ivy stresses me out."

I wanted that too for her — all I ever wanted for her was a good, happy life. She was telling me what she needed and that she didn't need my help finding it. It was a lot to take, but it also became a moment I was proud of.

Something shifted for me

Soon after she submitted her college applications, she started planning that beach trip with her friends. I'd recently begun freelance writing again since both of my kids were now driving and more independent. But, as usual, I couldn't resist butting in. I instantly set aside my own work to research hotels for her.

But as I opened the Hotels.com app, I paused. She hadn't asked for my help. My daughter was ready to leave home and take charge of her life, she could likely take care of this without any issues. I closed the app and shifted my focus back to the pile of work on my desk.

I have put my daughter and her brother first for 18 years. And while I'll never stop caring for and supporting my children, I'm learning that it may finally be time to take charge of my own life and resign as the CEO of theirs.