I gave up my career to raise 4 kids. Now they're grown, I'm 57, and I'm starting my life over.

• I spent 30 years raising four children, and being their mom became the center of my identity.
• When my last child moved out, I cried over the memories, mistakes, and years that had passed.
• At 57, I'm learning to put myself first and figure out what I want from the next chapter.

It was a morning like most others. Rise with the sun, kiss my husband, feed the cat and dogs, make my coffee, and sit out back to greet the day. Except that this morning, the house was empty for the first time in 30 years.

As I sat down to drink my coffee, I whispered, "I can't believe it's actually here."

Fat, warm tears began making their way down my face, and my heart felt like it was breaking into a thousand tiny pieces.

I closed my eyes, took a slow, deep breath, and reflected back through the years that now felt like one long, beautiful dream that I was trying not to wake from.

I raised 4 kids

I saw each of their four faces at different ages and seasons, felt the warmth of their snuggles, heard the echoes of their little voices bouncing off the walls of our home, and remembered rocking them to sleep and kissing away their tears.

I smiled, thinking of the giggles and knock-knock jokes, the farts at dinner that made at least one of us spit out our food, the endless silly games and stories meant to distract them on long car rides, and the refrigerator covered with their drawings.

Memories of the teenage years held a different tone of overriding fear and worry in the midst of helping each of them navigate learning to drive, friendships and dating, substance use, grades, college prep, and a few excruciatingly traumatic experiences that at one point I was sure would destroy us all.

The tears that came from these memories were those of deep relief and gratitude that we not only survived, but we also raised four children into adulthood who were now out in this big world creating their own amazing adventures.

Unfortunately, I still judged myself for the moments I felt resentful, irritated, and exhausted from the endless needs and responsibilities of raising four children and of my deep insecurity of not feeling good enough as a mom. As I sat in these memories, regret churned in my gut and the tears turned into sobs.

This sadness was not just because I hated thinking about how I had hurt my children in these moments, but also for the younger version of myself that believed she was never good enough.

As this wave of emotion moved through, I felt grateful and even proud of myself that I had learned to heal and take responsibility for my pain, trauma, and the many mistakes I made along the way. So many messes and mistakes over the years, but I had been committed to making sure my children knew they felt safe coming to me about any hurt I had caused. I assured each of them that I would always listen, accept my responsibility, and do what I could to grow and change.

I wanted them to experience and learn from a parent who was willing to take responsibility for their pain rather than pass it on to their children.

I'm now an empty nester

Once the tears and memories began to subside, I took another deep breath and got up to start a day that was, for the first time, all about me. It was strange not to have a child to think about or arrange my schedule around. I didn't have to remind anyone to clean the litter box or put away their dirty dishes, and although I felt relieved about this, I also felt directionless.

Who was I now that I was not responsible for taking care of children? I had left my career as a physician when my first child was a baby, and although I had done a myriad of things throughout the years, raising children had remained my primary work.

There was a mix of anger and excitement at the fact that, at 57 years old, I was literally starting over. I had just completed the most beautiful, challenging, never-ending job that was also unpaid, undervalued, and had deeply affected my mental, emotional, and physical well-being for the past 30 years. I had no retirement plan or 401(k) from my work, no big retirement party to celebrate all I had accomplished, and no résumé that would impress potential employers.

And yet, I felt a rising excitement about a similar question I had asked myself in my late teens: "What do I want to do with my one wild and precious life?"

On this first empty nest day and every day since, my answer to both my younger self and the woman I am now is this — "I want to finally choose myself without shame, guilt, or fear. I want to listen to my heart, honor my body, and open myself to brand new adventures every single day."