I need to share my current reality. As much as I cherish conversations with our camp families, I never take for granted that you’re entrusting us with one of the most important people in your life. And now, I find myself in your shoes.
I set out to raise confident, adventurous children—turns out, I did my job a little too well, and now I’m the one left behind. Dang it!
Kate, my middle daughter, left on Monday for The Island School in Eleuthera, Bahamas, where she’ll spend her spring semester of junior year. And just like that, part of my heart is out in the world, living a life that I’m not in.
I’m on the other side of this kind of experience. I don’t personally know the staff. I haven’t memorized their safety procedures or policies. I’ve never even been to the Bahamas. I have no control over what she eats or whether she wears sunscreen. I’m trusting this school with my precious teenager, handing her over to people I don’t know, inviting them to influence her.
It feels a lot like sending your child to camp. In fact, before she left, Kate kept saying, It’s just camp times three.
She drove this entire process. Honestly, I can’t even remember when we first heard about this experience. Other families—some from camp, some from Denver—had done it, and, much like picking a camp, I trusted their recommendations. Kate applied her freshman year, didn’t get in, and poured everything she had into her sophomore application. When she got accepted, we were overjoyed. And then, the realization hit: with Ellie away at college, we’d be down to one child at home this spring. Thank goodness Sammie still dances around the house, keeping us entertained.
It’s a huge commitment. No phones. No internet. One twenty-minute call home per week. Letters take three to five weeks to arrive. No packages—part of their sustainability model. Photos are posted, but they’re just glimpses of the bigger story.
And yet, she jumped in gleefully. This is the same girl who dramatically lamented the loss of TikTok in the middle of a scroll, who adores her high school friends, who loves her family and our new puppy. She set it all down with grace and ran toward an island adventure, ready to live, learn, and explore alongside kids from all over the world.
It feels like a big deal because it is a big deal. Just like going to camp.
Our campers—and their families—have to let go. Parents give up constant communication. Campers trade the comfort of knowing what’s happening at home for something greater: adventure. They trust that the adults around them will be kind, smart, and supportive.
Yesterday, we got a quick call from Kate—just five minutes. It felt like five seconds. Like a call from prison. But really, it was a call from paradise. We’ll see her in April for Parents Weekend, and in 98 days, she’ll be home.
I am so proud of her. And as much as I miss her, I’d choose this feeling a million times over. I will gladly trust others to influence her. And I will settle, contentedly, into being left behind.
Because in the end, this is what we raise them for—to step out boldly into the world, to take on new challenges, and to embrace adventure. We pour everything into them, knowing that one day, they’ll walk forward without looking back. And when they do, we’ll be here, cheering them on, holding onto the memories, and knowing deep down that this was always the goal.
It reminds me that this journey started long before The Island School. It started at Cheley, where Kate—and so many other campers—first learned how to step outside their comfort zone, build resilience, and embrace adventure. Camp was the first place she learned to trust herself, to navigate challenges, and to find joy in independence. And just like then, I know she’ll come back changed, stronger, and full of stories I can’t wait to hear.
