When They Wander: A Mother’s Heart
Unsplash Image by David Nieto
As I walked the narrow, winding road calling her name, I felt a familiar ache rising in my chest. She had not come home for two days, which was unlike her. Still, the light lingered late into the night this far north, blurring the edges between evening and morning, and I told myself she had simply wandered a little further than usual.
But the questions came anyway.
Would she know how to find her way back?
Would her instincts be enough to keep her safe?
Or would her curiosity carry her somewhere I could not reach her?
I called her name again, louder this time, the small box of treats shaking in my hand.
And somewhere between one step and the next, I realized
this was not only about the cat.
It was about my child.
Because there is a moment in motherhood that no one quite prepares you for. A moment when love no longer gives you influence. When guidance sounds like control. When the child who once ran toward you begins, slowly or suddenly, to turn away.
Two years earlier, just after his eighteenth birthday, my son had fallen in love for the first time. At first, we celebrated it. There is something sacred about first love, something hopeful. But slowly, quietly, things began to shift.
What we could see so clearly, he could not.
The criticism.
The dishonesty.
The erosion of his confidence.
We spoke gently at first, then more firmly, trying to name what we saw. Not to control him, but to protect him. But something in our concern landed differently than we intended.
He stopped hearing love.
He started hearing opposition.
And just like that, the closeness we had built over a lifetime felt out of reach.
I remember the confusion most of all.
How could a child who once trusted us so completely now shut us out?
How could love, given so freely for so many years, suddenly feel unwelcome?
I questioned everything.
Had I said too much?
Not enough?
Had I pushed him further away in my attempt to pull him closer?
Motherhood in these moments becomes disorienting. You are no longer guiding small hands across the street. You are standing at a distance, watching someone you love make choices you would never choose for them.
And you cannot step in.
You can only stand nearby, heart open, hoping they remember the way back.
As I walked those streets calling for our cat, I wondered if I was doing the same thing to her.
Was my voice a comfort, or a pressure?
Would she hear me and come closer, or run further into her freedom?
What if she was not lost at all?
What if she was simply living as she was meant to?
That thought stopped me.
Because what if the same was true for my son?
What if his wandering was not a failure of my parenting,
but a necessary part of his becoming?
What if the very instincts I feared would fail him
were the ones that would eventually guide him home?
Days later, we found her.
Not far, not harmed, not lost in the way I had feared.
She was tucked into tall grass, resting in the warmth of the sun, exactly where she had chosen to be. When she heard my voice, she came running.
Not because I had chased her.
But because she knew me.
And maybe that is the quiet truth mothers need to hold onto.
Our children may wander.
They may choose paths we do not understand.
They may turn away, even when we have loved them well.
But love, steady and rooted, does not disappear.
It becomes something they carry.
And when the moment comes, when they are ready,
they will know the sound of it.
They will know the way home.
And perhaps the question is not whether we have messed them up.
But whether we can trust that what we gave them
was enough to guide them, even when we are no longer the ones leading.
Sometimes, the bravest thing a mother can do
is to stop chasing
and believe that she was never lost to them in the first place.
About the Author
Leigh William is a writer, therapist, and mother with over 30 years of experience supporting women, children, and families through life’s most transformative seasons. With an MSc in Integrative Therapy, she specializes in helping people navigate emotional complexity, relationships, and the delicate balance between independence and connection.
As a certified birth and postpartum doula and midwife assistant, Leigh has witnessed the profound journeys of both children and parents, offering guidance with compassion and attunement. She is also a certified Yachtmaster and certified Ocean Therapist, bringing the healing rhythms of nature into her work.
Through her writing, Leigh creates spaces for reflection, understanding, and reassurance, helping mothers recognize that love, even when tested by distance or independence, remains a guiding force.
